Chapter 20: Baelor IV

Late 154 AC

Highmarsh was not what Baelor had been expecting for a herding town, especially one so close to a great marsh. He had expected a town of a muddy middle road, with the barest of wooden walls, with whatever shacks or hovels that mostly kept out the wind lining the main street. Muddied tracks tracing from the fields down to the waters where the animals would drink, a haze of biting flies and similar insects, perhaps even piles of manure spreading filth and fouling the air with every breath.

Yet as they entered the town, he could not help but find himself shocked. The main road was almost an exact copy of the ones leading from Lowhill, wide and clean, with only a light coating of dust from the dried mud on smallfolk boots. While the walls were lower yet still as fortified as Lowhill's own, the buildings, while nowhere near as numerous, were instead more sparsely spaced. Due to this, there were much larger gardens per building, many of which had within them flocks of farm birds and small game, far more than he had seen in Lowhill. Here, there was quite clearly more room for the animals, and it showed, for the numerous shops that surrounded the large market square seemed catered to the products that could be made from these animals and whatever was tended to in the pastures around the town. From tanners to fletchers, quillers to butchers, weavers to cobblers and many, many more scattered throughout, it was nowhere near as populous as Lowhill, but near as bustling all the same with all the smallfolk moving about.

The mayor of the town, whom according to Casper had been a hedge knight who had earned his title during Morden's time as lord, greeted them warmly with his family in tow. Luthor, he was called, originally of the Reach, and it showed with the vineyard he had set up in and around the space that had become his manor, which he had graciously invited them within to serve as their lodgings. Aside from the vineyard, much of the grounds were dedicated to gardens, flower beds and stables, and the low wall around the manor grounds, while not exactly intimidating, looked sturdy enough.

The rooms within, while not as lavish as the Red Keep nor nearly as secure as Storm's End or Stormhall, were nonetheless pleasant to be in after a few day's travel on the road. A sturdy bedframe holding a rather soft featherbed mattress, though with the number of geese out in the town it was no wonder they had access to the feathers needed for it. With a small writing desk and accompanying chair, a dresser for clothes, and even a rocking chair that rested by the window looking out over the fields to the west, it felt very homey, yet well within the standards of someone of his standing.

Baelor found he had come to prefer somewhat austere accommodations over the overly ornate and ultimately useless. A prince of the realm needed the exquisite things to look the part, gold and jewels and fine silks and all that, but such trappings were for the commoner and noble to see, not for their own sake. He could put up with it, as was his lot in life, but there were days he felt that his room in Stormhall felt more like his personal room than his quarters within the Red Keep. He could be closer to himself there, and feel just a bit less like a prince, and more like a boy.

Their visit to Highmarsh was not a mere social call on one of Casper's sworn knights, but a progress of sorts, checking in several projects currently underway and those already completed. Namely, the dam of the Highmarsh marshlands, although according to Casper the interior was technically that of a swamp, given the number of trees. According to the knightly mayor, the water-laden land had been rather fetid despite being fed equally by underground springs and rainwater, reeking on good days and often bringing with them great clouds of biting flies, mosquitoes and other nuisances. Many pests had dwelt in the trees and tall grasses, some of them stealing into the town to prey upon the smallfolk's waterfowl and their eggs. Now, with the small dam having sealed its main drainage channel, the water levels had risen substantially over the past few years, to where the original expanse of land had turned into entirely open water, with nary a blade of glass or tree save for dead ones erupting from the shallowest sites in the center.

Due to the varying depths of the surrounding lands, some parts of the watery expanse had merely shifted with the rising water level. The western and eastern shores had proven the most solid, though still wet, and as such were the home of a great number of trees sprouting from the soil, some of them planted by smallfolk to ensure availability of timber in the years to come. Elsewhere, mostly along the southern shores, the great tall grasses and reeds had migrated to form thick swaths along the banks. This increased distance of both sets of foliage had created a sizeable buffer between the pests and other creatures of the swamp and the town itself, even though the water levels were now closer to the town itself, meaning the creatures were far less likely to steal into town at night.

