~ Barret
It’s strange. Sitting down was a pretty easy thing to do, but when that was all you could do for days, it started feeling pretty hard to sit still. Barret knew everyone was trying their best to give him things to do. Maester Robert read books with Barret, Ser Dack told stories from his life, Jeyne pestered him for more tales of faraway lands and strange places, and Barret’s parents hugged him and wished him well.
Even the servant would try to make their way over to Barret and tell him little things that happened around Honeyholt or down in Honeytown (apparently lots of people liked playing soccer, even the adult townsfolk) and Manrel would often come up to Barret’s room with new dishes for him to try. The ideas for new food Barret had mentioned had sparked something in the old chef, and apparently you could teach an old horse new tricks.
But no matter how Barret tried to distract himself, his legs ached to stretch and be free. To run and run and run, no matter how much Maester Robert said he should rest. Perhaps that urge was why Barret had been trying to dress himself in his outdoors tunic when Lytton entered his room. One look from his father was all that was required for Barret to drop the half-worn tunic to the ground and climb back into bed in his loose nighttime shift.
Lytton sighed and dragged a stool up to the bed to sit next to Barret. “I understand how you feel,” he said, “I broke my left leg after being thrown off a horse when I was younger. It kept me in bed for multiple moons. But I assure you, however much discomfort you feel now, it is nothing compared to how you would feel if you don’t let your injury heal properly.”
Barret nodded. “Yes father.” He felt his ears and face grow warm with the embarrassment of getting caught trying to be sneaky.
Lytton smiled and pulled Barret into a soft hug. When they pulled apart he looked Barret in the eyes. “The good news is, once you are recovered you will not have to sit around for long. We are going to embark on a progress of House Beesbury’s lands.”
Barret frowned in confusion. “We?”
Lytton nodded. “We. Me, you, your brother and your sisters. Your mother is staying in Honeyholt to plan Alan’s nameday feast. And do not worry, Maester Robert and Ser Dack will be accompanying us, so you will not miss out on any of your lessons.”
Barret was still a bit confused. “What’s a progress?”
Lytton paused, surprised at Barret’s question. But it made sense. There hadn’t been a progress in House Beesbury lands since just after Barret was born, as that was around when Lytton had gotten busy with rebuilding after the fire down in Honeytown. “A progress is when a lord travels around his lands, making sure everything is right and proper. There are many bad people who might try and take advantage of our smallfolk, or our smallfolk might try to abandon their duties and responsibilities. A progress helps us get to know our land and people better, which makes it harder for villains to cheat us.” As Lytton spoke, he watched Barret to make sure his son was understanding what he was saying.
After a few seconds of thought, Barret posed a question. “But don’t we have knights to protect those lands?”
It was a tricky question. Like every lord save for the most petty, House Beesbury had granted keeps to knights, and the taxes of a number of villages each to feed and house and armor them, with the understanding that they would watch over their slices of House Beesbury’s land and march under their banner. But as Lytton had quickly realized watching his father, honor, duty, and righteousness were not required to be a lord, much less a knight. Many a wastrel who would not have been able to fit into a breastplate had been given land and villages purely due to their ability to flatter and amuse his oaf of a father, and others who were loyal and brave were dismissed just because they refused to play his games and follow his every whim.
“Yes, but…” Lytton thought hard about revealing the true nature of the world to Barret, the sloth and greed that lurked in every man’s heart and which only few could overcome, but decided on a softer explanation. “Some people do not care about responsibility or others. They just want more for themselves. So we have to check and make sure none of those knights are such greedy men, and that they aren’t being tricked either.”
That was a good enough explanation for Barret, and both of them sat in silence. Barret was thinking about what Lytton had said, and Lytton was thinking about what Barret might be thinking. Eventually, another question came to Barret’s mind.
“If we are traveling around…” he said slowly, and Lytton detected a hint of hesitation in his voice, “then we would need servants to help us, right?”
