Chapter 16: Baelor III

Mid 154 AC

With the rains lashing harmlessly against Stormhall's walls for the rest of the day, there'd been little else to do to sate his curiosity than see how Lord Wytch managed his lands. With Lord Baratheon's approval, he sat with Lord Wytch in his solar, either observing his work or discussing just what the lord was doing. Most of the time was spent on the preparations for the building of a dam, to turn an unusable valley between his lands and those of his betrothed's grandfather into a sizeable lake, where fish would be stocked and the banks planted with water-loving plants, such as willows, reeds and pond lilies. The amount of materiel, the number of men to be working on the project, the upcoming courting period between Lord Wytch and Mylenda Windhill at the project site, all was being put to parchment and planned with a level of detail that bordered on ridiculous.

"Why hold a 'date' for courting at the site, Lord Wytch?" he asked. "Would it not be better for Lady Mylenda and you to be ensconced together in a more romantic location?"

"Perhaps, but this was actually her idea," Casper said. "She is interested in the process and progress of the project itself, as it would be a great source of food for people in our lands, and with the wealth that will be flowing through Windhill lands as well as my own, the opportunity for us to have a retreat to retire to during lulls in our lives is something she has written she'd never thought she'd have. The Windhills are a proud, storied lineage, my prince, but they've never been the sort of house to afford such a luxury."

"Then, Lord Wytch, it is more of a business jaunt, than a courting one?"

"Yes and no, Prince Baelor, and please, when we are in private, just 'Casper' will do. It is not the romantic ideal many might envision for a young courting lord and lady, but it is one that will benefit both our houses and being us a great deal of prestige. For her to be invested in overseeing it shows she believes it to be a viable works project, a sentiment some neighboring lords have sadly not yet shared. Besides, we've never actually met before, so getting to know someone over a coopted project such as this would, to me, be a good way to learn each other's strengths and weaknesses, and how to help one another overcome them."

It all made Baelor curious about his own upcoming betrothal. His father had not yet said anything about it, indeed none of his family had, and yet they'd been planning Daeron's for nearly two years by now. He didn't remember who his uncle had been planning on establishing the betrothal, something about 'finding a bride outside of our house to strengthen our ties to the Seven Kingdoms', yet they'd not done any of the same for him or his sisters. Granted, they were still much younger, and to be planning a betrothal at such a young age was, in his mind, a bit disheartening. Let his sisters be children while they still could be, before the Seven demanded from them their innocence in one way or another.

As for the dam project itself, he found the whole idea behind changing the landscape to fill a need fascinating. It was men mirroring the mythical shattering of the arm of Dorne or the creation of the Neck from antiquity, however that was done, and such grand projects to him bore some resemblance to the great wonders done in the name of the Seven.

"Give enough men enough time, materiel and pay, and they could reshape the world," Lord Wytch said. "After a great while, mountains could be ground down or hollowed out, bays sealed and drained of their waters, rivers diverted or manmade waterways could stretch far into the interior as a replacement. One could even, with enough time, bring enough water to Dorne to turn good portions of its coastline lush and green."

"How would one drain a bay?" Water the coasts of Dorne?

"Build around it by dropping large cut stone in place with special ships that could slide the rocks off, slowly but surely, until the solid walls blocked out the flow of the sea. From there, drain it bit by bit, either naturally or through pipes of some kind, and even if it would be below the level of the sea, suddenly you would have miles upon miles of former seabed as land. What you wished to do with that would depend upon it, but say the floor was primarily muck, mud and detritus. One could turn it into vast fertile fields for farming."

"Fascinating. So, with this lake of yours, what is its intended purpose?"

"To serve a getaway of sorts, my prince, a place where my family, in the future, could go and relax on its shores. As well, once fully stocked, the reservoir would provide fish for nearby communities, far inland where such food is often too expensive to move from elsewhere. If nearby land were to be developed into pastures or farmland, I suppose it could serve as water for animals or for irrigation ditches for crops."

