Nine Years Later (70 AC) (Lyonel is now 26)
Chett POV
Chett leaned back in his chair and let out a satisfied grunt as he tore another piece from the roasted chicken before him. Grease coated his fingers, and he wiped them carelessly across his worn tunic before taking a long drink from his mug.
The ale was cheap.
The food was better than he had expected.
Not bad for an inn in the Riverlands.
Around him, the common room buzzed with conversation. Merchants argued over prices, farmers boasted about their harvests, hedge knights laughed over dice, and somewhere in the corner, an old bard tuned his lute.
Chett paid little attention.
He wasn't here for the food.
He was here for work.
He rested his elbows on the table and listened.
Listening was worth more than a sharp knife.
A careless tongue often led to a heavy purse.
Before long, two richly dressed merchants entered the inn and sat only a few tables away.
Chett lowered his head, pretending to eat while keeping one ear on their conversation.
"...We'll reach Riverrun in three days."
"The Blackwoods paid well."
"And the wool from the North sold even better."
"What about the silks?"
"Safe in the second cart."
Chett's lips slowly curled into a smile.
Silks.
Spices.
Silverware.
Probably coin as well.
A fine prize.
He continued eating as though nothing had happened.
One merchant laughed loudly.
"Our guards won't even be needed. These roads have become safer than ever."
"The king's peace."
"Aye."
"And they say Ser Lyonel himself has been riding these lands these past few moons."
Chett rolled his eyes.
"That bloody knight again."
Before the merchants could continue, the bard finally struck the first chord upon his lute.
The room slowly quieted.
A few men clapped.
The old bard smiled.
"If you've coin..."
"...I've a tale."
Someone tossed him a copper.
Another tossed a silver.
The bard grinned.
"Then listen well."
His fingers danced across the strings.
"From Blackhaven's halls a young knight rode, with little coin upon the road. A borrowed shield, a faithful steed, and nothing more than honour's creed."
"He crossed the woods where monsters lie, where monsters stalk, and good men die. Yet serpent's steel flashed bright and true, and monsters fled before its hue."
"Oh, sing of Lyonel, brave and free, The Lightning Knight of storm and sea. The Warrior's strength within his hand, the poor man's shield across the land."
The inn joined in on the chorus.
Even the serving girls smiled.
Chett merely frowned.
The bard continued.
"He asks no lord for weight in gold, nor leaves the weak out in the cold. He breaks no oath for fame or name, and lifts the fallen all the same."
"A widow's roof he helped restore, a starving child he fed once more. He slew the wolves that stalked by night, and rode till dawn to make things right."
"When outlaws thought themselves as kings, He answered not with jewelled rings. Adder's Fang became their doom, its serpent danced through dust and gloom."
"Oh, sing of Lyonel, brave and free, The Lightning Knight of storm and sea. The Warrior's strength within his hand, The poor man's shield across the land."
The tune slowed.
"No crown he sought...No throne desired...No white cloak did his heart require. Yet kings themselves have called his name, while humble folk still sing his fame."
"So raise your cups wherever found, From mountain keep to river town. For while true honour walks this land, The Lightning Knight shall always stand."
The inn erupted into applause.
Men cheered.
Several mugs were raised.
"To Ser Lyonel!"
"To the Lightning Knight!"
Chett scoffed into his ale.
"A knight of the people."
He spat onto the floor.
"What a load of horseshit."
Knights served lords.
Knights killed for coin.
Knights burned villages when ordered.
That was the truth.
Not whatever fairy tale these fools believed.
He finished the last of his ale and quietly stood.
The merchants left only moments later.
Perfect.
He slipped his hood over his head and followed them into the evening.
The merchants spoke cheerfully as they walked toward two waiting carts outside the village.
The horses stood quietly.
One cart carried barrels.
The other held crates covered beneath thick canvas.
Chett smiled.
Silks.
Just as promised.
He moved silently through the shadows.
Neither merchant noticed him.
His dagger appeared in his hand.
In one smooth motion, he stepped behind the older merchant and pressed the blade against his throat.
"Don't."
Both merchants froze.
