"The queen has sent a raven," said Tyler. "Apparently, she wants our help with recruiting new men for King's Landing's City Watch."
"Are there that few people left in the crownlands?" Tommen asked.
"No, but there are very few skilled recruiters. The Arbor will pay us – the Redwyne heir is Commander of the Watch."
"Robert Redwyne? That boy? My, they do need fresh recruitments."
Tommen Lannister had only been to King's Landing three times, and each time, it was to attend a wedding: first the splendid Golden Wedding of Lord Baratheon and Queen Alyssa, then the less grand but merry nuptials of King Jaehaerys and Alysanne, and finally Alysanne's remarriage to the dour Lord Stark. Tommen never stayed too long – the celebrations were indeed worth visiting, but the city was drab and poor (so much for calling itself a capital!) – so he hadn't really had a chance to assess the conditions of the Watch. However, with how the rest of King's Landing looked like, it was no surprise the Watch wasn't doing well.
"Well, if the Redwynes are paying, I can't see why we shouldn't help," he shrugged. "We might even have Lymold lead the recruiters. Should make him less bitter, at least."
His younger brother Lymold met with an accident a couple of months previously: while he was inspecting the shipyards of Lannisport, his leg was crushed when a large plank fell on it, and he was now only able to move with a cane and couldn't undertake the active work in the Watch he loved so much. Previously, he had already grumbled about being under the command of their bastard brother, but now, Tyler reported, he had grown almost unbearable.
"It wouldn't be easy for him to ride across the crownlands, even in a wheelhouse," Tyler remarked.
"I'm sure he would prefer that to lingering in the Bloodbrook. If he doesn't... well, his loss."
The Bloodbrook was what Tommen called the Sunset Palace, one of their Lannisport residences. He had always disliked it – painted deep red, with crimson hangings and scarlet curtains and carpets, it looked as if someone had poured blood all over it. Some or other of his forefathers designed it like that just to show that he could afford red paint and dye.
Lymold and their youngest brother, Janos, however, had loved it in the Bloodbrook since childhood, claiming it was so bright and cheerful and warm during winter to boot. But with Janos at the Citadel, Lymold, most likely, wasn't cheered up too much even by the palace.
"Wouldn't it be better to summon him to the Rock and for you to go to the capital?"
"Me?" Tommen chuckled. "I don't know much about the recruiting of watchmen."
"But you're the Lord of the Rock," Tyler pointed out. "The Targaryens didn't trust Father, despite all the support he lent to the Uncrowned King and then to Jaehaerys. We should rectify it. Lymold can stay in charge here, and you will make yourself known to the court."
"Going on a task I'm singularly unfit for won't do much to earn their trust, Tyler. A grumble he may be, but Lymold's got experience."
"You can both go, then, and you can summon Janos to watch over the place," Tyler waved his hand dismissively at their surroundings, as if Casterly Rock was no bigger or more important than a fisherman's hut.
"Tyler, no. I have no love for the city, and I doubt the queen will be happy to receive a whole stock of Lannisters. As for Alaric Stark, I've heard he watches over coin like a hawk."
"Send Tymond, then, at least. The boy can squire for the little king when he grows up."
Now this idea, Tommen admitted, really had merit.
"All right. Tymond and Fenella can go."
"Fenella, too?" Tyler raised his eyebrows. "Without you?"
Tommen's only response was a long, bitter look. The early few years of his marriage to Fenella Estren had been quite good. She was a comely girl with dimpled cheeks and a sweet voice when he first met her in Wyndhall, and she proved herself a kind, gentle wife... that is, until the Shivers. The deaths of little Cynthia, Tybolt and Cedric in rapid succession was something she – they – never recovered from. Tommen didn't understand why, but he realized – only a fool wouldn't – that he and Fenella were drifting apart fast, as if the tragedies hit the core of their marriage and it was falling down like a half-chopped tree. They hadn't shared a bed since the sixtieth year, and it was a quick coupling a few days after Cedric's funeral more to assuage the pain than for anything else – it resulted in Tymond's birth, but not in a rebuilding of their own relationship.
"It's your decision, of course," his brother shrugged, but it was obvious he wasn't happy.
In fact, Tommen knew the unspoken truth that Tyler's affection for his good-sister was more than merely familial. Ever since Fenella came to Casterly Rock, Tyler had ceased his womanizing ways and never failed to praise her to the skies. For several months, he had visited the Rock more often than before and constantly tried to engage Fenella in conversation, until she confided in Tommen that his brother made her uneasy and Tommen gave him a stern talking-to.
"Hey, you know that our family hasn't been the same since... since what happened to the children," Tommen said gloomily. "Perhaps a change of scenery would make Fenella happier."
"Or it would make her feel even more neglected."
