~ William
"I still can't believe it! Alan Beesbury, attacking Barret! His own brother! I mean, sure, I get in fights with my brothers sometimes, but we've never actually..." Robin shook his head. He continued to practice the technique Maester Robert had taught them to save a person who was choking with Henry, who was proving a bit too heavy for Robin to pick up properly.
"He's a brute." William said as he whittled a stick. His father, one of the hunters House Beesbury employed to keep any wolf or boar populations low in the forests that were kept wild around Honeyholt for the use of the hives, was adamant about teaching his son the family trade. With King Aegon V's decree allowing smallfolk to hunt and gather firewood for their own personal use in any forest, the need for experienced hunters who could guide and assist folks in distress had only increased, and William was to join his brothers instead of leaving to find another trade.
William had had a knife in his hand since the time he could walk. He had gutted a fish at 4, skinned a deer at 7, and by the time he was 10 William was regularly accompanying his father into the forest to check on their traps, and putting down any small animals that had been caught.
As a consequence, William had become quite adept at knifework, and knew all about handling a blade safely. When one of the group's projects required a knife, the task fell to William.
"It's all been Alan, Alan, Alan out of you for days! I wanna talk about something else!" Alice said as she threw down the stick she was using to write in the corner sandbox. Scribbled in the sand were a few words, the letters shaky and oversized, but legible. Ever since their encounter with Maester Robert, and the promise of more lessons to follow, the gang had gotten more serious about learning their letters.
Robin made a face like Alice had just said Garth the Green had come back and was giving out free piggyback rides down in Honeytown. “What else would we talk about? I see what happened everytime I try to go to sleep!”
Alice sneered at Robin. “How about what we’re going to do about it?”
Henry raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Watcha mean?” His speaking was not hindered at all by Robin’s continued squeezes.
“Well, it’s like-” Alice said as she sat down on the log bench and picked up one of the darts William had been whittling, “we’re Barret’s friends, and friends help each other. We should do something about Alan.” She then threw the dart at a piece of bark that was propped up against the far wall, but it clattered to the ground before it hit its mark. Alice huffed and turned to William. “Those are too heavy!” she said.
“They’re not for your hand,” William said, “they’re for this.” He reached down and picked up a small wooden stick with a curve at one end. He placed one of the darts in the nook created by the curve, then stood up and launched the dart out of the cave. It quickly embedded itself into a tree with a THWACK!
William sat down and spoke, ignoring his friends’ impressed reactions and the fluttering of birds outside the cave. “We can’t beat up Alan Beesbury. He’s a lord, and older than us.”
Alice sighed and leaned back on the log, teetering on the brink of falling back onto the cave floor. “What if we like… just throw some rocks at him and run away? Then we wouldn't get in trouble.”
“No.” William said with a harsh tone that left no room for argument. “That can kill people. We’re not throwing rocks, or using weapons, or attacking Alan at all.”
Alice grumbled at William's words, but she didn’t seem all that mad. Robin finally gave up trying to lift and squeeze Henry and collapsed down on the cave floor. “We should probably tell people what Alan did. People'll get mad at him.”
Alice looked at Robin puzzled. “You mean you haven't told anyone yet? I told my parents right after getting home.”
Robin looked horrified. "You told your parents? They would bring out the rod for sneaking into the castle!"
Alice smiled deviously, like she had just conned the king. "No, I said the servants had told us about Barret and Alan when I gave them the cloth. They still spanked me for gossiping about lordly business, but only once.”
Henry gasped. "But that's lying! The septon says the seven don't like liars."
"It was only a little one.” Alice said, although she seemed to be speaking more to the sky than anyone in the cave. “Besides, the seven don’t like kinslayers, and Alan almost was one.”
Henry looked worried. “Are you sure it’s okay to tell people? What if they find out it was us?”
Alice waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I only told my parents. It’s not like everyone knows about it.”
~ Jon
The Violet Inn was packed with people, and Jon was barely keeping up. Jenny was running back and forth between the kitchen and common room, carrying platters stacked high with food and drinks. He had to go down to the cellar to bring up fresh barrels of mead and bottles of wine half a dozen times, and he was almost out of stew and bread. He had sent Old Tim, who had been enjoying a cup of mead from the generosity of drunken folk, to the market to buy whatever food that was still left this late in the day, and was making do with the haphazard assortment of unsold sandwiches, almost stale bread, and semi-slimy fish that Old Tim brought back. Still, not many people complained, as most were there to drink and talk, with the food being more of a decoration than anything.
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It seemed there was some sort of rumor spreading around town, and his inn was where people came to learn the truth of the matter. Or to hear the most outlandish versions people could make up. Whichever was more interesting.
By the end of the night, Jon was pretty sure everyone in Honeytown would have heard about whatever had happened. But he wasn’t thinking about that. All Jon cared about was keeping up with the rush, and all the coin he was making.
Jon thought as he watched his daughter carry three tables’ orders at once,
~ Robin
Alice continued. “So if we keep telling people, maybe Lord Beesbury will have to do something? Like maybe he'll spank him!” Alice giggled at the thought of a lord getting spanked, and Robin had to admit it was pretty funny.