"If either of you screams..."
He pressed the knife a little closer.
"...I'll cut his throat."
The younger merchant slowly raised his hands.
"What... what do you want?"
"Move everything."
Chett pointed toward the second cart.
"Into that one."
The younger merchant nodded frantically.
He obeyed without another word.
Crates.
Bundles.
Barrels.
Everything was moved.
Chett watched carefully.
Almost done.
Then—
Without warning—
The merchant whose throat he held suddenly drove his heel backward.
Pain exploded between Chett's legs.
"AAAGH!"
His grip loosened.
The merchant tore free and ran.
Chett cursed and, acting on instinct, hurled the dagger.
The blade spun once.
Twice.
It struck.
The fleeing merchant collapsed.
The younger merchant screamed.
"Brother!"
He rushed toward the fallen man before spinning toward Chett in blind rage.
"You bastard!"
He charged.
Chett dodged the man and rushed toward the corpse of the older merchant, ripping the dagger free, and slashed wildly.
The merchant stumbled back with a cry, clutching his wounded arm.
Chett wasted no more time.
He leapt onto the loaded cart, seized the reins, and cracked them hard.
"Move!"
The horses lunged forward.
The cart rattled down the road.
Behind him came shouts.
People poured from the inn.
Someone rang a bell.
Chett laughed.
"Suck my cock, you cunts!"
The horses thundered onward.
Faster.
Faster.
Then—
"CAWWW!"
Chett looked upward.
"What the—"
A massive white bird dived from the evening sky.
It struck him like a hammer.
Its wings beat furiously.
Its claws scraped across his shoulder.
"What in the Seven Hells!"
He swung wildly with his dagger.
"Get off!"
The bird darted away before diving again.
It pecked.
Clawed.
Beat its wings into his face.
"You feathered cunt!"
The horses panicked.
The cart bounced violently.
Chett struggled to keep control.
Another screech.
Another strike.
The horses veered sharply.
"No! No! Stay straight!"
Too late.
The wheel slammed into something.
The cart exploded apart.
Chett was thrown clear, tumbling across the grass before finally coming to a stop.
For several moments, he could neither breathe nor think.
Everything hurt.
Groaning, he tried to rise.
Pain shot through his right arm.
He looked down.
His forearm bent at a sickening angle.
He cried out and fell back.
"Fuck me..."
Footsteps approached slowly.
Steadily.
Chett forced himself to look up.
A knight stood before him.
His plate armour shone under the moonlight.
Around his neck rested the enormous white bird, calm now as if nothing had happened.
The knight removed his helmet.
Dark hair.
Steady blue eyes.
A calm expression.
The knight spoke evenly.
"You stole from honest men."
His hand rested upon the hilt of the sword at his side.
"You killed one."
"And wounded another."
Chett's eyes widened as the blade left its scabbard.
Its rippling black steel curved like a serpent.
Adder's Fang.
His mouth went dry.
"Wait..."
His voice trembled.
"You're..."
"...Ser Lyonel."
"The Lightning Knight."
Lyonel said nothing.
Chett swallowed hard.
"You're wrong about me."
"I only stole because my family is hungry."
"My daughter—"
He forced tears into his eyes.
"My daughter needs food."
Chett saw doubt flicker across the famous knight's face.
Hope stirred within him.
Then the white bird turned its head.
Its sharp eyes fixed on Chett.
With a sudden screech, it launched from Lyonel's shoulder.
Before Chett could react, the great bird struck him with overwhelming force.
The world became a blur of white feathers and panic.
His final cry echoed through the trees.
Lyonel POV
Lyonel hurried toward the body.
"Cloud!"
His voice echoed through the trees.
The great white bird ignored him.
Cloud's talons dug into the man's face as his hooked beak struck again and again. The thief screamed, arms flailing wildly, trying to shield himself.
Lyonel grabbed Cloud by the body and pulled with all his strength.
"Enough!"
Cloud hissed angrily, wings beating against Lyonel's chest.
For a heartbeat, Lyonel thought the bird would turn on him instead.
Then the screams stopped.
Silence settled over the forest.
