Chapter 1: The Start – “We Stuck in La La Land”
Chapter Text
Summary:
What if Tysha had an accident long before she ever had a chance to meet Tyrion Lannister? What if this Tysha refused to entertain the Nobles and chose to cater to the smallfolk instead? Follow a different Tysha as she works to change her fate, the fate of her family, and friends—all while throwing up the middle finger to the foolery and fuckery of Westeros and its Nobles.
Notes:
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones, any written music, or inventions—only my imagination.
P.S. - I'm not a writer. This is a fan-created work for entertainment purposes only, and I have taken creative liberties with the characters and settings. I've also read a ton of other fics and borrowed a bit from them all—so this is kind of an AO3 fanfic mash-up too!
Date: Unknown - Location: Somewhere
Opening my eyes was a mistake—a huge fucking mistake—because my head is pounding like a jackhammer at a construction site. Damn, was I crying? Why are my eyelashes sticking together like they're having a secret meeting? Reaching up to rub away the crusty evidence of my emotional breakdown, I could feel the remnants of whatever hell I put myself through. About to ask what the hell we did last night, I noticed my throat is drier than a desert in a drought. Shit—I haven't even moved yet, but my body is already screaming in protest. Trying to piece together the events from the night before is like solving a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces, but I became too distracted trying to figure out why my body feels so weird. I've never felt like this before, it's a strange ass feeling, like I woke up in someone else's damn body!
Finally able to keep my eyes open longer than a few seconds, I find myself staring at a wall that looks like it’s covered in some DIY plaster job straight out of a Pinterest fail. Doing a double take makes me wince, realizing I must’ve hit my head at some point last night—because why else would I be seeing this artistic catastrophe? A sharp throbbing pain in my skull confirms it. Slowly turning away from the wall, I see a ceiling with exposed wooden beams, as if I'm in some rustic cabin or hipster's dream home. Huh? Taking another look, I notice a dried-out bouquet of flowers and some antique tools hanging from the beams, like a decor decision made by someone who couldn't decide between 'quaint' and 'creepy.'
Noticing the room is way too dark for my taste and smokier than my eyes can tolerate right now, I attempt to stand. “Where am I?” slips out as I struggle—really struggle—to get to my feet, when I hear movement to the right of me.
"Sweetling, you shouldn’t be standing right now. You hit your head when you fell off the wagon! How are you feeling?" says a short white girl with long brown hair, dressed like she just stepped out of a bad medieval reenactment. She looks kind of familiar, but in the same way a brochure does when you’re trying to remember if you’ve seen it before.
Looking at her, a shooting pain courses through me so strong I collapse back onto what I now realize is a mat of some kind. And wait—is this hay covering the fucking floor? Am I in a barn? Hay would only be in a barn—right? I was trying to think. Where in the fuck am I? Looking up too fast causes another shooting pain in my head. "Shit, that hurt," I mutter, turning to look at the girl again. I didn’t see any animals, so this isn’t a barn. Looking around again, I realize I'm in an actual building. An old building with dirt floors!
"Sweetling, you shouldn’t be using that word. I bet your pa taught you that!” she said. Meanwhile, I was looking at her, trying to figure out if she was a little off. Who calls someone 'sweetling' these days? As I checked her over again, I noticed her red eyes. Is this woman high? That would explain a lot. I hoped I’d misheard her because of the pounding in my head. I started to ask, "My wha..." but then I saw she actually had tears in her eyes. I switched mid-sentence and asked, "Hey, are you okay?"
Instead of answering me, her expression shifted from worry to surprise, then back to worry again, like she was auditioning for the role of 'Concerned Bystander' in a soap opera. After what felt like forever, she finally nodded. I took a moment to rub my temples; my head was pounding like a bad drum solo. I could use a couple of Tylenol and a bottle of water, or maybe a time machine to undo whatever dumb shit I did last night. Hoping she didn’t take another whole minute to respond, I asked, "Who are you? Do you know how I got here? Wait—did you say I fell off a wagon? When in the fuck did I get on a wagon?"
But as soon as I ask that last question, I realize it must’ve been because of those heifers! I look back at her again and ask, “Where's Jane and Kim?” Just as I'm about to ask something else, I notice tears streaming down her face. The fuck! My back straightens, and something like the fear of God comes over me seeing her tears. I immediately look away from her and start yelling, “JANE! KIM! Where you bitches at? This shit ain’t funny no more!”
I look around the huge open room—this place is fucking massive! The dim light barely pierces through the smoky haze, casting long shadows that make the whole scene feel like a horror movie set. The dirt floor is uneven, with patches of straw here and there, as if someone tried to carpet the place with nature’s least comfortable material. There are a few stools scattered around, their legs sinking slightly into the ground, looking as if they might collapse if I so much as breathed on them.
Wooden frames line the sides of the room, each covered with mats and fur that seem to serve as makeshift beds. It’s like someone decided to decorate based on a "Medieval Times" brochure but only got halfway through before giving up. The fur coverings are worn and ragged, adding to the overall sense of neglect and decay.
Not seeing Jane or Kim anywhere in this creepy-looking ass place, I turn back to the girl. "What is going on?" I softly demand, trying to keep my voice from rising in panic when I don’t see anyone but us and barely anything in this massive, unsettling room.
"What's a’ matter?" a big football-player-looking-ass man asked as he ran into the room through the only door I could see now. I only realized it was a door because he opened it. The guy looked like he just stepped out of an NFL lineup and into a medieval fever dream.
The door creaked ominously as it swung shut behind him, making the vast room feel even more oppressive. My heart pounded in sync with the pain in my head as I tried to process this new arrival. His sudden appearance did nothing to soothe my growing anxiety. Instead, it added a new layer of surrealism to this already bizarre situation.
I glanced back at the girl, hoping for some sort of explanation, but she was still standing there, looking like she'd just been told her favorite pet had run away. The room's dark atmosphere seemed to close in tighter around me, the dirt floors and shadowy corners playing tricks on my already frazzled mind. "Who the hell are you people, and what’s going on here?" I demanded; my voice barely steady as I took in the strange scene around me.
Not feeling good about being in this situation or place anymore when neither one of them responded, I asked again but louder, "Who the fuck are you?" trying to stand up again. I wasn’t about to let this strange-ass man catch me on the floor. He will not get the upper hand on me if he’s as crazy as this chick seems to be. He’ll get these paws first!
The man, looking like a fake-ass Mel Gibson in Braveheart, came just within arm's reach and asked the woman, "What did she—she doesn't remember me? Her own pa?" He looked back and forth between us, a frown growing on his face that shockingly turned into tears.
Great, now we’ve got a crying fake Braveheart claiming to be my dad. This situation just keeps getting better and better. I was ready to swing if he tried anything, but the sight of this massive guy tearing up threw me off. What the hell kind of place is this, where everyone seems to be on the verge of a breakdown?
Then I caught his words—Umm, really! I started looking back and forth between the two. Is he high too? Shit—am I high? What in the fuck is going on around here? Why is my memory so damn cloudy? And what in the hell does he mean, her own pa? Now it's true, I don’t know who my sperm donor is, but I know I ain’t high enough to believe this motherfucker is him! Nah, no way in hell could he be my dad; ole boy's white as fuck! And again, why the fuck is he crying? Sweet baby Jesus, what in the fuck is going on around these parts?
Trying hard to think back to where I was before I woke up, but for some reason, the only name that’s popping into my head is Sauder Village! Is this some kind of strange-ass joke these bitches are playing? Did they spike my drink? Is this what it feels like to trip out? But wait, didn’t we leave Sauder Village? I try to think back, but nothing is clear right now. Why is the last thing I remember the first drink we had? How fucking drunk did we get?
I tried to piece it all together, but my brain felt like it was swimming through molasses. Every time I thought I had a thread, it slipped away, leaving me more confused than before. The fake Braveheart guy and the medieval cosplay chick seemed to be part of some elaborate prank or a really messed-up Renaissance fair gone wrong. I rubbed my temples, hoping to clear the fog. “Alright, someone better start talking sense right now, or I’m out of here, head pain or not,” I demanded, trying to sound tougher than I felt.
Looking back at Mel, I had to say something because now the man was sobbing. I mean, he was fucking boo-hooing over there. Clearing my throat, I said, "Excuse me, sir, but I obviously can't be your daughter," raising my hand to show him my brown skin. But instead, I got the shock of my life—why the fuck are my hands white? Panic surged through me as I stared at my unfamiliar skin. This can't be real. Did those bitches use me as a face-off mannequin again in my sleep?
I looked back at the people standing in front of me, feeling my skin start to burn from rubbing it. I screamed, "Why the fuck is this not coming off?" I started to frantically look around for a sink while trying to rub this shit off, feeling my chest tighten more and more. Whatever this is, it feels too fucking real, and I don’t see a sink, another door, or anything resembling a bathroom in this ridiculously long-ass room.
I kept rubbing, but soon realized it wasn’t going to come off as my skin started turning red. I felt the panic attack coming on; I couldn’t catch my breath, and sweat started to form on my forehead and run down my back. Everything started to spin right before everything went black again.
*The fuckery - " Oh, when it all, it all falls down "
Opening my eyes fucking hurts even more now—how the fuck is that possible? My mind starts to clear, and I realize something isn’t right. Panicking, I look at my hands, remembering what happened, and I want to cry when I see they are still white and definitely not mine. Running my hands over my face and through my hair, I feel the difference—softer, finer. My heart pounds as I notice I’m not just in a different body; I’m in a child’s body. My mind races, trying to piece together how the hell this could be happening. This has to be some kind of elaborate, sick joke. But it feels too real.
Looking around again, I notice I’m still in this raggedy-ass building—ugh! Well, fuck my life! At least my head’s not hurting anymore, I start to think, until I realize I’m in someone’s strange building alone with a strange-ass man calling himself my “pa”. What in the hell did I drink? Shit, someone must have slipped something in my drink. I’m not even a drinker; why the fuck did I let those bitches talk me into drinking yesterday?
Damn—starting to cry, why the hell and how the hell am I white? Who gave me a fucking hallucinogenic and how do I turn off the white feature on it? I hear movement to the right of me again, scaring the shit out of me. Looking over, I see the same woman sitting not too far from me on the floor. I glance back at the woman, who is watching me with a mixture of concern and confusion.
"What did y’all give me?" I demand, my voice breaking because I am so pissed. "Why the fuck am I hallucinating that I’m in a child’s body? This doesn’t make any sense! What the fuck kind of drug is this!"
The woman looks me over and then into my eyes, and I can see tears in her eyes as well. I am about to grab her ass until she says, "You’re my daughter, Tysha! The daughter of me and Rolder, and this is our home here in the Westerlands, my sweetling!"
“’Scuse me?” I ask. I know I didn’t hear her clearly because I’m still trying to find the fucking color switch for this drug, but I know I heard her say something about her daughter?! “Repeat that!” I yell at her.
"You're my daughter, Tysha! The daughter of me—your ma, and Rolder, your pa. This is our home here in the Westerlands, sweetling. Don't you remember?"
Raising up and finally able to stand, I scream, "I’m fucking for real, girl, who are you? Where did that man go? Where am I? How did I get here? What did y’all give me?"
She steps closer, reaching out as if to comfort me. "You are my daughter, Tysha. You just don’t remember. Ya must’ve hit your head a lot harder than we thought."
Oh damn—they gave her the stronger shit or either this bitch is crazy! But before I can say something else, the rest of what she said finally registers. Did she say, "in the Westerlands"? “The Westerlands"? “Westerlands”… I have heard that from somewhere before. But where the fuck are the Westerlands?
“We’re still in the UK, right? Is this Westerlands a church like Westminster Abbey or something? A village?” I ask. I swear I’ve never heard of a village or city called Westerland. Wait—nah—it couldn’t be… What is this, some Game of Thrones bullshit? Now I know this is a joke and those bitches got me good! I was about to take a long deep breath to calm myself down, but then something in my mind made me rethink that thought when I noticed a small seven-pointed star in her hands.
It then clicked, causing me to choke out, "Do you mean The Westerlands like in Westeros?" I ask. She looks at me with fucking hope in her eyes and nods her head. I notice her expression change to scared, and I’m sure it’s because my eyes are probably the size of apples right now. "What kind of cruel joke is this?" I ask, starting to laugh and sob at the same damn time. "Like, come on, that’s not possible. I’m not inside of a fucking book whose author is the King of Hearts.” I look back at her, going quiet because she’s looking me up and down, like I’m the slow one out of the two of us.
I feel my pulse go from zero to a hundred real quick and can’t hold back the 'FUCK NO!! This is some bullshit to the first fucking degree of fuck NO!' and the 'God damn it, this is some bullshit!' I yell as I start ugly crying like the white man from earlier. I sit back down because I need a moment to think… WHAT THE FUCK. Wait—she used my name? The only Tysha I remember is that smallfolk girl from Game of Thrones that—'HELL fucking NO!!!’
Chapter 2: The Who – "She don't got time, to choose”
Chapter Text
September 9, 2020 – 12:25 pm - Jamison, Missouri
Tysha's phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, breaking the hum of her Saturday afternoon as she prepared to return to her antique shop at the edge of her property. She glanced at the screen and smiled, seeing Jane's name. Swiping to answer, she brought the phone to her ear.
"Hey, chika! How's it going?" Tysha's voice was light, tinged with excitement.
"Hey, boo! Just had lunch with Kim. Heading back to work now. Just wanted to make sure you're all set for tomorrow. Got your bags packed, bitch?" Jane's voice was bright and filled with anticipation.
Tysha leaned against the counter, her eyes drifting to the neatly packed suitcase by the front door. "Yep, everything's ready. Henry picked up L and Pookie last night for me so Jonas can focus on watching the garden and house for me. Nya’s flight should get here around 3:30 this afternoon, and she’ll be watching the shop for me along with Hope, who should be in no later than 6 tonight. I also talked Jonas into staying in the house while I’m gone, so the girls won’t be here alone. Plus, if the little heifers try to throw another party here, he’ll shut that shit right down for me."
"Hehehe! Tell my mini-me’s I miss them when they get there. And you, stop acting like that! Those girls are getting straight A’s in all their classes, staying out of the bullshit, and are way more mature than we were at that age. They should be allowed to throw a little party," Jane said.
"Fuck that—they should be getting straight A’s as much as Spellman is charging us! We didn’t have older adopted sisters at that age paying the way for us like we are doing for them! Their ass better act accordingly! Once they graduate and get their own shit, they can throw all the parties they want!" Tysha said, meaning every word. "Moving on—I’ve double-checked the packing list at least three times. I can’t wait to see Sauder Village. It feels like I’ve been waiting for this trip forever."
Jane giggled again, the sound warm and familiar. "I know! I can’t wait to see your face when we get there. Edinburgh is amazing—I really enjoyed it when I spent a week there last year! I didn’t get to check out this Sauder Village place when I was there, but all of the people I spoke with said it was like stepping back in time. You’re going to love it."
“I’ve been reading up on it," Tysha confessed, her eyes sparkling. "The way they’ve preserved the 1700s lifestyle, it’s like a dream come true. I want to see every detail, from the blacksmith’s forge to the spinning wheels. Can you imagine living back then?"
Jane chuckled. "Not sure I could handle it, but I know it’s your thing. We’ll make sure to see everything. It’s your birthday trip, after all, and we’re going to turn up! All the way up!"
Tysha's heart swelled with gratitude. "Thank you for this, Jane. Really. You know how much this means to me."
"Of course, bitch. You deserve it. And it’s going to be unforgettable. Just make sure you get some rest tonight. Big day tomorrow!"
"Will do, bestie," Tysha promised, a smile playing on her lips. "See you in the morning, bitch."
"See you then, booski!" Jane replied, and the call ended.
Tysha set the phone down and glanced at her suitcase by the front door. The thought of exploring Sauder Village, with its perfectly preserved 1700s lifestyle, filled her with childlike wonder. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
Among her close friends, Tysha's façade of sophistication could crumble like one of her delicate porcelain figurines if handled too roughly. In the comforting familiarity of her girlfriends, she could relax into a more casual and animated version of herself. Slang words could spew from her mouth, coloring her speech as they bantered back and forth, causing shared laughter. Together, they could be themselves without fear of judgment or disdain, or being treated like the castaways they were.
She’d been looking forward to taking another trip with them, hoping it would be as fun as the last. Lounging around in an Airbnb, their chatter filling the air as they binge-watched their favorite old TV shows, indulging in the guilty pleasures of reality television and sitcoms, they could momentarily escape the demands of the outside world. In those moments, she could simply be herself, stripped of all pretenses, reveling in the camaraderie of their friendship.
Alternatively, as Tysha stepped into her antique shop and noticed customers waiting, her demeanor shifted like a costume change at one of her fundraiser galas. With graceful poise, she adopted a refined and knowledgeable persona, perfectly suited to the vintage ambiance. Her speech became peppered with antiquated expressions as she effortlessly discussed the provenance and history of each item, her words dripping with nostalgia and admiration for the past. Every gesture exuded an air of elegance, as if she herself had been plucked from a bygone era, seamlessly blending into the tapestry of time within the shop's walls.
Tysha Halliwell stood in her antique shop, surrounded by the carefully curated treasures that reflected her love for history and beauty. The serene environment she had created was a stark contrast to the chaos of her childhood. At 30 years old, this African American woman, born in the fall of 1990, had transformed her early struggles into a story of resilience and success. Tysha's life began as a foundling, abandoned in a trash dumpster behind a meat market in Jennings, Missouri. Raised in an orphanage, she learned independence and resilience early on, never having been adopted. Despite these challenges, she forged two lifelong friendships with Kim and Jane, who became like family to her.
Jane’s mother was a hustler who was killed by a customer during a drop when Jane was just four years old, leading her to the same orphanage. Jane had the longest hair Tysha had ever seen. It flowed in thick, glossy waves down her back, past her waist, and nearly reached her knees. When the mean girls started pulling it, Tysha helped her tie it up. Tysha, often teased and called "high yellow" because of her lighter skin tone, found a friend in Jane, and they quickly became inseparable. The "white girl" and the "high yellow girl" decided not to fight their battles alone.
When Jane turned seven and Tysha turned eight, they were joined by Kim, a girl of Asian and African American descent. On her first day, Kim was bullied, which Tysha and Jane noticed immediately. They exchanged concerned glances before stepping in to intervene. Tysha, with her confident stride and calming presence, approached the bullies and firmly but politely told them to back off. Jane, standing beside her, offered a reassuring smile to Kim, her long hair swaying gently as she nodded in agreement. The three girls became close friends, standing together against everyone.
As she grew up, Tysha was what the other kids, besides Jane and Kim, would call an egghead. In her younger years, she would study everything she could get her hands on when it came to science. But as she got older, she discovered her love for history during a school field trip to the local museum. When it was time for her to go to college, she attended an HBCU in her hometown.
At the university, Tysha earned a Bachelor of Arts and Science in History, focusing on African and European histories. Her passion for the subject grew deeper, leading her to pursue a Master of Arts in Ancient History. After completing her master’s degree, she worked as a researcher for the preservation department at the local museum. In this role, she was responsible for identifying and providing detailed historical context for various artifacts.
While she didn't handle the physical repair or restoration of items, her expertise was crucial in understanding their significance and ensuring they were accurately presented and preserved for future generations. Due to this, Tysha would spend hours watching related content on YouTube, immersing herself in the past. An avid reader as well, she enjoyed Arthurian literature, fables, chronicles, period-based fantasy and sci-fi novels, movies, and TV shows, finding escape and inspiration in their worlds. Her love for yard and estate sales led her to spend countless hours hunting for hidden treasures.
One fateful day, she stumbled upon an original Andy Warhol painting, worth nearly forty million dollars at an estate sale. This incredible find not only changed her life but also allowed her to transform the lives of her friends and support others who, like herself, were castaways. At just 25 years old, Tysha’s life took a dramatic turn for the better.
The financial windfall from the Warhol painting enabled her to start several successful ventures. She funded historical research projects and established a foundation to help underprivileged youth pursue their dreams. Her journey from a history-loving student to a successful businesswoman and philanthropist became a testament to her resilience and unyielding passion. With her newfound knowledge, money, and a keen eye for the past, Tysha opened an antique shop on a charming two-acre property in a small northern Missouri town, with all the proceeds going to Missouri state-funded orphanages. Behind the shop stood her cozy cottage, where she lived alone with her beloved cat, Pookie, and a spirited dog named L.
Her property was a personal haven, a testament to her love for the past and her keen eye for beauty. At the entrance of her land, on the front quarter of the first acre, stood her quaint antique shop, a charming establishment brimming with vintage treasures she had meticulously collected over the years. To the left of the shop was a small, welcoming parking lot where visitors could conveniently leave their cars as they explored her unique collection.
Directly across from her antique shop, a large barn stood as a sentinel, housing bulk items and essential tools for maintaining her beautiful property. A well-trodden path led from the barn to a smaller, gray-colored storage barn, which seamlessly transitioned into a serene park that Tysha had designed herself. The park was a sanctuary, with a Roman concrete gazebo at its heart offering a shaded retreat. Concrete and wood benches surrounded the gazebo, providing perfect spots to rest and soak in the peaceful ambiance. A small man-made concrete fishpond added a touch of tranquility, with koi fish gliding gracefully through the water, their colors shimmering in the sunlight.
On the east side, Tysha cultivated a vibrant flower garden where beehive boxes were artfully scattered among the blooms, creating a haven for bees and ensuring the pollination of her plants. South of the park, Tysha's colonial home stood proudly, an inviting abode where she could find solace after a day of work. Behind the house, a flourishing vegetable garden supplied her with fresh produce year-round. Next to it, raised garden beds were filled with herbs, and nearby, fruit trees bore berries, apples, and other fruits. Further back on her property, a tiny guest home nestled amidst brick walking paths that wound through the property and gardens, creating a harmonious blend of nature and human touch.
Adjacent to the cottage, a gated swimming pool area offered a refreshing escape during the warmer months. Tysha often relaxed here, enjoying the fruits of her labor and reflecting on her journey from the orphanage to her own slice of paradise. Her property was not just a haven; it was a living testament to her perseverance, passion, and the simple joys of life.
Tysha didn’t mind living alone, accompanied only by her beloved cat, dog, fish, and bees, who brought warmth and companionship to her serene life. She had her makeshift family, and her days were filled with the joys of reading, watching her favorite fantasy and sci-fi shows, and tending to her gardens and animals. Tysha's life was a testament to resilience, hard work, and the power of dreams. She built a world where history and business intertwined, where nature and comfort coexisted, and where every corner of her land told a story of perseverance and triumph.
*The Turning Point - “Even when we win, we gone lose”
I had been looking forward to this trip for weeks, anticipation bubbling up like a kettle left on the stove too long. Finally, the day arrived—Happy birthday to me! As Jane, Kim, and I stepped into Sauder Village, a wave of excitement mixed with nostalgia and curiosity washed over me. The sun cast a warm glow over the charming, rustic buildings, as if the whole place had a filter set to "idyllic."
Costumed interpreters bustled around in their period attire, looking like they just stepped off the set of some historical drama. Their lively interactions and authentic performances immediately set the stage for our journey back in time. Women wore elegant long gowns with tightly fitted corsets and multiple layers of petticoats, creating a voluminous silhouette. Their attire was completed with lace-trimmed bonnets and practical aprons, painting a vivid picture of life in the 1700s as they demonstrated traditional crafts. The air was alive with the sounds of chatter and clinking metal, as blacksmiths hammered away.
