14 Sunny Days

Chapter 14 – draft

The late afternoon sun painted the fields in hues of amber and gold. 

Harlon knelt patiently beside Caelum, carefully demonstrating how to scatter the tiny seeds in the freshly tilled earth. "Let them fall evenly down the rows, don't let them form lumps, see?" he explained, his rough farmer's hands surprisingly gentle. "Each one needs a bit of space to grow strong."

Caelum nodded, intently mimicking his father's motions. 

He had been helping his father increasingly after his return from the tourney, seeing as he no longer got sick from exertion. 

Usually, he'd be peppering Harlon with questions about the different crops, or making up silly songs about turnips and beets, or knights and dragons. 

Today, though, a quietness hung about him.

Harlon's brow furrowed slightly. His little star hadn't wasn't showing his usual enthusiasm since returning from Highgarden the previous evening. 

Something was clearly weighing on his mind.

"You alright, little one?" he asked, a touch of concern in his voice. "Not much chatter coming from you today."

A flicker of unease crossed Caelum's face. He scooped up a handful of seeds, letting them trickle through his fingers. 

"Pa," he began hesitantly, "yesterday.... at the castle, after my lessons, Lord Mace summoned Garlan to the hall, I went along with him." His voice lowered. "Some bandits were being sentenced."

Harlon nodded in understanding, his mind running rapidly to understand what Caelum may have witnessed. 

The Tyrells were just, but justice could be harsh in these lands. 

A pang of gratitude washed over him – the kindness shown to his son, allowing him to witness the ways of nobles, was a rare gift for a farmer's boy. 

And the gods knew, Caelum was a bright lad.

Caelum swallowed hard, remembering the grand hall and Lord Tyrell's booming voice as he pronounced the men's fate. "The knights found them hiding near the Mander, Father," he continued, keeping his voice low. "They'd been stealing from travelers returning from the Crownlands. Had been doing it for two moons now."

Harlon listened intently, his weathered face a mask of thoughtful concern. Times were tough, and desperate men sometimes turned to desperate measures.

Caelum's voice dropped even further, a tremor edging into it. "But... I heard them, Pa. With my... magic" He bit his lip, eyes darting to distant figure of Jerren, then rushed on. "The bandits. Most of them... they only did it because their families were starving. They had children to feed."

Caelum's hands clenched around the seeds. "Lord Mace... he was merciful, sort of. He gave the bandits a choice. Take the black, serve at the Wall, or... or be executed." He swallowed hard. "Most of them chose the Wall, Pa. But their leader...he didn't. He said he had no one to go back to, and took...the other choice."

Caelum looked up at his father. "But why, Pa? Why would they steal when they could find honest work? And why did Lord Mace send them North? Won't they just cause trouble there too?"

Harlon sighed, the weight of the world pressing down upon his shoulders. This wasn't a conversation about farming, or even right and wrong. This was about the muddy gray areas of survival.

"Son," he began, his voice low and steady, "sometimes, work isn't easy to come by. Especially for those without land, or a trade. Hunger makes a man blind, makes him see only what his children need, not the harm he causes others."

He sighed, running his hand through the grains he was planting in his field, and said "The earth is capable of providing for all its creatures. The Seven are merciful to all life that thrives on it, from the smallest of ants to the largest of beasts. They all have enough food to sustain themselves."

"The problem, son," He said, looking his son in his eyes "Is people always have a problem with sharing. Everyone is too busy with holding on to what they have, or craving what others possess. My brothers, your uncles, they fought as knights in the war on the ninepenny kings. The tales at the inn, and the songs will tell you that it was a war against a band of monstrous tyrants, bent on ruling most of the known world."

Caelum nodded and asked "Maelys the monstrous and his band of nine wanted to carve a kingdom each for themselves from the known world, surely he would be someone you could consider evil. Maester Lomys had me recite the history when I first learned it."

Harlon smiled, feeling proud of his son, but then his gaze turned somber "Yes, he probably did. But in my eyes, your uncles died protecting the lands of a lord who did not even remember their names. They certainly did not fight for the Tyrells. They fought to protect the lands of a lord who gave them no recognition, except a knighthood for agreeing to fight in their name. Even then, they were traveling Hedge Knights."