Only Lyonel's breathing disturbed it.
Cloud relaxed.
With one final irritated chirp, he slipped free from Lyonel's grasp and flew into the branches above.
Lyonel remained kneeling beside the corpse.
He stared down for several moments.
"...Seven save us."
The thief's face was scarcely recognizable.
Lyonel closed the man's eyes.
"You should have stayed with your daughter."
He rose slowly.
His anger toward Cloud faded almost as quickly as it had appeared.
The man had murdered one merchant and nearly another. Had Lyonel spared him, there was every chance he would have robbed and killed again.
Nine years upon the roads had taught Lyonel lessons no septon ever had.
Mercy had its place.
So did justice.
A man who willingly took innocent lives had already chosen his own fate.
Still...
He wished Cloud had left the choice to him.
Lyonel looked toward the white bird perched proudly atop Thunder's back.
Cloud merely puffed his feathers, utterly unconcerned.
"You never do listen."
Cloud answered with a cheerful caw.
Lyonel sighed.
"I don't even know why I bother talking."
Thunder snorted softly.
The old stallion shifted his weight.
Grey hairs had begun creeping around his muzzle, and the powerful muscles that had once carried Lyonel across half the realm were not quite what they had been.
He was slower now.
His breathing came harder after long rides.
Yet to Lyonel...
He was still Thunder.
Still, the horse that had carried him through the Kingswood.
Still, the horse that had carried him to Harrenhal.
Still, the horse that had waited faithfully every single morning since he was a boy.
Lyonel rested a hand against the stallion's neck.
"You did well, old friend."
Thunder leaned into the touch.
Lyonel smiled.
"Come on."
He swung himself into the saddle.
"We've people waiting."
The ride back was slower.
Much slower.
Lyonel refused to push Thunder harder than necessary.
The old horse deserved better.
Cloud occasionally circled overhead before returning to perch across Thunder's broad back. He had grown far too large to sit comfortably upon the horse's head as he once had.
The memory made Lyonel chuckle.
"You've gotten fat."
Cloud answered with an offended caw.
"I said fat."
Another louder caw.
Thunder almost sounded amused.
After a few minutes, the roofs of the riverside village appeared through the trees.
Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys.
Children played beside the road.
Someone standing near the entrance spotted him first.
"The knight!"
Another voice shouted.
"Did you catch him?"
Lyonel raised a hand.
"I did."
The village erupted with relieved cheers.
He guided Thunder into the middle of the settlement before climbing from the saddle.
His joints ached.
He was getting older, too.
Not old.
Just...
older.
He spoke.
"Where is the injured man?"
An elderly woman responded.
"He lives."
"He was injured, but he lives."
Lyonel nodded awkwardly.
"Where is he?"
"The herbalist."
She pointed toward a small wooden cottage at the edge of the village.
Lyonel thanked her and started walking.
"Ser!"
He turned.
An elderly man pushed through the crowd carrying a weathered lute across his back.
His beard was almost entirely grey.
His eyes, however, still burned with youthful excitement.
"Are you truly Ser Lyonel?"
Lyonel smiled faintly.
"So everyone keeps telling me."
The old bard laughed.
"I knew it!"
He pointed toward Cloud.
"No other knight has a bird like that."
Cloud proudly spread his wings.
Lyonel sighed.
"I suppose not."
The bard stepped closer.
"My name is Olyvar."
He bowed deeply.
"Please..."
His voice softened.
"Allow an old man one final adventure."
Lyonel blinked.
"What?"
"I've sung of your deeds for years."
"I've never seen them."
"My legs aren't what they used to be, but my hands still know the lute."
"Let me travel beside you."
"Just once."
"I wish to see if the songs are true."
Lyonel scratched the back of his neck.
"I..."
Before he could answer, more villagers surrounded him.
One wanted a blessing.
Another wanted him to settle an argument.
A young boy held out a stick.
"Can you teach me to fight?"
A little girl tugged on his cloak.
"My brother says you fought a hundred men!"
Another shouted,
"Is your sword truly Valyrian steel?"
"Can your bird understand words?"
"Did you really kill a giant?"