Blacksmiths donned simple, long-sleeved linen or cotton shirts, loose-fitting for ease of movement, with heavy leather aprons shielding them from sparks and heat. Knee-length wool or linen breeches and sturdy leather boots were essential for enduring the rigors of the workshop. Simple caps or wide-brimmed hats protected their heads, while fitted waistcoats added warmth and held small tools. In colder weather, woolen coats completed their attire.
We kicked off our adventure in the Pioneer Settlement, strolling through tree-lined paths and marveling at the well-preserved buildings. Entering the log schoolhouse, I was awestruck. Rows of wooden desks and chalkboards transported us to a time when education was a rare luxury. Jane and Kim giggled as they squeezed into the tiny wooden desks, imagining life as students during this era.
"Can you imagine writing with one of these?" I said, attempting to scribble in calligraphy on a chalk and slate board, shocked by the fact that it was made out of slate rock like they used during the time instead of the cheap new way of using clay.
As we wandered further into the village, the modern world slipped away, replaced by a simpler, slower pace of life. The scent of freshly baked sourdough bread wafted from the old-fashioned bakery, mingling with the earthy aroma of the blacksmith's forge. Children ran by, laughing and playing games from another century, while adults chatted earnestly about farming irrigation techniques, such as using clay ollas or siphoning tubes in a pond. Each building was a portal to the past, meticulously recreated.
The next day, the blacksmith shop's rhythmic clang filled the air as a burly blacksmith demonstrated his craft. Sparks flew, and the glowing iron took shape. “Imagine making all your tools by hand!” Jane whispered, nudging me. I replied, “Only if I could cast them! I love watching Forged in Fire, but I don’t have the arm strength for all that heavy pounding."
We moved on to the pottery shop, where the earthy smell of clay and the hum of spinning wheels greeted us. Kim eagerly tried her hand at the potter’s wheel, her hands shaping the wet clay with focused determination. Despite her best efforts, the bowl she produced was rather lopsided, eliciting a round of good-natured laughter from the onlookers. Nevertheless, Kim beamed with pride, holding up her handmade creation for all to see. The experience gave us a newfound appreciation for the skill and artistry required in pottery, and Kim's bowl became a cherished memento of our journey to Sauder Village.
We were captivated by the glassblowing studio, where the intense heat from the furnace radiated as we stepped inside. Skilled artisans manipulated molten glass with incredible precision, transforming the glowing, pliable material into delicate sculptures. It was mesmerizing to watch as the glass seemed to magically materialize and take shape, stretching and twisting under the expert hands of the glassblowers. Intricate patterns and vibrant colors emerged from the molten masses, creating beautiful, translucent artworks. The process was both an art and a dance, each movement deliberate and graceful. We stood in awe, appreciating the mastery and creativity required to turn raw sand into stunning pieces of art.
For two days, we played farm girls at Sauder Village. I laughed as Jane tried to milk a cow, ending up with more milk on herself than in the pail. We helped feed the animals and learned about heirloom crops, gaining a newfound respect for early farmers. Kim snapped a selfie with a particularly friendly goat, capturing our delight.
"Think you could handle this every day?" I asked, imagining life in this era.
After our farm escapades, we hit the village shops. I couldn’t resist buying a handmade quilt, while Jane stocked up on old-fashioned candies. Kim, enchanted by the intricate pottery designs, bought a small vase as a keepsake. We enjoyed a hearty meal at the Barn Restaurant and finished with a stop at the Doughbox Bakery, where the smell of fresh bread and cookies was irresistible.
Our visit coincided with the Fall Festival, bringing the village to life with music, crafts, and games. Vibrant folk tunes filled the air as we wandered through the lively fair, where artisans showcased their skills and traditional crafts. I joined a quilting workshop, hoping to start what could become a cherished family heirloom. The workshop was bustling with activity, women and men alike gathered around large wooden quilting frames, their fingers deftly stitching colorful patterns.
One corner of the room was dedicated to a magnificent old loom used for weaving quilt fabric. The loom, a massive wooden contraption with intricate parts, clattered rhythmically as it was operated by a seasoned weaver. The weaver expertly fed threads through the loom, creating beautiful, durable fabrics that would later be pieced together into quilts. Watching the loom in action was mesmerizing; each pass of the shuttle and press of the pedal contributed to the growing, intricate design.
As I worked on my quilt, I couldn't help but admire the skill and patience required to produce such beautiful pieces. The atmosphere was filled with camaraderie and a shared love for the craft, each participant adding their own touch to the communal tapestry. The experience was both humbling and inspiring, giving me a deeper appreciation for the art of quilting and the historical significance of these handmade treasures.
Jane and Kim entered a pie-eating contest, their laughter echoing through the village as they eagerly dug into the sweet, sticky pies. The tables were lined with an array of delicious homemade apple pies and berry tarts, each one more tempting than the last. As the contest began, they dove in with enthusiasm, their faces quickly smeared with apple pie filling and berry jams.
The crowd cheered them on, adding to the festive atmosphere. Kim’s competitive spirit shone through as she tried to outpace Jane, who was equally determined to win. The spectacle was both hilarious and heartwarming, with Jane and Kim’s antics drawing smiles and laughter from everyone around. By the end, they were covered in a mix of crumbs and fruity stains, their laughter louder than ever as they embraced their messy triumph. It was a moment of pure joy, capturing the carefree and fun-loving spirit of the Fall Festival.
Back at the Sauder Heritage Inn, we spent our last two nights in cozy, rustic charm. We shared stories and reflected on our favorite moments, feeling like we had truly stepped back in time. On our final day, we took a scenic ride on the Erie Express Train, exploring the village from a picturesque vantage point. The museum building deepened our appreciation for the region’s history.
But the trip took a dark turn on the last night. After indulging in one too many shots of Hennessy and fruity drinks like cranberry whiskey sours, we decided a late-night wagon ride was a great idea. As we laughed and swayed with the wagon's movements, disaster struck. A wheel came loose, and the wagon tipped over. I was thrown headfirst into a stone boulder. The impact was catastrophic, breaking my neck and leaving me fatally injured.
In my drunken stupor, I didn't quite grasp the severity of my injuries. A strange sensation tugged at the edges of my consciousness. I muttered to my friends, "What are you bitches do-?" As they panicked around me, I sensed my life was about to take an unexpected turn. The world around me began to blur, and I felt a pull towards something unknown. This marked a dramatic change I never saw coming, leading me down a path I could never have imagined.
Chapter 3: The Revelation “Let me clear my throat!”
Chapter Text
Date: Unknown, The Westerlands - (Day – 1)
I remained on that mat for what felt like an hour, feeling my pulse racing and my breath coming in shallow gasps. The woman—the one claiming to be my mother—looked at me with a mixture of sadness and concern.
"Sweetling, you must calm down," she said softly, sitting beside me on the mat. “I know this is a lot to take in, Tysha. But we’re here to help you remember and get better.”
“Remember what?” I snapped, frustration boiling over. “I don’t remember any of this. I’m not supposed to be here. I was in Sauder Village with my friends!”
She looked at me with a mix of pity and confusion. “Sauder Village? Friends? Sweetling, you’ve always lived here with us.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m from Missouri, not this…” I had to stop myself from exploding on her because this wasn’t her fault, and deep down, I knew it. So, I started over. “The Westerlands is not my home! If you’re the parents of the Tysha I think you are, I’m not her! I was on a trip with my friends, Jane and Kim, and we had an accident…” My voice trailed off as I realized how crazy I sounded. Even I could hardly believe my own words.
She reached out and took my hand. “Tysha, it’s alright. You’re safe now. Just rest and let us take care of you.”
I pulled my hand away, my mind racing. “No, you don’t understand. I’m not your Tysha! My name is Tysha, but I'm not your Tysha. I need to find a way back. Back to my life, my friends. I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t my world. This is a book where the author acts just like the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland and chops off everybody’s head. I don’t want to be here! Do you understand now? You’re not real, this world is not real, none of this is real!”
At that moment, the man—Rolder—came closer, his face etched with concern. “Is she remembering anything?” he asked the woman.
“She’s confused,” she replied so softly I could barely hear her.
He knelt beside me, his large frame making the open space feel cramped. “Tysha, we ya family. We’ll help ya’ through this. Just trust us.”
Trust them? These strangers who claimed to be my parents in a world that didn’t even make sense. I shook my head, feeling the tears welling up again. “I don’t know how to trust any of this. I just want to go home.”
Rolder exchanged a worried glance with the woman, who shook her head and asked to speak with him outside. He turned to me and said, “We be right back, sweetling. Try to rest.”
As they backed away, I was left alone with my thoughts once more. Rest? How could I rest when everything I knew had been ripped away? I still couldn't believe I was in fucking Westeros! Of all the places I've read about, this was one of the worst. Shit, waking up as a mindless walker in The Walking Dead would've been better than this medieval nightmare!
Why? What kind of cosmic joke had I been pulled into? I lived a simple life, minded my own damn business, helped countless orphans like me, and even paid it forward. So, why am I here? How did I even get here? And what if I’m stuck here? How do you even survive in a backwards-ass world like this? I kept asking myself this same question over and over.
I couldn’t help but start worrying even more because of course I’m stuck here! How the fuck do you get out of a make-believe world? And the only thing I could think of after that last question I asked myself was that you die! I continued to fight back tears at the sheer injustice of it all, grappling with the realization that I must have died in my previous life when I fell off that old, rickety-ass wagon. But why did I end up here? And of course, life couldn't just let me go quietly; it had to throw me into this bizarre medieval cosplay without any warning.
I let the tears flow freely down my face, no longer caring. I was trapped in this twisted reality, as a child no less! In a world that saw women as nothing more than incubators, where worth was determined by lineage, and only a few were educated.
Taking a deep breath, I wiped away my tears and tried to think clearly. The first thing I needed was a plan, something to help me navigate this madness. I had to learn everything I could about this world—wishing I had paid more attention to the smaller details instead of just the plot points. I couldn't even remember all their customs and dangers! Maybe if I played along for a while… but who was I kidding? I could never keep it a secret. They would notice their kid acting strangely and way smarter than—how old is she right now? What year is it even here? Ugh!
I saw the show. The only smart ones in Westeros were the smallfolk. They knew how to stay out of trouble, avoiding the nobles’ dumbass games, and were the true backbone of the kingdom. One of them would figure me out because this wasn’t a situation where I could just fake it until I made it. I had to make them understand that I wasn’t their Tysha.
But what if they did something stupid once they found out, like taking me to Tywin, or worse, a mental ward? Wait, they didn’t even have those in Westeros, did they? No! Shit, they had workhouses...which, honestly, was completely fucked up!
Reciting the serenity prayer in my head, "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference," I vowed to use everything I remembered from the books, TV shows, fanfiction stories, and my own experiences to navigate this world and avoid the tragic fate that Tysha met in the original story. The challenge was, aside from avoiding a horrific assault and marrying Tyrion Lannister, I wasn't sure what to do next. I needed to find answers, and I needed to find them fast.
I started thinking about the life I’d been forced to leave behind and wondered how Jane and Kim were doing, feeling even more hurt realizing that the only family I’d ever had was just taken away from me. I hoped they would continue to look after each other and knew how hard my death would be on my mini-mes, Nyia and Hope, my brothers from another mother, Henry and Jonas, and my precious babies, L and Pookie. Well, Pookie wouldn't care, but damn, I miss L.
I heard the door open and braced myself for their return, my mind still spinning with thoughts of my friends. As I tried to make sense of everything, a sudden, violent tremor seized my body. I shook uncontrollably, and then everything went black and eerily silent. A wave of warmth surged through me, almost suffocating in its intensity. When I finally came to, it felt like I’d been rode hard and put away wet. Despite whatever in the hell that was, one thing was clear: I knew exactly who I was. Tyrion Lannister’s first wife - the smallfolk girl Tysha! I fucking knew it-this shit just keeps getting worse!
The man and woman who burst into the room, their faces etched with panic, were her parents. The real shocker? This strange, unshakable knowledge was all I had. No memories of the other Tysha's life, just these inexplicable, overwhelming feelings that threatened to tear my mind apart. I'd never seen these people before, but an intense, all-consuming love for them gripped my heart. The sheer terror of loving strangers so deeply left me reeling, unable to make sense of this terrifying new reality.
Her and now my 'parents,' Rolder and Amarei, were dressed like they’d just stepped out of—well, damn, Game of Thrones! This wasn’t some quaint, historical reenactment—this was gritty realism. Amarei had a heart-shaped face framed by dark brown hair cascading past her shoulders. Her hazel eyes sparkled with a warmth that said, 'I genuinely care about you.' How fucking sweet! Her petite nose and high cheekbones added to her delicate yet striking features, and her smile, though genuine, revealed slightly yellowed teeth. She bore a striking resemblance to Juliet from the 1968 movie Romeo and Juliet, minus the tragic love story (hopefully).
Rolder looked like he’d been plucked straight out of a farmer’s action movie. Picture a tall Mel Gibson with massive shoulders, a rugged face, and shaggy dark brown curls. His piercing dark brown eyes held a depth of experience and determination, set beneath strong, furrowed brows. A straight nose and a thick, bushy beard completed his rugged look, making him every bit the medieval farmer in his rough-spun tunic and breeches. His calloused hands were a testament to a life of hard work.
After they finished fussing over me, and I probably told them a bit too forcefully that I was fine, they retreated to their mat on the far side of the room. I could see them whispering and casting glances my way. After about the tenth look, I decided to start a conversation with them since they didn’t seem to know what to do or say to me.
"Alright," I began, clearing my throat. "I know this is going to sound completely crazy. Trust me, I'm still hoping I'm on some kind of weird drug trip or that this is a coma dream, but I'm not your Tysha! My name is Tysha, but I'm a different Tysha up here." I pointed to my head. "And before you say something like I just need to rest, or I lost my memory from the fall—just listen."
Rolder and Amarei exchanged a puzzled glance but remained silent, waiting for me to continue.
“The last thing I remember was taking a birthday trip to a living history museum in the UK called Sauder Village with my friends Jane and Kim. It focuses on the 1700s lifestyle and offers a hands-on living experience. On our last night, after a few too many drinks, we took a late-night wagon ride. Unfortunately, the wagon tipped over, and I was thrown headfirst into a boulder. I’m pretty sure the impact broke my neck, and I knew I was fatally injured. Thinking back now, I could actually hear my friends panicking around me before everything went black. I remember feeling a strange sensation, like I was being pulled towards something, and then I woke up here, in Westeros.” I finished.
Rolder’s eyes widened as he listened to my story, his rugged face a mix of shock and disbelief. He exchanged a bewildered glance with Amarei, who looked equally stunned.
“Wat ya are saying is unheard of,” Rolder stammered, his voice wavering. “Ya’ our Tysha? Ya have her face, her body…”
He ran a hand through his shaggy curls, trying to make sense of it all. “This Sauder Village, these folks ya mentioned… And story being thrown from a wagon... it’s beyond anything I’d ever heard. None of that makes sense, sweetling. There is no village around here with that name, and ya just fell off our wagon—ya didn’t get thrown.”
At that moment, it hit me: Well, fuck. I died, but she didn’t. Is that why I can feel what she’s feeling? Is this like some Quantum Leap shit? Was I tossed into her body to help her make better decisions? Why is that the only thing I can think of that comes close to this stupid-ass situation? Come on, Tysha, use your fucking brain. Quantum Leap was a time travel show. I need to think of… Neil… my boy… come on, what would Neil deGrasse Tyson say about this?
If I entertain the idea of body swapping, I’d need to delve into the realms of... what kind of physics would that be? Shit—I wish I hadn’t dropped Physics 2-0-2! Wait—to body swap, you would need a device. In every scenario I can think of, you use a device! But if that’s the case, is this like alternate realities or some kind of parallel universes? The multiverse theory! Before I could continue down that dark hole... I had another thought. Why the hell don't I have her memories? I know I’m sharing her feelings! We’re sharing a whole damn body! Hell, we even have the same name. Why didn’t I get her memories?
*The Story – “Put two fingers in the air (Get 'em up)”
My thoughts raced, the chaos in my mind mirroring the turmoil around me. Rolder and Amarei exchanged confused glances, clearly struggling to grasp the enormity of what I had told them.
Amarei, her voice trembling, asked, “How can this be?” Her hazel eyes filled with concern and something else as she clutched Rolder’s arm. “Is our Tysha gone forever? Are you saying you’ve taken her place? How?”
Seeing their distress, I spoke gently, trying to reassure them. "I know it sounds impossible, but I’m telling the truth. I don’t remember her life, but I feel this unshakable connection to both of you. I need to understand this world because I’m certain I can’t return to mine. Just like you’d want to protect Tysha, I need to learn how to protect myself."
I took a deep breath and explained, “In a way, it’s true your Tysha is sort of gone. I don’t remember her life from before I woke up here, but I do feel her. I think we’re now sharing the same feelings, we must share a soul, and now this body. I don’t know how I got here. If it was a mistake or if this was something that was meant to happen. I do know a few things that would have happened to her if I hadn’t been switched with her. In my world—where I come from—this world you live in is a book called A Song of Ice and Fire and was later made into a TV show. I know Tysha’s fate in the story.”
Rolder and Amarei exchanged glances, their faces reflecting a mix of confusion and growing fear. Just as I was about to reveal everything, I hesitated, suddenly unsure. In all the fanfics I’d read, no one ever really tells it all. Well, except for that one—but it was never finished, so who knows how it ends! Making my decision, I took a deep breath and said, "It’s not good! But with me here, maybe we can change things. Maybe I can prevent her fate from happening."
They both nodded slowly, and I told them everything I knew about Game of Thrones, more importantly, about Tysha's fate in the show. How she was orphaned by the age of 14, sometime around 286 AC, almost violated by a gang of bandits near Casterly Rock. Unfortunately rescued by the lord paramount’s oldest and youngest sons and that she fell in love with Tyrion’s punk-ass. How later she was horribly assaulted by Tywin’s men who’d had their way with her on Tywin’s orders!
Just because she married the son he hated—the fuckery of it all! How could Tyrion have just accepted it in the end without putting up a real fight or asking any questions? I mean, I could understand he was young, but come on now! The idiot popped her cherry and then still believed she was a woman of the night! I failed to believe that he was one of the so-called smartest men in Westeros. The fucking wimp!
Needless to say, it didn’t go over well. Rolder is strong as hell! When he started asking questions, his voice getting louder with each one, Amarei and I tried to block the door to keep him inside the house. But he moved us out of the way like we weren’t even there!
"Rolder, stop!" Amarei begged, laying on him to hold him down. I tripped him by hanging onto his legs to stop him from walking, which did work in a way. "Please, calm down!"
My small, frail body probably couldn’t hold water at this stage in life. If Amarei hadn’t been able to get him to stop, I’m sure he would’ve made it to the rock and tried to kill Tywin and Tyrion for their mistreatment of Tysha.
I yelled his name, hoping it would shock him to be called that by his daughter, and it worked enough for him to listen. "Rolder, listen to me," I said firmly once he calmed down. "I promise I will never let that happen, and I will make plans to prevent it."
Once he was calm enough, I laid it all out—the tourney at Harrenhal marked the beginning of the end due to all the foolery that happened. Aerys showed up looking madder than ever, Jaime Lannister, the heir to Casterly Rock, was inducted into the Kingsguard at just 15, and Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne supposedly fell in love. The main event? Prince Rhaegar won the final tilt and, instead of crowning his wife, Elia Martell, he rode past her and crowned Lyanna Stark of Winterfell as the new queen of love and beauty. It was "the moment when all the smiles died."
Rhaegar and Lyanna ran away together and married in secret, even though she was supposed to marry Robert, and Rhaegar was already married with kids to Elia. No one knew they’d run off together, so people started saying Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna, which triggered outrage, particularly from House Stark, House Baratheon, and House Arryn. Lyanna’s father, Lord Rickard Stark, and brother, Brandon Stark, demanded her return, but King Aerys, bat-shit crazy as he was, had them executed brutally, inciting a rebellion.
Robert, Ned, and Jon Arryn raised their banners against the Targaryen dynasty. They were joined by several other noble houses, including the Tullys, because honorable-ass Ned was forced to marry his dead brother's betrothed, the dumbass Catelyn Tully. Robert killed Rhaegar and claimed the throne after Jaime killed Aerys. Meanwhile, Tywin’s troops sacked the city, the Mountain violated Elia and killed her son then killed her, while a piggy knight named Lorch stabbed Princess Rhaenys to death.
Sister wife Queen Rhaella, along with baby Viserys (lil Aery), had been sent to Dragonstone before the war started. By the end of the war, she gave birth to her daughter Daenerys (the shittiest mother of dragons) and died right after, leaving her kids alone and forced to flee to Essos.
In 283 AC, after the war, Lyanna died shortly after giving birth to a son who should’ve been the next king, as Elia and her children were murdered. Instead, Ned Stark raised him as his bastard, Jon Snow, to protect him from Robert Baratheon dumbass, who would have seen him as a threat and likely ordered his death. Later in the show around 304 AC, the creepy possessed Bran Stark turned into the three eyed Blood-raven, revealed a vision showing that Rhaegar and Lyanna were married and that she had entrusted her brother with Jon's true identity.
Robert would go on to be the worst king of all! His master of coin, Petyr Baelish, was robbing him blind, got both of Robert’s Hands murdered, and was using the first Hand's wife, Lysa Tully, for his own gains. His spymaster was planning a coup, his Grand Maester worked for Tywin, his little brothers, the nepo babies, were incompetent in their positions, and his Hand was a glorified babysitter. He bankrupted the Seven Kingdoms with all his feasting, whoring, and tourneys. He was getting cuckolded by his mean bitch of a wife, the slut of the Rock—Cersei Lannister—and her spoiled twat of a twin brother, Jaime!
The slow bitch would go on to have him killed by her child lover, who was her first cousin, then put her even slower, bat-shit crazy-ass son on the throne, which led to the honorable Ned’s head getting cut off, and the war of the dumbest five men in Westeros. Oh—dragons returned to Westeros with Daenerys Targaryen, which caused another war and ultimately the Long Night, leading to another war and then the last dumbass war where King's Landing was destroyed, and honorable ass Jon, Lyanna’s boy, killed Daenerys, his aunt, who he had actually been in love with before she finally chose violence that last time!
I could see the emotions they were going through by reading their expressions. They transitioned from confusion to anger, then to grieving, followed by more anger, hate, confusion once again, and then dumbfoundedness, culminating in complete and utter bafflement. Afterwards, they expressed they needed a moment to process everything I had disclosed—a sentiment I fully understood. It's not every day your child is swapped with a grown woman from an entirely different reality who knows a fucked-up version of your future!
I did my best to give them space, but it's challenging in this vast, one-room stone house with no dividers or walls. I found a little corner to myself, my mind drifting to the life I was abruptly torn from. Thankfully, Rolder, my “pa”—ugh, started asking me questions about where I was from. Soon, Amarei, my “ma,” joined in. Tears shimmered in her eyes, yet she seemed like a very kind woman, always trying to comfort me while respecting my space. It reminded me of the old "what if's" I had as a child—the therapy-needing stuff of it all! I started reflecting on how much I missed out on growing up.
