Tourney Awaits

"It's too soon," Harlon said, his voice thick with concern. "He's a boy, Luke. Barely six name days. Still too young for all that..."

Luke could taste the frustration rising in his throat. "Just one tourney, Uncle Harlon! He needs to see it, to understand the world beyond your fields, beyond this village."

"I know." Harlon sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "It's still too soon!"

Harlon met Luke's gaze, his eyes hard, "He's strong, Luke. Stronger than we give him credit for. But a Great tourney like you're suggesting Harrenhal is going to be? Knights and Lords from all over the realms?... The King himself in attendance? ... it's... overwhelming, even for seasoned men."

Serra knew that Harlon was not blind to the realities of the world. The man had lost his family to war that had no part in the reach. His brothers were knighted for the war, by Lords not their own, for a war their liege had no hand in, and died in service to a liege that didn't even remember their name.

She knew that he meant to hide the boy behind his shield of fatherhood. Even now, the young star was off at the Sept receiving tutelage in numbers and letters from the Septon in the village.

Luke leaned forward, driven by a desire he could barely put into words. "That's the point," he said, his voice filled with earnest conviction. "He needs to see it all, the good and the bad. Needs to open his eyes to the truth, his childish ideals will see him killed. When he knows, and witnesses the truth with his own eyes…."

Harlon's eyes darkened "You think my son will break, seeing the violence, the depravity, and senseless deaths that the Knights indulge in? I thought you knew him, now I think you don't know him at all."

Luke's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. The accusation stung, but he wouldn't back down. "I do know him," he insisted, "and I know that the truth will set him free. Free from chasing a foolish dream that will only hurt him."

"And what truth is that, Luke?" Elyna's voice held both weariness and a flicker of anger. "That knights are all brutes? That there's no honor left in the world? Caelum sees goodness in everything, he has a quiet strength in him. He will be a knight worthy of the title! He will change the world!"

Luke met Elyna's defiance head-on. "Mayhap, if he had the strength of arms to go with it, or the birth of a lord to aid him," he conceded, "But it's a world for hard men, not dreamers. A world where birth determines his worth. Caelum doesn't have that hardness in him. His goodness will be his downfall on that battlefield, childish dreams aside, his sickness alone will make certain that he will never be a Knight!"

Harlon surged to his feet, seeing the younger boy of four and ten shrink, he swallowed harshly and sat back down. "You promised him," he said with quiet calm, his voice measured. "You promised Caelum you'd be his knight, give him a chance he'd never have otherwise."

Luke winced, a wave of shame washing over him. The promise had been made when he couldn't refuse the boy's eager blue eyes, a pledge born of love and admiration for the little boy who saw him as a hero.

"And now you're taking that away from him too?" Harlon pressed. His voice wasn't harsh, but the accusation cut Luke to the core. "Not content with shattering his dream, you'd break his trust as well?"

Luke looked away, unable to meet Harlon's eyes. "It's not like that," he began, but the words felt hollow even to his own ears.

Despair settled over him, suffocating the last flickering embers of defiance. "I will not break the promise," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "because I'll never be a knight."

Elyna gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Harlon's gaze snapped to his, a mix of surprise and dawning realization mirroring her own.

"Ser Crane..." Luke swallowed, the words he'd held back for so long spilling out in a choked rush, "...he won't have me. A page is what I am, a squire I may become, but a knight? That's a dream best forgotten." His voice trailed off into a bitter silence.

"But why, Luke?" Elyna's voice held a pleading note, "You're strong, skilled..."

He cut her off, a harsh edge to his voice he couldn't control. "To be a knight, I must win a tourney and impress better men than I. For that, I neither have the money, nor the standing. Ser Crane won't lend me the coin to participate... the dream is over."

Serra could see the realization dawn on her face – that Luke's determination stemmed not just from a protective desire, but from his own bitterness and crushed ambition.