"Is it true the Warrior blessed you himself?"
Lyonel rubbed his forehead.
By the Seven...
He missed the days when nobody knew his name.
He raised both hands.
"Please."
His voice was firm but calm.
"I have business first."
The crowd quieted.
"I'll speak with you afterward if time allows."
That seemed enough.
Reluctantly, they stepped aside.
Lyonel escaped before anyone could ask another question.
The herbalist's hut smelled strongly of drying herbs.
The scent struck him immediately.
For a moment—
just a moment—
He was back in the Kingswood.
The old witch.
The strange prophecies.
Stormseed.
The memory made his stomach tighten.
He pushed it away.
Not today.
Inside, the injured merchant lay upon a wooden table while a young woman carefully stitched the wound along his shoulder.
She looked up.
Red hair.
Pale skin.
Clear green eyes.
Beautiful...
Though Lyonel quickly scolded himself for thinking such things.
She regarded him calmly.
"Who are you?"
"Ser Lyonel Dondarrion."
She didn't react.
"If that's true..."
She nodded toward the sword at his hip.
"Show me."
Lyonel eased Adder's Fang partly from its scabbard.
Dark rippling Valyrian steel caught the sunlight pouring through the window.
The herbalist studied it.
Then nodded once.
"Very well."
She returned immediately to treating her patient.
Lyonel found himself oddly relieved.
No wide eyes.
No gasping.
No endless praise.
Just another man.
Just another day.
He almost preferred it.
He stepped beside the merchant.
"The thief is dead."
The merchant's eyes filled with tears.
"He killed my brother!"
Lyonel lowered his gaze.
"I'm sorry."
Silence lingered.
Then the man nodded.
"He was a good man."
"He didn't deserve that."
"No."
Lyonel answered quietly.
"He didn't."
"The cart overturned on the forest road."
"Most of your cargo can probably still be recovered."
The merchant clasped Lyonel's forearm.
"You've avenged him."
"Thank you."
Lyonel simply nodded.
There was nothing else worth saying.
He stepped back outside—
—and immediately groaned.
The entire village was waiting.
Again.
Children.
Farmers.
The old bard.
Even the village dogs.
Everyone.
"...Gods."
He glanced toward Thunder.
The stallion looked almost amused.
Lyonel gave a sharp whistle.
Thunder walked over at once.
Cloud swooped down from a nearby roof.
Without another word, Lyonel mounted.
He looked toward the crowd.
"I thank you for your kindness."
"But my niece is expecting me."
"I've already kept her waiting too long."
Several villagers wished him safe travels.
Others bowed.
The bard looked disappointed but smiled nonetheless.
"Perhaps another day, Ser Lyonel."
"Perhaps."
Lyonel smiled.
He nudged Thunder gently.
"Come on, old friend."
Thunder started forward at an easy pace.
Behind them, the villagers watched until horse, rider, and great white bird disappeared into the trees.
Tytos POV
Lord Tytos Blackwood read the letter for what must have been the sixth time that morning.
The parchment crackled softly between his fingers.
The royal seal of House Targaryen, impressed in deep red wax, remained unbroken now only because he had carefully folded it back after first opening it. Even after all these years, there was something about that three-headed dragon that demanded respect.
His grey eyes slowly moved over the words once again.
The King invited House Blackwood to King's Landing to witness the marriage of Prince Aemon Targaryen and Lady Jocelyn Baratheon.
That alone was honour enough.
A union between dragon and stag.
The heir to the Iron Throne taking the daughter of Lord Rogar Baratheon to wife.
It would be remembered for generations.
Yet it was not the invitation that occupied his thoughts.
It was the final passage.
King Jaehaerys personally requested that Lord Tytos Blackwood escort Ser Lyonel Dondarrion to the capital if the knight still remained within Blackwood lands.
Tytos let out a long sigh.
"So."
He leaned back in the carved oak chair.
"It has finally come."
His fingers tapped rhythmically upon the desk.
For nearly two moons, Ser Lyonel had wandered through his lands.
Every few days, another report reached Raventree Hall.
"The Lightning Knight defended a ferryman from brigands."