When I aged out, I had Kim and Jane to lean on a bit, but we were poor as hell back then, so their help was limited. Jonas and Henry, older street kids in the neighborhood, were in the same boat as me. They looked out for me when I walked alone from one of my many after-school activities back to the home as a teenager but couldn't do more than that. It was so hard until I found that painting.
The main reason I never had kids was because I couldn’t bear the thought of possibly leaving them alone in that cold, unforgiving ass world. Before I had money, I lived in the hood, where many kids didn’t make it out most of the time for some of the dumbest reasons. Waking up in a bad mood could get you shot if you caught the right motherfucker that day! I couldn't even imagine the pain of suddenly losing a child.
I saw it happen all the time—kids gunned down over a look, a word, or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mothers collapsing in the streets, wailing over their lifeless children. That kind of heartbreak would destroy me. The constant fear of what could happen was paralyzing. I couldn't fathom bringing a life into such chaos and uncertainty.
My own upbringing wasn’t exactly a walk in the park either. Being a foundling, raised in a shitty ass orphanage, and always yearning for a family that never came. My world had been a harsh and lonely place for me, and I didn’t want to risk putting another soul through that same torment. The thought of my child walking to school, playing in the park, or simply existing in a world where danger lurked around every corner was too much to handle.
Even after I made it out, living in my world showed me that no amount of money could shield a child from the brutality of it. It was too unpredictable and often cruel, and the scars of my past made me hyper-aware of every potential threat. I was working hard to escape that life before I got the money. So, I had made a choice back then. A painful, yet necessary decision to never have children, not because I didn’t want them, but because I loved the idea of them too much to expose them to a world I couldn’t control. It was a sacrifice, one of many, to ensure that the cycle of pain and loss ended with me. The weight of that decision sat heavily on my heart, but it was a burden I chose to bear alone.
In many ways, Tysha and I were kindred spirits, both having faced loss and uncertainty. Tysha seemed to have had a loving family until they passed away suddenly, leaving her alone. Whereas I had nothing except the hope that my bio parents had died rather than abandoning me to fend for myself. The contrast between our pasts only fueled my determination to ensure that Tysha's future, and my own, would be one of stability and care.
Even though her parents had passed away later in the story, they’re still here now, and maybe I can stop that from happening this time around. Looking back at them, I asked, “You guys do realize I’m still Tysha, right?” They looked at each other for a moment, then back to me. “I mean, I'm still her in my heart, just not in mind,” I continued, looking down at myself. “I can actually feel her in me!” Strangely, I actually did a little. I could feel her love for her parents, and it was a feeling I’d never felt before—obviously!
I looked back at them and said, "I never had parents! I was found in a trash box behind an old meat market and grew up in an orphanage! So, all I had was myself. I think I’m getting a do-over or something, while at the same time stopping someone else from going through the heartache I went through, if that makes any sense to you!"
They listened quietly, processing my words. I could see the confusion in Rolder's eyes and the sadness in Amarei's. It was a lot to take in, and I didn’t blame them for struggling to understand. After a few moments of silence, Rolder spoke.
"Ya saying ya been given another chance, ya want to help us stop what our Tysha would've faced?"
“Yes,” I replied, feeling a surge of determination. “I know it sounds crazy, but I believe I can change things for the better. I don’t want what happened in the books to happen here. I want to make a difference in at least this.”
Amarei reached out and took my hand, her grip firm yet gentle. "We believe you, sweetling. It's a lot to take in, but we do. We'll help in any way we can."
A wave of relief washed over me. Maybe, just maybe, I could make this work. With their support, I had a chance to rewrite Tysha's story and create a not-so-fucked-up future for all of us at the same time. I wondered if I could pull this off because—Westeros is a cluster-fuck of bad decisions and shitty egos—but I don’t really have a choice, do I? Whatever challenges came my way, I would handle them. Ain't no bitch in me!
Chapter 4: The New Beginning – “Today is where your book begins, The rest is still unwritten”
Chapter Text
Date: Unknown, The Westerlands
I bombarded them with what felt like a million questions, each one more urgent than the last. I needed to know who the real Tysha was, who her parents were, and what they wanted out of life. Turns out, Rolder is a 'crofter,' which is just a fancy medieval term for tenant farmer. He works forty acres of land owned by none other than the Lannisters of the Rock. Yeah, those Lannisters. In this twisted reality, they’re not just fictional TV villains but actual landlords with real power. The more I learned, the more my head spun.
Tysha’s mother, Amarei, seemed to be the glue holding their simple life together. As Amarei talked, I couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast between her world and mine. Here, life was about survival and simplicity, while my old life was all hustle and grind. But there was something almost magical about their way of living—a certain purity and resilience that struck a chord with me. It felt like I was peeling back layers of history, not just learning about Tysha, but also about the strength and tenacity of the people who came before her.
So, there I was, stuck in a medieval mindfuck, trying to piece together the life of a girl who shared my name but lived in a completely different world. My questions seemed endless, but with every answer, I felt a little closer to understanding the reality I had been thrust into. The lines between my past life and this strange new existence blurred, leaving me teetering on the edge of discovery and bewilderment.
Apparently, Rolder’s land is smack between Ocean Road and Golden Bay in the Sunset Sea. He grows mostly wheat, with some reserved for sheep breeding. But here’s the kicker—he has to pay a ton of taxes: land rent, harvest tax, the Lord's tax, and the King's tax. And by a lot, I mean a LOT.
Westeros has its own quirky calendar system, too. Rolder explained that the land rent is due every Decem, the lord's tax every Januarion, and the king's tax every Aperion. The harvest tax is collected at the end of each harvest, and in a good year, they can have up to three harvests. The Lannisters, as his liege lords, take three-quarters of his wheat crops and half the sheep. It's quite a ripoff, but technically, they can do it because it's their land. It just reinforced my belief that owning land is always better than renting.
Rolder's family has worked this land for three generations, and he hoped that when Tysha grew up, her husband would take over. I laughed out loud, thinking in my Iyanla voice: Yeah-no, that’s not happening—Not on my watch! If, with a strong I to the F, I was to marry and run a farm, it would only be on land that I could flat-out own, not this mess they have going on here.
Funnily enough, when I asked Rolder what he wanted out of life, his answer was all about Amarei and me—well, his Tysha. He wanted to ease our workload and, in his words, get us "fancy trinkets and enough food so we’d stop wasting away." I could agree with that because Amarei looked like the wind could knock her over, and I didn’t even want to see a mirror anytime soon! I was honestly excited to cook with the food here, though—I bet it's as pure as gold and fresher than the Whole Foods I shopped at.
But then Rolder went on to explain that with more than half of his wheat going to the Rock, what's left he normally trades to get other “foodstuffs”—I guess groceries isn't a word here yet. They didn’t have the space and couldn’t afford the steady help to grow a lot of varieties for themselves, and the food they bought was normally already going bad at purchase. I was furious at that because I knew that in this feudal society, they could get away with it. Yet again, shitty-ass Westeros and its people at their finest!
Not surprisingly, when I asked Amarei what she wanted out of life, her answer wasn’t any different. Sweet and selfless as she was, all she wanted was for her family to be happy, healthy, and together. Bless her heart, but I knew we needed more practical solutions to improve their lives. I was determined to come up with better ideas to make life easier for them.
During the conversation, I discovered that “the tourney” would be held at the end of the year, attracting many attendees. This sparked an idea: we could migrate north after Robert’s Rebellion to live on the New Gift. I believed that a four-foot-thick cinder block wall with ballistic crossbows aimed downward would effectively keep unfriendly wildlings at bay. Note to self—find some pepper for mace and see if they made perfume bottles with atomizers because I would need some protection of my own at some point, and with this being Westeros, that could be sooner rather than later.
According to the books, Tywin Lannister remained in the capital for a while after the war, and winter would be over by then, given that this was the time of the False Spring. We needed to move from the coast before the Greyjoy Rebellion began, as I was not willing to become a pirate's slave, and I didn’t remember if they took thralls from the Westerlands or not.
I needed to select a few inventions from my world that I could introduce here, ones that wouldn’t draw too much attention but could provide us with supplementary income. I also needed to consider one valuable item I could trade to the Lord Commander of the Wall for some land. If we timed our move correctly and primarily used the sea, we could avoid being attacked or robbed. I would need to give this more thought over the next few years and ask my new parents as many questions as possible.
I learned that smallfolk were allowed to gather firewood from nearby forests, but only on Lannister lands. They could cut only dead or fallen trees to avoid depleting the forest's resources. They could also salvage usable wood from old structures, such as abandoned buildings or broken-down fences, for use in construction or as firewood. Smallfolk could also buy a bundle of firewood but at the heavy price of a groat which was four copper pennies.
Many smallfolk toiled as farmers, cultivating crops and tending to livestock on lands owned by nobles, to whom they paid rent, taxes, and a portion of their harvest. Skilled laborers, such as blacksmiths, woodsmiths, weavers, and masons, found work independently, in guilds, or under the employ of nobles and townspeople. This gave me an idea: if we could gather a few skilled laborers, I could teach them how to make some of the antiques I've sold over the years.
He went on to say that noble households always needed servants, cooks, maids, and stable hands, offering steady employment within castle walls. In bustling towns and cities, many smallfolk thrived as merchants, shopkeepers, market vendors, porters, or laborers. This caught my attention, considering I was a shopkeeper / market vendor in my world. I learned that anyone could be a merchant, they just had to pay a stall fee, and a small portion of the day’s profits to the market owner or if it was ran by a guild a onetime fee for that day to sale your wares.
Military service was a viable path for those willing to serve as soldiers, guards, or retainers, especially in times of war when men-at-arms were in high demand. Many landless knights were smallfolk knighted by lords they had served. Coastal regions provided work in fishing or on ships as sailors, while mining opportunities existed in resource-rich areas where valuable minerals and metals could be extracted.
After we finished talking, I asked if I normally slept in the spot I had woken up in, and they told me that it was my little area. The first thing I did was rearrange the space a bit. Tysha didn’t have a bed per se, just a thin wooden frame, fur cover, and a thin piece of cloth, I guess to cover the straw mat she slept on, with a dirty little makeshift pillow, which I tossed to the side because I'm not using that thing.
Thinking of that, I hurried up and checked my head and was so thankful I didn’t feel any lice—ugh! I would need to clean this space up before I could lay back down here. As I was shaking out the sort-of-dirty cloth, fur that nightmares are made out of, and the straw mat, I caught a whiff of something foul and, damn it all to hell, realized it was me! Well, that's just nasty!
Adding a bath and clean nightshirt to my list of things to do, I turned to ask Amarei where Tysha’s sleep clothes were. I noticed she was standing off to the side, just looking at me and looking a little lost. She looked pretty young to be a mom of an—wait, how old am I now? What, 8 or 9 years old maybe? Damn it, I have to try and remember that during this time in Tysha’s or any normal kid's life, moms would normally do this kind of stuff, but hey, she’d have to get over it because I was a grown-ass woman who could keep house with the best of them. Shit, call me ghetto Martha baby, because my house was laid out!
“So, where do we bathe? And do you have some water I could drink?” I asked Amarei. She rushed to the opposite side of the house from where we were and handed me the clumpiest, misshaped cup I’d ever seen! I figured beggars can’t be choosers, so I took a hesitant sip and spit that shit right back out. It tasted like some warm, stale beer made with pond water.
When I asked if they had fresh water, I was dumbfounded to discover if they wanted to drink water, it would be straight from the small pond by the fields, and that was the closest “clean” water source nearby. I could only imagine the shit swimming in there right now, and it made me want to throw up! Now, I'm pretty sure I could guess how they both managed to die by the time Tysha turned 14—fuck!
I would need to think of something for water. I couldn’t live on beer and wine; my body ain't made tough like these non-medicated Westerosi people. I was expecting the worst when I asked her again where they bathe, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought. They did have a small wooden tub that they used to bathe in the house, but when she said they normally only bathe once a week, I was dumbfounded again. I mean, she slept next to a man every night—with some funky puss! Gag!
I asked if it would be too much trouble for me to have a bath today, and she said it wouldn’t, but Rolder might not have enough time to bring a lot of water from the pond. I told her I was okay with just a bucket because a quick wash was better than nothing at this point. Once I finished my hoe-bath, I talked Amarei and Rolder into at least washing their faces and hands. We sat down for a meal of some kind of turnip and meat stew, which was just horrible; the meat in it was tough, and the stock was watery, and the whole thing tasted like dill to me.
While trying to eat, I asked Rolder if we could build a small water filtration system for some fresh water because drinking beer and wine every day would make me sick in the long run. He looked like he wanted to say something but just nodded and asked what I would need to do it. I gave him a rundown of what I would need, starting with cleaned small stone rocks, sifted sand, charcoal or burnt wood, long pieces of cloth, a cheesecloth, some string or thread, and maybe a knife.
I also pointed out that we would need a small barrel with a spout but added that if he didn’t have one of those, we could make do with something like a bucket to hold it all in. He looked shocked that this was all I needed to make what I wanted. He even said we should be able to get everything from the land and around the house, and we could get started on building my thingamajig in the morn!
I wasn’t able to get much sleep because I swear, I saw a mouse run across the floor, and there was no going back to sleep for me after that. When Amarei noticed I was awake, she asked if I needed anything. Me, being grossed out and done with this place already, just shook my head because, fuck it, there's no point in complaining right now. Rolder had already gotten up and left, but he didn’t say anything to me, just nodded his head and headed out the door.
Once Amarei was up and putting clothes on, I asked if we could get started on the water filtration system because my throat was dry as hell at this point, and I was starting to feel a little weak. I noticed a large clay jug in the kitchen area, which could probably hold about a gallon of water at a time, and she was okay with me using it to catch the water when it came through the barrel. She took me down to the pond to clean it along with the small old wine barrel with a spigot, some cloth we would use, and a second pot I wanted to catch the castoff water in.
Rolder must’ve made it back to the house and left again because when we returned from the pond, there was a bucket of sand and one of rocks left next to the thick wood door of the house. Looking around for him, I could only see a little waft of smoke coming from behind that raggedy-ass barn. Amarei helped sort through the rocks, and after finding the best ones to use, cleaning them, and moving the unneeded ones behind the house, I was excited to see if I could pull this off. I never thought I would need to make it again after that one time for science class.
When Rolder came back with a sack of charcoal and a mining pan, I was ready to put this bad boy together. It was actually easy to explain to them that the barrel would be our main container for the filtration system. I showed them how to start with the first layer at the bottom by cutting a small piece of cheesecloth to fit snugly inside the bottom of the barrel over the spout. This would act as the final filter, catching any small particles. Then I placed the full cloth in it with the tips of it folded over the outside of the barrel.
Next, I added a layer of coarse gravel at the bottom. This layer helps to support the other filtration materials and prevents them from clogging the spout. On top of the gravel, I placed a layer of coarse sand. The sand would act as a fine filter to trap smaller particles. Then, I added a layer of activated charcoal, which is crucial for removing impurities, odors, and toxins from the water.
After the charcoal, I placed another layer of coarse sand, followed by a layer of fine sand. The fine sand helps to filter out smaller particles that may have passed through the charcoal. On top of the fine sand, I added another layer of activated charcoal for additional filtration of impurities and odors.
The final layer was a mix of fine gravel and small rocks, which would filter out even larger particles and keep the sand from getting disturbed when we pour in the water. I repeated the layers once more to ensure thorough filtration.
To keep the layers in place, I gathered all of the different layers of cloth together and had Rolder tie them off to the side, ensuring the filtration layers would stay in place inside the barrel and not mix together.
"So, whenever we want water, we'd pour dirty water into the top of the barrel. The water would pass through, coming out clean from the bottom. We just have to remember to place a clean container under it to collect the filtered water," I explained once we finished, stepping back to admire our work. I was happy. We now had an effective water filtration system. The water just needed to be boiled for a few minutes and then cooled down to drink.
I think they drank more water that day and night than they had in their entire lives. When Rolder asked how I could make something so life-changing so easily, I explained that where I came from, we could learn all sorts of things regardless of gender. I told them how I owned two acres of land, ran a small business, and possessed a collection of antiques, which were very expensive. I detailed how much money I made and described the layout of my land, which I had designed myself. I shared the various projects I had completed with my own two hands, such as my fishpond, beehive boxes, brick benches, and a Roman concrete gazebo.
After answering a ton of questions about "how a woman could own land, be allowed to learn a man’s work, and didn’t have to get married - Ugh," I had to dive into a detailed explanation of the differences between our worlds, eras, and advancements. It felt like I was giving a crash course in modern feminism and societal progress to two medieval peasants.
I started by explaining the concept of gender equality, how women in my world have fought for and won the right to own property, receive education, and pursue careers traditionally dominated by men. Their eyes widened as I spoke, the concept as foreign to them as dragons are to us. I detailed the historical milestones, from women's suffrage to the feminist movements that reshaped society, granting women the independence and autonomy they have today.
I mentioned that in my world, education is accessible to everyone regardless of gender. Girls are encouraged to pursue their interests and passions just as much as boys. I shared stories of female scientists, engineers, business leaders, and politicians who have made significant contributions to society. Amarei seemed particularly fascinated by the idea that a woman could study subjects like science and history, fields traditionally reserved for men in her world.
Next, I explained the advancements in technology and infrastructure that support modern living. I talked about how we have access to clean water at the turn of a tap, electricity that powers our homes, and machines that make our daily tasks easier. The concept of indoor plumbing and running water seemed to amaze them the most. I emphasized how these technological advancements have improved the quality of life, reducing the physical burden of household chores and allowing people more time to pursue their interests and careers.
When I told them about my own life, they were even more astounded. I described how I owned two acres of land, ran a successful antique business, and had a deep passion for history. I talked about the projects I had completed with my own two hands—creating a fishpond, designing beehive boxes, building brick benches, and even constructing a Roman concrete gazebo. They listened in awe as I detailed my achievements, probably picturing a world where such independence for a woman was unheard of.
I also explained that marriage in my world is a choice, not a necessity. Women can choose to marry for love, companionship, or not at all. They have the freedom to live independently, make their own decisions, and build their own lives. This was perhaps the hardest concept for them to grasp, as marriage and family structure in their world were rigid and dictated by societal norms.
I could see their amazement turning into admiration as they realized the potential of what could be. They asked about the skills I had learned, and I shared that in my world, knowledge is accessible to all. I explained how I had learned to create items that are commonly taught in schools and through various educational resources. I spoke about the importance of continuous learning and how it empowers individuals to improve their lives and contribute to society.
Through this exchange, I hoped to inspire them with the possibilities of a different kind of future, one where innovation, equality, and education could transform their lives just as they had transformed mine.
This knowledge, now applied here, would help us survive. They were amazed by these revelations, but I was just grateful for the head start. However, due to the size and age of this Tysha, the realities of Westeros, and the people here in general, I would need their help with most things because I was not living in squalor again.
Chapter 5: The Resilience – "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger"
Chapter Text
Date: Aperion of 281 AC, The Westerlands – (Day – 3)
After being here for a few days, I began to see the light return to their eyes a little. It's strange, but Tysha and I were pretty similar in many ways. She had been a kind girl, always willing to help, and loved spending time with the animals and her parents. I don't know if it's because we share a soul, but I was starting to feel the same way too! I was also enjoying this life way more than I should, considering the bullshit-ass way I came to be here.
Which I still don't fucking understand the reasoning behind—how did I end up getting self-inserted into the Game of Thrones show as their Tysha! What happened to her was some unfathomable shit that I wanted no part of! I told them I would use every part of my being to stop that fuckery from happening.
Rolder said that if I didn't say some of the strangest things, he'd forget I'm not the same as before. His comment made me realize how much I've changed, yet also how much I've remained the same. My experiences had shaped me in ways that were sometimes hard to articulate, but they had also reinforced the core values that Tysha and I both cherished.
Shockingly, despite our differences, her parents and I have been able to connect on a different level. We've been sharing stories and experiences that have brought us closer. We were all orphans in a way.
Amarei's mother, now technically my grandmother, was tricked into becoming a brothel worker. She was from Essos, more specifically Myr, and fell in love with a Westerosi lordling who brought her back to Westeros with him only to open a secret brothel and make her work in it. The lordling, a member of House Prester of the Feastfires, was Amarei's father from what her mother had told her, but she never cared to find out the truth. Her mother sent her to the Lannisport orphanage after her father died, worried his evil brother would force Amarei, at the age of six, to start working there.
I hope that house burns in hell, and if I ever get the chance, I'll light the flame my damn self!
Rolder wasn't initially expected to take over the farm; that responsibility was meant for his older brother after their father died suddenly. His brother, ten years older and married, ended up taking the black. His wife had been killed by a bandit on her way home from the mill market. The bandit was later found and killed, and his brother took the black for exacting revenge. Since then, Rolder has been alone because his brother wouldn't let him join him. From the way he told the story, I was certain he had a hand in that murder. Good for him—but damn, Tysha had an uncle who would’ve protected her if he were still around!
I asked if he had seen him since, and he actually had. He said his brother stopped by once when he came by boat from the Wall to pick up prisoners from the Rock and stopped by to check on him. Tysha had just been born, and he hadn't seen him since. Sending a little prayer up that I might have a connection to the Wall, I asked all I could about him. He was stationed at Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, and his name was Rolcker. Weird-ass name, but hey, I had an uncle! Never had one before... it’s a different feeling knowing for a fact you have blood out there somewhere.
I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and hope knowing I had family out there at the Wall. The idea of having an uncle who could possibly have my back if I needed to relocate to the north was a small comfort. It added another layer of connection to this world that was forcefully becoming my reality. With this new piece, I became more determined to make our farm as efficient and self-sufficient as possible. That way, we’d have the funds needed if we ever had to make a move.
After spending a few days looking around the land and thinking about what we needed for comfort and efficiency, I shared some ideas with Rolder and Amarei to improve our living situation.
They lived in a one-floor Viking-style longhouse with timber-framed wood and wattle-and-daub walls packed with clay dirt and plaster. I'd never seen one so long before—it was double the size of my house back home, which was eighteen hundred square feet.
I quickly understood why when Rolder explained that his grandfather used to bring the animals indoors during winters before the barn was built. Ew! Thank God they don't do that now. I couldn't even imagine waking up with horse shit all around me.
The roof was thatched, so we would need to commission stackable clay shingles. Thatched roofs were traditional, but let's be real, they were a pain—prone to leaks and needing constant repairs. Clay shingles would not only keep us dry but also add some much-needed durability and class to our home. It would be a significant upgrade, making the house more resilient and easier to maintain.
The floor was supposed to be compacted dirt, but it wasn't packed well at all. Every step kicked up dust, making the place look like a battlefield. Wetting it down and adding a clay mixture might help, but no, we needed to do better. A polished mortar floor would turn it into a proper house floor—smooth, clean, and sturdy. This improvement would make a world of difference in terms of comfort and cleanliness, giving us a solid foundation.
Next on the list, we'd need to make some old-school bricks for a walking path around the house. A proper path would stop us from tracking mud inside during rainy seasons and add a touch of order to the property. We could make bricks from local clay, firing them in a simple kiln we’d build ourselves. It would be a lot of work, but the end result would be worth it, creating a neat and practical walkway.