Harlon's gaze fell on Jerren, working diligently a few rows away. Jerren, too, had lost family to bandits years back. Yet he'd built a life here, with their small community.

"Those bandits," he said, his voice thoughtful, "they weren't so different from Maelys, in a way. Desperate to provide for their own, just like your uncles were protecting their lord's lands against Maelys. Everyone's fighting for something, or someone."

Caelum's eyes widened. 

Maelys the Monstrous, the villain from Maester Lomys' lessons, equated with hungry farmers? 

The world spun around him. "But... are they all evil then, Pa? Those who take what isn't rightfully theirs?"

Harlon sighed. "Evil's a strong word, son. There are actions that are truly evil, Maelys' desire for his house, house Blackfyre, wasn't evil, it was natural. The way he went about trying to achieve it? Taking what isn't his, killing and torturing those who stood in his way, that is evil. And yes, there are men who delight in causing pain, men who live to see the world burn, who truly deserve that title. But most times..." He trailed off. "Most times, things aren't so clear-cut."

Then, a spark of mischief lit his eyes. "So, what about Lord Mace then? Was his judgment... just?" He tossed the question back to Caelum.

Caelum stared at the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust. "I... I don't know, Pa. It seems right, in a way. Sending those men away. But... would their families have food now? Is a lifetime of servitude to the wall justice for their crime? I don't know."

Harlon's face softened. 

He reached out, ruffling his son's hair. "You've got a good heart, little star. And a sharp mind too. Questions are more important than answers sometimes."

He stood, stretching his aching muscles. "Look," he gestured towards the sacks of seed waiting nearby, "not all these seeds will grow into strong crops. Some never sprout, and some wither before they bloom. But they all deserve a chance, don't you think? My brother used to tell me, give a man a fish he may eat for a day, but should you teach a man to fish, he will eat for a lifetime. Perhaps, of those men who were truly desperate, they would have been better served if they were taught a trade. But then, the question becomes, how do you separate the desperate from the vile and evil?"

Caelum nodded slowly, his brow creased in thought. 

Then, a question formed, hesitant but insistent. "Pa... is there a way? Maybe a way to make sure...no one needs to want for anything?"

Harlon was taken aback. It was a question born of a child's pure heart, yet touched upon a longing that had plagued philosophers and kings alike. He pondered for a long moment.

"Son," he began, a wistful smile playing on his lips, "men will always crave something. Wealth, land, power... maybe even something beyond our understanding. Even Death, the great leveler, the stranger, only truly ends desire when a man draws his final breath. These are questions for wiser men, for lords and maesters, perhaps even Septon Mattheus himself."

Caelum's shoulders slumped slightly. But then, a flicker of determination crossed his face. "The gods cursed me with this," he confessed, voice barely above a whisper, "this...magic. But maybe... maybe there's a way I can help men like those bandits too. I used to think bandits were just... bad men that knights fought, and that was that."

Harlon's heart ached. "Curse, little star?" He knelt down, looking his son squarely in the eye. "You aren't cursed. You're different, aye. That made you a frail child, made the village whisper. And now..." he paused, searching for the right words, "now that that difference has become strength, it might set your feet on a path few others could walk. But it is your path."

"Those gifts you hear and see things others can't," he continued gently, "they're not from some angry god, not after your Ma and I prayed so hard for a child. No, the Seven sent you to us for a reason. Your magic lets you see a man's true heart, the good and the bad mixed together. It makes you the kind of person who sees a need and wants to fix it, even if you don't know how yet. And perhaps, just perhaps, the world is in need of such a man right now. One who can set aside his own needs, and try to help, as you already have before."

Was that his destiny then? Was that the purpose the seven had for him?

He didn't think so.

It was a good path, he realized, one he could follow as a knight.

It would be the purpose he chose for himself.

A determined light glimmered in Caelum's eyes. "Yes, Pa," he nodded, standing a little taller, "I think so. Maybe... maybe I could go to Oldtown, to the Citadel."

Harlon paused, hoe in hand, a flicker of confusion crossing his weathered face. "The Citadel, Caelum? What brought this on?"