Baelor was impressed by the sheer planning going into the labor force needed for the task at hand. Thousands of laborers, from both Wytch and Windhill lands, would converge to work on the project, with plans set aside in case other smallfolk were to come for the seasonal work. The logistics of feeding such a horde of people, keeping them sheltered, guarded against bandits or from one another, and the need for a constant supply of building materials to keep them busy… Lord Wytch was setting about it with surprisingly good cheer.

"It seems an impossible task," Baelor said.

"Perhaps, but this lake will not need a dam hundreds of feet tall, my prince. Even building the wall a mere twenty feet tall will create a lake hundreds upon hundreds of acres, and we're building it near thrice that tall. Given the contours of the land, it will undoubtedly have a great deal of shoreline to then plant, and whilst we shall give the fish near ten years to populate the lake, it would not be useless in the meantime. We could, during harsh winters, harvest ice from the lake for our iceboxes, after all."

"So many uses out of a single construction, no wonder you've been writing up so many plans for it."

"Wise men have said 'failure to plan is planning to fail' my prince. Not everything may be accounted for, but with an indomitable will, and a good idea of what to prepare for, anything may be accomplished."

"You make it sound so easy."

Lord Wytch chuckled. "Were it only so, but the greatest things in life do not come to us in the easiest manner. My grandfather died so that my father might become a lord, and his family raised from the teeming masses of the smallfolk. It was sacrifice that elevated House Wytch, my prince, and we shall never forget that. Yet beyond that, it was hard work and a guiding hand that has brought my house this far, first from my father and mother in years gone by, and now under my hand as well."

After that discussion, he sat in silence for a while more, observing how efficiently Lord Wytch seemed to organize his notes on subsequent matters. Crop harvests, of which he saw were far more than he'd anticipated, the creation of an industry for cattle raised only for the slaughter, and the dedication to building the roads within his lands and those who contracted them… he seemed to be looking into everything at once, yet taking his time with it, never rushing more than he needed to.

Having traveled on the Wytchroad and marveled not only at its sturdy build, but also at the increased speed of their travel and the smallfolk and merchant traffic that bustled along it, he wondered if he could convince his uncle to look into making the Kingsroad into something similar along its entire length. Father might wish it as well, but seeing as he so rarely left the Red Keep, he'd not appreciate the efficiency of it as others might.

After a supper of roasted corn and breads baked with meats, vegetables, cheese and spices within them and then slathered in a creamy sauce so tasty he briefly worried he'd drink it, having liked it so much, he was able to formally meet with Lord Wytch's lady mother and two younger sisters. While Lady Wytch had been near beside herself attempting to be as formal and courteous as possible, something that reminded him of the court in the Red Keep in a way, the little ladies Arenna and Shyra were polite, if a bit bored.

Shyra was particularly adamant about 'storytime' with their brother, saying he'd come up with a new one for them that night. When he asked, Arenna had explained that Casper often told them stories before bed, especially if they'd been on their best behavior. It reminded him of how some of the maids or knights did the same during his younger years, before he grew old enough to no longer desire such tales, or so he'd thought. With Arenna inviting him and some of the youngest pages to hear this new story, he decided it wouldn't hurt to see what the fuss was about.

Though his kingsguard found the entire situation ridiculous, calling it 'far beneath the responsibilities of a lord', the man remained silent as the evening drew on. The room within which they'd gathered held a large chair, upon which Lord Wytch seated himself, with large pillows and blankets scattered for the children to sit upon. With several pieces of parchment, Casper told them a story that he'd never heard before, 'Poppy', a simple tale of a small field mouse facing her fears and braving the owl tyrant that ruled over the lands of her family. Despite him knowing that animals did not behave as Poppy was portrayed, it was a bit inspirational, to face a beast so much larger and stronger than you through wits and cunning.