Luke's broken confession echoed in the charged silence. Serra's heart twisted for her son, but underneath the worry was a flicker of defiant hope. This was his blind spot, born of his own pain.

Serra moved to stand beside Luke, her touch on his shoulder gentle but firm. "This isn't just about strength of arms, Luke," she said, her voice quiet but filled with conviction.

"I don't want to see him die," he muttered, his voice choked with despair, "I can't do that to him, Mother, not like this."

Serra's heart ached for her son, the despair in his voice cutting deeper than any sword. "And do you think death on a battlefield is the only kind he could face?" she asked softly, her voice laced with a quiet strength, as she moved to kneel beside him.

Luke looked up, a flicker of confusion replacing the anguish in his eyes.

"Caelum has fought for every breath since the day he was born," she continued. "He knows struggle in his very bones. Don't you see, Luke? That fight, that spirit... it's the most powerful weapon he could carry."

She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. "And you, my son," she said, her voice softening, "You underestimate yourself. You may not see the path laid before you, but that doesn't mean it's not there."

Luke scoffed, the bitterness returning to his voice. "And what path is that, Mother? One paved with broken promises and a master who sees me as nothing more than a stable hand despite being his page?"

Serra gently touched his shoulder. "Your heart is strong, Luke. There's a fire in you, a desire to protect, to fight for what you believe in. That's a kind of strength those knights may never know. In the name of the Mother, A Knight must protect the innocent, and you're trying to protect Caelum. Seeking to break him is the wrong way to do it."

Harlon watched the exchange, conflict still visible in his features. His heart ached for the boy sitting in front of him. Luke… so full of youthful fire, and now crushed under the weight of his own unfulfilled dreams.

Harlon didn't entirely disagree with Luke's arguments, the dangers were real. But the spark of determination in Serra's eyes, the way she believed in his Caelum, and in her own son.

He did not want his son to see the truths of this world so soon, but they were right. He will not be able to shelter him forever.

A flicker of memory crossed his face, a fleeting image of his brothers – bold young men cut down before their prime, knighted for a war that wasn't theirs. They'd chased glory, and found only dust. But Caelum...

"He's not like the rest of us, Luke," Harlon admitted, the words heavy in the charged silence. "There's a light in him...a stubbornness that goes beyond mere boyhood spirit. Maybe...maybe he won't wilt when he sees the world as it truly is."

He sighed, the image of his lost brothers fading, replaced by the clear, determined gaze of his son. "He wants this, Luke. And perhaps..." his voice trailed off, then he looked at his wife. Elyna, as always, seemed to read his thoughts. "He will change the world. Elyna, she is right. And you will see it too."

Silence followed his declaration. He watched the young boy look at him wearily, his mother's hand held tightly in his own.

"Luke" Harlon finally said after a long pause, his gruff voice hard, determined. His eyes bore into those of the boy in front of him "You swear to me. By the Seven, by your own life, that no harm will befall my son on this journey?"

Serra answered before Luke could fully comprehend the question. "He will, Harlon. Toman will be there, guarding Lord Tyrell. He will keep Caelum safe."

Harlon continued to stare at Luke, unyielding.

Luke swallowed hard, the weight of the promise settling on him like a knight's armor. "I swear it," he finally said, his voice low and solemn. "By the Seven, on my life... he will be safe."

He hesitated, then continued, a flicker of sheepishness replacing the despair. "I...I had thought... it might be wise to include Meredith. I had met the young Lords, Lord Willas and Lord Garlan. About the same age as Caelum. A familiar face for Caelum... and it could be a chance for her as well. Perhaps, if she serves well, a position in the castle, tending to Lord Tyrell's young sons..."

Harlon raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eye. "Not just thinking of Caelum, are you?"

Luke flushed slightly, then met Harlon's gaze with surprising steadiness. "She deserves a chance too, Uncle. She can leave the inn, work at the castle, and earn more coin. And...it could help Caelum, seeing a familiar face, someone to ease his way into this cruel world."