Thankfully, as Casper had pointed out, due to the greater slope of the hill leading towards the town, compared to where the water had spread, it would take both a flood and a dam of massive proportions to actually threaten the town itself. This steady rise in water did, however, present an opportunity, one Baelor noticed the smallfolk begin taking immediate advantage of. Apparently, the marsh had always had fish in the deeper parts, some sort of whiskerfish that had far larger relatives in Dorne. They, along with the much smaller minnows and the like had never been truly common, but now with far more water to swim around in, they were apparently increasing in number at a great rate. Fisherman had begun bringing in more than enough to both feed their families and sell at market, some of them so fresh they were still wriggling.

The fried whiskerfish breadwytch he'd tried was unusual, but delightfully tasty.

Along the shores of the northern portion, that closest to the town itself, was a large pier, built from both Wytch-stone and many of the logs harvested from the swamp trees before the water had risen enough to kill them all off. In this more open expanse of water, with small patches of thin reeds and water lilies dotting the shoreline, he spotted a few smallfolk youths with fishing poles, likely trying to catch something for supper.

It was what lay beyond them, however, that drew his interest, as well as that of Lord Wytch.

"We put them up after the water levels went up, milord," Luthor said, looking proudly at his creation. "Some trader from the Reach came through here with some big clay pots full o' freshwater mussels and clams. Thought he'd sell them here for us to eat, seeing as it's mostly mutton out here, but was just as happy to sell them for us to try our own hand at farming them. I've heard other places do it, so thought to try it myself."

The great wooden fences, complete with fish netting, stretched around certain locales in the water, many of them barely above the surface of the water yet shallow enough that anyone could walk in them without fear of sinking. In them, several smallfolk were harvesting what looked to be clams, placing the largest they could find in a large bushel upon a small raft.

"How successful are the harvests?" Lord Wytch asked.

"Fairly, enough to feed the town, but so far not enough to try and export," the mayor said, rubbing his chin. "This was only the first batch, soon we'll have more pens and clams running all the way down to the nearest trees, though no further. Damned pests will no doubt go for the clams if they can get them."

"Excellent, any additional food to the diet is welcome, especially if it can be transported to Lowhill quickly enough to avoid spoilage. A good variety can offset a great many ailments, so I've heard."

"Indeed, with your roads, my liege, we can get them almost anywhere this side of the Kingswood."

Casper nodded. "What of the mussels?"

Luthor pointed to the center of the lake, where several large posts had been erected. Attached to these posts appeared to be floating rafts, around which several boats were hauling up long, large sacks covered in odd growths. "The mussels took a bit more to find out how to grow, seeing as clams like living in the mud and mussels like attaching to hard surfaces, but we found a way, my lord. Most are eaten in town, we can serve some with dinner if you wish."

"That sounds good, I believe I have a recipe from one of my cooks that you might be able to use," Casper said. "Being so far from the sea has limited the opportunity for my family to eat mussels, as the last time I had some, I was in Storm's End with my liege lord."

Baelor noticed the knightly mayor fidget slightly, and his friend must have as well, as he gave the older man a curious glance.

"Milord, I know you've been good to me, better than my own lordly kin back in the Reach, but I must ask… I have an idea in mind, one that could see a great deal of wealth flow into Highmarsh. I know you've given me a great deal of freedom in how I run the town in your name, but I cannot in good conscience proceed without your input."

"Luthor, you have served my family faithfully for years now. First through my father, who was impressed by your martial skill, and then through myself, as I found your reliability second to none. You have done a wonderful job transforming Highmarsh from a sleepy village into a thriving and industrious livestock town, with improvements and expansion always on your mind. As your liege, I appreciate your deference, but there must be some independence from the men I can call my own, and I gladly entrust you to do what is best. So please, enlighten me, what is your idea?"

"Well, my liege, this was many years ago, but at a tourney I once met a knight whose family partook in the creation of pearls. I cannot remember his name, only that he was from the Vale, and lived along the coast. In one of their many sheltered bays, his family and their smallfolk would 'seed' pieces within mussels to grow the pearls. I've no idea how they did it exactly, other than some barely-recalled tidbits on making certain cuts here or there, but with these mussels growing here as well as they are, I've been thinking… would it be possible for us to do the same?"

