Growing 1.2

Second Day of the Third Moon of the Year 286 AC.

My father is a lucky man.

It's the first thing that comes to mind as our small, yet growing family, gathers together for the evening meal.

The reason for these musings, besides Randyll Tarly's status as one of the most powerful and wealthy men in Westeros, is the six-month-along pregnant woman to his right.

My mother, Melessa Tarly, formerly of House Florent.

She sees me looking at her and sends me a smile filled to bursting with love and it's all I can do to send even a portion of it back with a shy grin.

Truly, my father must have taken all of Stannis Baratheon's luck.

That is to say, Melessa Tarly is the eldest daughter of Alester Forent, Lord of Brightwater Keep and the head of House Florent.

Her cousin Selys on the other hand is merely the daughter of Alester's late brother, a third son at that.

If it ended there, it would be bad enough. I don't think anyone would be surprised if the dowry and political connection that comes with the Head of House Florent's eldest daughter was quite a bit larger than that which came with his niece.

But, though I've never actually seen her, Selys Baratheon was, to put it lightly, not blessed by the maiden.

My mother on the other hand is the picture of beauty. Or at least very pretty, if not on the level of a Cersei Lannister or Daenerys Targaryen.

With a slightly long face and elegant face, full lips that are easy to smile, wavy brown hair and pale blue eyes, she practically glows.

Or that may be the pregnancy.

If I remember correctly, that should be a new sister set to join our family. And I cannot wait.

In between shoveling the last of the meal into my mouth I tell her exactly that.

"Finish chewing before you choke my little Hunter," Mother admonishes me before sending me a smile that practically has stars dancing in her eyes. "But I'm glad you're excited to be an older brother. It's a big responsibility."

I dutifully finish swallowing and nod to her previous statement.

"Of course mother, I will make sure to teach them all the best hiding places when you're angry at us as well as which of our cooks give out sweets if you pester them enough."

I get a light slap to the back of the head for that, but it doesn't affect my grin.

Plus, that was a bluff, the second part at least. I never really go for sweets anyway. Dental care being what it is in Westeros, I'm fine with depriving myself of some sugar if it means keeping my teeth in the best possible condition.

"What? I'm not going to be teaching them their letters or history, that's Maestar Harwin's job. And I doubt anyone wants me to try and teach her sewing."

Mother gives me a curious look.

"Oh, so you think it will be a girl then? Any reason why?"

I realize my mistake, but decide to just roll with it.

"No real reason, just a feeling." I rub my stomach. "In my gut."

I pause and blink. "Or maybe that was just the second venison pie."

Father finally breaks into the conversation at that, rolling his eyes at my antics.

"I wouldn't mind a girl." He turns to Mother. "I don't think I could handle a second Sam."

My Mother, the absolute harlot and traitor, has the gall to giggle at the line.

She side eyes me in all my righteous indignation.

"Well, girls carry their own personal brand of trouble, dear, but you're not wrong. I fear the damage to Horn Hill if Sam had a brother to join his little adventures."

I side eye her right back. You cause a little property damage and you're never allowed to live it down. Really, they should have thought of that before they gave me Sapling, the blunted wooden training sword I received for my last name day.

I may have gotten a little overexcited swinging it around, but can you blame me?

I don't.

It's too bad I'm the only one though. Mother was not impressed. Hopefully I'll get it back sooner rather than later.

I huff and get up from my seat before schooling my face.

"May I be excused Mother, Father?"

One of the serving girls mentioned a litter of kittens in one of the empty pantries and I am practically vibrating in anticipation. In a word without most of the modern luxuries I took for granted, well, you have to make your own entertainment. And few can top playing with adorable little kittens.

Father waves a hand towards one of our household guards and mumbles something that might be taken for acceptance.

I grin as soon as my back is turned.

I think I will name one Mittens.

X X X X X

As I lay in bed and stare up at the intricately carved animals and plants that stylize my bed, I think back to the conversation I had during dinner.

It says a lot about the hard work I put in these last few years that no one batted an eye at the level of my speech.

I recognized early on that while I had a good deal of wiggle room in my actions as a small child, I had to be smart and focused in how I presented my intelligence.

Fields such as psychology and biology aren't prevalent in Westeros, let alone something more specific such as infant development. The best people had to lean back on were the dubious learning of Maesters, personal experience and the oral wisdom passed on from those who make a living caring for children. So besides very vague bench marks, there wasn't a need to be overly specific in my development.

More importantly, as the son and heir of a Lord, my advanced intelligence was likely to be hand waved away as normal from such an esteemed and elevated lineage. I was a Lord, of course I was special. The pride inherent in the Lordly class meant that they would be more accepting as it easily fed into their image of superiority.

And anything that still slipped by as odd could easily be shoved into this land's religious culture, such as being blessed by the Crone or some other nonsense.

That wasn't to say I started talking like a full grown adult from day one.

No, I made sure to start with an infantile speech, no matter how aggravating it was, and meticulously work my way up to more mature speech patterns over the course of months and years.

It was aggravating and exhausting, always being on guard, forcing myself to dumb myself down.

Granted, there's something truly freeing and delightfully indulgent about acting like a child. It's something that is never really appreciated, since the perspective you need to do so only comes once that freedom is long gone.

And make no mistake, I took full advantage of it in being a mischievous little scamp.

Plus, if I'm being honest with myself, there are few things more wondrous than being held by someone who truly loves you. Something I've been lucky enough to get twice over, considering some of the parents in this world, although my Father expresses himself in a more subdued manner.

I sigh and flip the pillow over as I try to answer the call of sleep. It was a lot of work to toe the line between prodigy and unholy monster in a child's body, but it was worth it to be able to express and enjoy myself as I do now.

Even if my arms are still stinging and scratched up from the litter of kittens. Devilish little things. So worth it though.