Harlon gave a low chuckle, a hint of his former gruffness returning. "Clever boy," he said, a grudging admiration in his voice. "Always a plan, eh?"

Luke shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Someone has to."

He turned to Elyna, the question clear in his eyes.

Elyna bit her lip, worry warring with the fierce pride shining. Finally, she nodded, a shaky "Yes, our boy is going to change the world"

Harlon sighed a heavy sound that spoke of the internal battle he'd just fought and lost. A moment passed, the silence thick with unspoken feelings.

"Very well," he finally said, the words raspy in his throat. "It seems my son is going on a grand adventure." He managed a wry smile. "Show him then. But it is your eyes that will be opened. Wiser he may become, but the truth of this world is something he will decide." Harlon said determinedly, looking out of the window of his farmhouse at his field.

The sun was setting slowly into the distance, the sky slowly reddening.

He paused, his weathered gaze resting on Luke's face. "And Luke...when the time comes, and I know it will, when you set out to make that oath a reality, to fight in tourneys should you need it, you'll take my horse, Thunderbolt for the journey. And an extra purse of coin, from Caelum and me. That way, your promise to him doesn't weigh down a man's spirit along with my boy's dream."

x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x

The scent of horses and woodsmoke mingled with the sharp tang of polished steel. Meredith bit back a yawn, her fingers moving deftly as she smoothed the silken cloak.

"Careful with that fold, child," Lady Alerie's voice, though soft, carried a note of command. "Willas won't notice the wrinkles, but he needs to look his best.." She leaned closer, her perfume a heady mix of rose and jasmine, almost overwhelming Meredith. "And remember the honeyed figs for Garlan. He has such a sweet tooth, Seven bless him."

Meredith nodded quickly, hands fumbling slightly with the cloak. "Yes, my lady. I'll see to it right away." The words felt stiff, formal. She did not want to cause offense to the lady so soon into her work.

Lady Alerie gave a satisfied nod, her gaze sweeping over Meredith. "See that you do, girl. Remember, you represent House Tyrell now. But no need to be stiff, you're part of the household now."

The dismissal was clear, though not unkind. Meredith dipped into a hasty curtsy, heart pounding. She turned and curtseyed again to Lady Olenna, who was sat by the fire in the large tent watching her hawkishly. She quickly made her retreat.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, not just from the cloying perfume, but from the weight of those final words. She was no longer just a girl from the inn; every wrinkle she smoothed, every word she spoke, now carried the burden of an entire noble house.

Despite the mundane tasks, a thrill of excitement still coursed through Meredith. Weeks ago, she scrubbed floors and dodged drunks at the inn; now, she tended to young lords... and her dear little brother.

Luke had convinced her mother to let her join him and Caelum to go the Grand tourney at Harrenhall, alongside Lord Tyrell's party. Her mother had been easy to convince, the work he had gotten for her as a maid looking after the little Lords Willas and Garlan paid good coin, better than the inn work she did in the village.

The sweet boy had done it for her, she knew. She had fretted to him during their little plays with Caelum, about the increasingly disgusting groping hands at the inn that disturbed her. And he had somehow managed to find her this job as a result.

She got to spend more time with her little brother too as a result, Luke somehow miraculously knowing the little Lords of Highgarden personally, making an introduction between her ball of sunshine and the lordlings immediately favorable, that they had become fast friends in truth.

She had originally worried that Lady Tyrell, especially Lady Olenna would take offense at someone of their low birth befriending her grandsons, but the older woman had not spoken a word on the matter and instead had actually encouraged the friendship.

She was glad, she couldn't be happier.

They were on the road, on their way along the Rose Road to Kings Landing and then to Harenhall. Along with the party of nearly three hundred, consisting of guards, knights, servants, and lords from all over the reach who were looking to go the Grand Tourney of Harrenhall to win glory.