Rolder mentioned that firewood is expensive, so we wouldn’t be able to use it often. That got me thinking about other fuel sources we could use. I know peat isn’t feasible because digging up the ponds could start a flood. What about briquettes? We could use them for cooking and heating the house when needed and save the wood for things like the kiln or wooden items. I’d have to think on it more, so I tuned back into what they were saying and then continued telling them other things I’d noticed.
Overhead, they stored their smoked meats by hanging them from one of the thicker beams—ugh, pantry cabinets are not a thing here yet, Amarei had told me once I explained what they were. The idea of exposed meats and foodstuffs hanging in the open made me cringe. Not only was it unhygienic, but it also attracted pests. So, add that to the list of upgrades. I'd explained to Amarei that with a pantry cabinet, she could store food and foodstuffs, which would keep better and stay pest-free. A well-built pantry would protect our provisions from rodents and insects, extending their shelf life and keeping our food supply safe.
The interior was very dim, obviously because they didn't have electricity, and the few windows they did have didn't have glass panels to let in sunlight. The small openings were covered with wooden shutters that blocked out most of the light. We needed to find a way to bring more natural light into the house. Glass panels would be ideal, but if that wasn't possible, we could use thin, oiled paper or translucent animal skins stretched over frames to let in light while keeping out the elements.
We could also create larger windows and strategically place reflective surfaces to brighten the interior. Improving the lighting would make the space more livable, reduce the need for candles and torches, and enhance the overall atmosphere of this place.
The layout of the house was backwards too, with the campfire-like pit being in the back of the house instead of the front. Seriously, who thought that was a good idea? It made no sense. Their mat frame boxes, which sat directly on the floor, were way too close to the door for my liking. Imagine trying to sleep with drafts and dirt blowing in all night—no, thank you! The door, made of timber wood, was heavy and hard to open due to swelling over the years. It was like pushing against a stubborn mule every time I tried to get in or out.
So, I added a few more things to my ever-growing to-do list. First, shaving down the sides of the door so it would actually open and close properly. Next, installing metal latches since they didn’t have any way to actually lock the door—security 101, people! Real wooden bedframes with legs were a must—no more sleeping on the floor like cavemen.
I planned for new wool-and-rough-spun-hay-stuffed mattresses with underboards to support them. Screens and shutters to keep insects out were essential because, let's face it, nobody wants to share their bed with bugs. Water bucket mouse traps were a simple but effective way to keep those little pests at bay. And, of course, rearranging the house to make it more functional and comfortable.
Moving that campfire pit to the front of the house where it belonged would make the space feel more welcoming and keep the heat where we needed it most. The beds needed to be repositioned away from the door to create a cozy sleeping area. We could use some proper storage solutions too—pantry cabinets for food, shelves for our belongings, and maybe even a small table and chairs for eating meals.
The house overall had seen better days—it smelled like we were still outside—but it had a sturdy structure with a thick stone base. My experienced contractor, Bob, who could build anything and loved explaining his work in detail, had taught me to recognize a sound building.
However, the space was very open because there were no dividing walls, an issue that needed addressing—I certainly didn't want to wake up to any shenanigans in the middle of the night!
A central hearth would also need to be built; adding a proper fireplace combined with a stove, oven, and chimney would be a significant improvement.
Every step of the way, I explained my ideas to Amarei and Rolder, showing them how each change would improve our daily lives. With each small project, the house would become more than just a shelter—it would become a home. A place where we could feel safe, comfortable, and ready to face whatever challenges this world threw at us. And if it took a bit of sweat and elbow grease to get there, so be it. I was determined to make this work, one improvement at a time.
Why none of it hadn’t been done already was baffling as fuck, but I have to keep reminding myself that my world is damn near two thousand years ahead of this one!
I was thrilled to discover that Amarei had a cookware set, though! Which honestly is strange since it wasn't really normal for an era still in the hundreds, but ok—ugh! Ole George is really fucking with my mind by intermingling periods of history.
Like, seriously, who decided it was a good idea to mix and match medieval and early modern periods? A well-made copper pot, a skillet, an over-the-fire grill top, and a beautifully carved wooden spoon set? It’s like someone raided a Renaissance fair and dumped it all here. Not that I'm complaining—having decent cookware is a lifesaver. But come on, consistency would be nice!
I mean, I was expecting basic clay pots and maybe a rough iron cauldron at best. Instead, I find this set that looks like it came straight out of a 17th-century kitchen. It makes no sense, but hey, I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. At least I won't be trying to cook over an open flame with nothing but sticks and stones. Still, it's weird to think about how this world blends different eras so seamlessly yet illogically. It’s like Westeros is stuck in a time warp where George R.R. Martin just threw in whatever historical elements he liked best.
It made me realize how much I’d have to adapt my knowledge to fit this bizarre mashup of a world. On one hand, we’re living in a place where a proper bed is a luxury, and on the other, we’ve got cookware that wouldn’t look out of place in a western farmhouse. It’s jarring but kind of fascinating. I guess it just means I’ll have to stay on my toes, ready to tackle whatever anachronistic surprise comes next.
Which so happened to be that she only had a small bench to prep on, which I found strange until she explained that they usually did all the food prep by the fire outside while cooking. I mean, imagine trying to chop vegetables or prepare a meal while hunched over a tiny bench in the open air. She would need to be shown how to do her prep and cooking indoors once we had a brick stove. Plus, bending over like that would eventually cause her all kinds of back problems. I could already see her future as a hunchback if we didn’t fix this soon.
We definitely needed to get a proper kitchen setup going. A brick stove would be a game-changer, allowing us to cook indoors comfortably and safely. With proper countertops and storage, we could streamline the cooking process and make it a lot more efficient. I could already picture it: a cozy kitchen with all the essentials, a place where we could prepare meals without breaking our backs.
It’s funny how something as simple as decent cookware and a proper prep space can make such a huge difference. These little upgrades would transform our daily lives, making the routine tasks easier and more enjoyable. And who knows, maybe we’ll even start a trend in Westeros with our modern kitchen setup.
Later that day, I had a chance to look at the exterior of the farm. The layout was different from what I’d seen growing up but not very different from how they did it in the early Middle Ages. The house itself was set about an acre from the main road, which was good, but it was built with the left side facing the road instead of the front. This meant you couldn’t see who was coming without stepping out of the house, off the porch, and down the one little step to look to your left toward the Ocean Road. Whoever designed it was stupid as hell for that because it literally meant you could get caught with your pants down, considering the outhouse was on the right side of the house and outside.
There was a poorly constructed fence connecting the front left side of the house to the barn, about two acres away. It really should just be torn down and replaced at this point; I could see the wood crumbling from where I was standing by the house. We did have a sweet old horse named Chomper, which was a plus. I had always wanted to learn how to ride, and now I didn't have a choice.
Between the barn and the farmhouse sat a small chicken coop that looked newly built. I counted over twenty hens, nine baby chicks, and one mean-ass rooster (I named him Joff) the little shit. Their area needed to be fenced in, and we’ll need to build a chicken tractor for the non-laying ones. They could be cultivators for the garden and fields.
In the back of the house, about an acre away, sat a sheep pen. A well-built fence enclosed the ten-acre area, preventing the one ram, nineteen sheep, and thirteen lambs from wandering too close to the house or the edge of the property. If they did end up off the property on that side, there was a large area of brush with a few trees that sat on its own five acres between this farm and the neighboring one to the left, so they would hopefully be found.
A huge willow tree stood beside the opening of the sheep fence gate, which was about three acres away on the right back side of the house, and a small pond was on the other side of the willow that Amarei said they used for swimming sometimes.
Directly behind the house was a small garden and an outhouse, which honestly made me cringe. It gave a whole new meaning to the saying "shitty food." The thought of the outhouse being so close to where we grew our vegetables was unsettling, to say the least. I was definitely going to bring up moving it for multiple reasons when we talked later. First, hygiene—nobody wants their food growing next to where they do their business. Second, the smell—let's be real, it's gross. And third, convenience—having the outhouse attached to the house just made more sense. I needed to make sure they understood how important this change was.
This land had seven small ponds scattered throughout it in total. One was to the east of the house towards the front of the property, one a few minutes from the house on its right side, with another one about two acres away close to the sheep pen gate. Two were in the wheat field area, one in the sheep pen, and one up by the cliff.
The fields were irregularly shaped, bordered by hedgerows and wooden fences to keep out animals, and were intersected by winding paths. The wheat, which Rolder called the summer variety, grew unevenly and did not seem to follow any crop rotation practices. Compared to the wheat fields I was accustomed to seeing, which were well-uniform, precisely rectangular, and stretched out in neat rows, with modern machinery such as tractors and combines that efficiently managed planting and harvesting. The wheat itself was a standardized, high-yield variety. Advanced irrigation systems and chemical fertilizers ensured consistent growth.
In this world, however, farming was far more labor-intensive and less efficient, relying heavily on manual labor and traditional methods. This stark contrast in agricultural practices mirrored the broader differences between my previous life and this one. The absence of modern conveniences and technologies was evident in every aspect of daily life. As I continued to adapt, I realized that understanding these differences would be crucial for survival and finding ways to improve our situation.
While looking over the farm with Rolder, I learned a few more things from him that were not in the books or show. Seasonal work was common, with smallfolk traveling to assist with harvests or taking on various jobs in different villages. Some pursued entertainment, performing in inns and at fairs, while the most desperate might turn to begging, thieving, whoring, and smuggling to survive.
When I asked why they didn’t have any farmhands, he explained that they had left the day before my accident on the old wagon and would return when it was time for the harvest. He couldn’t afford to keep them for the entire season, so he let them go between planting and harvesting to earn money elsewhere. They didn't charge him for helping because Mikell and Colin, who had grown up in the local orphanage—the same one Amarei grew up in actually. They would stay at the farm when they had no other places to go or work, helping out however they could. Amarei changed their nappies as a preteen when she stayed there.
Hearing this made me feel sad for those guys but proud of my new parents and hopeful. Sad because they had no permanent home—I remembered what it was like to age out of foster care with nowhere to go. I was able to move into a transitional shelter for homeless teens after a day of being out of the orphanage thanks to a hook-up Jonas had. I stayed there for six months until I was able to find a small efficiency apartment I could afford. Maybe we can do something like that here on the farm? Build a small row of efficiency apartments or better yet—a tiny house community for the farm! It’ll have to be a future project, but hey, it’s got potential.
But until then, we could offer living arrangements to Mikell and Colin, providing them with a stable home if they agreed to stay long-term. Just three of us is not going to cut it! I was also so proud of my new parents—they weren't like most of the shitty people of Westeros. They actually looked out for others even though they didn't have much, truly my kind of people.
The business side of my mind was already thinking of ways to get them to agree with yet another one of my plans. Ha! But hey, with full-time workers with no place to go, I’m sure they'd be willing to make a home on these lands. Even in my world, if free housing was included, you didn’t turn that down, and with forty acres of land, we’d only need to use half an acre to build on.
It also reminded me that Amarei was also raised in the orphanage. I now understood why she couldn’t cook. She wasn't taught many of the things others with parents or family had been and had to learn them on her own, like I did. Only she didn’t have home economics, cooking classes, YouTube, or any type of network of resources in place to help her if she wanted it. Until now that is, because I would teach her everything I’d learned in my world while learning how they do things here in this one!
It made me feel a sense of camaraderie with her as well, knowing that she would help me with the plan to allow the boys to make homes here. If we could find a few more people like us with some skills, we could really turn this farm into something beyond what even the lords of Westeros could imagine.
Thinking about skilled laborers brought me back to the farming equipment—or should I say the lack thereof. I knew Westeros was still in between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, but they seemed to be digressing instead of advancing. Shit—they didn’t even have the push plow, which was basically a backward shovel on a cart with wheels. Damn, this was going to be harder than I thought!
I could name all types of antique farming equipment, but having it made here would require a lot of finesse. No one would believe a nine-year-old girl in Westeros could imagine some of the stuff I wanted to make, let alone convince a Westerosi man to make it. I would have to lean hard on Rolder and educate him on how farms were run where I came from so he could be my front man.
Chapter 6: The Problems with Traditions – “Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me”
Chapter Text
Date: Aperion of 281 AC, The Westerlands
Luckily for me, Rolder was the type of man willing to listen to all my ideas on how we could make this farm better than any other in Westeros. The determination in his eyes gave me hope that we could turn this place into something amazing.
I started explaining that a typical farm in my world required several essential buildings and structures to operate efficiently. First and foremost, that barn would need to be rebuilt to provide adequate shelter for Chomper. It was unstable, and with only one horse, did he really want to take the chance of him being killed by a falling piece of rotted wood? The adjacent shed, housing tools and equipment, would also need renovation to accommodate the items we'd either be making ourselves or need to commission.
For soil preparation, we'd need at least two hi-wheel plows to ensure the land was ready for planting. A scythe with a catcher would be indispensable for efficiently cutting and collecting grass, grain, and hay once he learned how to use it. A wooden seed drill would allow us to plant seeds in neat, evenly spaced rows, promoting better growth and yield.
To maintain soil health and productivity, a wheelbarrow spreader would be vital for evenly distributing fertilizer or lime over the fields. Harvesting and processing grain would be significantly improved with a treadle threshing box for separating grain from chaff, a winnowing screen box for cleaning the grain, and a treadle chaff cutter for preparing feed.
I emphasized the importance of storage solutions, mentioning that we’d need silos for storing harvested grain, protecting it from pests and the elements. I also explained that hand mills were essential for grinding grain into flour ourselves, providing us with the means to produce food directly from our harvests without relying on others.
Once I was sure he understood all that, I moved on to food preservation and livestock management—crucial aspects of farm life that we needed to expand. A smokehouse would allow us to smoke and cure meat, extending its shelf life and enhancing its flavor. Rolder, to my surprise, didn’t know how to smoke meat, as his pa had always sent it to the farmer Filner next door. The sweet man was also concerned about taking fresh meat out of the neighboring farm's mouth because they didn’t have sheep. They bred horses for the Lannister family and had only a small field and garden for foodstuff.
Honestly, the luck of it all, he had one old horse that might only have a few more good years left in him. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Rolder. His one old horse had seen better days, and I knew how much he relied on it. The thought of losing Chomper was clearly weighing on him. So, I suggested he make a deal with the neighbors if they were willing. He could offer them a sheep every year for a number of years in exchange for one of the horses rejected by House Lannister. To sweeten the deal, he could ask them to teach him how to use a smokehouse.
He hadn’t thought about it before but didn’t think the Lannisters rejected horses and said he'd ask them about it on the morrow. I continued, 'We’ll need a dairy barn and milk-producing animals, besides sheep, specifically a cow and some goats.' I explained how their dairy products alone would add additional income to the farm.
A well-equipped workshop would be indispensable for maintaining tools and machinery, as well as for making repairs and building new equipment. Together, these structures and tools would transform our farm into a highly efficient, productive, and self-sustaining operation, capable of supporting our needs and even generating surplus produce for trade or sale.
When we discussed the possibility of a dugout, he had actually seen dugouts before but was worried foxes or rabbits would burrow into it and eat the crops left inside, which I hadn’t thought about. "We could make it out of bricks to keep pests out," I suggested, adding it to the list I was compiling in my head. With these upgrades, we could transform our farm into a highly efficient, productive, and self-sustaining operation.
For myself, I asked him if he could catch me some rabbits because I would like to try my hand at breeding them here, which he was strangely happy about and agreed to immediately. I would also need a couple of barrels so when we got hold of some fruit, I could make him better wine and me some juice. The last thing was that we would need enough wood to build a couple of beehive boxes for honey and wax. This made him even happier—he loved the thought of improving the farm, and I could tell he was shocked that I wanted to breed rabbits and take care of bees—Westerosi men!
When I asked about the possibility of having a small workshop or shed on the land so I could try my hand at making some of the items, Rolder mentioned he had a friend named Hermitage, a real woodsmith. He said Hermitage would likely have the cut wood we needed for the smokehouse and wouldn't charge Rolder a lot of grain for finding the rest, cutting it, delivering it, and helping him build it if he had free time. He would talk to him after Filner on the morrow and said once his friend Hermitage was on board with building a smokehouse and it was done, he would talk to him about the rabbit hutch.
He was also going to speak with a merchant at the mill market to see about trading some of his wheat seeds with a younger merchant who dealt with the North in trade to see if he could try breeding a new strain of wheat after I explained crossbreeding to him. Who knew Rolder was the type of farmer who didn’t mind trying new things! The ones I had met would fight tooth and nail to hold on to their tradition even when their farms were dying out from becoming stagnant.
I suggested Rolder get as many types of seeds as possible from the merchant, especially rooted and unusual ones. I begged him to mention big tubers, corn, and, most importantly, rice. If he could get hold of some rice, which is very versatile and stores well for long periods, it would provide a reliable source of nourishment year-round.
When he agreed to at least ask the merchant, I pushed for one of the most important things that needed changing ASAP: the outhouse needed to be attached to the actual house. Out of the thousands of reasons I knew of, the main one was that I wasn’t going outside to relieve myself in the winter—no way!
When I explained that I knew ways to ensure it was sanitary and then explained what sanitary meant, they were still unsure. So, I made it clear that either the outhouse or the garden needed to be moved. I explained that while animal manure is good for crops when the animals are fed natural food, human waste is always bad for a garden, no matter what we eat.
They agreed, and Rolder asked me more about how animal manure helped gardens grow. I added that sulfur got rid of most pests, which opened a floodgate of questions I didn’t see coming but answered to the best of my abilities. Once he asked his onslaught of a thousand questions, he was totally fine with moving the outhouse next to the house and letting me set it up how I wanted—the sweet man!
The garden itself currently only had cabbage, carrots, turnips, onions, rosemary, thyme, and dill—which I found strange. How were those the only veggies and herbs they grew? I knew that with some fertilizer, we could plant just about anything in this type of weather, and it would thrive. And where was the fruit, and why didn’t they have any?
I was trying to make a cohesive menu in my head, which wasn't the best idea, but it would have to work until we could mill down some of the wheat berries. I knew it would be hard, but I planned on sifting the milled wheat into fine flour so I could make Westeros' first piece of chalk! Rolder said he would take us and a sack of grain to the mill soon and agreed to keep an eye out for a large enough piece of slate rock that I could use to fashion a chalkboard. Until then, I would just have to figure something out.
The last thing on my list for this family talk was to ask if we could come up with a menu of sorts as a family. I knew what I liked to eat, but I didn’t know what they liked. With the items they had on hand—wheat berries, five small carrots, two heads of cabbage, one onion, eleven fresh eggs, rosemary, thyme, half a wheel of cheese, a small container of butter, some smoked mutton, and a little salt—we would need to plan our meals wisely.
I could make some great meals with just what we had on hand, but I wanted more variety than onion, salt, rosemary, thyme, and butter as my flavor starters. I wasn’t even going to acknowledge dill after the last few nights’ meal until I got some cucumbers. My pantry back home had ten shelves full of items that catered to convenience, nutrition, and my diverse culinary tastes.
Amarei said we were allowed to forage after I asked about going to the brush by the sheep pen. She was all for it but mentioned that there wasn’t much there because of the shadow cats, except for different kinds of berries. Rolder also pointed out that if we went into the brush, he would need to go with us because of the wildlife that roamed the area.
Despite this, I still wanted to check it out. I was hoping to find some mushrooms for stock and as an additional filler. Plus, I had to see if she was right because the area itself was a nice size, and I was sure there was edible food in that brush besides berries. I wasn’t a health food fanatic by any means, but the culinary classes I took at Harris Stowe made me take a deep look at plants and how to identify the edible ones.
I proposed to Rolder and Amarei that we expand our garden. They seemed open to the idea, so I started brainstorming. We could grow tomatoes, beans, peas, lettuce, spinach, and even some medicinal herbs like mint and chamomile. The lack of fruit trees baffled me. We could plant apple and pear trees, maybe even a small berry patch with strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries. It would take time, but the reward would be worth it.
Next, I started thinking about what we could do to make our meals more interesting with the limited ingredients we had. I mentioned that we could use the eggs to make omelets or frittatas with the vegetables. The smoked mutton could be used in stews or even sliced thin for sandwiches once we had some bread. I suggested making a simple cheese and herb bread using the cheese, rosemary, and thyme, which could be a staple for our meals.
Foraging would be my next “big adventure”. I knew I needed to be cautious. The idea of venturing into a wild five-acre brush teeming with potential dangers was not something to be taken lightly. Lynxes, or as Amarei called them shadow cats, were not to be underestimated. These predators were stealthy and could strike without warning, their sharp claws and powerful jaws capable of inflicting serious harm. It wasn't just the shadow cats; the brush could also be home to wild boars, venomous snakes, and other dangerous wildlife. Each step could bring us face-to-face with a new threat.
Shadowcats, in particular, were notorious in Westeros. They were agile, with a coat that blended seamlessly into the underbrush, making them nearly invisible until they were upon you. Their keen senses and predatory instincts made them formidable hunters. Stories of their ambushes were common, with many a traveler or farmer falling prey to their swift, silent attacks. A single shadow cat could easily take down a full-grown man, and we were planning to enter their territory.
But despite these risks, the potential rewards were too great to ignore. The brush could be a treasure trove of resources: wild mushrooms, berries, and possibly even medicinal herbs. These finds could significantly enhance our diet and health. However, to make the most of this opportunity, we needed to prepare thoroughly.
I discussed our plan with Rolder and Amarei, emphasizing the need for vigilance and readiness. We would carry sturdy walking sticks to help navigate the terrain and potentially fend off smaller threats. Rolder agreed to bring a long spear for protection, its length providing some distance between us and any aggressive animals. We also decided to go during the day, when visibility was better, and predators were less active.
Amarei mentioned that we could use a few tricks to minimize our scent and noise, reducing the chances of attracting unwanted attention. We’d wear muted colors to blend into the environment and move slowly and deliberately, avoiding sudden movements that could startle the wildlife. I suggested carrying a few small, noisy objects to throw and distract any approaching animals, giving us a chance to retreat if needed.
With these precautions in place, we felt a bit more confident about our foraging expedition. It was clear that this would not be a casual stroll but a well-planned venture into potentially hostile territory. Our goal was to gather as much as we could while staying safe, bringing back resources that would help us expand through the coming months. Rolder agreed to take us to the brush the next morning, promising to keep a close watch for any potential dangers. I felt a surge of excitement at the thought of exploring and discovering new ingredients. It was like a scavenger hunt, but with the added bonus of potentially delicious finds.
As we continued to plan our foraging trip, I couldn’t help but think about how different my life had become. Here I was, planning meals and exploring the wilds of fucking Westeros!
The next day, after returning from our excursion into the brush, we began sorting through the items using some of Amarei's baskets. Our list of supplies grew tenfold! We hadn't even ventured halfway into the brush before being overwhelmed by the sheer abundance of resources growing in there.
We had found four different kinds of mushrooms—oyster mushrooms growing on a live beech tree and chicken of the woods mushrooms growing on a chestnut tree. All around the brush on the ground, laying untouched, were giant puffballs and chanterelle mushrooms. The variety was astounding, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement at the culinary possibilities these mushrooms presented.
Once I pointed out that mushrooms like to hide in the darkest spots, under stuff, and on the bottom of trees, they found ones I had never seen before, and I wasn’t about to experiment at this stage in life. But since all of those trees were living, we now had beechnuts, hazelnuts, and chestnuts. These nuts would be perfect for roasting, adding to our meals, or even grinding into flour for baking. The discovery of edible nuts was a significant win, providing us with nutritious and versatile ingredients that could be stored for long periods.