Caelum looked sheepish. "I... I overheard Lord Mace the other day. He was talking about finding a fosterage for Willas in a few years. And Garlan too, soon after..." He glanced away. "And there's Luke, of course. He's not a knight yet, but he will be soon, he could go with me."

"But why the Citadel?" Harlon pressed gently.

Caelum's face flushed. "Maester Lomys said they have writings on magic, the higher mysteries. I... well, I want to see if anyone else has had this..." he gestured vaguely at himself, "...this gift? And how... how they dealt with it."

Harlon pondered this. Then, a question came to him. "Did you ask your friends what it takes to go to the Citadel, son?"

Caelum nodded. "I asked Maester Lomys, and Garlan too. The Maester said you need a lord to sponsor you, or... a hundred silver pieces. He also said that vows of the citadel will not suit me, but I don't want to take the vows there. Lots of boys from the seven kingdoms go there to forge links for select studies, I could go there too! And Garlan..." he trailed off, "well, he said I want to be a knight, and the Citadel's not for warriors, so why go there at all?"

He looked up at his father, a flicker of doubt clouding his face. "I don't want to ask Lord Mace, Pa. They're kind enough already. I wouldn't want to... to take advantage."

Harlon smiled, a mix of pride and worry swirling within him. "You've got a good heart, little one. But those silver pieces... I'm not sure your Pa's pockets are that deep." He sighed. "But let's see, let's see what can be done."

Harlon hesitated "I-I don't think I have that much silver at hand, Caelum" He said. Seeing the disappointment on his son's face, something the boy worked really hard to hide he said "But perhaps, in time I can save some up to send you there. Mayhaps you can take some your Ma's ale there to earn some coin from the ale to pay for admission to the citadel."

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the field as father and son watched it set over the glimmering Mander. Harlon glanced back at the unfinished rows. "That's enough for today, I reckon," he said. "We can pick this back up tomorrow after you've had more time with those books of yours." He called over to Jerren, "Jerren! Head on back to the house now. Supper's on us tonight!"

Turning back to Caelum, he was astonished to see his son, seven-name days old, hoisting a sack of grain almost as big as himself. 

With a strength that seemed impossible, Caelum heaved it onto the cart.

He smiled.

Caelum was troubled with his gifts, they had hurt him at the tourney, and frightened him.

He had desired to be Knight to show the village he wasn't cursed, something he never had been.

And perhaps, just perhaps, the seven wouldn't be so cruel to him from now on with whatever else they had written for him.

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The afternoon sun dappled through the leaves of the pear trees, casting playful patterns of light and shade upon the brothers. 

Willas, tall for his nine name days, stood with a poise beyond his age, a leather gauntlet shielding his arm. A magnificent hawk, feathers the color of polished bronze, perched upon it, its sharp gaze sweeping the orchard.

Garlan, two years younger and a good head shorter, waddled beside him with less grace. "I honestly didn't think it possible, Willas," he grumbled, his cheeks already flushed with exertion. "Hawks are for hunting, not playing raven."

Willas gave a soft laugh, he lifted his free hand in a silent signal, "patience is a virtue, as Maester Lomys is always reminding us."

Garlan scoffed and flopped dramatically onto a mossy stone. "Maester Lomys likes the sound of his own voice too much. I'd rather have another slice of Meredith's lemon cake." A wistful sigh escaped him, and he patted his belly, showing a hint of roundness.

A shadow swept across the sunlit grass. 

Willas' eyes gleamed. "Ah! Here she comes." He whistled, a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the orchard's stillness. The hawk launched itself into the air with a powerful beat of its wings, soaring in narrowing circles.

Garlan squinted, momentarily forgetting his disdain. "I still don't see –"

Suddenly, the hawk shot downwards like a feathered arrow, landing with practiced ease on Willas' outstretched arm. Garlan gasped, scrambling to his feet. "How did she…? Is that… a letter?"

There, tied to the hawk's leg with a thin leather strap, was a small parchment scroll. 

Willas untied it with practiced fingers, a triumphant smile lighting up his face.

"It worked!" he exclaimed. "See, Garlan? Maester Lomys was right. With the proper training, even a creature of the wild can become a most reliable messenger."