Her gaze, drawn by the sounds of clashing steel, wandered away from the tents. Just beyond the bustle of the camp, a group of knights sparred in a makeshift training yard. The gleam of armor, the fluid power of their movements, held her transfixed.

Sunlight flashed blindingly off Ser Quentin Tyrell's polished breastplate as he lunged, his practice sword a blur of motion. Ser Vortimer Crane, older and perhaps a touch slower, parried the blow with a grunt. Steel clashed against steel, the sharp ring echoing through the camp. They circled each other, each breath measured, each movement fueled by years of discipline.

Ser Quentin, with his golden brown hair and confident grin as he deflected a blow, was like a hero straight out of the stories she'd heard.

A warmth spread through her cheeks, a mix of awe and something more...fluttery.

Maybe...maybe a knight like him could look at her, a simple maid, and see something more. Could she be the brave and beautiful lady he'd rescue from some terrible danger? The one he'd dedicate his victories to? The very absurdity of the thought made her giggle softly, the sound mingling with the clash of steel.

"Did you see that?" A boy, younger than Caelum by her measure, bounced excitedly beside Meredith. "My father's the best, isn't he?"

Meredith blinked, pulled from her daydreaming. "Oh...yes," she managed, "Your… father?"

The boy beamed. "Ser Quentin Tyrell, cousin to Lord Mace himself!" He paused, then leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He doesn't like to say it but he's the best Knight in the seven kingdoms!"

Meredith nodded, struggling to place the names in the vast web of Tyrell relations.

Her disappointment was immediate and surprisingly sharp. So Ser Quentin was married, had a family...of course he would be.

Her gaze instinctively slid back to the sparring yard.

There was a solidity to Ser Vortimer Crane, a quiet strength that appealed to her in a way Ser Quentin's youthful flamboyance didn't. He was tall, comely, and strong, and if she remembered correctly Luke was a page to the Knight himself.

The Knight deflected Ser Quentin's latest charge with an ease born of experience, his weathered face a mask of concentration.

"I'm sure you will be a big strong knight like your father when you grow up." She offered.

The boy beamed, clearly delighted, then promptly forgot about Meredith as he launched into an excited recap of the sparring match. She kept nodding at his increased commentary on the fight.

The men continued the spar, and a small crowd of Knights gathered to watch. Far in the distance, she saw Luke standing and watching hawkishly at the display, beside him was another boy, dressed in a battle-ready tunic. He was highborn if the surcoat stitched to his tunic, was any measure.

When she saw that the boy was looking right at her, her face flushed uncontrollably.

The highborn boy in the distance was definitely watching her. The surcoat looked to be that of birds, cranes she realized, on a crest. The surcoat of House Crane.

Her gaze couldn't help but drift back to Ser Vortimer. The fight was nearing its end, Ser Quentin Tyrell was matching Ser Crane blow for blow, and the spar was nearing its end. Ser Crane made to bind the younger Tyrell knight's sword, his sword flashing. But the cousin to their liege proved too quick and countered disarming Highgarden's master at arms in a swift flurry of blows.

The camp cheered, and her gaze returned to the highborn boy who was clearly Ser Crane's son. His gaze hadn't left her even then. He was watching her, and her face grew hotter still.

He wasn't smiling, but there was a focus in his eyes, an intensity that held her transfixed. For the first time, a small, almost smile touched his lips.

A thrill shot through Meredith, a mix of surprise and a fluttering excitement she couldn't quite name. His interest was unexpected, and flattering. The son of a powerful knight noticing her, a simple maid... it was like something out of the stories her father used to read her.

"Well fought, my Lord," Ser Vortimer's voice sounded, thick with a weariness he couldn't quite conceal. "You're sure to make a good showing in the melee."

He extended a hand to Ser Quentin, who grasped it with a grin.

"It was your training Ser, I am sure had you been younger you would have bested me" Ser Quentin replied, shaking the older knight's offered hand.