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The next day was a clear one, the sun rising without a cloud in the sky, but the eastern winds blew steady in their stead. Breakfast was one of fruit-filled 'pancakes' topped with butter or jam, along with servings of small sausages, buttered slices of roasted bread and the fresh fruit of the most recent harvest. Lord Wytch mentioned that there was another topping for 'pancakes' that could be made from the sap of certain trees, but it could only be made in winter, and he hadn't the trees for it in his lands.

The early morning saw Lord Wytch training in the practice yard alongside many of his men, under the tutelage of a rather rough master at arms by the name of Roland. For once, Baelor had decided to tag along, if only to watch Lord Wytch train, perhaps to see if the Warrior too smiled upon the young man. He'd never seen a man wield a flail before, especially one as large as Lord Wytch was using to destroy the straw and wooden dummies arrayed before him.

After a good while of that, and a quick break for watered fruit juice that Lady Wytch called 'lemonade', Casper began to practice with a bow, one made of good Stormland yew. However, when his sisters joined him with small bows of their own, Baelor felt an urge to say something.

"Lord Wytch," he said, but only after the lord sent another arrow into the distant target. Not a bullseye, but close enough, and it would have been rude to interrupt him whilst he was aiming.

Handing his bow to one of the attendants, and bidding his sisters to continue their practice under the watchful eye of Ser Roland, he approached his prince. "Yes, Prnce Baelor?"

"Why do you allow for your sisters to practice in the arts of war? It is a skill meant for men, is it not?"

Casper's expression, for the moment, seemed to be of a pained disappointment, but before he could decipher that, changed to a more neutral, thoughtful one. "To the inherently biased or uninformed it can seem that way, my prince, though that is not necessarily a bad thing. Tell me, is the warrior always described as a man in the Seven Pointed Star?"

"Yes."

"What of the Smith?"

"Yes."

"The Stranger?"

"Yes, I believe."

"And the Mother, Maiden and Crone are women?"

"Indeed they are, it would be odd for a man to be a mother or wizened crone." To be a maiden was not exactly the same, as he still was, and although it was the only portion he truly did, Baelor skimmed over the… 'steamier' portions of his Seven Pointed Star.

"Well, the Seven Pointed Star is a religious text, one important for guiding one's soul and tempering our lesser instincts in order to live a good life. Yet while one should not simply pick and choose what one wishes to believe from a list, for such a foundation is as stable as shifting sands subject to the tides of life, one should discern what is written by the gods and what is written by man."

"I'm… not sure I follow."

The thoughtful expressions changed to one of a determined calm, like that of a maester imparting wisdom in a lesson. "Who is more likely to be wrong, my prince? The gods, or men?"

"Men, of course. We are imperfect beings."

"So, through that, it is very possible that while the message of the gods, of any god for that matter, was indeed pure and unfiltered in its inception, it is in the nature of men to change, either themselves or the world around them. Despite being worshipped for untold millennia, the names of the Old Gods of the North and select people have been forgotten. Despite worship also extending for thousands of years, the Drowned God of the Ironborn also bears no name. Even the Great Other bears no true name, forgotten in the deep past by people who despised it. For many places around the world, such as Essos, many gods are worshipped not by their names, but by their monikers. The Seven have, in a sense, suffered this same fate."

"What do you mean?" The world was very old, and little was known of the world from before the time of the First Men. Surely men existed well before that in Essos, but who they were, what they did, it was lost to the deep mists of time.

"The Father is a title, not a name. Casper, Baelor, Cregan, Tywin, these are names. Be it Father or Mother, Maiden or Crone, Warrior, Smith or Stranger, these are all mere epithets showing to us the nature of those we worship. It is in the nature of man's imperfection to forget, to misremember, and to use assumptions if there are no hard truths to hold onto or remember. It is even within man's nature to lie, either to deceive others to or deceive ourselves of truths we wish not to face. Such that even if we worship gods, we are doomed to eventually forget them, for one reason or another, or at least misremember their original message and purpose." Casper motioned to his sisters, their practice uninterrupted. "My sisters are, according to most septons, forbidden by the Seven Pointed Star from practicing their archery, and rightfully so judging from the words written in the book, but the Warrior says nothing of the same. The Warrior lends aid to all who raise arms for one reason or another, but why would the Warrior not give aid to women or children learning to defend themselves? The Father preaches justice, and what justice is there in purposefully denying your kin the ability to defend themselves, in an instance of most terrible peril?"