We also found fennel, spearmint, dandelions, wild garlic, and asparagus. These fresh herbs and vegetables would add much-needed flavor and variety to our diet. Fennel and spearmint could be used to make teas, while dandelions and wild garlic would be perfect for salads and soups. The asparagus was a rare treat, and I couldn’t wait to incorporate it into our meals. This diverse haul of plants and herbs meant we could start experimenting with new recipes, enhancing both the taste and nutritional value of our food.
They were right in a way; there was a hell of a lot of elderberries in that brush. I convinced them to gather enough for homemade jams, syrup, jellies, and pies. But our search yielded more than just elderberries—we also found mulberries, serviceberries, rowan, and hawthorn berries. The abundance of berries was a delightful surprise. Each type offered different flavors and uses, from sweet mulberry pies to tangy rowan berry preserves. I was thrilled with the amount of fruit we’d found, especially when we came upon crab apples and wild strawberries. Crab apples could be turned into cider and jellies, while the wild strawberries were delicious and versatile enough to be used in almost everything.
As we were leaving the brush, we lucked upon something so unexpected that I damn near cried—sitting under one of the big boulders next to the pond was a boatload of limestone. Hello, chalk! The sight of that limestone was like a beacon of hope. Finding limestone meant that I could finally make chalk, which would be invaluable for writing and keeping records. This discovery was like striking gold, providing us with a resource that could be used for various purposes around the farm.
I had always associated limestone with regions rich in mineral deposits, usually formed from ancient marine organisms compacted over millions of years. To find it here, nestled under a boulder by the pond, was astonishing. It suggested that this land had a rich geological history and might hold even more valuable resources beneath its surface.
Limestone has numerous applications that could revolutionize our farm. Apart from making chalk, we could use it to improve the soil quality. Crushed limestone could be used to neutralize acidic soil, making it more fertile and suitable for a wider variety of crops. This could potentially increase our yields and diversify our produce.
Moreover, limestone could be used in construction. When mixed with clay and fired in a kiln, it forms cement, which could help in building more durable structures around the farm. From reinforcing the barn to creating sturdy pathways, the possibilities were endless. The thought of having a reliable material for construction projects gave me a sense of security and ambition.
This discovery also meant that we could enhance our food preservation methods. Limestone can be used to build lime kilns, which would allow us to create quicklime. Quicklime could be used to make limewash, a protective coating for our structures to prevent the growth of mold and mildew. This would be particularly useful in maintaining the cleanliness and longevity of our storage areas.
As we sorted through our bountiful haul from the foraging trip, I couldn’t help but marvel at our luck. The limestone was the cherry on top, a resource that would significantly boost our farm’s efficiency and sustainability. With this newfound treasure, we could improve our living conditions, increase our productivity, and perhaps even trade some of the processed limestone for other goods we needed.
I shared my excitement with Rolder and Amarei, explaining the various uses of limestone and how it could transform our farm. They were equally amazed and eager to start utilizing this resource. It felt like a turning point, a sign that we were on the right path to making this farm the best in Westeros.
Later that evening, after convincing Amarei to let me help with the cooking, I gently guided her on how to make the food more flavorful and introduced her to different cooking techniques. I also explained essential cooking safety rules, since we technically didn't have a proper kitchen yet. When she pulled out a damn cleaver to cut the meat, I nearly had a heart attack seeing her wield it like she was about to go to battle.
"Whoa there! Let's put that weapon of mass destruction down for a second," I said, trying to keep my voice calm. I handed her what I considered a proper chef’s knife from the three knives she had. "This is what you need for cutting meat. It's more precise and a lot less likely to take off a finger."
Amarei looked skeptical but took the knife. I showed her how to hold it correctly and how to make smooth, even cuts. "See? Much easier and safer," I said, demonstrating with the smoked mutton. "No need to go all medieval on the meat."
Next, I moved on to the vegetables. "Okay, let’s talk about flavor. These carrots and onions? We’re going to sauté them first to bring out their sweetness. And this butter? It’s going to make everything taste richer." I showed her how to sauté the veggies, the kitchen filling with a mouthwatering aroma.
As we worked, I explained the importance of layering flavors. "Rosemary and thyme are great, but they’re not the only game in town. We’ll add a bit of salt at each step to build depth. And this cheese? It’s not just for bread. We can grate a bit into the stew for a creamy texture."
Amarei watched closely, absorbing every detail. "And here’s a tip for those herbs," I said. "Add them towards the end of cooking so they don’t lose their flavor. Overcooking herbs is like leaving your best dress out in the sun—just don’t do it." When she reached for some dill, I nearly lost it, shouting, "Put it down and step away from the dill!"
That's when we had our first little standoff, looking like we were in a Western, ready to draw and fire. But she put it down and said she thought it would add a good flavor. "Yeah—no, it will not," I told her, and moved on to the bread.
When it came time to make the bread, I showed her how to knead the dough. "You want to work it until it’s smooth and elastic. This helps develop the gluten, which gives bread its structure." We worked together, and I could see her gaining confidence with each step.
She had a short, wide-brim cauldron that I was going to turn into a makeshift Dutch oven to bake bread. It’s a damn shame, with all these women around, no one took the time to teach their orphans how to make bread. Seriously, what were they doing instead? Knitting inedible sweaters?
The cooking safety talk was next on the agenda. "Amarei, cooking safety is no joke. Always keep your knives sharp because a dull knife is more dangerous—it slips easier. And always cut away from yourself, never towards."
She nodded, taking it all in. Once the food was done and we sat down on our stools to eat, I could see the pride in Amarei’s eyes. "This tastes amazing," she said, taking a bite of the stew. "I can’t believe we made this."
"Believe it," I replied, smiling. "This is just the beginning. We’re going to turn this place into a culinary haven, one meal at a time."
Rolder joined us, his eyes widening as he tasted the food. He looked at Amarei and then me with what I think was a newfound respect and said, "It's really good."
"Well, get used to it," I said, grinning. "Because there's a lot more where this came from. And with the ingredients we've got, we're only going to get better."
After the meal, we cleaned up together, and I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction. Teaching Amarei these new skills wasn’t just about improving our meals—it was about empowering her and creating a stronger bond between us.
Chapter 7: The Seeds of Change – “Don't Need No Hateration, Holleration”
Chapter Text
Date: Aperion of 281 AC, The Westerlands
The following morning, after discovering Amarei had a mortar and pestle, we set to work in the backyard kitchen. With this tool, I knew we could grind the wheat berries into a fine enough consistency for breakfast. We prepared cream of wheat and, to add a bit more protein and flavor to our meal, we decided to throw in some berries and hazelnuts. On the side, we planned to have cheese omelets with diced chanterelle mushrooms.
As we cracked the eggs, I carefully set aside eight of them. "These are for a special project later," I told Amarei, who looked at me with curiosity. "Once we get back from the mill, I’m going to see if we can make a small batch of pasta. I noticed you have a rolling pin, and I think we can pull it off."
Amarei’s eyes widened. "Pasta? Like the kind from Essos?"
"Exactly," I replied with a grin, surprised but rolling with it. "But we’re going to make it right here. Fresh pasta is a game-changer, trust me."
We cooked in companionable silence, each of us busy with our tasks. Amarei diced the chanterelle mushrooms with a bit more confidence today, having learned from our cooking session the previous evening. I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as I watched her, seeing how quickly she was picking up new skills.
"These omelets are going to be amazing," I said as I folded the eggs over the cheese and mushrooms. The smell was heavenly, and I knew we were in for a treat.
Once breakfast was ready, we sat down inside the house to enjoy the fruits of our labor. The cream of wheat wasn't as smooth and creamy as I would’ve liked, but it was the perfect comfort food to start the day. The cheese omelets were a hit, the chanterelle mushrooms adding an earthy richness that made them feel indulgent.
"This is really good," Rolder said between bites. "I never knew mushrooms could taste this good."
I smiled. "Just wait until you try the pasta. It’s going to blow your mind."
After breakfast, we cleaned up and prepared for our trip to the mill. I was eager to see what kind of flour we could get from these wheat berries. With the rolling pin ready and the eggs set aside, I felt a sense of excitement.
Before we got to the market, I asked Rolder if I could pick the items we needed to go with what we had so we could make it stretch for a few weeks. They both gave me that look, the one I was starting to understand meant they thought I was talking crazy again. But they agreed to see what I could do with the three coppers he normally got for trading one of the two sacks he brought.
I also told them we needed a code word in case we needed to talk immediately since we shouldn’t be discussing "my condition"—as we'd started calling it—in front of anyone. I did not want to end up in a fucking workhouse or at the Citadel being dissected by those messed-up maesters. We decided on saying "family huddle"—of course, I pushed for it!
The market square bustled with activity under the hazy Westerlands sun. Crude wooden stalls, with their canvas awnings flapping in the breeze, lined the uneven cobblestone street. Merchants, their faces weathered and tanned from the harsh sun, shouted their wares, their voices competing with the bleating of sheep and the cackling of chickens in wooden cages.
Fishmongers displayed their catches on wooden boards, their silvery scales shimmering in the sunlight. Butchers, their aprons stained crimson, expertly sliced slabs of salted pork and mutton. Colorful bolts of rough-spun cloth hung from makeshift racks, while baskets overflowing with apples, pears, and plums added splashes of vibrant color to the scene. The air was thick with the aroma of roasting meat, fresh herbs, and the salty tang of the nearby sea. One thing I never imagined was that wheat would be seen as something like gold to most smallfolk—they would trade all sorts of things for it.
Rolder brought a three-pound sack of wheat berries with us. From my understanding, two handfuls of wheat berries were worth a halfpenny, and by simple calculations, one handful weighed roughly a quarter of a pound, making two handfuls about half a pound. Since two handfuls cost a halfpenny, it meant that one pound was equivalent to one penny. Therefore, a three-pound sack of wheat berries would cost around three copper pennies, which to smallfolk was almost a week’s worth of work.
Rolder wanted to see if I could truly stretch three coppers into a “sennight” worth of food as I claimed, so I went shopping. With their guidance, I managed to get a small clay pot of honey for one copper from a nice old lady Amarei knew. I explained to them that we could use this honey for all sorts of things like sweets, jams, various kinds of bread I wanted to make, and a home remedy from my past life that helped ward off sickness.
Next, I had to haggle with a vendor Rolder mentioned. He often waited until his produce was close to spoiling before selling it to save on stall fees. Knowing this, I talked him down from a whole copper to half a penny for a full two-pound sack of peas still in the pods. Half of the pods had brown spots, but he insisted it was due to poor picking—boy, bye! I explained to Rolder and Amarei that we could use the peas and pods for soups, fillers, and stock flavoring.
The next vendor’s produce was also starting to turn bad, allowing me to get two small lemons, two oranges, two cucumbers, and a little goat milk all for a halfpenny. I explained that the juice of the lemon and orange are great flavor enhancers, and their peels can be dried and ground for seasoning and garnishes.
I had already shared my plan to melt down a small piece of our laundry soap with flowers and wheat berries (or oats if we could find some) to make body soap and hair wash. I had already shown Rolder and Amarei that I could make lye water with the ash from the house fire pit, but we needed some sheep fat to thicken it, which would have to wait until he slaughtered one.
Fortunately, the next vendor’s stall had oats, and I was able to get a sack the same size as Rolder’s full of raw wild oats for my last copper. Rolder mentioned that they usually fed oats to animals, not people. I explained that in my world, some people ate oatmeal daily, and I promised to make him some in the morning, sure he would love it once we rolled out and toasted the oats.
When I refused to let Amarei trade some of her milled flour for salt, she gave me a puzzled look but insisted we needed to because salt was expensive and considered a rich man's flavoring. They only traded for it when preserving meat or for taxes. I was shocked because they lived on the coast, and I could see the sea from their land. So, I called the first family huddle!
When I asked why they never boiled seawater to make their own salt, they didn’t even know it was possible. I explained the basic process: filter the seawater to remove impurities, then boil it in a cauldron until most of the water evaporates, leaving a thick, salty liquid. We’d then let this liquid air dry on woven plates until all the water evaporates, leaving behind flaky sea salt. Finally, we could grind it down with a mortar and pestle if needed. As I explained, I thought to myself, “Westeros is a sad place with some of the most despicable people running it!”
That night, to my pleasant surprise, the pasta turned out better than expected. It tasted really good with a creamy cheese, butter, and wine sauce and the last of the smoked mutton sautéed with carrots, peas, onions, and garlic butter on the side. After eating, we would discuss the best options for our meal and decide if we had the ingredients, needed to forage, or trade for them. I didn’t even know at the time, but I inadvertently started a trend with them that night.
The very next day, Rolder made a new barrel for collecting seawater. A whole barrel—this man could craft a barrel out of pieces of wood from an old wagon but didn’t know they could boil down seawater to get salt. Ugh, Westeros again at its finest! His skills were impressive, but the lack of basic knowledge about making salt from seawater left me shaking my head in disbelief.
Once he collected a full barrel of seawater and a nice amount of seaweed, he left it for me and Amarei to start boiling it down using the biggest cauldron they had. I had explained the process in detail: filter the seawater to remove impurities, then boil it until most of the water evaporates, leaving a thick, salty liquid. After that, we’d let this liquid air dry on woven plates until all the water evaporated, leaving behind flaky sea salt.
The process was long and tedious, requiring constant attention to ensure the cauldron didn’t boil dry too quickly or catch fire. We took turns tending the fire and stirring the seawater, watching as it slowly reduced down. The steam rising from the cauldron filled the air with a salty tang, a promising sign that our efforts were paying off.
After several hours, the seawater had reduced to a thick brine. We carefully poured it into shallow clay plates that Amarei had made herself. These plates were perfect for the task, allowing the brine to spread out and dry evenly. We set the plates out in a sunny spot, covering them with a fine mesh to keep any debris out.
Over the next four days, we watched as the sun did its work, evaporating the remaining water and leaving behind a layer of salt crystals. Each day, we checked the progress, eager to see how much salt we were producing. By the fourth day, the crystals had formed a thick layer on the plates. We carefully scraped them off and collected them in a small clay pot, marveling at the pure white salt we had created.
Amarei and I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. The seaweed we had gathered also proved useful. I explained to her how we could dry it and use it for flavoring soups and stews, another culinary trick from my world that she found fascinating.
"We did it," I said, holding up the clay pot filled with our homemade salt. "This is going to make such a difference in our cooking."
Amarei beamed with pride. "I can't believe we made this from seawater," she said. "It's amazing."
I nodded. "And it’s just the beginning. There’s so much more we can do with what we have here. We just need to get creative."
The success of our salt-making venture boosted our confidence and spurred us on to tackle other projects around the farm.
Learning that Amarei could make pottery blew my mind. The discovery—that she had crafted the few pottery pieces they had at the house—gave me something to start with. I told her that while I was very limited in the how-to of making pottery, I knew all types of things that could aid her in making better clay, different types of pots, and firing the pottery.
I knew a little about it because antique pottery turned over a very good profit in my world. I used to sell restored pieces at high-end auctions, and I had picked up a lot of knowledge along the way. I had a few fermenting containers made out of earthenware, ceramics, and porcelain because my pickled vegetables came out tasting way better using them. The porous nature of the clay allowed for better air circulation, which was crucial for fermentation. This understanding could be applied to improve our pottery here.
I explained to Amarei how different clays could be mixed to create a stronger, more durable final product. I mentioned tempering the clay with sand or crushed shells to prevent cracking during firing. I also talked about the various types of kilns that could be built, from simple pit kilns to more advanced updraft or downdraft kilns, which could achieve higher and more consistent temperatures.
We discussed the shapes and sizes of different pots and their uses. Amarei’s eyes lit up when I described the large storage jars and fermentation crocks we could make, which would help preserve our food and expand our culinary possibilities. I also told her how to create simple molds for making uniform plates and bowls, a trick I learned from a potter I once met at a flea market.
The day after that, Rolder had left to collect some of the wood from his woodsmith friend who would be coming over soon to help with the smokehouse. Meanwhile, Amarei showed me the best dirt to use, which turned out to be more clay than dirt, and it was in front of the same brush where we had gone foraging.
While he was gone, she showed me how to throw using a stone and wood potter’s wheel and stick. It looked like a ship's wheel laid flat atop a smaller stone wheel with a big round stone set atop it, and it was freaking cool! But it was also a lot of work, and as soon as I could figure it out, I was going to see if I could make her a kick wheel or treadle-powered version I’d sold before, which would be a lot easier to use than this stick version.
We started with Amarei using the stick and making the pieces, but eventually, I took over the stick while she focused solely on shaping the clay. Once she showed me how to develop a well-practiced rhythm and I got used to turning the wheel, the clay began to transform under her fingertips, forming an ungraceful bowl.
Each turn of the wheel required a deliberate push, like a dance of coordination and strength that would take years to perfect. That first time, with me spinning the wheel and Amarei shaping the pieces, we managed to make three cups, two decent plates, and three oddly shaped bowls. It was a lot of fun! Seeing her passion and skill for pottery, I realized we could really turn this into something.
A fortnight later….
Spending time with her was nice, well with both of them actually. We’ve been fixing up this house together to turn it into the home I wanted, and after explaining my vision to her, so did Amarei. We’ve been crushing up limestone, sifting sand, and clay dirt in barrels on the left side of the house to have enough ready to use when we apply fresh plaster to the walls inside.
We are also making the dry mixes for bricks, white and brown pottery clay, and seeing if I could remake the Roman concrete mix, I made back at home using the materials they have here in Westeros. I’ve also been learning all she’s willing to teach me. Last night she showed me how to weave rushes into rugs; this morning she showed me how to take care of the chickens. Later, we’re going fishing down on the small beach.
The first time we went to the beach together, she was just showing me how to get there, but we did end up collecting a couple of mussels and clams. This time, if we don’t catch any actual fish, we’ll take more time to look for enough mussels and clams for tonight. Rolder’s friend Hermitage the woodsmith and his two sons, Hymeth and Haymeth—fucking Westeros names!—are coming over again today.
These guys had been a godsend, helping us get the smokehouse project underway. We wanted to get fresh fish for dinner tonight and cook them a nice meal when they finished their work, just like we did the night before. I’m still shocked they didn’t have pasta here—it’s just flour and eggs, people!
Last week, when we introduced them to the simple wonder that is homemade pasta, Hermitage had looked like he’d seen the Seven Gods themselves. The man said it was the best thing he’d ever eaten, which honestly put a smile on my face for Amarei. I’d played it up as something she figured out how to do herself, and seeing the pride in her eyes was worth all the effort.
At the rate they’re moving, the smokehouse might be done by tomorrow. Hermitage and his boys are working like there’s no tomorrow, and it's paying off. Once that’s finished, they'll move the outhouse up against the house. Finally, no more treks in the dead of night just to take a piss! After that, Rolder plans to show me how to slaughter one of the sheep for meat. Once we get it cleaned and de-wooled, he’ll teach me how to tan the hide. I couldn’t wait until it was completely dry so I could start writing down all the things we needed for the farm that stuck in my head. Plus, I’d learn how to make hide glue for some projects I wanted to start.
One of the most frustrating things about Westeros was that smallfolk weren't normally able to read or had any use for paper—or parchment, as it’s called here. Not being able to write out a list of things we need makes it hard for me to remember everything. It’s like living in a perpetual state of trying to recall a dream.
I decided to change the “smallfolk don’t need to know how to read” part by teaching Amarei and Rolder. We’ve started slow since they didn’t even know how to spell simple words like “cat,” and I didn’t have any paper—yet. Plus, I was struggling to find an alternative to graphite for a pencil because there was no way I was going to learn to write using a bird’s feather. I just didn't have the patience for that.
Luckily, I was able to make some homemade chalk by mixing limestone, a little clay dirt, and water together, which actually worked! Hermitage made me a small wooden mold on the spot from some willow bark to shape the chalk when he realized what I needed it for. The man’s a gem.
He didn’t know where any slate rock was either, so for now, I’ve resorted to using a clay plate. Amarei said it didn’t turn out the way she wanted, but it works great as a makeshift chalkboard for teaching them their letters. This gave her the idea to try sculpting a clay chalkboard for me. Meanwhile, I’d keep my eye out for a big enough piece of slate rock that we could use as an actual chalkboard. It’s challenging, but I’m determined, and so are my new parents.
Teaching them to read has become a highlight of my day. Watching them struggle with the letters, then slowly getting it, is incredibly rewarding. Amarei’s face lights up every time she recognizes a word, and Rolder, despite his initial resistance, is starting to see the value in it.
We sit together in the evenings after the day’s work, using my makeshift chalkboard to go over letters and simple words. I draw pictures to go with each word—an apple for “a,” a cat for “c.” It’s basic, but it’s working. They’re learning, and more importantly, they’re starting to enjoy it!
Chapter 8: The Hermitage of it all – "Now Get This Work!"
Chapter Text
Date: Maya of 281AC, The Westerlands
I had been here for what felt like months, but it’s only been a little over thirty days! I have really grown close to Rolder and Amarei. If I had parents like them in my world, my life would’ve been the shit! Rolder was a lot of fun for a man born in Westeros. Being thirteen and forced to take over an old, rundown family farm might have cut out a lot of time for normal boys' fun, but he made the best of it.
When Hermitage, who was truly a kind man, came over, they were always snickering about something and goofing around together. What I really loved was that Rolder would stop and show me how to do all kinds of things I would’ve never experienced as a city girl. He did it so often that Hermitage and his boys started showing me all sorts of stuff too.
Amarei, on the other hand, was the heart of this farm. Her resilience and compassion shone through every freaking day! She had this way of making you feel at ease, even when I was ready to flip out over something simple. Her cooking was destined to be legendary in Westeros one day. She picked up everything I showed her in seconds, though we were still working on her flavor profiles. With her love of cooking and desire to create great-tasting meals, she’d master it in a few more months.
Amarei was also incredibly resourceful—she was no fool, that’s for sure! She taught me how to identify Westerosi healing herbs and poisonous plants. She gave me full reign over the house’s remodel and let me commission a few items from Hermitage on credit under her name. Her trust in me left me speechless sometimes, as she would go along with whatever I wanted to try or do. Her strength and warmth reminded me of how nurturing and powerful a mother could be, something I didn’t get to experience in my own world.
Hermitage and his boys have been coming over regularly. It’s become a bit of a ritual, and I’ve got to say, I look forward to it. These guys have been a godsend, not just for their hard work on the smokehouse but for the camaraderie they bring. Hymeth and Haymeth—seriously, those names still make me chuckle—are actually fun to hang with, eager to help, teach, and learn.
Each evening, after a long day of hard work, we gather around the makeshift table in our new kitchen area. The air fills with the rich aroma of whatever we cooked lined up on that dreadful ass bench—tonight it’s a hearty stew with the last of the smoked mutton, fresh herbs, a little pasta, and some of those wild mushrooms we foraged. The boys have big appetites, and they always complement Amarei’s cooking, which boosts her confidence more than she’d ever admit.
Watching Amarei interact with them is heartwarming. She’s in her element, bustling around the back yard, directing the boys to set the table or fetch more firewood. She’s started to take real pride in her cooking, and it shows. The food is better every night, and I’m not just saying that because I’m hungry.