"Listen, Ler," Tyler refused to let himself be addressed as Ty, reasoning that most names in the family started with that syllable, "I personally wouldn't care if my wife has affairs, much less so with you, because the babies would've been of Lannister blood. But she has made it quite clear that she doesn't like you in the slightest. She and I might not share any passion anymore, but I won't have her mistreated."
"I don't have any designs on her, rest assured!" Tyler cried in indignation. "I'm worried about her, that's all."
"The Red Keep is a safe enough place. Besides, unless she manages to get into the queen's good graces and become a lady-in-waiting, she will only have to stay there for a short while – until the recruitments are made. And anyway, what would you have me do? Send Tymond to King's Landing without either of his parents?"
"I thought Lymold would look after him... or do you trust him so little?" Tyler was suddenly alert. "Has he given you any cause to doubt his loyalty? I've been sure that, for all his grunting, he's devoted to you."
Truth be told, Tommen hadn't looked at it from that aspect. Whiny and entitled, Lymold had always been his least favorite brother, but Tommen never thought of him as the type to harm his own nephew. Now that he thought of it, though... Tymond was his only living son, and with how things stood between him and Fenella, it was unlikely there would be any further children. Lymold was right next in line to inherit.
"Lymold will take over the Watch's command," he said finally. "You will lead the recruiters..."
"Didn't you just say that Fenella doesn't like my company?"
"...on the condition that you ride in a separate wheelhouse from Fenella and Tymond, live in quarters far enough from those given to her, and refrain from speaking to her unless absolutely necessary."
"I can do that, brother," Tyler promptly said. "I promise."
"I need to speak to you, Fenella," her husband told her after dinner. The meals were just about the only time of the day when they now saw each other.
He explained to her that Queen Alysanne had sent a request for help with the City Watch, and that it would be an excellent opportunity for House Lannister to make themselves noticeable at court. For that purpose, Fenella and little Tymond were to go to King's Landing as soon as the queen approved the idea.
"Alone in the capital where I barely know anyone? Such a brilliant political move," Fenella snapped.
"You won't need to do anything except talk to the queen. Tyler would be doing all the Watch-related work."
Wonderful, Fenella thought bitterly, now I must choose between staying with one or going with the other.
She had been happy with Tommen in their first years together, though now she recognized it as sheer youthful infatuation fueled by the political advantages of the match. But whatever tender feelings she could have held for him dissipated after the Shivers. When her sweet babies had gone from her, their breaths gurgling and their poor little hands shivering violently – then, instead of supporting her in their mutual loss, Tommen withdrew and grew distant and cold. Craven. While the grief was eating away at her, Tommen was stuffing himself with the contents of the Rock's cellars – even his former handsome looks that used to fascinate her were gone, replaced by pallor and plumpness.
His bastard brother wasn't much better, albeit in a different way. At first, she felt flattered by Tyler Hill's elaborate compliments and praises, but very soon they grew incredibly overbearing, and then it reached a point when she became utterly sick of him. Now he didn't dare make any moves in Tommen's sight, but who knew what he would do once they left the westerlands?
Honestly, among the Lannister brothers, the only nice one was Lymold. Certainly he was a bit abrasive, but he was the only one who genuinely offered comfort to her after she lost her children. And unlike Tyler, he wasn't doing it because of an attraction to her – just before the Shivers, he married Qalta Ro, a gorgeous Summer Islander princess, and they were still very much in the infatuation years of marriage.
"You and Tyler will ride separately and will barely have to interact," Tommen said.
"Then why am I needed there at all? I'm sure Tyler can sweet-talk the queen into giving us boons."
"Would you rather stay here?" Tommen exclaimed angrily. "Our family has stayed on the sidelines long enough. A visit from a bastard is one thing; a visit from the Lady of the Rock and its heir is quite another."
"I don't want to risk Tymond's health! Here at the Rock I can at least be sure he's warm!"
"Oh indeed? Have you perchance forgotten what it's like in high summer? The Rock heats up like a bloody frying pan!"
"Do you even care for our baby's well-being, or do you just feel he's an expensive accessory to present to the queen?"
"You should have thought of such things before marrying the future Warden of the West!"
"How could I know the Warden of the West won't care for his children?" Fenella cried, feeling tears come to her eyes. "You stood by and watched as my sweet babes expired from the Shivers!"
"Shut up, woman! They were my babes as well as yours, and the bloody king and princess died just as easily in the capital!"
The door to the small dining-room creaked.
"My lady, I've prepared the stomachache mixture," Maester Palg said. "Could you please fetch it?"
"Yes, maester," Fenella nodded, hurrying up after him at once. She understood just as well as Tommen did that the maester broke up their quarrels on purpose: every time the shouting escalated, he thought up some reason to summon Tommen or her and knocked on the door.
As far as she could remember the fight (one almost never could do so in detail), she went from protesting against the trip to the capital to insulting Tommen in general. With the capital... truly, she wasn't sure. All her great-grandparents and two great-uncles had died on the Field of Fire, so House Estren had been wary of the Targaryens for the past six decades. She had never met the queen – how was she supposed to negotiate with her?