Casper was silent for a few moments, with a look that Baelor had come to know well. It was a look of a man wracking his brains for a response, not because he thought it a foolish idea, but because he immediately saw the merit in it. His friend often did this on the most random of occasions, perhaps while the gods were bestowing wisdom upon him? The frequency of these musings did give him an idea of how quickly his friend could come to reasonable conclusions of such matters, and the Seven tended to bestow their blessings rather quickly on the devout and just…

"I see no reason not to try," his friend replied. "It is not an unreasonable assumption to make that one could do with freshwater mussels what others do with oysters and the like in saltwater. The creatures of the world can often surprise us in their uses, even if we believe to have found all they can do for us. Dogs used for hunting one day were eventually used to guard homes, and sheep merely herded for meat one day would give us their wool. With that in mind, have you given thought to the cost of it?"

"My wife has, Alerie is the one who knows her figures better than I, but she believes the high estimate would be perhaps fifty gold dragons to attempt, though she admits it would likely be closer to half of that with the proper preparations. The large number of mussels to attempt it on mustn't detract from the number harvested and sold, and taking into account the amount of time to do so, to try several ways and leave them until harvest to check for success, paying the smallfolk for their labor at all stages…"

"A reasonable sum to expect. Do you have the enough to do so?"

"Aye, milord, we do."

"If you should succeed in the coming years, let me know immediately. I take notice of those who show initiative in improving the lands I have entrusted under their care, and will gladly award them accordingly. Now, tell me, your eldest son, how old is he?"

"Willas? He's near eight namedays, milord. Why do you ask?"

"Merely a curiosity, my good man. Now, tell me of the new beef herds, how have they been faring?"

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After a supper of fresh mussels, clams cooked in a 'chowder' and breads filled with a variety of local fare, Baelor sat with Lord Wytch in his room, his Kingsguard having gone to the privy to relieve himself. Other than a pair of guards with them at the door to the room, to leave only upon Ser Thorne's return, they were alone.

"Casper," he said. "Why did you ask for the age of Ser Luthor's son?"

"He is currently serving as his father's page, no doubt, given the remoteness of the area. However, once he reaches the proper age, as a show of thanks for his father's loyalty and ingenuity, I would wish for him to squire for one of my household knights."

"Why not you?"

Casper chuckled. "I'm not a knight, not yet at least. I'm of age to squire, but not many lords might be willing to accept a fellow lord as a squire. A lord's heir, perhaps, and I likely would have been squired had my father still been alive, but alas, he is not, and I find myself in this odd situation."

"I see," Baelor muttered. "Willas squiring for one of your household knights would tie his family even closer to you, even if his father owes all he has to you and your family."

"Indeed, and in doing so, would likely make friends with the other squires, fostering relationships that could last well into adulthood. Many people are likely to fight more fiercely for one another when they are friends rather than strangers, after all. It is very much a simply smaller version of what goes on within the kingdoms and the realm at large."

"Will you take a squire?"

Casper was silent for a few moments. "Were I to be knighted within a few years, I don't see why I wouldn't. It's not as if I couldn't use one or two."

"Two squires?" Baelor asked, rather perplexed.

His friend shrugged. "If so needed, I could see having two. I'm a very busy lord, but you know that, and while having one squire could certainly help with some tasks, having two would be even better. Likely not more than that, else other lords might start spreading rumors of why I need so many helping hands."

"They would, wouldn't they? Your ancestry will always be called into account even if you achieve great deeds. The Tyrells are mocked in some circles in the Red Keep as upjumped stewards, having taken the place of their fallen Gardener kin in Highgarden, yet they are some of the richest and most powerful vassals my father has."

"Indeed, but I tend not to worry about what most other lords think," Casper replied with a smile. "Let my actions define me, not their words. Still, it would do well for me to earn my spurs, most lords take kindlier to those who are knights, especially if they are as well."