Our dinners aren’t just about the food, though. I’ve been able to trick them into sharing stories, learning something new from each of them, and trying to build some kind of unity with them. Hermitage is a treasure trove of knowledge about woodwork and building techniques, and I’ve been picking his brain whenever I can. He’s shown me how to select the best wood for different projects, how to properly cure and store it, and even some basic joinery techniques. I don’t think he knows I’m actually listening and taking notes but that’s a Westerosi man for you.
Hermitage has taken a keen interest in the idea of making a kick wheel or a treadle-powered wheel for Amarei. We’ve discussed different designs, with me guiding him to think of alternatives by asking questions like, "Why do we have to use a stick? Isn't there a way to make it easier?" This has sparked his imagination, and now he believes he can build one with the right materials. I can see the excitement in his eyes—it’s a new challenge, something different from the usual.
Hermitage also agreed to give Rolder the wood shavings from his family's workshop for a "project" Rolder mentioned. I told him that in my experience, sawdust can be used as mulch around plants to suppress weeds and retain moisture. It can also be added to our new compost pile, which he dug out for me, to help keep the garden soil healthy. And most importantly we can use a little of it to make charcoal briquettes!
Hermitage wouldn’t take payment, no matter how many times Rolder insisted. Curious, I asked the boys why. They explained that Rolder always gave them grain when they had nothing to eat because, apparently, Hermitage’s aunt, the only woman on their land, couldn’t cook. Damn!
This was becoming a trend—why on earth couldn’t the women of Westeros cook? I asked Amarei why we couldn’t just keep feeding them, even on days they didn’t work, or deliver one of the items Hermitage was building for the farm. Apparently, no one had considered it because, in Westeros, it’s uncommon for smallfolk to have dinner together unless it’s in one of the castles or they all live together.
But Hermitage, a true friend of Rolder’s, was worried about taking food out of our mouths. Looking back to when I first arrived, I understand his concern. We were wasting away, but not from a lack of food—because Amarei was a shitty cook back then!
Amarei agreed before Rolder could, neither one of them wanted Hermitage and the boys to go hungry. Especially Amarei, who could now make at least ten different meals using a few ingredients from our homemade box pantry.
Before anyone else could speak, I gave him my best puppy eyes and said that I’m old enough to help my "ma" make the kinds of food she wants. We’d need him and the boys to tell us how her ideas turned out. How else would we know if we should keep making it? To tug at his heartstrings a bit more, I added that I would make him sweets once I learned how.
After Hermitage agreed, Amarei asked if he could carve a few things we needed in exchange for some to-go meals, once we had enough dried pasta made. Unsurprisingly, he agreed without hesitation that time! He asked about pasta every time he stayed for dinner!
To me, it seemed like a simple solution. Good food is good food, and if it kept Hermitage and his boys coming back to help out, it was a win-win. Plus, it felt nice to break bread with people, to share a meal and some conversation. There was a sense of community in that, something I was starting to realize was sorely lacking in this world.
So, I made a point to invite them regularly. Every evening, we’d sit down to a hearty meal, whether they had worked that day or not. Hermitage, Hymeth, and Haymeth quickly became accustomed to our routine. It was kind of hilarious watching them at first, unsure if they were allowed to relax and enjoy themselves. But soon enough, they were swapping stories, laughing, and even helping with the clean-up.
Amarei seemed to enjoy the extra company too. It brought a lively energy into the house, and I could see it lifted her spirits. We weren’t just surviving anymore; we were building something better, something more connected. We were becoming a family, one shared meal at a time.
The smokehouse is complete, and they’ve relocated the outhouse to the back of the house. However, this project is quite time-consuming. They’re basically constructing new walls around the outhouse to attach it to the house. They’re even cutting a door in the back wall of the house for direct access. Given all the hard work Hermitage and his boys have put in, they deserve some sort of payment. Even though he’s helping a friend, the time he’s spent is still time he could have used to earn money elsewhere.
Amarei shared with me the long-standing friendship between Hermitage and Rolder, which dates back to their childhood. Hermitage's father tended the land three farms down from us until he passed away, leaving his eldest son, Herrock, to inherit the land. Despite their blood ties, Hermitage's relationship with Herrock was strained due to having different mothers and a significant fifteen-year age gap. So, Hermitage moved across the ocean road to his mother's family land and embraced the craft of woodsmithing, a skill he inherited from his grandfather. His talent was evident in the impeccable quality of the wood used for our smokehouse, with flawless grain and no signs of decay.
Another thing I learned about Hermitage is that he is incredibly kind-hearted. He was courting a woman who had two small children by two different Lannister guards who refused to claim them. One day, Hermitage went to visit her, only to find she had run off with a known bandit, leaving the kids behind. Hermitage took them in, and I’m told that was around the time I was born! You wouldn’t know he wasn’t their father because all three of them have reddish-brown hair and beautiful green eyes.
The next day, while we were having dinner, they noticed I had used my chalk to mark out the door for the bathroom on the wall inside the house. They asked if chalk could be used on other materials like wood. On their next visit, Hermitage brought me additional chalk molds he had carved in various sizes. Once I had made a few pieces of chalk, I gave Hermitage a set for marking his wood. On the visit after that, he surprised me with his knowledge of carving willow bark into makeshift paper. He even gifted me some of his hide glue. Inspired by his kindness, I was determined to repay him ten-fold with some 18th-century woodworking tool ideas I knew.
Once I find a trustworthy blacksmith, Hermitage is going to make a lot of money. I also planned to introduce him to the technique of making particle board using sawdust mixed with hide glue and water, as well as plywood from wood chips and hide glue. These processes were too valuable to withhold from someone so kind and helpful. However, we would have to convince Hermitage that he was the source of these ideas!
I really wanted to do something good for him because, thanks to Hermitage, I could now write a list of necessities I’m not willing to live without, plan a better layout for the farm, and record as many vital details as I could remember.
*Halliwell Ocean Road Farm L-6 Layout:
House Area (2.5 acres):
Half an acre is reserved for the house, cart port with overhead awning, family storage shed, rabbit hutch, front lawn, and underground bunker. A quarter acre is designated for the silo, another quarter acre for the male work staff, another quarter acre for the female work staff, and a quarter acre for the compost dugout with overhead awning. Additionally, one acre is reserved for the farm garden.
Land Allocation:
The farm's land is allocated as follows: 10 acres for sheep, 20 acres for farm crop fields, 1 acre for a playground, park, flower garden, and beehive boxes, 1 acre for a side-by-side milk barn, 1.5 acres for a side-by-side horse stable, 1 acre for a pig pen, 1 acre for the chicken roaming area, and 1 acre for fire-related work (building materials and kiln).
Building Materials:
The required building materials include dry plaster, mortar, brick, cement, concrete mix, particle boards, plywood, wooden pegs, and screws.
House Needs:
Dining Area:
The dining area should include a large bench table with two benches and two chairs, a large dining hutch, ceramic tea set, bowls, plates, mugs, pitchers, storage jars, straw mats, straw cup holders, a clay centerpiece, a wooden serving cart on wheels, a handheld serving tray, and a DIY portable sink (small barrel with a spigot on a pushcart).
Kitchen Area:
The kitchen area needs a counter with a marble countertop, a counter with a butcher’s block countertop, an old-fashioned cabinet sink, a large pantry cabinet, an extra-large barrel with a spigot for clean water storage, a small bucket trash can, straw oven mitts, ceramic utensil holder, ceramic potholder, cooking pots, ceramic fermenting jars, a broom, a dustpan, and a braided wool mop with a bucket.
Outhouse/Bathroom:
The bathroom should have a small bucket trash can, a small waste barrel filled with sand with a panning screen, a portable sink, three ceramic chamber pots, a high back chamber pot chair, and a copper or ceramic tub with feet and a bottom spout.
Mudroom/Laundry Room:
The mudroom/laundry room should include a three-slot laundry sack cart-stand, deep straw baskets, an old-fashioned washer (wooden barrel-dolly washing machine with treadle), a copper washing board, a washing tub, a ceramic laundry soap container, a wooden clothes wringer, wooden clothes pins, wooden hangers, a wooden ironing board, and a wood-burning iron.
My Bedroom:
My bedroom requires a twin-size wooden bed frame, wooden bed slats, a wool and rough-spun hay stuffed mattress, a cloth sheet set, a small bedside table, a small three-drawer dresser, a wardrobe cabinet, a cedar chest, a sheepskin rug, a crochet blanket, a stuffed quilt, and a wall for privacy.
Parents’ Bedroom:
The parentals’ bedroom needs a queen-size wooden bed frame, wooden bed slats, a wool and rough-spun hay stuffed mattress, a cloth sheet set, two small bedside tables, two wardrobe cabinets, a cedar chest, two sheepskin rugs, a crochet blanket, a stuffed quilt, and a wall for privacy.
Farm Needs:
The farm needs a small chicken tractor, a rabbit hutch with an attached shed and small rabbit tractor, an in-ground concrete animal washing station, a tanner’s workshop with a drying stand and tanner’s log stand, a mushroom shed, and a small underground bunker for safety.
Garden Needs:
Tools:
The garden tools needed are a hi wheel push plow, seed drill, wheelbarrow spreader, long and short handle hoe, rake, shovel, leather gloves, straw hats, knee boards, picking baskets, watering cans, and planter pots.
Current Vegetable and Herb Crops:
The current vegetable and herb crops include rosemary, thyme, dill, fennel, spearmint, cabbage, carrots, turnips, asparagus, onions, spring onions, wild garlic, dandelions, and strawberries.
Wanted Vegetable and Herb Crops:
The desired vegetable and herb crops are ginger, parsley, chives, basil, cilantro, sage, bay leaves, lemon balm, broccoli, celery, beets, radish, collard greens, mustard greens, pumpkin, kale, cauliflower, parsnips, oregano, beans, tomatoes, spinach, squash, grapes, and melons.
Current Trees:
The trees currently growing are apple, lemon, orange, elderberry, mulberry, serviceberry, rowan, hawthorn, beech, chestnut, and hazelnut.
Wanted Trees:
The desired trees include cherry, pear, peach, persimmon, fig, plum, apricot, walnut, pecan, and almond.
Current Bushes:
The bushes currently growing are blueberry, raspberry, gooseberry, and brambles.
Fields:
Tools:
The field tools needed are a hi wheel push plow, scythe with a basket, seed drill, wheelbarrow spreader, treadle-powered threshing box, winnowing screen box, treadle-powered chaff cutter, water barrel basket, leather gloves, straw hat, and steel-toed leather boots.
Field Crops Layout:
The field crops layout includes 15 acres of wheat fields, each field quartered (totaling 60 fields of summer or winter wheat), 2 acres of grain (8 fields: corn, barley, rye, oat, tea, hops), Rolder’s experimental acre (4 fields: 2 experimental wheat, 1 fallow, 1 clover), and a money-making acre (4 fields: flax, cotton, tubers (potatoes), peanuts).
Personal Items to Help Amarei Make Using Ceramic:
Personal items include a perfume bottle, jewelry boxes, toothbrushes, soap holder, body wash, shampoo and conditioner containers, vases, lanterns, candle holders, incense holders, figurines, combs, and brush handles.
Personal Items to Help Amarei Make Using Cloth, Wool, or Felt:
Personal items include hair ties, washable cloth pads, cloth panties, cloth bras, cloth boxers, felt overalls pants, felt overalls dresses, felt capes, house dresses, house shoes, pajama sets, wheat straw and felt bookbag, felt purses, and Uggs.
Money-Making Ideas:
Sets of small spice jars with airtight lids, decorative oil and vinegar bottles with pour spouts, handcrafted ceramic jewelry like earrings, pendants, and bracelets, essential oil diffusers, personalized pet bowls with names painted on, decorative plant markers for gardens or potted plants, unique ceramic coasters, decorative wine stoppers, stylish butter dishes, artistic salt and pepper shakers, decorative napkin rings, ceramic wall art tiles or plaques, beautifully crafted soap dishes, decorative toothbrush holders, unique business card holders, egg holders for kitchen use, large cookie jars with lids, ceramic lamp bases, and small trinket boxes for holding jewelry or other small items. Other money-making ideas include berry syrup in a skinny ceramic jug with a cork top, flavored tea in a small ceramic jar, dried noodles and dried cheese sauce in a ceramic mug, dried noodles and dried stew stock sauce in a ceramic mug, small ceramic jars of peanut butter, small square ceramic jars with wood lids for crackers, tableware, tea sets with serving trays, and scented candles.
For Children:
Children's items include a drawing tablet with writing chalk, coloring chalk, a straw jump rope, clay marbles, sand playdough with clay tools, felt stuffed animals, ceramic doll heads with stuffed sand bodies, whistles, spinning tops, and rattles.
For Learning:
Educational items include a writing tablet with a thin piece of chalk, dominoes, mancala, animal shapes, and lettered building blocks.
Useful Items:
Useful items include sugar from beets, corn, or sorghum; starch from corn or potatoes; citric acid from lemons or oranges; oil from olives, sunflower seeds, peanuts, grape seeds; yeast and vinegar from apple skins; rubbing alcohol from sugar and yeast; cold relief from whiskey, lemon, and honey; warm salt water and sour leaf for toothache; lye water from wood ash; iodine from seaweed; foxglove for heart issues; barberry for bacillary dysentery; milk of the poppy (tranquilizer); seed of the poppy, oysters (aphrodisiac and oil); aloe vera for irritated skin and softer hair; willow bark tea for aches and fever; ginger for inflammation or clots; marijuana for calmness and the shakes; turmeric for bone cramps, healing, and bladder pain; primrose oil for women's health; flaxseed for digestion, egg substitute, and hair conditioner; tea tree oil for earaches, skin oil, bug bites, lice, and nail and foot fungus; lavender for upset stomach, oil, skin care, incense, and mental issues; echinacea, clove, honey, oregano, and garlic mix for infection; and fermented garlic and honey as an antibiotic.
Winter Aids:
Winter aids include glass canning jars, tin lids, a steel pressure cooker pot, and cast-iron cookware.
Things Hermitage Might Make:
Items Hermitage might make include a spinning wheel, paper mold, pencils (lead needed), butter churner, checkers board set, dominoes, poker cards, rolly board, matches, tic-tac-toe board game, and a treadle-powered pottery wheel (Hermitage and Rolder might be able to make).
Blacksmith Needed Items:
Blacksmith needed items include A blacksmith can make horseshoes, plowshares, scythes, specialized knives, hinges, latches, nails, hooks, metal parts for a treadle threshing box, winnowing screen, chaff cutter, components for a seed drill, wheelbarrow spreader, cooking utensils, pots, pans, fire grates, pokers, gates, fences, brackets, tweezers, razor blades, nail files, nail clippers, meat grinders, treadle-powered blenders, three-pot copper distillers, copper-lined cinderblock cooler-boxes, fruit presses, hand mixers, cheese graters, lever cutting machines, pencil sharpeners, and jar lids.
Chapter 9: The Building of Foundations – "So just make yours a happy home"
Chapter Text
Date: Maya 281AC, The Westerlands
When I presented them with the list once it was finished, Rolder seemed in shock but didn't say anything at first. His eyes widened, staring at the willow bark sheets as if they held some profound revelation. Amarei, in stark contrast, was downright excited. Her eyes lit up, and a broad smile spread across her face. She leaned in closer, almost bouncing in her seat. "Can you go over it again?" she asked, her voice filled with enthusiasm.
I repeated every section of the list, detailing the items for the house, gardens, money-making ideas, things Hermitage could make, useful knowledge, and personal items. Amarei's curiosity seemed insatiable. She peppered me with questions, eager to understand the specifics of each idea and how it would benefit us. Her excitement was infectious, and I found myself getting more animated with each answer.
We must have been sitting there for a couple of hours because my butt hurt when I got up. By then, Rolder had finally found his voice. He cleared his throat and began asking questions, his initial shock giving way to cautious interest. His questions were pragmatic, focusing on the feasibility and potential risks of each item on the list. The rest of the night was spent in a lively discussion, with Rolder and Amarei taking turns dissecting and exploring every idea.
By the end of the evening, when I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore, he ushered me to my mat and said we'd speak some more in the morning. As I was falling asleep, I thought about how we should be able to make a lot of the stuff ourselves. I remembered how the plow, planter, and scythe with a catcher revolutionized life for small farmers where I was from. These tools allowed them to till fields quickly with less effort, increasing efficiency in planting and soil preparation, and leading to better crop yields.
The plow alone improved soil aeration and weed control, enhancing soil health, and reducing competition for nutrients. The planter was cost-effective and versatile, and the push plow was accessible to those who couldn't afford larger plows, working well in various soil types. The scythe with a catcher reduced labor needs and costs, promoted crop conservation, and maintained the crops better. Their simple designs made them easy to build, use, and maintain. These benefits collectively boosted productivity and sustainability, leading to better yields and more efficient farms.
The next morning, Rolder was late checking the fields and animals because he was engrossed in discussing how we could make these tools. He mentioned that he might need to find someone named Bass. The name sparked warm feelings in me, similar to the ones I had when I realized who Rolder and Amarei were, so I immediately asked who Bass was.
Rolder explained that Bass was like an uncle to Tysha. He had grown up with Amarei in the orphanage and looked out for her while they were there. After he aged out five years before Amarei, he stayed around the area, doing odd jobs to help the orphanage kids and Amarei.
Amarei chimed in, saying Bass was like a big brother to her and had introduced her to Rolder because they were friends. Bass used to apprentice at Old Man Jasper’s place before Jasper died and his son took over, throwing Bass out. Afterward, Bass stayed with them until he found work at a blacksmith’s shop on Crakehall lands.
I was struck dumb; I had another uncle – who was a blacksmith? Life seemed to be looking up more and more! With Bass’s help, we could use the abundant clay dirt in the Westerlands to build whatever we needed for the farm. It felt like we had a wealth of free resources at our disposal. The possibilities for our future suddenly seemed endless with Bass's skills and my determination.
With a blacksmith uncle, a woodcutter godfather (or something like seventh-father here?), a sweet pottery-making mother, and a hardworking farmer father, along with forty acres of land for me to play with, the possibilities were endless! I could turn this into a proper farm! Farms made decent money where I'm from! I bet we could really make a profit using my methods in this world!
With a confident smile, I turned to Rolder and asked how soon he could get Bass here. Then, without hesitation, I broached the subject of Bass staying with us indefinitely. I had come to a firm decision after a lengthy conversation with myself. I refused to conform to the norms of this world or fall into the same patterns as the other characters in the fanfics I had read.
Westeros and its people could suck it along with some big hairy balls. I was determined to carve out my own path and protect those in my inner circle from the folly of others. Let them play their foolish games and win their deadly prizes; I would mind my own business and ensure our survival and prosperity. The political intrigue, the backstabbing, the endless power struggles – let them keep it because that shit is truly beneath me! I had no desire to be a pawn in their games, nor did I want to be collateral damage in their never-ending quests for dominance.
Instead, I focused on building something real, something lasting here. Rolder and Amarei were my family now, and I was committed to safeguarding our little haven from the chaos outside. Every day was a step toward a better future – planting seeds, learning new skills, and fortifying our home against whatever the world might throw at us. We didn't need the approval of lords and ladies; as long as they got their taxes, they’d be okay. I neither wanted nor required their validation – fuck 'em and all those who thought themselves superior.
The Westerosi nobles could squabble over titles and lands, blind to the real power of community and self-sufficiency. Let them have their castles and gilded halls; our strength lay in our unity, in our shared determination to thrive despite the odds. We were creating something far more valuable than gold or titles – a life built on trust, hard work, luxuries they’d never know, and mutual respect. As I taught Amarei new recipes and guided Rolder in innovative farming techniques, I saw the spark of hope and ambition in their eyes.
As a precaution, I decided to pull a few tricks out my bag and prepare some medieval-inspired weapons. First on the list were Molotov cocktails. I would have to walk Bass through making a distiller, but I knew he could handle it. Every country boy I knew could make one in their sleep! Hopefully, the next time we hit the market, someone would have some hot peppers because I really needed to make some mace too. And if Bass was on board, we'd even work on crafting some modern crossbows.
My proficiency with Daryl Dixon's renowned Strykezone 380 crossbow, a skill acquired through a thirty-five-hundred-dollar class, would undoubtedly prove valuable now. Oh, and let's not forget my secret weapon – Forged in Fire! I could explain to Bass how to make Damascus steel. I was sure that if I handed over the directions for making a metal close to Valyrian steel to the Lord Commander, it would secure us a league of land in the Gift. Damn, I wished I’d learned how to use a katana!
After contemplating my arsenal and the skills I could bring to the table, my mind wandered to the countless other ways I could leverage my knowledge from the modern world. I realized I could introduce simple yet effective innovations that would give us a significant edge. For example, we could start making soap from animal fat and wood ash, creating a basic but invaluable commodity, especially if we keep prices really low.
We could also harness wind and waterpower for mechanical work, like grinding grain or sawing wood. These innovations wouldn’t just make our lives easier—they could also be bartered for other essential goods. The thought of transforming this small farm into a hub of ingenuity and productivity filled me with a sense of purpose. I was more determined than ever to make this new life not just survivable, but truly livable.
Rolder’s training on how to use the new smokehouse was finally completed. He had diligently learned every step, from selecting the right wood for smoking to maintaining the perfect temperature. His enthusiasm was palpable as we prepared to put his new skills to the test.
Today, we would be slaughtering one of the sheep, a process that had been a significant part of our preparations. The sheep had been carefully chosen, ensuring it was healthy and of the right age. The atmosphere was a mix of solemnity and anticipation as we gathered the necessary tools and readied the smokehouse.
Rolder and I walked to the pen, where the sheep grazed peacefully. He had developed a calm, respectful approach to the animals, understanding the importance of their role in our sustenance. With a steady hand, he led the chosen sheep away, murmuring softly to keep it calm.
Once the sheep was slaughtered and cleaned, we moved on to the next crucial step: preparing it for smoking. Rolder’s hands worked with practiced precision as he seasoned the meat with the rub we made him, explaining each step to me as he went. The smokehouse, a sturdy structure built with care, stood ready to transform the meat into something that would sustain us through the coming months.
Together, we hung the meat inside, ensuring it was positioned correctly for even smoking. The scent of the chosen wood – a mix of oak and applewood – began to fill the air as we lit the fire. Rolder monitored the temperature closely, making adjustments as needed to keep it within the ideal range. As the smokehouse did its work, we took a moment to step back and appreciate the significance of this milestone.
With the smokehouse now filled with the promise of future meals, Rolder embarked on his trip to speak with Bass. While he was gone, Hymeth volunteered to stay in the barn to keep an eye on the farm and us girls. I prayed he didn’t get hit by a falling piece of wood and to be on the safe side we had a lot of things we would have him do at the house.
I took this opportunity to pull Amarei aside and draw a crude picture of a spinning wheel, explaining in detail what each piece was for and why we needed one—especially since we now had wool to process. Which reminded me that we could also try making some felt.
As we headed into the house after mixing up the last of the mortar we needed to finish the living room floor, I asked if we could try making felt. Amarei looked curious and asked what it was. "I read about the Mongolians using wet-felting to process wool into blankets, and I’m hoping it’ll work for us too. We’ve got to do something about that fur of nightmares! Plus, I’ve got this idea to make you an '80s-style overall felt dress for farm work. If we nail this, we could make all kinds of felt creations."