"Ser Lyonel repaired a widow's roof after a storm."
"He spent three days helping harvest fields near Fairmarket."
"He refused payment."
"He slept in the village sept."
"He left before sunrise."
Always moving.
Always helping.
Never staying.
Tytos had sent riders.
Once.
Twice.
Five times.
Every message had been polite.
Every invitation generous.
Each one had been refused.
Not rudely.
Never rudely.
Ser Lyonel simply claimed he had work to do and thanked House Blackwood for its hospitality before riding away once again.
The man was impossible to pin down.
Tytos almost admired it.
Almost.
His steward had even joked that catching Ser Lyonel was harder than catching a fox.
Tytos had not laughed then.
He certainly wasn't laughing now.
He looked back toward the parchment.
"You reject my men..."
"...but I somehow doubt you'll reject me."
A knock sounded upon the door.
"My lord?"
"Come."
The heavy oak door opened.
Maester Oswell entered carrying another bundle of letters beneath one arm.
"My lord."
Tytos nodded.
"What is it?"
"The riders have returned."
Tytos sat straighter.
"And?"
"They found Ser Lyonel."
His eyebrows rose.
"Again?"
The old maester smiled faintly.
"Again."
"And?"
"He thanked them."
"Again."
"He declined your invitation."
"Again."
Tytos rubbed his temples.
"Gods save me."
Oswell chuckled quietly.
"He appears to be a stubborn man."
"No."
Tytos corrected.
"He appears to be an honest one."
The maester tilted his head.
"Oh?"
"If he wished favour, he would've come here weeks ago."
"If he wished gold, he would've accepted one of the dozen rewards offered to him."
"If he wished glory, he'd spend every night telling tales in noble halls."
Tytos folded the letter carefully.
"He does none of those things."
"He simply rides."
The maester nodded slowly.
"There is truth in that."
For several moments, silence filled the solar.
Finally, Tytos stood.
His knees protested.
Age had begun claiming victories that swords never had.
He fastened his sword belt around his waist.
Oswell blinked.
"My lord?"
"You are not..."
"I am."
"...leaving?"
"I am."
"You should send more men."
"I've sent enough."
"They've failed enough."
Tytos reached for his riding cloak.
"This time I'll go myself."
The maester frowned.
"My lord, you're Lord of Raventree Hall."
"Precisely."
"If Ser Lyonel refuses me to my face..."
He smiled.
"...then at least I'll know I've tried."
Oswell laughed softly.
"I somehow doubt he'll refuse."
"What makes you think that?"
"Every report says the same thing."
"He respects honest men."
Tytos buckled on his gloves.
"So do I."
He stepped from the solar.
The corridors of Raventree Hall were cool and dim despite the afternoon sun outside.
Servants bowed as he passed.
Men-at-arms straightened.
A pair of young squires stopped talking the moment they saw him.
"Ready my horse."
One of them blinked.
"My lord?"
"You heard me."
"And send six riders."
The squire hurried away.
Tytos continued toward the courtyard.
The ancient ravens that nested in the dead weirwood watched him with black, unblinking eyes.
Their calls echoed across the yard.
He had grown accustomed to them long ago.
Some claimed the ravens whispered secrets.
Others claimed they spoke to the old gods.
Tytos thought they mostly screamed for food.
Outside, his horse was already being saddled.
Good.
His household still moved quickly.
One of his captains approached.
"My lord."
"We've reports from the eastern road."
Tytos took the parchment.
His lips curled into a smile as he read.
"Ser Lyonel was last seen helping rebuild a mill destroyed during the spring floods."
Of course he was.
Not drinking.
Not gambling.
Not hunting.
Repairing a mill.
Tytos folded the report.
"That settles it."
The captain looked confused.
"My lord?"
"If the stories are half true..."
"...then the realm has not seen a knight like this in generations."
He mounted his horse with surprising ease for a man his age.
The leather saddle creaked beneath him.
His six riders assembled behind him.
One asked,
"Where are we headed, my lord?"
Tytos smiled beneath his beard.