"Yeah, right. No one can beat my dad" Olymer Tyrell scoffed beside her, though he had a big grin on his face.

She smiled at the innocent boy, and looked back across the camp. The highborn son of the Knight was now slowly making his way toward her.

Her heart quickened.

But before he could reach her, Anya's voice called her "Meredith! There you are! You need to head to Lord Willas and Lord Garlan. The little lords need his honeyed fig." She said, as the older maid approached.

Meredith's stomach knotted. Duty, as always, came first. Yet, as she glanced back towards Parmen, the flicker of disappointment in his eyes was clear. A pang of guilt mixed with a strange frustration warred within her.

"Of course, Anya," she managed, the words feeling heavy. She offered the boy beside her a quick, apologetic smile. "Forgive me, young lord. My duties call." With a final glance in Parmen's direction, she turned and hurried after Anya.

As she walked, the weight of Parmen's gaze lingered on her shoulders.

"Meredith, focus!" Anya's sharp voice jolted her from her thoughts. "Lord Willas is playing knight with Lord Garlan, Caelum is with them. You know how to look after children better than I, so please give these figs to Lord Garlan, and watch over them for the time being. I need to prepare dinner for the little lords."

She shook off her reverie and made her way to the clearing where the children were playing.

The closer Meredith drew to the clearing, the clearer the sounds of chaos became. Shrill yells, the rhythmic clash of sticks, and occasional peals of laughter all mingled together in a symphony of childish battle.

Her dear Caelum had made fast friends with the sons of Lord Mace Tyrell, after Luke had introduced them.

How Luke knew the Lord's children, she didn't know.

It was good for Caelum, she mused. Getting to know children his own age, after the whispers of him being cursed by the stars, the children back home had been a little hesitant to approach her little brother. Though he had managed to make a few friends there as well.

"Stand fast, Ser Garlan! The bandits are upon us!" A high-pitched voice pierced the air, and Meredith couldn't help but smile. That was definitely Lord Willas, his dramatics as boundless as his energy.

"Aye, my lord! I shall vanquish them all!" chirped a smaller voice, presumably Garlan. She could picture him now, tiny chest puffed out, wielding his stick-sword with more valor than precision.

Before the game could go much further, she interjected, "Lord Garlan, I have brought figs that your mother sent for you," she said, her voice soft.

"Leave them there, in the corner. I'll take them later" the little lord responded before refocusing his attention on the game.

Willas merely grunted in response, far too preoccupied with giving orders to acknowledge the offering.

Before she could even take a step back, a small voice called out, "Meredith! Come play princess!" Caelum stood at the edge of the makeshift battlefield, his stick-sword held awkwardly at his side. His blue eyes, so like her own, were wide and hopeful, and she found she couldn't refuse him.

A pang of hesitation pricked at Meredith's heart. "Oh, Caelum," she began, hesitantly, "I don't think I should intrude. I need to..."

Just then, Lord Willas' booming voice cut through the air. "Perfect!" he declared, stomping his foot for emphasis. "You'll be the princess in need of rescuing! Caelum shall kidnap you, and Ser Garlan and I – the bravest knights in all the kingdoms – will fight to save you!"

Meredith glanced around the clearing, half-expecting Anya's disapproval to descend at any moment.

Yet, there was no sign of the older woman, just the wide, expectant eyes of the children. And Caelum... her sweet brother looked so hopeful, a fleeting respite from the cough that often wracked his small body. He was, at least in this moment, just a boy with a wooden sword and dreams of grand adventure.

"Very well," she relented, a reluctant smile playing on her lips. If her duties were to include playing princess for these rambunctious lords, then so be it. "But be gentle with your captive, brave kidnapper!"

She settled down on a fallen log, trying to play the part of a distressed damsel with a touch of humor. As the boys launched into their

chaotic "rescue mission", complete with clumsy sword fighting and over-the-top declarations, Meredith's heart swelled.