“Ah, I wanted to minimize the number of people coming with us. Some of the villages won’t be able to house too many people, and it would make us move slower. Besides,” Lytton smiled at Barret and leaned in like he was telling him a secret, “I wanted to have Alan learn something of hardship and how lucky we are to be highborn. Imagine, your brother setting up his own tent!”
Barret giggled softly, more at Lytton’s tone and demeanor rather than his words. Then, he asked a question in a concerned tone. “Would Alan like that?”
Lytton leaned back and frowned. “No… he most likely will not. Honestly, I am a slight bit afraid of how he will react. Perhaps this will just drive another wedge between us, increasing his anger. But I cannot just keep doing nothing.”
“Sometimes I promise a prize to my retinue when I want them to do something they don’t want to,” Barret said, “maybe you can promise Alan something he wants if he listens to you?”
“A reward?” Lytton considered his younger son’s words. It was strange, how Barret could at one moment talk about silly games and then the next speak on matters of controlling people, something closer to lordship than the childhood mischief most people saw on the surface. “Perhaps that could work. But what could I offer him?
“Alan likes to fight, right?” Barret asked. He had been told stories by the servants of how Alan would always duel anyone who asked, and was often seen smiling in the ring.
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Lytton knew the full truth of those duels. How Alan was often fighting squires and sons of men-at-arms who were younger, less equipped, and had less training than him. He never smiled during a duel with Ser Dack, who would turn away his strikes and correct his form mid-duel. But Alan did seem to enjoy fighting, so maybe Lytton could work with that. “A tournament. We will have a tournament at the feast, and Alan will not be allowed to participate without my approval.”
Barret nodded, seemingly unable to come up with any better ideas. As Lytton went over the logistics of throwing a tournament, especially with this short notice, they both slipped into a peaceful silence. A breeze blew in from the open window, the smell of fresh flowers faintly on the wind. Bees buzzed at the flowers planted in the hanging basket in the window.
Barret was the one to break the silence. “Um, if not many servants are coming on the progress, does that mean my retinue can’t come?” Barret asked with a slight quiver in his voice.
Lytton shook his head. “I am afraid not. Even if they are now Honeyholt servants, they still need to learn how to work in the castle, and we are only going to be bringing those who are absolutely necessary.”
Barret lowered his head and responded, his words petering off at the end. “Oh, okay…”
Lytton sighed and put a hand on Barret’s shoulder. “It is okay, they will still be here once we get back. And then you can tell them about all the things you saw and did, and they can show you how much they learned.”
Barret nodded, and held himself together enough to avoid any tears coming out. After a few seconds of deep, rhythmic breathing, he raised his head and looked to Lytton. “May I go and find my retinue and tell them about the progress?”
Lytton paused for a second and considered. Maester Robert had said Barret was well enough for short excursions, and his friends would usually be around that cave they had claimed as their own. It wouldn’t be too dangerous or intense, just walking halfway down the hill, and perhaps some time among the flowers would do Barret some good. Lytton sure felt the best when he was around wildflowers, and if his ancestors’ accounts were any indication, flowers were good for those of House Beesbury. They were descendants of Ellyn Ever-Sweet, after all.
Lytton nodded. “Okay, but only if you are accompanied by a servant. And you must return to Honeyholt by sundown.”
“Oh, thank you, father!” Barret jumped out of bed and gave Lytton a hug, which he returned in full.
Sometimes, Lytton looked back on his decisions and found himself full of regret. But this would never be one of those. Barret looked so happy as Lytton left, and it was not like there was anything that could particularly go wrong. No, Lytton was sure Barret would find his friends and they would have a fun, completely normal day.
~ Henry
“Why couldn’t we have just stayed in the hideout!” Robin wailed as the four friends kept marching down the tunnel. They had been at it for over an hour and he just wanted to go home.