"I… I do not know, the book is clear on the matter."

"The book that was written by men, men who can forget, misremember, maliciously write new passages or erase old ones, or twist the written words to their own purpose. A man can say he will only fight to destroy evil, but that same man can use that statement to declare all who do not follow his path as evil, and thus worthy of destruction. Can you think of men who would twist such words to their benefit?"

A distant kin of his came to mind almost immediately. His great uncle Aegon had been knighted, charged to protect the innocent and uphold the virtues of knighthood under the Seven, yet had captured his grandmother Rhaenyra with deceitful lies and had fed her alive to his dragon. His father never spoke of it, but he could see the haunted look in his eyes at the mere mention of dragons at times. How could his great uncle have done that, despite their adversarial nature for the Iron Throne, done that to his own kin?

"Many," he replied finally. "There are many that would use the holy passages to their own ends."

"So it stands that whoever originally wrote the book of the Seven was as close to its original tenets as possible, assuming the book was written shortly after the gods revealed themselves to them. It is entirely possible the Seven were worshipped in some manner well before any quill was put to parchment to codify their teachings."

"Then successive generations, either through ignorance, willful deceit or simple lack of knowledge grew to understand or implement those same words in ways they never originally were," Baelor said. "To deliver justice was to do what was right by laws given by gods, not necessarily by laws given by men, for unjust men may pass unjust laws."

"To fast was not to starve yourself of food, but perhaps to abstain from earthly pleasures that do nothing to sustain the body, for without food to nourish one's body, one cannot focus on nourishing one's soul," Casper said.

"To protect the innocent meant from harm both within and without at all times, no matter their station, and to act as such especially in times of war, not to give excuse for acts of violence that are accepted as inevitable and tolerable."

Lord Wytch nodded. "To craft was to make to ease the burden on others, to make life less of a struggle, not glorify one's self with grand monuments that do nothing for others."

"I believe I am beginning to see your point, Lord W-, I mean, Casper. It is no wonder the favor of the Seven shines upon your lands through this greater understanding of the nature and message of the gods."

"Indeed, my prince. As none of us will be perfect, for it is an impossible goal, we must still strive to be, for in doing so, we will obtain excellence. Any noble's duty is always split between a great many things, and the more powerful or greater the lord or lady, the greater the degree of splintering. One cannot focus solely on one's piety and forget one's martial prowess any more than one could focus entirely on their lands and forget about their family. In pursuit of perfection, one must find the ideal balance between all the things in one's life, be they good or ill. To neglect one is, sadly, to neglect them all to an extent, my prince."

Baelor was silent at that. Casper's points, while heretical by the standards of the septons he'd met in Kings Landing, were nothing of the sort in this context. To worship the Seven was to look at their teachings and to attempt to follow them to the best of your abilities in life. Men who became septons spouted the words of the Seven Pointed Star, but how many septons had he seen in the richer portions of Kings Landing, wearing fine clothes and jewels whilst the teeming masses wore rags? How many had he met that seemed all too concerned with the politics of the capital or the Faith, rather than in spreading their message and tending to those in need? How many had he witnessed indulge in feasts and drink, being fat and happy, when others starved in the same city they called home?