"Yield, bandit!" Willas bellowed, his stick-sword raised high.

"Never! The princess is mine-" A sharp cough cut through Caelum's laughter. Hot stab of pain clear in his chest.

Meredith's smile faltered, her eyes instantly drawn to her brother. He doubled over, small fists clutching his chest.

"Caelum?" Her voice held a thread of worry.

Willas and Garlan froze, their battle forgotten.

But Caelum, with the stubborn resilience of a true bandit, straightened with a gasp. "I'm fine, I'm fine!" he insisted, his usual grin a touch shaky. "Don't stop on my account. The princess is mine!"

Meredith hesitated, her gaze flickered between Caelum's determined expression and the worry etched on Willas and Garlan's small faces.

For a moment, the weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon her.

But seeing the resolve, and quickly resumed state of their game, her worry subsided. Laughter and merriment of the children replaced it.

There was only laughter, the thrill of the game, and a fierce love that made her willing to be a princess, a villain, or anything at all if it meant seeing that spark of joy in her brother's eyes.

Her heart swelled, as she fully embraced the childish wonders and began to play alongside the boys in true. All thoughts of her would be knightly courtier forgotten in the pure joy of her brother's laughter.

x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x

The campfire hissed within the spacious tent, its flickering light casting dancing shadows on the canvas walls. Meredith's voice rose and fell, weaving a tale for the children. "The brave knight, Ser Florian, stood before the monstrous dragon. Its breath was like a furnace blast, its claws sharp as scythes. But Florian was undaunted, for he bore the Sword of Starlight, forged by the children of the forest themselves..."

Willas gasped, clutching the edge of his makeshift seat cushion. "Did it breathe fire, Meredith? Real fire?"

"The hottest fire you can imagine!" Meredith confirmed, her eyes twinkling.

Garlan snorted. "No one can fight dragons."

"Can too!" Willas retorted, shoving his brother playfully.

Olenna watched from her seat near Lady Alerie, a flicker of amusement tugging at her lips.

Meredith was a good addition to their household. Lowborn, and young enough with no mind for games that her work allowed. And skilled in taking care of children, keeping them enraptured and entertained to boot.

Mayhaps, she will become a permanent retainer for House Tyrell in the future.

"...and with a mighty cry," Meredith continued, "Ser Florian plunged the Sword of Starlight deep into the dragon's heart. Light exploded forth, blinding the beast, and with a final roar, it crumbled to ash!"

The boys erupted in cheers, but Caelum, the farmer's son, remained quiet. He sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes wide and fixed on Meredith, a longing in his gaze that tugged at Olenna's heartstrings.

"M-Meredith?" Caelum's voice was barely above a whisper. "Can you... tell another story? Please?"

Willas and Garlan, ever ready for more tales, joined in. "Yeah, Meredith! One more!"

Meredith smiled, her eyes warm. "Alright, but just a short one. It's getting late."

Olenna watched the peasant boy's face light up. An addition to Meredith in truth, and the page of their master-at-arms, Luke if she remembered

correctly.

Seems the boy wanted to see a tourney, and the page took the opportunity presented to him by her grandsons. Sharp that one.

Such an earnest child, Caelum was she mused.

He wore his heart on his sleeve, completely unprepared to face the practiced smiles of highborn heirs.

Such openness would be a vulnerability in the harsh reality of court, but for Willas and Garlan... it could be a valuable lesson. A lesson in learning of the life of their eventual responsibility.

And mayhaps, should he recover fully, there was more for him here than just friendship. Perhaps a guardsman loyal to Willas with a true

heart... yes, or even a knight, if the gods were truly kind.

A loyal knight with no lands of his own, and gratitude to House Tyrell, that would provide a perspective that her Garlan couldn't, that of the small folk and the commonly forgotten would help Willas when he eventually took on the title of Lord of Highgarden.

Olenna's gaze lingered on the boy. Caelum Starborne.