"How will you earn them?"

"Well, I suppose I could once I become of age, as some men do, but that wouldn't do me much good. Earning a knighting after a great battle or something similar would bring me greater prestige, and thus less scorn from martial lords. What about you, Baelor?"

"Me?"

"Will you attempt to become a knight? You are certainly training for the part these days, and I do so hope you will continue once you return home. A pious man must know how to both defend himself with his books as well as with his strength of arms."

"I shan't skirt the training yard again, I've found the bow and axe bring me a sense of serenity that I'd not had before," the young prince replied. "Yet I'm still too young to be a squire. A page perhaps, but who would be willing to take on a prince of the realm as a page? Better still, who would my family consider worthy of such an honor?"

"I thought to some extent that was your decision?"

Baelor shook his head. "No, father might not say anything of it, but the Red Keep's politics, even amongst my family, would do me no good for serving as a page for anyone outside of someone militarily famous or high ranking. I wouldn't mind being your page, Casper, but you're not a knight yet…"

"For now, being friends is more than enough of an honor for me, though we never know what the future may hold," was his reply. "What of Lord Baratheon, upon his completion of this Dornish issue? Certainly after he returns and recuperates in my hall, he will set out for Storm's End once more, possibly seeing to the remainder of his vassals along the way. In that time, serving as his page would certainly earn you a great deal of favor from the Stormlands in general, as well as later serving as his squire. I don't recall if he currently has one…"

Baelor nodded. Serving as a page and then squire to a lord paramount would be a boon for any young man, especially a prince of the realm. He would likely meet a great deal of Stormland lords and their heirs, and even lords from other realms if travel there was needed. This, in turn would definitely give his family a greater degree of influence once Daeron assumed the throne, whenever that would be.

"We shall have to send him a courier upon our return to Stormhall," he concluded. "We've no way of knowing his current residence in the Marches, and sending such a missive everywhere would do us no favors."

"It might even create a divide amongst lords, knowing that a prince of the realm might be staying with them as their lord paramount's page, and some might try and steer their lord to their hold for when you arrive. Smallfolk will often tell their children or grandchildren of the time they saw a Targaryen prince so far from the capital. How might a lord twist such a simple thing to his advantage?"

"In a great many ways," Baelor replied. "Yet, I wished to speak with you of something else, lest we spend the rest of the night on the matter."

Casper leaned back in his chair, a small smile gracing his face. "A sound idea, my prince. We've spoken of such business for far too long. What is it?"

"In a few years, once I've returned home from my fosterage, would you like to visit Kings Landing and meet my family?"

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Janyce Wytch III

The courier arrived not long after she'd put her daughters to bed. She could not tell them stories the way her son did, but she did her best with what she knew, and believed in her heart her daughters knew that.

The missive was one that made her insides twist with fear, much as they had before the Victory at the Village. A limited call to arms by a lord paramount was still a call to arms, and that meant time assembling the men, equipping them, gathering the supplies needed to last them, and then, after all that, the likelihood of battle. Her son had never fought the Dornish before, knew little of their raider ways, and had never been anywhere near those hot, accursed lands.

"Is my son still in Highmarsh?"

Maester Gorman shook his head. "By the time a courier would reach there, he would likely be on his way to Timberstone, if not already there. He does not dally for too long if things are going well."

"Then one will be sent to Timberstone come morning's light. Come, Gorman, we've supplies to secure. My son has given me leave of the men at arms for the time being, and we've no time to waste."

"Yes, my lady."

The armory was one of the most expanded portions of Stormhall's barracks, having been a mere closet compared to the rather extensive storerooms that constituted it now. Armor, shields, weapons and saddles, along with replacement parts for much of these, were laid out in neat rows or within secure spaces where the rot of wind or rain would not reach them. In one of these storerooms was a great deal of things her son had spent well over a year stockpiling, and ones she feared he would need greatly against the Dornish.

Bandages and medicines, thankfully neither of which were the type to spoil for a good many years yet. The glass bottles for the tonics and salves alone had cost a small fortune to purchase, not because of the glass, but because of the sheer number of them now stored in here. Were it not for her double entry bookkeeping, she'd have likely lost track of just how many supplies were in here, and she'd rather they have too many than too little any day.

