he air was cold. Yarrow breathed in deep. A nightingale sung the last notes of his song. The sun rose over Red Lake and tainted the lake red once again. They could taste the ancient blood in the air, the blood spilled so many centuries ago. Rose' hair had only become red after her lake had been drenched in blood, so said Daria Crane. They felt closer to their ancestor than ever before, looking over their lake.
Blood. It haunted them. The smell, the taste, the colour -
Joffrey 'Baratheon' had been born and Yarrow never wished more to be an adult, so that they could get drunk until they forget it again. Across the Westeros feasts and tournaments were being thrown in the honour of the false prince and the lords tried to out do one another. Mace Tyrell enjoyed any excuse to showcase the power and wealth of House Tyrell, declaring 'We are growing strong' for all to see. Or perhaps it was the Queen of Thorns?
The Florents had invited the Cranes to their feast. Another power play- Twice-married to the other, House Crane would visit them. Florent, Crane, Tarly – a strange trio. One honoured with a royal betrothal, the other very much not honoured. No one had forgotten the Battle of Ashford.
Surely, the Florents had some interesting stories. Surely, it would not be strange if a boy of ten wanted to know of mysteries. It was that age were every boy still pretended to be Aemon the Dragonknight or Symeon Star-Eyes.
It wouldn't hurt to do some more research. The path to the library was well-worn. As a fellow reacher house, House Crane had records of all the common myths and founding legends. Yarrow knew most of them already. Still, they grabbed three books, 'We of House Crane' by Aella Crane 'Myths and Legends: The Reach' by Maester Almond and 'Children's Tales: Our history' by Garion Florent.
Fourteen children of Garth were known, sixteen houses descended from them. Garth's blood flew through every reachman and some of the northmen as well. His bloodline wasn't much diluted, thought Yarrow, as each reach house would marry another. In the first days, everyone had to be each others cousin. If the stories were true. And that was the big question, wasn't it.
There were claims of great magic in Greenhands myths, yet they were lacking in any recent events. In the north skinchangers and greenseers still existed, if rare and not known by many. Had Garth just been another greenseer? Was that why none of the reachers showed magic?
No. It had to be true. It had to.
'Myths and Legends: the Reach' was a disappointing read. Garth Greenhand did this, Garth Greenhand did that, Garth Greenhand had a child with a giantess, Garth Greenhand supposedly could make plants grow, Garth Greenhand made anyone fertile, but we don't believe that, do we? Because we are nice faithful folks who deny any magic in our blood – They shut the book. Nothing new – and not just that, those were the most basic of basic myths! Where was The Maiden and the Stranger? The Oathbound? A story of six birds, the original version of Seven birds sung.. before it had been rewritten to appeal to the faith? There was more to the Reach than Garth and the Gardener Kings.
Children's Tales: Our history promised more. Children or The Children? An ambiguous word.
A ship of pearl, a living ship, it who bloomed under his touch and upon it sails weaved of spidersilk. (..) The wind itself had not aided him (..) A match between his daughter and the king's grandson.
(..) In the north he meet a giantess, from which the Oak would spring: John the Oak, child of a giantess and Garth Greenhand.
On the next page, they read A maiden sweet as summer and smiled. Yarrow skipped A comparison of 'A story of six birds' and 'Seven birds sung'. They still had the line 'Seven birds sung for seven gods seven songs and seven men..'. stuck in their head.
Children's Tales did not give any hint about magic they could use. Sure, the text mentioned man-eating trees and golden apples, of fair maiden offered to Garth and the magical feats of his children – but could they do it? How often had they stared at flames, only to see nothing? How often had they closed their eyes and tried to see through the eyes of another? How often had they prayed that their mother be able to carry the third child she so wished for? The trees had stayed silent. In the flames they only saw fire. Their mother was barren. No eyes opened for them.
Yarrow sighed and rubbed their brow. A headache was growing. A slow pulsating pain crawling up their temple, through skull and bone.