William had told the group that once the candles were halfway melted, they would turn back. Everyone agreed, but that just meant they would never turn back until the candles had indeed half melted. Their lights were all close to the mark William had cut into the sticks, but they hadn’t crossed that line yet.
Previously, when Robin’s nerves got the better of him, which happened regularly every five to ten minutes, someone would distract him. William would give him a snack from the pouches on his belt, a handful of dried fruit or nuts or jerky. Henry would challenge him to a game, whether it be a thumb war or trivia questions. And Alice would just talk to him about what they were going to find, or the projects they were both working on, or what they were going to do once Barret had gotten better and returned.
Now, after going so deep down into the tunnels, he seemed to be on his last straw. “Look, you all can keep going, but I’m heading back up before a bear or goblin or something comes and eats us all.”
Henry turned around and put a hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Robin, are you scared?”
“I- uh- what?” Robin felt like he should have gotten angry at Henry’s question, but he had said it with such earnestness that he could do nothing but stand there surprised.
Henry nodded, taking Robin’s silence as his answer. “I am too. And William and Alice probably are too. But don’t worry. Friends stick together. There’s nothing to be afraid of when we’re together.”
Robin blinked a couple times, then sighed and gave Henry a smile. “Right, okay. Well, how about you just, always stand in front of me, okay?”
Henry nodded. “Okay. I know you’ll have my back.”
With Robin reluctantly continuing the trek, he and Henry caught up with William and Alice who had made their way a bit further down the tunnel and then stopped. William was crouched down looking at something on the wall, and Alice waved the two over. “Look at this.” She said while pointing at the wall.
The walls had been pretty bare for most of their journey, with their chalk symbols being alone among blank stone. But now, there was something stretched across its surface. Something none of them had expected to see.
Creeping along the wall was a tree root, bone white with multiple branching paths. It seemed to find cracks and crevices in the stone, pushing small roots inside and anchoring itself. What was strangest was that there were flowers all along the roots of different colours and shapes and smells.
While the four friends were not directly involved in the flower trade, any smallfolk of Honeytown would be able to tell you all about the various flowers that grew on and around the hill. Daffodils and roses and daisies and lavender and lilies, they could spot and name them all.
But even to the gang, there were flowers that they could not recognize. Starbursts where every petal was a different colour. Vibrant red stems among purple petals which smelled like leather and earth. Tiny flowers that grew in clumps, and massive ones that dropped under their own weight. Flowers that seemed to have faces in them, and one massive spotted one that smelled like when Randot the Butcher dumped his scrap bucket into the path of the sept’s pigs.
As they looked at all the flowers in wonderment, a faint noise came up from further down the tunnel. It was a small, familiar buzzing sound. To the amazement of the gang, a bee was leisurely making its way down the tunnel. It seemed to stop briefly at each flower, either collecting something from it or passing it over.
The four of them kept still as it reached the end of the root, collecting nectar from the final flower, before rising again and flying back down the tunnel. Everyone looked at each other before Alice leapt up and pointed in the direction the bee went. “Follow that bee!” She ordered, and everyone obeyed.
They made their way down the tunnel, Henry and William making practiced strides, Robin jogging to keep up, and Alice just full on sprinting ahead of them. As they went the passage became more and more choked with roots, and ever more bees filled the air. They seemed very unbothered by the four of them in their midst, and just as it was getting a bit hard to see properly with all the buzzing going on around them, the tunnel opened up into a small cavern.
Rushing water was the first thing they noticed. A small stream flowed through the space, moving from one opening in the wall to another. It bisected the cavern, yet was not the most interesting thing about it. Because standing in the middle was a massive tree, its branches stretching up and bending with the curve of the roof, and its roots spreading out and crawling on every surface. Its bark was white like the roots, and there were even more flowers spread around the cavern. Among its branches were comb and hives, with bees streaming in and out constantly.
“What the…” Robin said as he took in the sight.
“Man,” Henry said as he stepped forward into the cavern, “Barret is going to love this.”