"To find the one knight in Westeros who somehow manages to disappear despite half the realm singing songs about him."
The men laughed.
Tytos nudged his horse into motion.
As the gates of Raventree Hall slowly opened before him, he looked once toward the distant road winding through the forests of Blackwood Vale.
"Let's see if the songs are right, Ser Lyonel."
"And whether you're as difficult to catch in person as you are in every report I've received."
With that, Lord Tytos Blackwood rode out beneath the shadow of Raventree Hall, determined that before another sunset had passed, he would finally meet the wandering knight.
Lyonel POV
The axe came down with another heavy crack.
The log split neatly in two.
Lyonel bent down, picked up the pieces, and tossed them onto the growing pile beside him. Sweat rolled down his forehead despite the cool autumn breeze that drifted across the fields.
Three days.
He had been here for three days.
Three days of hauling timber.
Three days of repairing beams.
Three days climbing onto the broken roof of the old mill.
Three days eating with the farmer's family around a small table every evening.
It had been peaceful.
Wonderfully peaceful.
No songs.
No nobles.
No bandits.
Just honest work.
He preferred it that way.
Cloud sat atop a nearby fence post, lazily cleaning his feathers, while Thunder grazed beside the old mill. The stallion's black coat had begun to show streaks of grey around his muzzle, but he still looked magnificent in Lyonel's eyes.
Another swing.
Crack.
Another log split.
Lyonel wiped his brow.
He was reaching for another piece of timber when the sound of wagon wheels echoed down the road.
He looked up.
A merchant's cart.
Nothing unusual.
Merchants passed through these roads every day.
Then he recognized the driver.
"...Him?"
The merchant's eyes widened at almost the exact same moment.
He pulled hard on the reins.
The horses stopped.
Without hesitation, the man jumped from the cart and hurried across the yard.
"Ser Lyonel!"
Before Lyonel could react, the merchant threw his arms around him.
Lyonel froze.
"...Ah."
"...Hello."
He awkwardly patted the man's back.
After several uncomfortable moments, he gently pushed him away.
The merchant was grinning from ear to ear.
"I've been looking everywhere for you."
Lyonel blinked.
"For me?"
The man nodded enthusiastically.
"For days."
Lyonel scratched the back of his neck.
"...Why?"
The merchant looked almost offended.
"Why?"
"You avenged my brother."
"You recovered my cargo."
"You saved my livelihood."
"I owe you more than I can ever repay."
Before Lyonel could object, the merchant hurried back toward his wagon.
He disappeared inside it, rummaging through something before returning with something clenched tightly in his fist.
He stopped before Lyonel.
Slowly, he opened his hand.
Resting upon his palm was a beautiful gold ring.
A deep blue sapphire gleamed in the afternoon sun.
The craftsmanship was exquisite.
Lyonel immediately shook his head.
"No."
The merchant smiled sadly.
"It belonged to my brother."
"My father gave it to him."
Lyonel looked down at the ring.
"You should keep it."
"It is all you have left of him."
The merchant's smile faded.
"I already have my memories."
"My brother would've wanted the man who avenged him to wear it."
Lyonel hesitated.
"I can't."
"You can."
"I don't deserve it."
"You do."
Lyonel sighed.
"You really won't take no for an answer?"
The merchant laughed.
"Not this time."
After a long silence, Lyonel finally accepted the ring.
It felt strangely heavy in his hand.
"...Thank you."
The merchant nodded.
"No."
He smiled.
"Thank you."
With that, he climbed back onto his wagon.
Lyonel watched until it disappeared down the road.
Only then did he lower his eyes to the sapphire.
He slowly turned it between his fingers.
A beautiful ring.
Far too beautiful for him.
His thoughts drifted toward Blackhaven.
Emily.
His niece would celebrate her ninth name day soon.
She had always loved shiny things.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"She'll like this."
He slipped the ring carefully into a pouch on his belt before returning to work.
By late afternoon, the pile of chopped timber stood taller than Lyonel himself.
He loaded the wood into a large wicker basket and lifted it onto his shoulder.
Cloud flew overhead.
Thunder lazily followed behind.