Light fell through the window. It was later than they had thought. With each passing day, the days became shorter and shorter. Darkness was rising and winter was coming. The second winter for Yarrow. One day, an everlasting winter would be, only snow and ice. Ten years of summer, yet to start. The Ironborn would rebel before that once. It had yet to happen. Soon. Thirteen years now.
Thirteen fucking years. They laughed. So much time, yet never enough. Never. So much of the world to see, so much to dream about. They might die before they were twenty-five and all they knew with them.
No. They breathed in deeply. They needed a distraction.
Yarrow returned the books to their places, looked with yearning eyes over the endless rows of books and left.
What to do?
How do you deny what is written? No – they sighed. A distraction. Florent feast – hm. Wasn't there a Florent girl who had the kings bastard? Oh – there had been a announcement of the betrothal and soon, the marriage between Lord Stannis Baratheon and Selyse Florent. Florent, their cousins Alekyne, Melessa and Rhea – the four brothers and – ah. Delena Florent. Was that her name? She was the only unmarried Florent girl they knew of. And there was an idea. Set her up with Andrew and perhaps it would change. Would it be a good change? Who knew. Robert might still take a girl in Stannis marriage bed, he might not.
A energy was behind their steps that had been lacking in recent days.
"Uncle Andrew!"
Yarrow plastered themselves against the man. He looked surprised, then pat them on the back. "I gave you the day off. So eager to train?" He laughed.
"Oh please no!" They winked. "Are you going to a feast?"
"Being curious again? One day you'll poke your nose into the wrong place." He bopped their nose, "Lucky you - I am not. One of the great joys of being second born and no longer with my lordly brother – I don't have to listen to old men going on for hours about their war stories and beautiful daughters. Or nieces, cousins – you get it."
Ugh. Yarrow did not like to be reminded of marriage. They'd rather take the black and die to a wildling or undead.
Yarrow looked at him, then looked away. They made sure to wring their hands and fidled with their sleeves. Andrew stepped closer. They had suppress a smile.
They looked at him with wide eyes. "Father is going with Aspen." They looked away. "I-"
Andrew placed a hand on their shoulder. "And you are alone."
"Aunt Eldana is great – just -"
"She'll be distracted by Briar, they won't respect her because she's a woman who has a bastard and you don't want to deal with the Florents alone." Yarrow nodded. "Well, it's free food. Alright. I'll come with you."
Yes! Yarrow grinned at him. The man ruffled their hair. "So what are you doing? Never see you without a book these days."
"Going to the sept." Andrew blinked at that. "Maester, Septon, you are trying to out do them all, I see."
"I'll be the first man to be a septon, maester and lord at once", they laughed.
They watched the sun sink in the lake. The aspen trees casted long shadows of grasping hands and branches over the sept, a last few leaves still stubbornly holding on. Fallen leaves crunched beneath their boots. The sept was dark, only the setting sun giving them light, and the shadows deep. Yarrow did not light a candle as they never did. Beside the Stranger they sat down, staring out of the window. Yarrow closed their eyes. No one disturbed you here, a perfect place to think. They yawned.
What should they do? The butterfly effect could throughly fuck them over – or help them. The best were if no war broke out. Joffrey would be Joffrey and Cersei would be Cersei. It was not something they could change. It was unaviodable. They couldn't against the Tyrells, the Cranes were to unimportant and weak to do so. If they did, they would have to support Stannis and the Florents.
Yarrow sighed. The stone was cool against their back.
The air was heavy with the promise of rain. Still, it was a pleasantly warm evening, only the barest of breezes caressing their body. They were taller than they were, a sheer robe the only thing covering them. Their bare feet felt the grass wet with condensation. The reeds whispered to one another, a soft song of spring and summer. Frogs croaked at the lake shore.
They dipped a foot into the water. It was warm, perfectly warm. The fringe of their robe became wet. They walked until they stood hip deep into the lake. In the vast distance of blue they saw a lone boat. They tilted their head back and closed their eyes.
When they opened their eyes again, the night was there. A glimmering sky of deep blue and a thousand tiny lights. Mist crawled towards them. A single lamp shone in the darkness.
The ferryman offered them his hand.