"What can I do to worship the Seven as they should be?" he finally asked. To be remembered as a pious prince was currently his greatest goal in life, to be worthy of the blessings of the Seven, yet how could he achieve it by forgetting the purpose of a prince? His uncle would one day pass away, as would his father, and his brother Daeron would be in need of a worthy Hand. The best Hands, history showed, were often close friends or kin of the king, and if all he could offer were prayers, what good did that do for the smallfolk and nobles alike? He would one day need to marry and have heirs of his own, especially in such a dark instance that Daeron's crown passed to him. How could one attempt to worship and indeed epitomize the Father if one was no father to begin with?

"You must look to all of their teachings, but look beyond the mere words in the holy book. They may be rules according to septons, my prince, but in the grand scheme of things, they are more guidelines. Just as peace may be won with war, piety may be won through working towards a goal that would never serve one's self, but serve others."

"Such as implementing farming that sees more food on a smallfolk's table than ever before," Baelor said. "Or ensuring that the rights of smallfolk are protected from those that would exploit them without patience or remorse. Gaining wealth off of it comes as a natural progression of lifting the living standards of the smallfolk, not taxing them into abject poverty."

Casper smiled. "Indeed, my prince, a good example. Now, as you've undoubtedly read the Seven Pointed Star, tell me, what does the Warrior say of training for war, so that there may be peace?"

"With due diligence and courage, so that one may never be unable to protect one's life, family or lands."

"Excellent," Lord Wytch said, and with a wave, a men at arms brought over a rather small bow, just about right for his size. "Then, my prince, as a gift, I should give you your first bow, one of strong Stormland yew in the tradition of our forebears. So long as you stay within the Stormlands, I would wish for you to continue to practice with it, and should you return to Kings Landing, please take it with you, as a token of our friendship."

"I… I would be honored to call you friend, Casper," he said, gingerly taking the bow. It felt strong under his grip, flexible enough to change yet strong enough to retain its overall shape. Perhaps the bow and arrow were metaphors for a man who worshipped his gods dutifully? He placed his faith in them as surely as an archer placed faith in his arrow to reach his target upon release, but the lead up to that, the training, praying and preparing for that moment of truth… was it all the same in the end?

If one put in none of the effort to train, how could one expect the arrow to sail true to its target? If one lived not as the gods wished them to, then how could one expect to be blessed by them at all?

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Lunch had been a welcome reprieve. His whole body, especially his arms and fingers, had never hurt so much before, nor his eyes from squinting at his target, yet he felt revitalized, filled with a sense of accomplishment he'd rarely felt before. His final arrow of the day had actually struck the target and stuck in, despite him never raising a bow before in his life! He'd almost dropped his bow in excitement, which Lord Wytch had found amusing, while the master at arms, Ser Roland, had not. He'd been instructed on how to unstring his bow, but found his arms could not muster the strength for it, so tired he was.

Lord Wytch had had to do it for him, seemingly unaffected by his hours of training. Were he a vain prince, he might have been embarrassed by that.

Much of the food was, as per the usual, unlike anything he'd seen at home. Many different breads, including some made with rosemary, garlic, cheeses or even ground corn, were served with meat pies and a whole slew of chilled caskets of fruit juices and similar drinks. He especially liked the 'lemonade' that he'd witness Lord Wytch drink during the morning archery training.

Lord Baratheon asked him of his activities that morning, having been occupied with speaking with Lord Wytch's engineers on a road from Storm's End to the Kingsroad. After telling him, he'd could have sworn (not that he'd ever do that) he'd seen Royce Baratheon's eye bug out of his head for a moment, before the lord's composure returned. After lunch, Lord Wytch had been unavailable to shadow, having been needed in Lowhill to settle a dispute between a pair of merchants and the town mayor, so he'd spent that time resting his arms on his bed.

Lord Wytch's return saw a great gaggle of pages and young squires follow him, his young sisters included, outside of the castle's gate with a cart full of strange streamers and small wooden stakes tied at intersecting points. He'd decided to follow, his kingsguard finding the whole situation ridiculous, as he rarely stopped muttering about it all.

