Chapter Text
Ser Podrick Payne
The afternoon was deceptively mild. There had been a week of cold days, but the morning had broken clear and bright and his lady had made preparations for a day in the valley. The waterfall was as proud as ever, cascading into the crystalline pool. Podrick remembered their first time here and smiled to himself.
The entourage was much larger than usual. Brienne had sent word the night before to the hamlets and quarries. The younger nobles in her employ had been invited, and though the day was meant for leisure, Brienne always found a way to ensure that leisure was not idleness. The next shipment of marble was nearly ready, and there was much to discuss. Today’s outing would replace the usual visits to the castle to give report. Timmor was with them now, each sat on a marble block set in a ring, hearing their needs, concerns, and grievances. He wore one of the many tunics he’d purchased before leaving the Summer Isles, his feet wrapped in Talíb’s sandals, his skin tanned. His hair had grown long in the year that had passed, curling down his back in vivid flame.
Upon their return, Brienne, Podrick, and Timmor had first gone to Kings Landing to give a full account of all that had transpired. The trade with the Summer Islanders was auspicious. The fate of Toryen and his attempt at foiling their plans was not.
“I leave the fate of Bronzegate to you, Lady Brienne,” the king had finally said. “Yours is now the ruling house. You, Brienne, are Lady Paramount of the Stormlands.”
From there, they’d made the rounds to the houses of the Stormlands with the royal decree in hand. Bronzegate had been first, at Timmor’s own insistence. He was not going to cower or hide the news of his brother’s death, nor the circumstances surrounding it. Lord Buckler had deigned to receive them and had never looked smaller or older. He’d been carried out, hunched in a chair, shriveled. Timmor recounted every one of Toryen’s deeds and how, were it not for Lady Brienne and Ser Podrick, those deeds would have brought the wrath of the throne upon Bronzegate. It had not been like the time before, no vitriol from Lord Buckler. It seemed an entire decade had fallen on the man while they’d been away. He never once looked up and whatever he’d mumbled in reply had been incomprehensible. He was as done as any man Podrick had ever seen who still drew breath. He doubted Lord Ralph Buckler would see the end of the year.
When they left, Lady Brienne had asked for Timmor’s opinion on the fate of Bronzegate.
“Lord Davos has been a good friend to House Tarth, my lady,” he’d said. “Let him annex these lands for now. Perhaps they may come back to life under a kinder hand. There is much work to do at home.”
Something had shifted within Timmor. Something had fallen away and something else within him had coalesced and solidified. His lady had seen it too, murmuring to Podrick to be mindful.
Podrick was proud of Timmor. He was proud of the way he stood taller, his shoulders back, his head high, and the way the young nobles deferred to him.
They had seen him at practice. They had seen what he was becoming.
They had seen and met his friend Odé Qaxar who found their young intrigues amusing.
There had been tears when they'd boarded the ships. Tears for her father Talíb who beamed admiration at his daughter headed off to Westeros with the Maid of Tarth. She and Issa and Mara had hugged endlessly. Prince Abioye had stern words of advice he'd had not the face to sell as seriously as he wanted.
“I look forward to your return, Ser Podrick,” the prince had said. “You have yet to leave, and already I miss my new friends.”
The castle had been abuzz. Odé was given rooms fit for a visiting noble. She’d learned to let the servants call her m’lady, if, for no other reason, to stave off constant correection. The servants occasionally had to be reminded of their duties when they found reason to watch Odé and Timmor train in the yard that had once belonged to him and Podrick alone. Brienne had it repaved to Odé’s specifications.
Timmor flowered under her tutelage.
But Odé was not the only Islander to return with them. As he had mentioned to Issa, not one but two cooks joined them. They were husband and wife and bickered constantly. Podrick learned they were more than just cooks. They managed the stores and supplies for feast days at the temples. Samaya, Lady Brienne’s superfluous lady’s maid, helped them reorganize the storerooms for the new food that was being unloaded. Without asking or telling, Samaya found new purpose with them.