Garlan grudgingly nodded, unable to entirely hide his admiration. "Wow! Are you going to send her to Princess Arianne?"

Willas chuckled, gently placing the hawk on Garlan's outstretched, slightly pudgy, arm. 

The girl bobbed her head, her fierce yellow eyes studying the younger boy. "Her name is Sunflash," Willas explained. "A gift from Uncle Garth, along with her siblings. Treat them well, and they might just let you be their friend, too. I'll write a letter to Princess Arianne tonight! She'll be forced to send one back by eagle soon!"

Lady Olenna, her grey hair shimmering in the dappled light, leaned back with a contented sigh. "Meredith's hand with pastry remains as deft as ever," she remarked.

Beside her, her daughter-in-law, Lady Alerie, nibbled daintily on her cake, her gaze fixed upon her sons in the sun-drenched orchard. 

A smile tugged at her lips, a gentle echo of Willas' own. "He's come so far," she murmured, a touch of wistfulness in her voice. "So self-assured…and to think, not long ago he was a little boy playing behind my skirts. Now, he is slowly able to command the presence of knights much older than himself in the yard. Ser Crane has done a fine job training him."

Olenna followed her gaze, observing the hawk perched on Garlan's outstretched arm. 

The boy still had the soft roundness of childhood, but there was a spark in his eyes, pride and admiration of his elder brother "A good sign," Olenna mused. "Willas inspires his brother, not resentment. He'll need that strength and loyalty when the time comes."

Alerie's smile faded slightly. "The time for…?"

Olenna set her half-eaten cake aside, her expression turning serious. "My dear, you know as well as I that Willas won't stay a boy under the shade of these pear trees forever. Mace has been wise to hold off as long as he has, but the day for fostering draws near." She paused, her tone softening. "It breaks your heart, I know. It broke mine too, with Mace himself."

A shadow of sadness flickered across Alerie's face. "I worry, of course," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "The houses would use this opportunity to whisper in his ears, play their games. I can't help but worry."

Olenna reached out, her wrinkled hand covering Alerie's. "A mother's fear is the fiercest creature of them all, Alerie," she said, her voice laced with understanding. "But Willas is no helpless babe, and we Tyrells are no pawns. We play the game, and we play it well."

Alerie leaned forward, her eyes sharp once more. "Tell me, which of the Houses have shown interest in fostering my Willas?"

"Crane... Chester... Fossoway… Tarly… Florent… even my own maiden House, House Redwyne. They all have shown some desire to foster Willas." The old 

"Which of these houses do you think is suitable for Willas, mother?" she hesitated, searching for the right words, "I am almost certain Mace is looking to betroth Willas to the Dornish princess, so a house where there isn't ambition for marriage I think."

Olenna's shrewd eyes held a mix of understanding and calculation. "Let us consider each… House Crane, for all they boast of honor, are as stiff-necked as their sigil. A good place to learn swordsmanship, perhaps, but not the arts of court. Plus, House Crane has been given ample reward for service. Ser Crane is master at arms, and his heir is here with him in the heart of the reach. House Crane's daughters are frequent visitors to the castle as well, so not them. They will not be rewarded with a fosterage."

She clucked her tongue dismissively. "The Chesters are too close in proximity. Even fostered away, Willas would remain under our thumb. No true test for him, and the old wolf Chester might try to wheedle closer ties."

"The Florents…" She paused, thoughtfully. "Their ambition is strong, stronger even than their ancestral claim. It could be a good home for Willas, but they also possess ambition. Not them either."

"The Fossoways…" she frowned. "Janna would see Willas grow well in her house, but Jon would look for another marriage between Tyrells and Fossoways. Perhaps, Garlan in a few years will be fostered there, not Willas."

"Tarly…" Olenna mused, her eyes distant. "Strong stock. Randyll Tarly is no fool, and your Willas possesses a mind as well as martial strength, Mace certainly wants to see him Knighted soon. Sooner than he should be, I think. The Tarly's will certainly aid Willas in achieving that at the least, but I don't think I want to feed into Mace's unhealthy one-sided competition with the Lions. He wants Willas knighted earlier than Jamie Lannister. Willas is good, but Jamie Lannister is a prodigy that even I could recognize. Not the Tarly's either."