That was the first day he flew a kite, and despite his crashing twice as much as anyone else's, it was a day he'd never forget. That night, after a filling supper of smoked sausage on bread, roasted chicken basted in a light layer of honey and herbs, and a plate of pastries filled with fruit, there'd been another story told by Lord Wytch to the younger boys and girls. This time, however, some of the older pages had attended as well, and they'd all been amazed by the story called 'The Prince of Aegypt' and the man called Moshes.

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In the midst of breakfast on the third day within Stormhall, Lord Baratheon received a courier's message as he finished his 'omelet' and softly cursed. Baelor, betwixt him and Lord Wytch, glanced over curiously to see his lord paramount roll up the scroll and hand it back to the courier.

"Trouble, my lord?" Casper asked.

"Dornish trouble, it would seem," the large man replied. "Some bandit king's been making trouble against some of the Marcher Lords. Grain and livestock stolen, smallfolk murdered, a village or two pillaged and burnt, it's all a mess. These lords were amongst the next upon my progress across the Stormlands, but now I fear it's too dangerous for you, my prince."

"Surely they would flee before the might of a Lord Paramount?" Baelor asked.

"Aye, if I had my men with me, but I've a reduced retinue, to make for good time and for efficiency. We Stormlords have little need for some of the pomp others might, but we know when to make a good show of force all the same. The danger comes not from us being threatened, my liege, but you. I would not put it past a Dornishman to try and poison or kidnap a prince of the realm for a hefty ransom. If that were to occur, there would be war, or many in court would call for my head, or both."

"If it is a risk too great to undertake, than what will you do?"

"I cannot be seen as ignoring the plights of my lords, my prince, yet I cannot bring you with me. Were you a few years older, and a bit more skilled with your bow, I would, but not now. Would you be adverse, for the time being, to residing in Stormhall until my return?"

"No, my lord, I quite like it here. How long would you be gone?"

"Perhaps a moon or two, no more than that unless I have need to call for reinforcements. The Marcher Lords and I should be able to handle this on our own. What say you, Lord Wytch?"

"It would be an honor to host Prince Baelor within Stormhall's walls until your return from the Dornish Marches, my lord. All of his needs will be met to the best of the abilities of myself and my house."

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Lord Baratheon left later that morning, his knights and lordly retinue accompanying him out of Stormhall and following the Wytchroad to the west. Many of the younger pages stayed behind, their reasons similar to his own, though most of the squires accompanied their respective knights. As for Baelor, much of his morning had been training with his bow again, though this time he'd not managed to stick the target at all, any arrows hitting it merely glancing off. He'd been rather sour at that before Lord Wytch told him of his own early days with a bow.

"I'd hit the ground or back wall more often than the target, and even then, I'd maybe stick one arrow for every twenty I fired," he said. "It takes practice to be good at anything, my prince, and in the grand scheme of things, these misses now will not matter later. The fact that you continue to train is a greater show of worth than any missed arrow could possibly represent. You'll come to look back on a day like this and laugh at the thought that these missed arrows held any importance, just as I have."

Lunch was a quiet affair with the absence of Lord Baratheon and the majority of his retinue, yet it was no less tasty for their absence. Cake-like creations made of eggs, vegetables and cheese, with sides of thickly sliced ham and candied fruits dipped in honey, it'd been enough to make him feel rather sleepy. One quick nap later, with his kingsguard in tow, he'd found Casper and his household guards readying horses. Curiously, even the maester was preparing a horse of his own.

"My lord, are you leaving somewhere?" he asked.

Lord Wytch nodded. "Aye, my prince, we're needed in Lowhill and the Wytchmill alike, to inspect the progress made on a great deal of projects we've been working on. We should be back in time for supper."

"May I come with?" he asked.

"I see no reason why you should not," Casper said after a moment's pause. "I would do well for you to see how the lands of House Wytch are managed outside of my solar and piles of parchment, my prince. There's so much more to it than that, after all."