Just now, Odé was with Luras, sparring in a sunny open area. Luras wore only trousers, his olive skin and tight physique glistening with sweat. Their friendship had grown when she’d seen what Luras and Alren meant to Timmor. Alren was not up to the challenge, but Luras was determined to find the grace Odé and Timmor displayed with ease. He would never be a water dancer, but there was merit in learning what he could.
“All this is yours,” his lady interjected into the quiet from where she sat in the grass next to him, rousing him from introspection. “Not quite yet, mind you, but it’s important you start seeing it that way.”
“It should be him,” Podrick said, tipping a chin toward Timmor and his little retinue. “He’s so much better at it than me.”
“Better at it than me,” Brienne admitted. “I never wanted to be a highborn lady in a castle. I wanted to be a knight with a good horse and sword.”
“You have been both, my lady,” Podrick replied.
She smiled at the compliment.
“You have good people around you, Podrick. That is what matters,” added Ser Randel from where he leaned his back against a tree in the shade. “They will come to you and Timmor because you are good men, but never grow complacent. Goodness also attracts evil. You have seen it with your own eyes. My sword is yours as long as I can lift it, but when I no longer can, there must be someone else like me at your side. Those two over there,” he said, gesturing at Luras and Alren. “As rough as they come, and neither is a knight today, but there is always tomorrow.”
They grew quiet with heavy thoughts. Podrick leaned back into the soft grass and dozed softly under the warmth of the sun, wrapped in the security of good company.
A shadow passed over him, waking him from near-sleep.
Odé was never less than impressive. Luras was sweaty from their sparring, but she looked unperturbed.
“Are you coming?” Odé asked.
“Go,” said Brienne. “We’ll wait here. I don’t want to interrupt Timmor.
Podrick glanced at Ser Randel.
“Not dead yet, boy,” he assured, patting the hilt of his sword. “You heard your lady.”
Podrick got up and stretched. Luras took the opportunity to poke him cheekily in the belly, making him whoop.
Odé led the way past the waterfall, through a stand of grey-barked aspens toward a small side valley.
“You’re doing better, Luras,” Podrick said.
“I appreciate the lie, Ser Podrick,” Luras replied.
“No, you are,” Odé added, though it sounded like the encouragement one gives to a child. Some moments passed before she added, “I have spoken with Brienne. I will join the next expedition, but I will return to Tarth. I have grown fond of this place, despite the cold.”
“Timmor will miss you when we’re gone,” said Podrick.
“And you,” she replied.
Podrick was to lead the mission. Timmor and Lady Brienne would remain. As ruling house of the Stormlands, Lady Brienne was no longer free to adventure where she pleased. She had a minor realm under her care.
“I will be glad to see Issa again,” said Podrick.
“Perhaps you can take part in the races,” Luras interjected pantomiming an oar digging into the surf.
“I think less excitement will be better,” Podrick answered, draping a companionable arm around Luras’ shoulder.
The aspens gave on to a small field with low growing shrubs at its periphery. The little side canyon was to the left. Odé took the lead. The air in the little canyon was unmoving compared to the breezy field. A small line of stones placed in the path gave warning they were nearly there.
Odé knelt down. Podrick and Luras did the same.
The sapling was small and thin. It would be many years before it was anywhere near the size of the ceiba near Prince Abioye’s quarters, and centuries before it approached the size of Iya.
But it was here. It had taken and was still growing. Odé had brought several seeds with her. Small, round little things that did not look as though they could give rise to what they had seen in the Summer Isles.
Odé had been worried the cold would be too much for it. She’d said the Little Sisters would help, but from so far away, Podrick could not see how. Then again, he’d seen and done many things that were hard to describe to others.
“She is well,” said Odé. “I would come back regardless, for Tima, but now my duty is clear. I must return for her as well.”
“Will there be Little Sister?” Luras asked.
“I don’t know,” Odé answered. “But I have hope. This is a good place.”
Fin