Finally, she turned her attention fully to Alerie. "Which leaves…Redwyne. My maiden household. Distant enough to grant Willas room to grow, wealthy enough to ensure comfort, and possessing a cunning fox, Paxter, at its head." A ghost of a smile passed her lips. "Mina has just given birth to twins, Horas and Hobber. There isn't a worry for an angle of marriage, Mina loves her nephew truly, and Willas will delight over his cousins."

Alerie let out a sigh, part relief and part resignation. "The Arbor it is, then," she said softly. A wave of sadness washed over her. "But it will be so…difficult…to see him so far from home."

Olenna reached out and placed a comforting hand over Alerie's. "My dear girl, do not fret so. Soon, your mind and heart will be occupied with another one your own babes," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "And I suspect that once you're chasing after another child, you'll find less time to mourn Willas' absence."

Alerie blushed, a gentle glow suffusing her cheeks. She tentatively patted her still-flat stomach. "A girl, I hope," she confessed, her voice a hopeful whisper. "Though... Mace does yearn for another son."

Olenna laughed, the sound surprisingly hearty. "Mace yearns for enough knightly sons to field an entire jousting team! Don't you worry your head over his dreams. And besides, there's Garlan."

Alerie sighed, but a fond smile touched her lips as she watched her younger son struggling to mimic Willas' practiced movements with the hawk. "Yes," she agreed, "there's Garlan. He too, will leave for fostering in a few years."

Olenna nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the boy. "He showed scant interest in his lessons with Maester Lomys," she mused. "I suspect his young friend Caelum's presence was the only thing keeping him anchored. Now, separated from his companion in mischief, I fear he might run wild."

A flicker of mischief danced in Alerie's eyes as she recalled numerous instances of Garlan and his lowborn friend stumbling into scrapes. "Indeed," she chuckled. "The boy has an uncanny knack for finding trouble and dragging my Garlan into it. Whether it's discovering secret passages or uncovering a rogue kitchen maid, or a thief in the briar, or whatever else ne'er-do-wells there may be in the briar, they leave a trail of chaos behind them, and Garlan's guards often have to pick up their paces to capture whatever miscreant the boy stumbles upon."

Olenna hummed in agreement. "Speaking of Caelum, the boy has a fine mind. He'd make a good knight, mind you, and a loyal one to boot. His uncanny ability to stumble upon miscreants aids him well. But…" she paused, "Maester Lomys told me the boy has been inquiring about the Citadel. It baffled me in truth. The boy has the brains for it, no doubt. Mayhaps he is looking to learn more to aid his father at the farm, I do not know."

Alerie frowned, concern briefly shadowing her face. "Caelum? Garlan, I fear will be greatly disappointed to lose his friend." Worriedly, she asked, "Did he… perhaps mention any requests of Garlan? Seeking aid to reach the Citadel perhaps?"

Olenna gave a dry chuckle. "The boy inquired about the requirements, yes, but I doubt he has the gall to use his friendship with your sons as leverage." She leaned back thoughtfully. "Had he asked in earnest, I have no doubt Willas or Garlan would have offered anything he needed."

The question hung in the air, unspoken but clear. Alerie looked to Olenna, her eyes pleading. "Will… will we help him?"

Olenna weighed her words carefully. "A good, loyal knight will serve Willas' interests better than a stifled scholar. The boy has the potential to serve the Tyrells well as a sword and a shield." A glint entered her eye. "He could be a… useful ear to the ground in the Tyrell household. But the Citadel? He'll wither there, even if he does not intend to bind himself entirely to a maester's vows. He'll make a good knight, Ser Crane will make sure of it, if he does join the yard."

As they nibbled on the last crumbs of cake and sipped the mellow Arbor Red, Olenna's keen eyes drifted across the orchard.

"Speaking of Ser Vortimer," she began casually, "Tell me, Alerie, have you noticed Luke lately? Ser Crane's page?"

A flash of confusion crossed Alerie's delicate features. "The boy who introduced us to Meredith and Caelum? I believe so… though, he hasn't been the same since the Harrenhal tourney." She hesitated. "He's grown somewhat… withdrawn. Ser Vortimer's remarks about the boy's absence were sharp, especially in front of the other squires."