“So, here’s the plan: we gather wool and clean it thoroughly to get rid of all the dirt and debris. Then, we lay out the wool fibers in thin, overlapping layers to form a sheet. Next, we pour hot, soapy water over the wool and start the felting process by pressing and rolling the fibers together. The heat, moisture, and agitation will cause the fibers to lock together, forming a dense mat.
We’ll keep rolling and pressing, adding more hot water and soap as needed, until the fibers are tightly bonded. Once the felt reaches the right thickness and texture, we rinse out the soap and lay the felt out to dry. If it turns out well, I’ll start working on your overall felt dress, shaping and sewing the material into a sturdy, practical garment perfect for farm work.” We planned to work on it after we finished the floors, which shouldn’t take long now that we had all the materials.
I also tried to draw pictures of all the gardening and farming tools we would need, but further sketching had to be postponed until my parchment was ready. The willow tree, from which I had sourced bark for my drawings, needed time to regenerate. Meanwhile, I began writing the names of each item in the house on the items themselves. This way, everyone could see the spelling and what it looked like written, helping with reading just like it did for Celie in The Color Purple movie!
Fortunately, Rolder did get a chance to ask Hermitage about making us some brick molds and two new barrels before he left, but nothing else for now. We didn’t want him to start looking oddly at Rolder because of his newfound ideas about tools Westeros had never seen. So, we decided it was better if I introduced and demonstrated the items first, passing them off as something one of them had come up with and wanted to test. We hoped this approach would work well, as I didn’t need anyone viewing us or me differently.
Once Rolder became accustomed to the tools, he could pass them on to his nearby neighbors to assist them. As more smallfolk benefited from these improvements, it would become unlikely for any lord to impede their usage. Any such interference would probably be met with swift retribution, akin to the havoc wreaked by Dany’s dragon upon King's Landing!
The Foundation – “Brick by brick, buildin' a wall that no one could break”
Before Rolder left, he helped us lay the groundwork for our backyard mud oven. He dug a shallow pit in the backyard, about four to six inches deep, slightly larger than the oven's base. We then filled it with a solid layer of stones and mortar for stability. While the base dried for a day, we mixed the clay.
We combined two parts clay, three parts sand, and one part straw, which Amarei expertly cut into small pieces. Gradually, we added water until the mix had a dough-like consistency. Amarei knew just how to get it right so it wouldn't crack as it dried. We started building the base, shaping it into a thick, sturdy structure about four to six inches high. My memories of the oven's shape and Amarei's skilled hands made the perfect team, and soon we had a strong, even base.
I could already see it coming together in my mind. I knew we could do the rest while Rolder was gone. But the dome was the trickiest part, so we ended up recruiting Hymeth to help us finish. The problem with that was that he noticed Amarei was taking directions from me and not the other way around. At the time I didn’t notice because I was too damn busy using my memory to design the damn thing.
We had formed the mud clay into a dome shape, using a large mound of sand as a mold to guide us. We made sure to leave an opening at the front for feeding wood or briquettes and placing food inside. For ventilation, we created a small hole at the top of the dome for smoke to escape or for installing a chimney pipe when we got one.
We then let the oven dry for a few days, covering it to protect it from any rain. After the initial drying period, we started firing the oven. We began with small fires inside, gradually increasing their size to help the clay dry completely and harden. This process took time and patience, but I was fucking determined. I was not a fan of pit fire cooking – well not a fan of the way these Westerosi did it anyway.
As the oven dried, we smoothed out any rough surfaces, making sure it was as perfect as possible. We added extra layers of the clay mixture to reinforce the structure, ensuring it would last for years. Right before Rolder returned, the multipurpose “chulha”—or as I told Amarei to call it, the mud oven—was complete.
That was the day I ended up having a very long talk with Hymeth about why I knew more things than an average girl. He had been quietly observing me for days, and I hadn’t even noticed. Looking back, he always had this curious look in his eyes, but I just figured it was normal. I could tell he was bursting with questions but was too polite to ask. Finally, after sitting on the porch for a while, we found ourselves alone, and he couldn't hold back any longer.
"How do you know all this stuff?" he asked, his eyes wide with curiosity. "I mean, you're younger than me, but you talk like ya one of the nobles sometimes."
I laughed, trying to figure out how to explain without sounding completely insane. Every angle I started with felt too much like a lie, so I looked him dead in the eye and told him the absolute truth. Fuck it!
Once I finished, he looked at me and the only thing he could say was, "That sounds like magic!"
I looked at him and said, “I fucking wish! I would’ve already zapped my happy ass back home!”
As I was saying that, Amarei came back out and caught the ass end of our conversation. She looked sad by what I said, so I asked Hymeth to give us a minute.
Once he was out of earshot, I turned to Amarei, who was clearly troubled. "Amarei, please don't take that the wrong way," I started gently. "I didn’t mean that I don’t appreciate being here with you and Rolder. You both have become incredibly important to me, and I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything."
Her expression softened a bit, but she still seemed unsure. "It's just... I miss my old life sometimes, you know? I had friends, and a career, and everything was familiar. But being here with you has taught me so much about family and resilience. You've shown me a kind of strength and love that I never knew before. This place, this life, it’s become a part of me too."
Amarei's eyes softened, and she took a deep breath. "I understand," she said quietly. "I just don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped here or that you don’t belong with us."
I shook my head firmly. "I do belong here, with you and Rolder. You’ve both made me feel like family, something I never really had before. I’m grateful for that every single day. And I promise, I’m not going anywhere unless it's with you two."
She smiled then, a real, warm smile. "Thank you," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "You’re our daughter, no matter what."
"And you’re like the mother I always wanted," I replied, giving her a hug. "Now, let’s go see how bad I screwed the pooch."
We stood back up and headed to the backyard to find Hymeth. In the end, he promised not to tell anyone but his pa and brother and then started asking everything he could about where I’m from. Amarei didn’t say anything and just let us talk while she admired our handiwork on the mud oven. She was happy that I could turn our combined knowledge and skills into a functional and beautiful oven that would serve us well on the farm.
I knew Rolder would be impressed with our creation, and I couldn't wait to cook our first meal in the new clay oven. This oven would be invaluable for baking bread, roasting meats, and even firing small pottery pieces.
When Rolder returned home from his trip to visit Bass, he informed us that Bass would be arriving in a fortnight. While I may not be familiar with all of Rolder and Amarei's facial expressions, the one he made when he delivered the news suggested he was hiding a funny secret. However, since Amarei didn't ask about it, I decided not to either.
We took Rolder out back to show him the mud oven. His reaction was priceless. He was in awe that we had built it ourselves and couldn't stop examining it closely. “I can’t believe you two pulled this off while I was away,” he said, clearly impressed. He kept asking if we really did the rest all by ourselves, his pride and amazement evident in every word.
Later, Hermitage and Haymeth stopped by to drop off three sets of brick molds and have lunch with us. He was completely baffled as to why we needed them and why we wanted to make stone blocks so small, not realizing I had made a faux pas with the size of bricks typically used in Westeros. Thankfully, Amarei, ever the smart cookie, covered for me. She explained that she wanted to see if we could make a bunch of smaller bricks to build a room for firing her pottery, like they did in Lannisport.
Hymeth was also going to help, as we had been planning this project for a while. Once lunch was over, Amarei and I didn’t waste any time and headed to the spot we’d marked out for the fire-related activities. We began mixing water into our pre-made brick mixture and got to work. However, brickmaking turned out to be much more challenging than anticipated.
It took hours for us to figure it out—well, technically Hymeth figured it out first, but it still took hours. He was able to show us the proper technique before we could produce bricks of acceptable quality. By the time Amarei called it a day for all of us so we could get some chores done around the house and farm, we'd only managed to make sixty-three bricks, deemed sufficient for firing. It was frustrating as hell, but Amarei reassured me that we would improve with time and that there was no need to rush. She was right, but I couldn't help but feel vexed.
After watching all those Townsend videos on YouTube, I just knew I could do it easily because they made it seem so effortless and even mentioned that a team of six people could make twelve hundred bricks a day. I figured with a team of three we’d at least have around four or five hundred bricks, not sixty-three little punk-ass bricks. Damn it!
After tidying up, we learned that Hermitage and his crew would be staying for dinner—or supper, as Amarei corrected. Without hesitation, we got to work preparing the meal. Tonight's menu featured chicken noodle soup with mushrooms and carrots, and a freshly baked loaf of rosemary, thyme, and smoked apple bread from our new multipurpose mud oven.
Chapter 10: The Family – "Together we stand, divided we fall"
Chapter Text
Date: Juven of 281 AC, The Westerlands
Yeah, Westerosi smallfolk are built hella different, and those boys take after Hermitage way too much not to be his biological sons. Hermitage knew something was off about me the whole damn time! Why didn’t he say anything? Because Rolder didn’t mention it! When they strolled back in the next day to help with mixing mortar for the house floors, Hermitage didn’t even bring it up. They acted like it was just another day in the neighborhood!
Last night, after Hermitage and the boys left, we told Rolder that I had confided in Hymeth and he now knew the truth. And what was Rolder’s grand reaction? “Good, now I can tell Hermitage about the other things we need built around the farm.” Not upset, not a single damn question about why I told Hymeth. He just patted me on the head and said, “Good job, sweetling!” The fuck!
Seeing Hermitage heading out back to work on my rabbit hutch before lunch, I took my chance to approach him. All the mortar was down on the right side of the house, with Rolder, Hymeth, and Haymeth using trowels to smooth it all out. Not having divider walls and barely any furniture is going to make this remodel go fast. We already have half of the house covered after just one day of all six of us working together.
The whole time we were working, Hermitage didn’t even glance at me. Honestly, I had been waiting all morning for him to bring it up. So, when I asked him if Hymeth told him my secret, he nodded. When I asked if he had any questions, all he said was he didn’t think it was his place to ask, and giving me a pat on the shoulder, he got back to work cutting thin pieces of wood for the hutch. Yeah, he’s truly Rolder’s best friend, through and through.
The boys were laughing and joking, acting like nothing had changed, and maybe to them, nothing had. But to me, everything felt different. I had been waiting for something to pop off or for them to treat me differently, but nothing! Feeling a strange mix of relief and bafflement, I moved on to helping Amarei get lunch ready. Shit – at least now, the secret was out, and I no longer felt like a complete fraud around them!
After a lunch of bianca pizza and wild greens salad with a blueberry and rowan berries vinaigrette, we all headed to the brush to see if we could find enough dead wood to start on the walls around my room. The boys even agreed to go to the beach with me afterward to look for seashells so I could make myself a seashell hanging door. It was a strange but comforting blend of normalcy and newfound openness. The more we worked together, the more it felt like we were genuinely becoming a makeshift family, quirks and secrets included. Maybe these Westerosi smallfolk really are built differently, in the best possible way.
They didn’t treat me like I thought they would, which was both a relief and a surprise.
I was even able to bring up how to make particle board and plywood to Hermitage who, in true Rolder’s friend fashion, asked every damn wood question he could think of until I had Haymeth shuffle me away. They acted like dogs with bones when they found out something new about their trade. To appease him, I promised that as soon as the parchment was dry, I would make him a full woodworker's list of items.
Rolder told me to leave it for one more sennight, and I should have a full sheep's hide of parchment to do anything I wanted with. He now understands why the maesters spend so much on it when I told him I would try to make him his own copy of “The Book of the Farm.” When I explained what it was, he was about to slaughter another sheep until I stopped him. Now, I have to add papermaking to my list of inventions because he was about to take out half the herd for that book!
*The Heart is Home – “A Heart Is A House For Love”
So, we’ve been prepping for Bass’s arrival for a month now with everyone pulling double duty. The dirt floors are history; now we have polished mortar floors throughout the entire house. Those things took forever to dry without fans, but once they were finally dry and limewashed, we moved on to building the walls.
We used two dead trees from the brush for the main structure after Hermitage gave them the all-clear and a bunch of thin branches to create the wattle framework. To prepare the daub for plastering onto the wattle, we mixed clay with sand, straw, and water. For added strength, we threw in some crushed rocks, which worked wonders.
We mixed and transported the daub with shovels and buckets, using wooden trowels Hermitage made for us to apply and smooth it out onto the walls. Once the walls dried, we finished them with a limewash plaster paint to make them more durable and weather-resistant.
Now, when you walk into the farmhouse, you’re greeted by our living room/kitchen area, taking up the front part of the house. On the other side of the kitchen is our water station, with a large barrel for filtered pond water that hasn’t been boiled and a small barrel for filtered boiled water. Next to the water station is the dining area, and we now have walls around three out of the six bedrooms planned for the house.
Rolder and Amarei's room is right next to the living area, with their door facing the dining area, which is connected to the kitchen. Next to their room is the study, or as Rolder calls it, the solar. My room is next to it, with my door also leading into the dining room area. The next room will be Bass's, which also has walls up.
The old kitchen area, next after Bass's room, will now be our new bathing area. We're still working on it and need a nice-sized piece of sail to tack around the frame Hermitage is going to build. Once we have some bricks fired, we’ll build a small chimney over the firepit for warmth during baths in the colder months.
Across from the bathing area, but on the same side as the dining area, will be Mikell’s room, then Colin’s, and finally, a storage room. We don’t have enough wood right now to finish their walls, but we collect any fallen branches we see when foraging in the brush.
In between the storage room and the bathing area is an empty space with a woven rush mat on the floor in front of the outhouse door. Rolder decided we needed another door in that wall leading directly into the backyard, making it easier to bring food in and out of the house until we can build items for the inside kitchen area.
I drew a crude picture of how I want the brick oven and stove to look. We need a dome-shaped oven with an attached brick stove that has at least three openings for pots, pans, and smaller cauldrons. But we have to wait until Bass’s forge is built before any plans for the stove can be finalized because we need an iron box to hold the wood or briquettes needed for the fire.
Which leads us back to the bane of my existence: brick-making 1-0-1! I’ve counted thirty-two days of at least an hour of brick-making, and we only have fourteen hundred bricks made! After a fucking month, which is honestly just sad as hell. If I could, I would’ve left a comment on that one Townsends brick-making video saying, “You motherfuckers lied!”
And it’s not just Amarei, Hymeth, and me molding them either. On at least four out of the six days we really work the farm, Hermitage and Haymeth help out, and when Rolder started pitching in to help since we weren’t getting anywhere, it made me feel really bad. That man is up before the rooster on most days and doesn’t lay down until we do!
My little body just can’t keep up, and I was terrible at making bricks—I see it now, “knowing how to” doesn’t always translate to “being able to do.” Rolder said we’d have enough for a good firing in about another moon or so, which made me cringe—we would definitely need a worker for brick-making!
A few days after my disappointing brick count, Bass arrived. A weight I didn’t even know I had lifted off my shoulders because I had low-key been extremely worried about him traveling alone in fucking Westeros. To my surprise, he wasn’t alone though. With him was a red-headed, green-eyed little boy around my age and a dark brown-haired girl, who couldn’t be more than a few years older than me, holding a baby tightly in her arms. Amarei, seeing him, ran and threw herself into his arms, while he gave her a kiss on the forehead and whispered something in her ear that I couldn’t hear.
When Bass asked where Rolder was, Amarei told him he was out in the wheat fields but would be coming to the house soon for lunch, and they could come in to talk until he got back. After hearing that, Bass walked up to me and gave me the biggest bear hug I’d ever received—well, at this point, the only one from a man here since Rolder seems to not like giving them out.
I couldn’t help but hug him back with all my little arms could muster because it just seemed like something the other Tysha would do. When we got inside the house, Bass was really shocked. The house had changed a lot since the last time he’d been here. Which was a little thanks to me and a whole lot of thanks to my parents—yup, I said it—and Hermitage and his boys!
Hermitage was making us a huge dining table for the dining room, and once we had enough money, we'd be commissioning a wooden living room set. I had an off-the-floor bedframe, but we ran out of wood before Hermitage could make Rolder and Amarei’s. They didn’t really care, though, since we made them a new rough-spun wool and hay mat. We didn’t have any real furniture yet, but the house looked a thousand times better than when I first "woke-up" here!
Once we settled in, we learned the boy’s name was Alfred. His father had been a farrier who worked at the same forge as Bass on Crakehall lands. Alfred’s father was a close friend of Bass, and when he passed away suddenly, Bass stepped in to take care of Alfred. The girl was named Ruma, and her baby daughter was Rullia.
Bass knew Ruma’s mother, Lidi, and was now looking after both Ruma and Rullia. Amarei, familiar with Bass, accepted this explanation without question. I asked Ruma if I could hold the baby, who was adorable with a tuft of brown hair and beautiful brown eyes. Although she didn’t have that typical baby smell, her skin was incredibly soft, and she remained quiet the entire time I held her.
Once I gave her back, I helped Amarei with cooking more food while Bass unloaded his cart. I asked Amarei if it would be okay for Ruma and the baby to take my old mat and sleep in my room with me, and she was fine with it. I did not want to see a two-month-old baby sleeping on our clean but hard-ass floors—just, no!
A little later, when Rolder and Bass came back, we sat down around the kitchen. As I handed Bass his plate for lunch, I heard him whisper to Rolder.
“Isn’t this portion a bit too big?” Bass asked, glancing at his plate.
Rolder shook his head and showed him his own plate. “No, we plan our meals with more variety now so we can afford to eat three large meals daily.”
Ruma, curious, chimed in, “How is that possible?”
Amarei smiled and replied, “We forage in the big brush next to the farm every sixth day just a little to not deplete our wild food source. Every other seventh day, we either take a small sack of our stored grain to the windmill market to see what they have that we might need, or we trade with the nearby neighboring farms for little extras we may need that sennight for meals. Well, at least until we can build up our own stock of ingredients.”
Bass, looking thoughtful, said, “That makes sense. Actually, I brought a few items I hoped you could use for our meals.”
After enjoying what he called the best meal he’d ever had, which made Amarei blush and Rolder smile, Bass went to retrieve the items. He returned with a straw sack nearly as tall as me, filled with freshly picked oats that still had the stalks on them, a nice-sized pot of honey, and three small heads of cauliflower.
A big smile spread across my face while Amarei’s eyes lit up. “This is wonderful. Thank you so much!”
Rolder patted Bass on the shoulder. “I’m sure we won’t be sharing these oats with the animals either. The last sack went pretty fast after they made an oat porridge and bread loaf with those cooked oats, nuts, and honey!”
After we cleaned up from lunch, Rolder, Bass, and Alfred went to the pond to collect more water since we’d need extra for drinking and bathing. Meanwhile, Amarei and I got Ruma settled inside the house. I asked her if she and the baby wouldn’t mind sharing my area, and she agreed. Once she had her few belongings inside, I had her sit in my small chair while I spread my clean extra woolen sheet and one of our new felt blankets on what would now be her bed mat and frame.
When the guys brought the water back, Amarei, who had learned so much from our talks on women’s hygiene, started warming it for their baths. Once the first bath was ready, I asked Ruma if I could hold the baby while she got cleaned up, and she was so surprised and thankful that she handed her over without hesitation.
Later that evening, after Bass and Alfred had their baths and Rolder did his usual wash before dinner, Bass asked Rolder about some of the changes he’d noticed around the farm. He mentioned the rabbit hutch, the outhouse, bathing area, and the new field being sown off on the right side of the house. Rolder told him he’d show it all to him tomorrow and explain his reasoning for them. Alfred then asked if he could help with the chickens and rabbits when we got some.
I jumped at the chance—I hated Joff the rooster's ass—and told him he’d be the farm's animal manager from now on, and he lit up like the sun. Me being me, I started explaining how he’d be in charge of telling his uncle Rolder and Aunt Amarei when the animals needed something and that I was handing over feeding and watching the animals to him as his new cousin.
Before anyone could interrupt, I went on to say how now that he’s here, I could help my momma and new cousin Ruma with getting the vegetable and fruit garden up and producing. And that it was good we’d be close to the house to help with Rullia if she needed something when Ruma and the grownups were busy.
He nodded with everything I said, in total agreement, so I continued, saying that with family now living on the farm, we could get more things done. How we really needed a cow and goat for Rullia, a bigger table, and more chairs. Knowing I had my parents listening and planning, I added that I’d start making newer, thicker mats like ours for my cousin and uncle, and they’d enjoy sleeping on them.
I had already started on Bass’s mattress, but since Rolder had his own little secret, I had no clue that Bass now had adopted kids and, shit, a grandbaby that would be coming with him. I’m sure Amarei was going to give Rolder an earful later, so I just smiled at him when I said it while glancing at Amarei so he’d get the picture.
We’d just had a whole conversation about proper household etiquette when it came to company, so we didn’t seem too out of this world when guests, potential workers, or anyone stopped by the farm. He totally missed the damn point of it! Thanks, Pa—because we are no way prepared for two additional people to be living in the house, but shit, we’re going to make it do what it do!
Amarei, who I had already told in secret about my plan to build a strong family-like connection with the people we wanted living on the farm, picked up where I left off. As she was setting down plates of sliced leg of lamb brisket, sautéed asparagus with hazelnuts, and cauliflower rice with diced puffed mushrooms covered in a buttery garlic sauce, she said she couldn’t wait until the morning to start working on baby clothes for Rullia. She asked Ruma if she’d like to help. Ruma instantly agreed and told Amarei she could help in any way Amarei wanted.
Which put a real smile on my face because I could feel it was going to work out just fine!
Over the next two days, I got to watch and get to know them all a little more. Bass embodied everything I imagined an uncle to be—fun, cool, and always having your back. He was so kind to Amarei, who doted on him, and when he was with Rolder, they acted like big kids! Alfred treated him like a true father. After sleeping in the same room with Ruma and Rullia for the last couple of nights, I learned more about them.
Ruma's ma worked in a brothel but got Ruma a job in a landed knight's keep when she was nine. I had so many questions, but I didn’t want to be rude. Ruma said she worked there without issues until the knight's son had his way with her. She was tossed out when they found out she was with child. The boy never even said a word while she was being thrown out. When she made it to her ma and told her what happened, her ma sent her to find the man who “should’ve” been her pa and told her he would look after her. Well damn!
That man was Bass, to my shock—He got chicks just giving him kids out here in these streets! Once he knew who she was and who her ma was, he gave her his mat in the little cabin he shared with Alfred. That was a year ago, and she's been living with him since. I also found out they stole the oats from that knight's farm as a dowry for Rullia, in a way. Ha! If we couldn’t use it here at the farm, he was going to try and sell it for things Rullia and Ruma might need.
The whole story made me love him as an uncle even more. I could see why my parents treated him like family. For someone who looked big and rough, he truly had a heart of gold. Alfred was turning out to be just like him, and I think that’s a good thing. Over the last two days, I could see he took his job of looking after the farm animals seriously. He woke up, fed and watered them, came in for breakfast, then spent most of the day checking over the sheep.
On the third day, feeling they had enough time to catch on to how we rolled, I asked to have a family meeting. Bass noticed that my parents were taking directions from me on things parents normally handled but didn’t ask questions. First, I figured he’d ask Rolder, who he spent most of the day with, checking the fields and doing other odd jobs around the farm. When he didn’t, I assumed he’d ask Amarei, and knowing she’d start crying from not knowing what to say, I knew it was time to come clean with him and my new cousins.