Add to that the amount of extremely potent alcohol her son had begun distilling, it would appear to an outsider that her son was preparing for a rather destructive war. But that couldn't be the case, could it?

The quartermaster interrupted her thoughts. "Lady Wytch, how might I aid thee?"

"We've need of supplies and the men to be armed for combat," she replied. "Dornish," was all she added.

The man gave a solemn, knowing nod. "Aye, bandits most likely, but best be prepared for others amongst them. How many men are to be sent?"

"Two hundred, as we will leave behind a number unless called for more," she said. Their house, despite its current of prosperity, was not yet a 'rich' house, nor did they have near enough of a population to support, let alone arm, more than three hundred soldiers. Even including the landed knights in their service and the smallfolk levies, they might have been able to muster a thousand troops in total, and drawing that many men would have been a serious danger to the running of their lands.

"Will other houses be joining our lord's forces?"

She nodded. "If we have been called, then Windhill, Wysp, Greycairn and Galewood have likely also been called, to say nothing of the Marches and the other nearby lords."

"A joint expedition will require additional supplies, just in case other lords run low on their own. Turning a profit from selling excess of our own stock will certainly offset the cost incurred in moving it all out, for it we begin to run low, our stocks here are full enough to simply send more."

The quartermaster, like many of her son's staff, was smart enough that her son saw a good use for them. It also helped that Casper had earned their loyalty, much as his father had once done. "How soon can everything be made ready?"

"A few days at the most, my lady. The biggest thing will be assembling enough carts to haul this many supplies as far west as needed. Most other things the men will carry with them themselves."

"My son shall deal with the specific armaments, for now, just see that enough supplies are accrued. He will no doubt wish to depart as soon as he returns home."

"What of the horses?"

"What of them?"

"We've not enough horses for two hundred men to each have two. We are still awaiting the latest shipment of good stock from the Wysp lands for our own herds."

She sighed. Lord Wysp had been timely enough with his horses, mares and stallions alike, for their herds, but storms had rendered some routes impassable, and some sickness had claimed half of one of the groups when pushed too hard. Casper had reasoned that incrementally introducing the animals into different, smaller herds would lessen the chance of some plague wiping out the lot of them.

"We will horse as many men as we can, two riders with less armor if necessary, but I will speak with my son on the matter when he returns. For now, see to the bandages, I must speak with the Engineers on a related matter."

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Kings Landing III

Night had crept in silently as it always did, the sun slipping into darkness in the west as the moon and stars gave their pale light upon the night sky. The Red Keep, a sentinel above the largest city in Westeros, gave off only what lights the guards needed to make their rounds, their torches burning bright in the still air.

Naerys sighed as the form of her brother moved beside her. "Aegon is off again on one of his little jaunts over at the manses above the Street of Silk."

"Aye, he is," her lover muttered. Aemon, how his voice made her happy in ways none other could, how he could make her laugh and smile on days that were so dreary otherwise. If only Aegon had become a Kingsguard, and Aemon and she were wed, would her life be that much happier. There was no doubt in her mind as to the true parentage of her son Daeron, and even if there was, she hoped against hope Aegon's seed had never taken root, and never would. Her heart could likely never take raising a child like her brother.

"Who do you think this time will succumb to his charms?"

"One of the maids of a visiting lord caught his eye, I think. Or yet another one of the whores in the brothels he so readily partakes in."

"Better than the lord's wife, though not by much."

How long could they continue this clandestine affair? It tore at her heart when they were apart, but appearances needed to be kept. For all anyone else knew, Aemon was asleep in the White Tower. Yet they'd found a passage between the tower and her rooms, thankfully one that it appeared none knew of whatsoever.

"My moon blood is late," she whispered, snuggling into his chest. Like chiseled marble, at least compared to the softer muscles her husband was slowly losing. "The timing is close enough that there will be no questions."

Aemon kissed the top of her hair. "With the blessing of the gods old and new, it will be a healthy child."