Star cursed, some said.

She cared not. He was a friend to her grandchildren now, and should that friendship lead to something beneficial to them, she didn't mind.

Mayhaps she may even have Maester Lomys look over the boy's illness once they returned, if he proved as useful as she thought he could be.

The maid he had come with was proving her worth already. Anya was overworked with the children, and underprepared for them as it is.

"And so, the clever farm girl said," Meredith chirped, her voice turned high and squeaky, "'Ser Grumpkin, ser, would you like a nice, shiny lace for your coat? It's the very latest fashion in the King's court!"

The boys giggled. Even Caelum, with his eyelids as heavy as stones, managed a grin.

"The Grumpkin, he grumbled and snarled," Meredith's voice boomed, deep and gruff. "'Lace are for women! I want a juicy princess!'"

Willas squirmed in his seat. "But princesses are too smart for Grumpkins!"

"Exactly!" Meredith winked. "So the farm girl, she tricked that grumpy grumpkin, by telling him the lace was that of a princess' gown, and tied it to the giant grumpkins tail. He need only get a smell of its scent to find his princess, so he was tricked into chasing his own tail 'round and 'round, till he got so dizzy he plopped right into the river! Splash!"

Caelum's yawn was so wide, it nearly swallowed his whole face. His eyes fluttered shut, then snapped open again. "He...he drowned?" The worry in his voice was faint, but real.

Meredith's smile softened. "Not at all! Trolls may be grumpy, but they can swim like fish. He just learned his lesson, and went grumbling back under his bridge."

Willas and Garlan sighed with relief. Even in the flickering firelight, Olenna could see the beginnings of sleepiness tugging at their young

faces.

"Bedtime, my lords," Anya's practical voice cut through the cozy atmosphere. "Those stories can wait for another night." She smiled at Meredith. "You've done a fine job tiring them out, girl."

Lady Alerie stood, her needlework complete, a beautiful tunic for Garlan in the colors of House Tyrell with subtle Hightower colors hidden in them. "Come, Willas, Garlan. Time for sleep so you can be strong and brave like the knights in Meredith's stories."

The boys obediently scrambled to their feet, though Willas couldn't resist one last plea. "Just one more story, Mother?"

Lady Alerie chuckled. "Not tonight dear. Now, goodnight to you all." With a final warm glance at Olenna, she ushered the boys out of the tent.

Meredith soon followed as she curtsied, and Caelum attempted a clumsy bow—more a half-hearted dip, really— before scrambling after them.

A smile touched Olenna's lips as she watched them go.

Those were an addition to their household that she needed to know more about. If only to satiate her curiosity as to their nature in private.

Olenna rose and discreetly followed them out of the tent.

The night air was crisp, the stars glittering overhead. Caelum stood beside Meredith, both looking towards the section of the camp where the servants' tents were clustered.

"Thank you, Meredith," the boy murmured, his voice thick with sleep. "For the stories."

"You're most welcome, Caelum," Meredith replied, her voice soft. "Sleep well, and perhaps tomorrow, there'll be tales of princesses and hidden treasure! And games of all sorts once the party stops to rest when it needs it again."

Caelum nodded, a wide smile spreading across his face. Then he was off, his thin legs carrying him with surprising speed towards his humble abode for the night.

The boy stayed with one of their guards, Toman if she remembered correctly. And his son, Luke. The one who had arranged the maid, and the boy's arrival in their household.

The night air carried Meredith's soft goodbye, and silence descended upon the space between two tents.

Olenna, cloaked in the shadows, watched as Meredith turned towards her own small shelter, by her charges as her duties required. Willas and Garlan would need her aid come morn to get ready for further travel as the party would move along the road to their destination.

A flicker of exhaustion dimming the warmth in her brown eyes.

As she approached the small tent beside her own Grandchildren, a figure was waiting for her – Luke, the master-at-arms's page.

A lanky lad with a shock of sandy blonde hair and cerulean eyes.