William spoke again. “Wait till Barret comes back. It's family business. What if he doesn't want us to talk about it?”
The rest of the gang nodded at his words. That made sense. All of their parents had made it clear you weren't supposed to tell other people what was going on at home, especially if it was bad. You just said it was good if someone asked.
Robin stood up and moved to the back wall of the cave, where it was dark and cool. He leaned against the wall and spoke. “So what should we do? I’ve got till sunset before I have to go home.”
“Lucky. My mother always makes me do extra work on Sept day, cause she says the Seven reward hard work. My fingers are still sore from spinning wool all morning.” Alice said while grimacing at her calloused hands.
“I think we should stay here,” Henry said as he sat down next to William, “Maester Robert said Barret might be able to walk today, and I bet he'd come straight down here.”
William and Alice seemed fine with staying in the cave, and continued their own projects. Carving for William and crochet for Alice, while Henry traced the images and figures that had been painted on the wall by Barret. It was a story about a small man stealing treasure from a big dragon in a mountain, and had all sorts of fighting and magic and monsters. Robin had enjoyed it more than most mummer shows he had seen, even though it didn't have any costumes or musicians or live animals.
Robin sighed in boredom as he traced the pattern of the cave wall he was leaning on. It was weirdly smooth, different from the rough texture of the rest of the walls. As he ran his hand along it, he found a subtle bump that felt strangely soft. Robin pushed the bump and a click came from the wall, followed by it swinging open from the weight of Robin leaning on it.
The yelp he let out from the sudden fall alerted the rest of the group, who all crowded around the newly discovered door in the cave wall. A quick scrape of William's knife revealed the cave wall to actually be a thin layer of some sort of plaster on top of a wooden frame and door. The door opened into a long tunnel, the light from the cave entrance barely illuminating a few steps of the corridor.
Henry looked into the dark of the tunnel and spoke. “I hope Barret gets better and comes to see us soon. We gotta show him this.”
Lytton Beesbury
“You can’t see those friends of yours anytime soon,” Lytton said in an apologetic tone.
Barret frowned. He probably didn't expect this from his father, especially while he was still recovering. But Lytton needed Barret to understand the changes that were going to come before he ran off and returned to his old routine.
“Wha- But- But I feel fine.” Barret protested.
Lytton knew that was an exaggeration. Maester Robert had said Barret was well enough to walk by himself, but that he should try not to push himself. Lytton knew that Barret was itching to run down the hill and play with his friends, but he needed to stay in Honeyholt, where he could be watched and helped if an accident occurred. But Barret’s injuries weren’t what worried Lytton about his son’s behaviour.
“Well, you are going to be very busy soon. With Maester Robert's lessons, your squiring with Ser Dack, and you helping me with running Honeyholt, each day will be full of you learning new things!” Lytton knew Barret had always liked to gain new knowledge and skills, in any subject or domain. But that promise wasn't enticing enough to calm Barret down.
“Ill work hard! Ill find time!” Barret said, his volume creeping up with each sentence.
Lytton sighed and leaned closer to the bed Barret was laying in. “Son, now that you are a squire, you have to start preparing to be a knight and Lord. It is our duty to protect our smallfolk, and to do that we must have the respect of our lordly peers. There are certain expectations and responsibilities that we must fulfill, and one of those expectations is not becoming too much like a smallfolk ourselves.”
Barret wasn't calming down. Tears were starting to form in his eyes. “But they're my friends!”
Lytton felt his heart start to ache, and searched his brain for something to soothe his son. “Maester Robert said something about trying to teach your friends some things, right? Well, you can see them during their lessons. But you will have to stop going down the hill and into town to see them. We cannot have you playing with random townsfolk children.”
Barret's tears slowed at Lytton's words, and he recognized the look of Barret having an idea. “What if they weren't townsfolk children? What if they were servants in the castle?”
Lytton shook his head. “We can't just bring them into the castle. We'd have to make sure they're safe to be around the family, make a contract with their parents, find jobs for them to do, pay them, it's all too much.”
“But if I'm learning how to be a lord, shouldn't I learn how to manage my own servants?” Barret said in that voice he used whenever he was trying to convince someone that his ideas were your ideas, and that you were so smart for suggesting them.
Lytton sighed. He had come into this conversation with a vow to stay steadfast in his decision. He had been too lenient before, and had to put Barret on the right path. But now that he looked at his youngest son, laying bandaged in his bed, and saw the fear of losing his friends in the boy's eyes, Lytton couldnt help but listen to his heart.
Also, it was always good to have trusted servants at your side, and Barret obviously had such a bond with his friends. Seven knows Lytton would have loved to have such servants when he became Lord Beesbury, instead of that cohort of sycophants his father was so fond of.
“Okay, I will talk with your mother and see if we can take your friends in as servants. But you have to promise to try very hard in your lessons and training, and not spend too much time playing.”
Barret smiled through the snot and tears, and leaned forwards to hug his father. “Thank you father! Thank you thank you thank you!”
Lytton returned the hug and felt his heart skip a beat. But as he sat with Barret in his arms, there was a dreadful thought that crawled up into his mind.