"Would you like another 'nephew' to watch over?"

"A boy or girl would be all the same to me, sister. We've not the chance for love every day, so to watch over one of our union would bring me greater joy than any tourney victory."

"Do you think Aegon suspects?"

Aemon sighed. "Perhaps he does, deep down, but he's never said anything of it, and I doubt he ever will. Doing so would only damage his image, as the Targaryen horned by his own brother. If there is one thing our brother cannot stand, it is being the center of attention in a situation that makes him look bad. He's never stood for slights, few they have been, and for all our worry, it is entirely likely he will never suspect."

"He never was the attentive sort," she muttered. "Not like you."

They lay in silence for a while longer, before Aemon spoke. "What about Vaella?"

"What?"

"Vaella, if the babe is a girl."

"Vaella… it is a good name, I like it. What of for another boy?"

"Well, what would you like?"

She was silent for a few moments. There were already two Daerons, two living Aegons and plenty of dead ones, and Maegor was definitely right out. Daemon did not sit right with her, any more than Gaemon did, and a whole host of other names either sounded too unwieldy or too obscure. However, there was one she'd thought of during her time carrying Daeron, one that she was surprised hadn't been named before.

"Aenys," she said softly. "Aenys would be a good name for another boy."

"Aye, not since our distant ancestor has a male in our family bore that name. It would be a good one to bring back, I think."

She sighed, thoughts turning to her family. They were united to the public, a strong force together, but already she could see the cracks forming. Aegon notwithstanding, her kingly uncle seemed to care little for anything but his own melancholy, leaving the rest of the realm to her father Viserys. While they were brothers and loved each other as such, the tension between them was always present, even if incredibly subdued.

Her cousins were something else. Daeron was charismatic and filled with the energy a future king would need, but he often gave little thought to the tasks he was assigned, often leaving them unfinished or rushed. Little Elaena was still just a babe, and little Rhaena was certainly always prim and proper, but Daena… there was something about her cousin that worried her. Her brash nature, combined with her adoration of her father and brother Daeron, was a surefire weakness that life would exploit at the worst possible moments. Whilst her uncle and father tended not to discuss it openly, she had overheard talk of betrothing Daena and Baelor.

Such a thing both made little sense and a great deal, as she saw it. Continuing another line of Targaryens couldn't hurt, especially if something were to happen to Daeron, and having the family marry an outsider would certainly bring about healing and unity in a realm still suffering from the corpse feasts, burning fields and wholesale slaughter of the Dance, even decades later. Yet doing so invited weakness into their family, especially amongst siblings, and there could be no division amongst family now that they had lost their most powerful tools of their reign.

Not one egg in a cradle had hatched, not one Targaryen had a dragon. They were gone from the world, and now needed to look to other means of continuing their power. Hopefully Daeron would see that once he became king.

Daena's love for her brother was understandable, although the possibility of a betrothal to Baelor might prove fractitious in and of itself. The boy was so utterly pious and, well, boring, that Daena was certain the marriage might never be consummated, and that no new Targaryens would come into this world through their line. Now, however, with the news of Baelor's friend and time in the Stormlands, her earlier assumptions may have been… hastily drawn. Time would tell in the end, but perhaps Baelor would learn that piety need not replace his duty to his family and Westeros as a whole.

"Your thoughts, sister?" Aemon asked.

"Baelor's time in the Stormlands, and how it might change things," she replied, knowing full well he would leave as soon as she'd fallen asleep. This song and dance of theirs could not continue forever, but for every moment they shared, in bed or anywhere else private, she would enjoy each and every one.

"It is good that he is learning the way of fighting, lest he find himself ridiculed by narrow-minded lords over his love of books and faith instead of combat. However, his fostering has given father and uncle ideas that will not go away once he returns or cousin Daeron becomes king. Little Daeron one day might be fostered, as will the babe. Will we be able to handle them being away?"

"For the sake of our family, of our love, and of the realm, we must. It pains me already to think of departing from my babe, but in time, when it is necessary, we will do what we must."