On the other hand, Tommen, damn him, was right in one thing concerning Tymond: in the summer heat, the Rock was a tremendously bad place for a toddler. She had heard that there were lovely spacious gardens in the Red Keep, where she could bring Tymond (and herself) to get some fresh air. And Tymond had to stay healthy, he had to, her precious little babe, the only one she had left…
Grand Maester Elysar was finishing his letter to Gelenei's Gardens. The obscure Lyseni religion, worshipping a mother-goddess that took the shape of a star, had produced some of the finest healers and apothecaries in Essos, and since it was time to buy a new supply of medicines for King's Landing, seafood-based ointments and potions were best purchased from Gelenei's worship place in Braavos. There were several gardens dedicated to her that were a combination of temples, workshops, markets and public parks – the Garden of Life housed midwives, herbalists, and gardeners, the Garden of Blood warriors and surgeons, and so on. In Lys, the garden system was even more elaborate and detailed.
Elysar sighed. He had never been to the Free Cities, or anywhere except Oldtown and the Red Keep, really. Born a bastard son of a minor Hightower branch, he had his life decided for him pretty early: at three-and-ten, he was given the choice between the Faith or the Citadel. The Hightowers were reluctant to give weapons to bastard children, much less to distantly-related ones.
His trueborn siblings had a much neater deal in store for them, of course. The brothers were now household knights serving Lord Gyles, and the sisters got married, one to a wealthy merchant and another to an equally minor Hightower cousin. Meanwhile, Elysar would never wield a sword or hold a trueborn son in his arms.
Many Flowers boys dutifully embraced their fate, and Elysar wasn't going to be any different. If he tried to escape the Citadel or the Starry Sept, he would have to join the street thieves or get shipped off to the Night's Watch, and neither possibility was a very pleasant one.
However, he wasn't planning to be quiet and accepting. If he wasn't meant to fight with a sword, he reasoned, he would spar with his words. Nobody would force him to take the black over that, and it at least brought some meager relief to the life he had never wanted.
Amusingly, not only did it bring him relief, but it also got him elected the new Grand Maester – "because", said the Seneschal, "I am quite sick of putting up with you". Well, small mercies.
It was somewhat easier in King's Landing. He didn't have to watch his trueborn relatives prance around, and the respect he got as the Grand Maester was certainly nice. But he still felt a pang of envy whenever he saw the queen take off on her dragon, or a caravan leave the city gates, or even his own ravens vanish in the sky. He could never make any journeys, tied to the Red Keep until he died and rotted.
Excited cawing came from the rookery. Ravenry skills (and Elysar had two black iron links in his chain) meant, among other things, telling different types of cawing from each other, and right now Elysar knew that one of his birds had come back from a flight.
Ember, an old, experienced raven who had been here since the Conqueror's times, was gulping down water from his bowl, a letter from Lannisport at his paw.
"Good lad," Elysar smiled, untying the letter.
"Good lad!" Ember echoed readily, but his voice was slightly more breathless than usual, and... Elysar strained his ears... there was wheezing as the raven's chest moved.
"Cold or tired?" Elysar wondered aloud, placing the raven into his cage.
"Tired," the raven said. "Tired, tired."
Most likely, Ember didn't understand a thing and just repeated the last word he heard, but to Elysar, it sounded like he was actually complaining of what ailed him.
"Probably too old to fly to Lannisport now," the maester mused. According to the rookery's records (every maester was required to write down everything about the birds he tended, so that his successor would have an easier time sorting things out), Ember first took to the sky when informing the kingdoms about Princess Rhaena's birth – and that was two years before Elysar himself came to this world.
"Aren't we a bit similar, boy?" Elysar chuckled sadly, stroking Ember's head with his finger. "Sure enough, you have more freedom than I do, but the expectation's the same: do nothing but your job until you rust."
"Rust, rust, rust," the raven murmured.
"At least you got to make chicks with the lady ravens around here, and you don't have to worry about them being trueborn. But you don't remember they are your chicks at all, do you? I wish I had a wife and children of my own. It gets so damned lonely up here."
"Here," said Ember, sipping the last drops of the water and lazily picking a few seeds.
"Well, there you go," Elysar placed him carefully on the perch. "I'll check up on you later, old boy. I have to inform the queen about the Lannisters' reply."
The raven was so sleepy by that point he didn't even repeat the last word.
I've noticed at least some of my readers are annoyed with the Sunflowers. Since I wouldn't want to end up in a Creator's Pet situation, I've decided to ask your opinion:
1) should I resolve the "Jonquil's spying/Caleotte's nighttime walks" subplot quickly in the next chapter?
or
2) should I make it more detailed after all?
After that, the Sunflowers would stay in the background for a long time – I have a couple more plotlines planned for them, but they are far away and minor ones, too.