As he approached the farmhouse, something immediately felt different.
Horses.
Seven of them.
Well-bred.
Armoured.
Beside them stood armed riders wearing black cloaks embroidered with black ravens.
House Blackwood.
Lyonel slowed.
One man stepped forward.
Older.
Broad-shouldered.
Grey beginning to creep into his dark beard.
His cloak was trimmed with dark feathers, while the quality of his clothing alone declared him to be a great lord.
Lyonel immediately recognized him.
Lord Tytos Blackwood.
The Lord of Raventree Hall.
The older man looked him up and down for several moments.
"So."
A smile spread across his face.
"You must be Ser Lyonel Dondarrion."
Lyonel set the basket upon the ground before bowing respectfully.
"My lord."
Tytos walked closer.
He circled Lyonel once, studying him with curious eyes.
"I'll admit..."
"I expected you to be taller."
Lyonel sighed.
"So does everyone."
That earned a genuine laugh from the lord.
"I see the singers have exaggerated even your height."
"They exaggerate everything."
"I've noticed."
Tytos stopped beside him.
"I've spent weeks trying to invite you to Raventree Hall."
"And every time..."
"You politely refused."
Lyonel lowered his eyes.
"I meant no insult."
"I know."
Tytos folded his hands behind his back.
"But I'd still like to know why."
Lyonel hesitated.
The truth sounded ridiculous.
Still...
Better that than another lie.
"My lord..."
"The reason isn't you."
"It isn't your house."
"It isn't the Old Gods."
Tytos raised an eyebrow.
"Then what is it?"
Lyonel looked away.
"...The weirwood."
Silence.
Tytos stared.
"The tree?"
Lyonel nodded.
"I'm afraid of being near one."
Another silence.
The Blackwood lord studied him carefully.
His expression slowly hardened.
"Because you believe our gods are evil?"
Lyonel's eyes widened.
"What?"
"No!"
"By the Seven, no!"
"I've never thought that."
Tytos remained silent.
Lyonel hurried to explain.
"I..."
"I had an encounter in a godswood years ago."
"A raven."
"It..."
He stopped himself.
No.
No one would believe him.
He shook his head.
"It frightened me."
"I've never liked weirwoods since."
For several moments, Tytos simply watched him.
Then—
To Lyonel's surprise—
The older lord burst into laughter.
Not mocking laughter.
Warm laughter.
"You've spent years hunting robbers..."
"...yet a tree frightens you?"
Lyonel rubbed the back of his neck.
"When you put it that way..."
"It sounds rather foolish."
"It does."
Tytos clapped him firmly on the shoulder.
"Our weirwood has been dead for centuries."
"If it planned on eating you..."
"It has taken its time."
Even Lyonel laughed.
Some of the tension left his shoulders.
Tytos smiled.
"Good."
"Now that we've settled that..."
His expression became more formal.
"I bring the King's command."
"Prince Aemon is to wed Lady Jocelyn Baratheon."
"The King has requested your presence."
"And mine."
"I've been ordered to bring you with me."
Lyonel blinked.
"The King... requested me?"
"He did."
Lyonel stood quietly.
He had been planning to return home.
Emily's name day.
His brother.
Home.
But...
One did not ignore a king's request.
Especially one as good as King Jaehaerys.
He nodded.
"I'll come."
Tytos smiled.
"I thought you might."
Lyonel picked up the basket once more.
"Just..."
"Let me finish helping this family."
The lord nodded immediately.
"Take your time."
Lyonel entered the farmhouse.
The farmer and his wife thanked him again and again for everything he had done over the past few days.
Their children hugged his legs before he finally managed to escape.
When he stepped back outside, Thunder was already saddled.
Cloud perched proudly across the old horse's back.
Lyonel mounted with an easy motion.
Lord Blackwood did the same.
The small company turned north toward Raventree Hall.
As the road disappeared beneath Thunder's hooves, Lyonel glanced toward the distant forests.
He hoped Lord Blackwood was right.
He truly did.
Because after what had happened in the godswood of the Red Keep...
...the last place in the Seven Kingdoms he wished to be near was a godswood.