"Meredith," he spoke quietly, "All well? The lords seem happy enough with you."

A relieved smile spread across Meredith's face. "Yes, they're sweet boys. And Lady Alerie seems pleased, which is all that matters, really."

"Good," Luke nodded, a hint of his own satisfaction in his voice. "The old maid, Anya, is less of a grump, too. You've lightened her load a fair bit." His gaze softened. "Is it... do you find it comfortable here?"

Meredith hesitated, then gave a small nod. "It's hard work, and I miss my mum, and Jerren sometimes. But… they're good people. And the children," a genuine fondness warmed her voice, "I like them, truly."

Meredith stifled a yawn. "Caelum's tucked in for the night. Must be sound asleep with your father by now." She gave Luke a tired smile. "Thank you for checking in."

Luke nodded, his expression softening. "No trouble at all. Glad you're settling in well, then."

The moment was interrupted by a new presence. A shadow broke the pool of firelight, revealing the figure of Parmen Crane, heir to Red Lake.

Ah, Luke," Parmen greeted with a friendly smile,"Off to practice your swordsmanship under the moonlight?" His voice was teasing.

Luke offered a stiff nod. "My duties are my own, Lord Parmen."

Parmen chuckled, and this time, his gaze slid past Luke and landed on Meredith. "And who might this be? I don't believe we've been formally introduced."

A flush touched Meredith's cheeks. She dipped into a clumsy curtsy. "My lord, I'm Meredith. Maidservant to the young lords."

Parmen's eyes gleamed with interest. "Meredith," he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue like a sweet wine. "A lovely name for a lovely face. I noticed you at the yard today. Your stories captivated the young ones."

Olenna, observed from the shadows.

Parmen Crane, squire to Quentin Tyrell. His father had been angling a fosterage for Willas or Garlan at Red Lake. A fosterage they were not going to be getting. They had been given honors enough, master-at-arms at Highgarden was enough for House Crane, more would not be granted to them.

"If the lady wishes to retire..." Luke began, his tone wary.

Parmen cut him off, his smile never faltering. "The lady wishes to speak with me. Don't you, my dear?" He turned his attention back to Meredith, warmth radiating from him.

The tension in the air thickened slightly. Luke's knuckles whitened on the hilt of his practice sword, but his expression remained carefully neutral.

The boy had no desire for the maid in truth, Olenna could see. He may be able to charm a pretty recently flowered maid, but she was of more experienced stuff. He was looking to anger the lowborn Page, one who had seemingly tried to charm the heir of Red Lake's sisters if the rumors from the training yard had been accurate. The maid was a pretty addition to that end.

And she had no desire to lose a good maid so soon due to the actions of a grasping lord's heir.

Before either young man could speak further, Olenna's crisp voice cut through the night. "Meredith!" She emerged from her vantage point, her presence radiating quiet authority. "Lady Alerie has finished the tunics. I need you to fold them and prepare the young lords' travel clothes for the morn."

Meredith, startled, turned startled at the sudden emergence of the old matriarch. "Of course, my lady." She curtsied to Parmen, a touch of confusion in her eyes. "Good night, my lord." Finally she turned to Luke and smiled "Good night, Luke" and quickly took her leave into the tent she had been assigned.

Olenna turned her gaze to the two boys. "Lord Parmen," she said by way of greeting, her tone confused, "Have you perhaps lost your way? Your father's tents are a ways that way." Her gesture was dismissive as she indicated in the opposite direction of the way he had arrived.

The boy spluttered, and looked a bit shamed as he quickly took his leave.

With a final look, she turned to Luke. "Toman is expected expect you early, Mace plans to leave early in the morn. The horses will need readying for the day's ride."

The young page bowed low, a small smile on his lips "As you say, my lady." And he too was gone.

Her task done, her maid secure, Olenna patted herself on the back and quickly retreated into her tent where slumber awaited her.

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