Olenna's frown deepened. "He's skilled with a blade, from what I hear. Disarmed Ser Crane's heir Parmen last week, wouldn't you know it? Yet, that old crane won't give the boy an ounce of credit."

Alerie shook her head, a note of sympathy entering her voice. "He tried to charm Ser Vortimer's daughter when the Ser Crane's daughters last rode here. A clumsy attempt, from what I gathered. Perhaps this is…retribution." She shrugged delicately. "If Ser Vortimer won't have him, my husband has no shortage of knights to choose a new squire from. Quentin would be a fine choice, I think. The boy deserves a reward if purely for introducing Meredith to the household, and Caelum to Garlan."

Olenna smiled faintly, a spark of approval gleaming in her eyes. "Indeed, he does. Both of them have proven good influence on the boys. We shall see if Ser Crane continues to ignore the boy's talents. He would make a good knight, with a good head on his shoulders someday."

"He's just like Gerold used to be in that regard." Alerie mused "Sharp minded, he would make a good knight truly."

She leaned forward, "Has there been any…whispers from the capital? Has Gerold sent any ravens?"

Alerie's voice dropped into a hushed tone, mirroring the shift in their conversation. "Gerold has written," she revealed, "though even his usually keen eye seems at a loss. The Prince and Princess…" she paused as if savoring the bittersweet tang of court gossip, "they seem to have reached a… fragile accord, for the time being. The birth of their son, Aegon on Dragonstone, seems to have brought some measure of peace."

A wistful sigh escaped her. "Yet, only days afterward, the Prince gathered his companions – Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and a few guards – and rode off. None know his destination, or even his purpose."

She toyed with her Arbor Red, her eyes clouded with a hint of concern. "And stranger still… word has reached us that Eddard Stark journeyed to visit Ashara Dayne, the Princess' lady-in-waiting. A brief visit, no more than a day, and then they both vanished." Alerie looked up at Olenna, a touch of worry in her eyes. "What does this all mean, Lady Olenna?"

She set her cup down with a decisive clink. "The tension between the Prince and Princess eased…that much is good. But this reckless excursion…" Olenna shook her head in disapproval. "The Prince would be wise to shore up alliances, Prince Doran did not take his crowning of Lyanna Stark as the Queen of Love and Beauty at Harrenhal well. Neither did Rickard Stark. Brandon Stark's wedding to Catelyn Tully is in a moon, and Lyanna Starks own wedding to the Baratheon heir is in a moon's turn after. Their swift departure from that tourney was the only thing that saved the Stark girl from being labeled as the Prince's whore. There were enough lords who had seen the girl laugh with the Prince at the feast before the crowning, and some even say they had rode together before the jousts."

"As for the Quiet wolf, it seems I was right in my deduction that there had been sparks flying between Ashara Dayne, and Eddard Stark. Though why Rickard Stark allowed it to go as far as it has I don't know. There has been no talk of betrothal yet. It's a curious fascination. A scandal in the making of its own to be sure." Olenna shook her head at the idea.

Her gaze settled on the figures of her grandchildren in the orchard. 

The Targaryen, The Starks, The Daynes… she did not understand which way the winds were blowing.

"There's a storm brewing under those stoic northern faces, and it's not just the chill of winter." Of that she was certain.

A shadow flickered across her face, then vanished just as quickly. "It will all be revealed in time, Alerie," she murmured, a comforting touch in her voice despite the underlying tension. 

The games in King's Landing would continue to play out, the pieces moving, alliances shifting...

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she watched Willas sending his hawk aloft, its dark shape silhouetted against the blazing sunset.

House Tyrell would bide its time, and watch as the pieces fall in place after the winds have settled.

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(A/N) I couldn't focus just on studying. Ended up writing a short chapter.

I seem to have flamed a lot of people with my blithe remark about Eddard being a poor parent. I think he succeeded as a parent to teach his children honor, morals, and make them well adjusted individuals. But the man clearly suffers from PTSD, he fostered none of them. That is what I was alluding to.

Similarly, Rickard didn't Foster Benjen after Lyarra's death either.