That night, as we ate supper alone with just the seven of us, I decided it was time for them to know the truth about me. Before Bass had even arrived, I’d asked Rolder and Amarei how I should tell him and they decided on telling him close to the truth. They didn’t want him to know what happened to the story Tysha because they wouldn’t be able to stop Bass from taking revenge! I understood and had purposely left that out when I told Hymeth my story. Hell, I didn’t even bring up a game of thrones to him at all.
I told him that after a terrible wagon accident, I woke here in what I think was the next body of where my soul would end up after I died. That I knew weird things about this world that I didn’t know before—which was true in a way. That we don’t know why I ended up here but Rolder and Amarei have been trying out some of the things I knew from my last life and they work. We don’t want to tell anyone who isn’t family because we don’t want people looking at me differently or trying to take me away.
So, we decided to tell Bass, Ruma, and Alfred the same thing and getting to know them over the last few days. I didn’t want to keep them in the dark, especially since I’d said the whole spiel about us being family now. Plus, Bass was a vital part of my plans because of some of the things I needed made. For better or worse, they’re my family now, just like Amarei is my ma and Rolder is my pa. So, over a meal of stuffed cabbage rolls, buttered carrots, and garlic pot bread, I told them the story we came up with.
Bass looked dead at me after licking his plate clean and said he didn’t care; I was his niece, Rolder and Amarei's girl, and that was all he cared about. Then he got up to wash his plate. Ruma, who I was worried about until that moment, asked if I was okay other than that and if I needed her to do anything for me. Alfred, on the other hand, asked what kind of stuff I now knew. So, I explained how I knew of items we could make to make our lives way easier. When I noticed that it wasn’t enough, I added that I now know how to read and write, and that I could make us toys that no one else has. He got excited and asked if I would teach him.
These are the kind of allies you always want on your team! When Bass sat back down with a slice of strawberry pie, I went into more detail, even showing him the list. He took it and started reading, which honestly blew my mind. After he set the list down, he looked at Rolder, then at Amarei, and lastly at me and asked when we could get started.
He opened up to us, saying he didn’t want to go back to being someone's shoe boy and would love to build his own shop closer to the road if Rolder was okay with it. Rolder was, and he started pointing at the list, saying he wanted to do all the things on the list around the farm and the house. How they may be able to live like they never dreamed before.
Before he could get up again for another piece of pie, I started telling him that I think I knew how to make Valyrian steel or something close to it. He damn near fell out of the chair. Out of all the things we were discussing, this seemed to get him frothing at the mouth—but not for making money, he said. He basically wanted the clout of it to rub in old Jasper's son's face!
Ha! He was petty just like me—he even went on to say how he wouldn't even make it for anyone, just keep it as a well-guarded secret that he could use to steal Jasper's son Jacob's apprentices and customers away. Any blacksmith that could rework Valyrian steel was paid his weight in gold, so just imagine how they would treat the person that could make it.
I told him I would need him to make it at least once, but I didn’t tell him why. I would be waiting a couple of years before I shared my idea of moving to the north with them because I was still thinking about getting to the New Gift and owning my own land here in funky ass Westeros. I could be rich as fuck, never have to be a lady, and surround myself with smallfolk, making sure the lords would never want to deal with a peasant girl who surrounded herself with people like herself!
Chapter 11: The Hustle of it all – “Baby, if I could change the world”
Chapter Text
Agost of 281AC, The Westerlands
Two months later—or "moons," as I should start saying—Rolder made a big bonfire to heat the bricks for us. Having a blacksmith on the farm gave us a few new boons Rolder didn’t even know existed. Bass could purchase items at wholesale prices that Rolder would never be allowed to, like wood, coal, and iron. He then hipped us to the fact that he would be able to buy cartloads of coal and unprocessed wood from a lumbersmith who worked under a Lannister cousin, the castellan of Tarbeck Hall.
So, a sennight ago, Bass and Rolder pooled their money together to purchase as much wood and coal as they could. They rode out the day after, taking Hermitage with them to ensure they could get good quality wood at a fair price. When they returned, all three of their carts were full of wood, and they had to make the trip two more times to collect it all. Hermitage was able to talk the woodward of that part of the forest into selling a ten-meter-tall oak tree that was leaning over for two silver stags.
Rolder made it clear that we would need to hold off on making more bricks until we had the kiln up and running, which I was okay with. Every evening before it got too dark, Amarei, Ruma, Alfred, and I would go out to the side of the house and mold as many bricks as we could. By this point, I was ready for a small break anyway, and with well over nineteen hundred bricks made, I felt we had more than enough for the kiln.
We spent a large portion of the afternoon before the firing restacking the bricks into a tight coffin-like column that would encase the wood, which would be lit and allowed to burn until it was all turned into fine ash. I couldn't wait, as I was going to use that hardwood ash for some more homemade soaps, body wash, hair wash, and liquid laundry soap.
During the five long days the bonfire burned, I was sick with worry that the Lannister guards would come to investigate all the smoke and start some trouble, but they never did—thank the old gods, the new gods, and the fucked-up Seven! I could barely sleep, thinking every rustle in the brush was a troop of gold cloaks ready to haul us all to Casterly Rock for questioning. Each day, I'd peer out anxiously, half expecting to see Lannister banners on the horizon, but it was just endless fields and sky.
Every time someone mentioned the smoke, I found myself holding my breath, waiting for the inevitable pounding on our door. But nothing happened. Not a peep. Meanwhile, the bonfire roared on, a beacon we couldn't extinguish without wasting all the hard work we'd put in. So, we just kept feeding it, hoping the gods had better things to do than send Lannister thugs our way.
I was starting to think we were invisible, hidden under some divine cloak of protection. Rolder tried to reassure me, saying the guards were probably too busy counting their gold and tormenting the smallfolk closer to Lannisport to care about a little smoke from a distant farm. Easy for him to say, he wasn't the one with a secret life to protect.
But, as the days passed and the bonfire burned on, my nerves began to settle. Maybe we were safe, at least for now. Maybe the gods had granted us this small mercy. By the time the fire finally died down, I was ready to collapse from relief. We had survived another week in the shadow of the lion's den without so much as a scratch.
Unfortunately, it took us another three days for all the bricks to cool down enough for me to get to the ash. We had to move all the bricks into different piles: usable, needing refiring, and unusable but could be used for Amarei’s clay mixtures.
We had over twelve hundred bricks that were in the usable pile, so we got to building the kiln—well, they got to building the kiln while Amarei, Ruma, and I watched when we had free time. It only took them a little over a sennight to build the five-foot-tall beehive-style kiln that would be ready for use in another sennight if it didn’t rain.
To my utter happiness, they only needed to use around eight hundred of the bricks, leaving us with a healthy amount to make our dome oven and brick stove when the forge was up and running. Once we had a few of the sandstone bricks fired, Bass crushed them into dust for us along with the pumice stone they’d bought thinking it was slate rock. I was a little disappointed it wasn’t, but once I realized it was siliceous pumice, which is high in silica, I was good. We’ve been able to mix it with the cooked limestone and fire brick dust, forming a strong and durable Roman concrete.
I knew that using this kind of concrete would work way better for his forge since it was hard to burn and was proven to be incredibly resilient over centuries of use. We would also be using it for all the living room and bathing area chimneys. I knew it would take at least another moon before the fireplace could be properly bricked up.
We were still in the process of adding windows—well, Bass was cutting out two windows so we could look out and see the road from the house and a vent window higher up the wall for the chimney’s crown in the kitchen. He would also be adding windows to our bedrooms and living room areas.
Ruma turned out to be a pro at using a table loom, but we still only had the one horse. We could only cut so much of its tail hair at a time to make the screens, so Hermitage was going to make us some shutters as well. Luckily, the harvest was coming up soon, and Rolder would be able to pick out one of the rejected horses from our neighbor to the left. At least we hoped he would still fulfill his part of the deal they made back in Aperion.
The first time we used the kiln, I realized I didn’t know how to glaze pottery with salt properly. Not even one piece came out looking right. It was frustrating, to say the least. But then Ruma, ever resourceful, figured it out on the second try. She threw handfuls of salt into the kiln once it had been lit for half a day. When we pulled out that batch, the pieces had a perfect glaze. She knew immediately that glazing would be her job from then on.
Ruma was beaming with pride, especially after receiving compliments all day on the pieces. She asked Amarei if we could trade a few with the neighboring farm for some more wool. Rolder had told us that our sheep weren’t ready to be sheared yet, and we were itching to make more felt. Rullia needed more diapers; we only had three, made from felt and cloth liners. Plus, we wanted to make her a set of baby blankets and some adorable felt onesies. The thought of Rullia in those little outfits was enough to motivate us all.
The neighbor we ended up trading with was named Katrina. She lived on the farm to the right of ours. Katrina was a bit standoffish, and I couldn’t figure out why, especially since Amarei mentioned this was our first visit. Katrina had a daughter named Cirella who, unlike her mother, was quite nice. Cirella didn’t share her mother’s nasty attitude, which was evident when she rolled her eyes after Katrina spoke down to Amarei in an offhanded way.
If Katrina kept it up, I was determined to bypass her ass when it came to helping other farms with the new tools, we had Hermitage making.
When we arrived, Amarei showcased her pieces, which wasn’t a lot, but I’m sure it was more than Katrina expected from the way her demeanor changed. In the back of the cart, we had two deep bowls, two shallow bowls, four shallow plates, five soup cups, two teacups, a set of regular cups, and two ale mugs. Katrina picked out the two deep bowls, all four of the shallow plates, one of the teacups, and an ale mug. Once she carefully placed them inside their cottage-style house, Amarei and Alfred followed her to their shed to get the wool.
I decided to stay by the cottage with Cirella. As we waited for them to come back, Cirella asked how we managed to get our hair so soft and shiny, like that of the lords and ladies. Her honey-blond hair was greasy, frizzy, and looked dry. Her forwardness reminded me of Jane, and the fact that they kind of looked alike didn’t help me stop that train of thought. Both had blond hair, but Jane's eyes were a bluish-green color, and I could tell she had that same sassiness that Jane displayed all our life, which made me like her instantly.
I shared my hair care routine with Cirella and promised that, if allowed, I would bring her some of our hair wash and a small bar of soap. Hearing the word "soap," Cirella asked how we could afford to give away something so expensive. I lied and told her that my cousin Ruma made it herself and that we had enough that I could share a small piece with her. I explained that she used a homemade soap she made from oak wood ash and added lavender and rose flowers with some milk, a little honey, and some wild crushed oats that my uncle had brought when he moved back to the farm.
As we chatted, I realized that Cirella was easy to talk to and didn’t seem to be the type that judged. I could see myself hanging out with her, despite the rocky start with her mother. Plus, so far, she was the first girl my age I had met since I’d been in Westeros.
Hearing that my uncle was back made her eyes sparkle a little, and she mentioned that her stepmother (which honestly made so much more sense) used to have a crush on him. However, she met her pa, who had a farm, and that ended. She also mentioned that a lot of women used to look at my uncle when he was around, so I should expect some of them to come calling if he’s here for a while. I quickly told her that my uncle was building his own place on my pa's land, so he would be staying put for a very long time. We shared a good laugh at that.
By the time we finished our trade, Katrina had loosened up and even accepted an invitation to stop by sometimes for tea and cakes, though she seemed shocked by the offer. On our way back to our farm, Amarei clued me in on the fact that Katrina was standoffish because Amarei’s ma, my grandma, had worked in a brothel. The women around here didn’t want to be associated with her because of it. To me, that was just stupid, but it’s Westeros, and at this point, I wasn’t shocked!
Alfred, on the other hand, wasn’t taking any slights against his new aunty and said it was stupid out loud, causing Amarei to ruffle his hair and give him a big smile.
A fortnight later we had all the blocks for Bass's small forge complete and ready to stack. The thing I loved about Roman concrete is that it only takes two days to set. After a sennight it gains the strength needed to start building and that you could wet it down with sea water for year to make it indestructible.
We ran out of pumice stone, which will make the building smaller than we intended. However, once we get more of it, we will be able to add rooms, making it at least an acre in size when we finally finish it. All the men got together to build in the spot he had suggested. They used some of the oak wood for the swinging barn door I insisted they make. It’ll keep the smoke down and make it easy to see the comings and goings of people on the farm.
The building won’t have a roof for a while until we have more stackable clay shingles fired. We did end up using fifty of the Roman concrete blocks to build his block furnace. And with four hundred bricks left from building the big kiln he built, a brick hearth, a small brick rocket kiln, and a brick drop furnace. He would use the drop furnace until he can build a small Bessemer furnace when his shipment of iron comes into the Mill Market.
With Rolder's help, they were able to use the plans I drew for a double-chambered bellow system and attach it to a seesaw-style lever. Well, until we could see if Hermitage could pull off making the spinning wheel Amarei commissioned, which will be his first ever try at making something with a treadle wheel. The bellows currently sit on a concrete leaf table connected directly to the standing forge next to the quenching tub for cooling hot metal.
Near the hearth stands a large anvil on a different concrete leaf table, surrounded by items he’d been crafting, like a new forging hammer, pairs of tongs, and other essential tools for the forge. A wooden bench sits in the back of the shop, next to it was a store cabinet with a lock that I had them add for raw materials like pig iron and charcoal.
Bass had a few friends who still worked at old Jasper’s shop who told the merchant to stop by the farm to take an order from Bass for charcoal and pig iron. I figured once we had the farm built up properly with brick walking paths, that area would be the first stop before coming close to the house. Any visitor would have to get past Bass and, hopefully soon, any of his apprentices before they could reach us at the house. When he did get apprentices, I hoped they would grow as big as Gendry did in the show because he had arms of steel!
We had also been discussing how to attract loyal apprentices. Instead of them paying an apprentice fee, they would be paid a learner’s fee over the course of two years, receive free meals, a room, and a learner’s pin upon completion. I suggested he should create pins for fellow blacksmiths using different metals as skill markers: copper for beginners, silver for those who could turn pig iron into steel, gold for those with the know-how to make custom work or run a forge, and Valyrian steel for those who proved one hundred percent loyal.
They would need to sign a contract and receive a percentage of the items they helped make in the shop. Bass loved the idea and added that after they received their copper pin, he would make them a blacksmithing belt like the one Ruma, Alfred, and I made for him. It would mark the completion of the copper blacksmithing level, to go with the pin. If they wanted to work towards a silver pin, they would sign a new contract and become official workers of the forge.
They also would need to pay a small fee to use the forge for their own commissioned orders and cover the cost of any pig iron or steel used. They would no longer be paid a learner’s fee but wouldn’t need to pay an apprentice fee either. This was honestly better than any other blacksmith shop would offer, so I knew he would need to set a limit on apprentices until the farm was set up to handle more people.
A few days later, Hermitage and the boys brought over our new table and spinning wheel. The table looked exactly as Amarei described and was so big it barely fit through the door. When Bass asked why it was so large, Hermitage emphasized that we would need more space during supper now that Bass and his family were living with us.
I'm sure Hermitage also wanted to ensure there were spots for them when they stayed for supper. Looking at his sons, I could tell they were of the same mindset! I wasn’t mad at all; it just proved that they really enjoyed our cooking, and I was all for having taste testers! Plus I did look at Hermitage as another uncle, Hymeth and Haymeth god brothers or cousins. They treated me like you would treat a little cousin who always was into something – Heh heh.
Hermitage had told Amarei he wanted to see how the spinning wheel would work, asking Amarei to check if any final touches were needed. Hymeth let it slip that he pa was only curious about how it worked because he was going to make one for Gwendolyn. She was Amarei's friend who grew up with her at the Lannisport orphanage but now ran her own right outside of Lannisport. Apparently Hermitage had a little crush on her – I really wanted to meet her now!
The spinning wheel worked great, Hermitage truly did his thing. Amarei was so fascinated with it that she let me and Ruma cook supper by ourselves! I decided to fry some fish using the fresh pig lard that we got from the neighbor two farms down when we picked up Charlotte, our new momma pig, and Billy, our new goat. The fish was paired with pasta shells in a homemade cheese sauce, and I made something like a hot sauce using three different types of ground dried mushrooms, some herbs, beech nut butter, and a little of the lard.
Bass, my beloved uncle, stood up to get seconds, said too loudly for my liking, “You’ll make some little lad one day a fine wife,” which made me get up and take his plate, causing everyone to burst out laughing.
Well except Amarei who had been in some type of zone because next thing we knew she grabbing her plate to eat. Now I knew you could spin yarn quickly with a spinning wheel, but Amarei’s speed was something else entirely. She had spun all that wool, which was a stuffed five-pound bag of wool into thread, in the time it took me to cook dinner.
Never mind the fact that it left me with zero chance to even touch the wheel. Sure, it wasn’t a mountain of wool, but the way she worked made it seem like it was child’s play. Damn – that’s old-school tough! I’m have to call her the spinning ninja around these parts because she handled it with such ease that she actually looked bummed when it was over.
Then, as if she hadn’t already blown our minds, she turned to Rolder and casually asked if she could trade some of her pieces at the mill market for actual coin. You know, to buy more wool from Katrina and keep her spinning addiction alive. Rolder, just like the rest of us, could only gape and nod, staring at the now-perfect spool of thread like it was some kind of sorcery.
Rolder finally managed to close his mouth and nod, and I swear I saw a hint of pride in Amarei’s eyes. She didn’t need to brag; her work spoke volumes. Her request to trade at the market was purely practical—gotta keep the wool coming to feed her spinning habit and all.
In that moment, I felt a grudging respect for Amarei. She had taken a basic chore and turned it into an art form, showing us all that even the most mundane tasks could be done with style and finesse.
*The Harvest – “Bonded together by forces unknown”
After six moons in Westeros, Mikell and Colin finally arrived to help with the harvest. I'd been curious about them since I first heard their names. Mikell, around eighteen, had dirty blond hair, green eyes, and was the shorter of the two. Colin, about fifteen, had lighter blond hair and green eyes, and was even taller than Rolder, who stood at a towering 6’4”.
I knew their heights because I had marked a height chart on the kitchen wall for Rullia, wanting to track her growth and health. Once everyone understood its purpose, even Hermitage and his boys had their heights marked on that wall.
When Mikell and Colin finally arrived, the feelings I picked up for them were different from what I expected. When I heard their names, I didn’t get that special feeling I got when I heard Bass’s name. Instead, I felt more like I wanted to impress them. It was more of a brotherly love mixed with a desire to show them I wasn’t a baby—well, they were in for a huge surprise!
When they patted me on the head, I instantly understood; they had been coming around since the other Tysha had been a baby. They probably still saw her as a baby even now at ten years old. That made me smile—having two brothers would make it hard for anyone to try something unseemly, especially if I could keep them around.
I asked Rolder and Amarei if I could show them their rooms and rushed to grab both their hands, leading them inside the house. Once the door was open, Mikell just stood in the doorway looking around for the longest time until I said, “Come on, move! I wanna show y’all the rooms Pa built for y’all. Ma helped me make y’all beds, so you better like them because it took me moons to finish them.”
Where Mikell was stuck, Colin wasn’t and followed my lead until we got to his room, which was now the middle room on this side of the house. I didn’t feel right having a storage room when Alfred didn’t have his own room after we turned the solar into Ruma’s. Because lord forbid, Amarei couldn’t hear the exact moment Rullia woke up—she’d have a frowning fit for at least an hour, and that was a no-no in this house!
So now Alfred’s room is right next to the dining room, Colin’s is in the middle, and Mikell, being the oldest, is in the last room. Only Rolder and Amarei have an actual room door at my insistence because, fuck no, I don’t want to see that! The rest of us have hanging doors, with mine made out of seashells along with Alfred’s and Ruma’s. Bass, Colin, and Mikell’s room doors are just dyed black from walnut shells we found in the brush closer to the L-5 farm.
They didn’t have bed frames yet, but they did have the bed boxes we used before we got bedframes. Each bed had a thin cloth sheet on top of the mattress we’d made, a felt blanket folded up at the foot, and a fine sand pillow at the top. Next to their beds was one of the repurposed stools that held their toothbrush, sandalwood, and lemon zest soaps we made them, and their clay lanterns. They don’t have a dresser yet, but we’re working on it.
Mikell’s eyes widened as he took in the room, a mix of surprise and disbelief crossing his face. "Ya did all this for us?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and awe. He ran a hand over the handmade mattress, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was real. "This is… amazing. I’ve never had a room of my own before."
Colin, ever the taller and more stoic of the two, softened visibly as he looked around. He glanced at me with a rare smile, the kind that reached his eyes. "Y’all really didn’t have to go through all this trouble," he said, but there was no hiding the appreciation in his tone. "We’re just here to help out, not take over y’all home."
I felt a surge of affection for them both. "Nonsense," I said, brushing off their modesty with a wave of my hand. "You’re my brothers, and family deserves a proper place to sleep. Besides, Pa really needs y’all help here on the farm year-round. I can’t do what y’all can. It’s time for my brothers to stop roaming around the Westerlands and learn how to run the farm they’ll be responsible for when Pa gets too old!"
After dropping that truth bomb, I went back outside to check on my rabbits and pick the one Amarei was going to cook for supper. I also reminded Rolder to ask Mikell and Colin if they were willing to stay and offered them a quarter of an acre as an incentive. If they wanted to build their own homes, that should be enough land for them to do it on. Me, Rolder, and Amarei had already discussed that with Mikell being the oldest, he would learn to take over as farm manager. Colin will learn as well and would eventually be Mikell’s assistant.
Later that night, Rolder told me they had accepted, which I had already suspected since they kept checking on me after their meeting and giving Amarei random hugs. Rolder said they didn’t want to at first until he told them what I had said about the whole situation. I had already figured out what their main problem would be—settling down only to possibly be kicked out later if I married.
So, I instructed Rolder to assure them that they were my brothers, which meant they’d never force me to leave. I also threw in that if I married a bad man, they would be here to make sure he didn’t mistreat me or try to take the farm! I explained that Mikell, being the oldest of us three, should get the farm passed down to him in name, with Colin and me being co-owners of sorts.
I also asked Rolder to be honest with them about how he and Amarei felt about them. I knew they worried about them and always looked out for them, and in my mind, that meant they were his children too. He agreed by nodding and looking down. I wasn’t hurt by the fact that Westeros viewed men with only daughters as failures, so I also pointed out that this way, he gets two sons that I was sure would make him proud!
I could tell they were pleased with the arrangement, feeling included and welcomed into the family, as they appeared more animated and purposeful in their movements. With their help, we now have the vegetable garden boarded off with spots marked for our raised beds.
So far, we’ve planted peas, onions, lettuce, carrots, cabbage, turnips, pumpkin, cauliflower, dandelions, alfalfa sprouts, and asparagus. We also have wild ginger, parsley, thyme, wild basil, sage, spearmint, spring onions, rosemary, wild chamomile, lavender, and wild lemon balm ready to be planted once we have enough compost.
Rolder had laid claim to half of it, so we’d been scrambling to build the eight-foot-wide, two-feet-deep ditch over the last three moons. We tossed all the chicken poop, eggshells, dried worms, fish guts, and all the dead leaves, rotten tree branches, and bramble vines we could find into it. Two moons ago, I stopped adding everyone’s piss to it so it would be stable enough to use by the time harvesting came around.
Today, they were oiling the new farming equipment before the harvest started, and both commented that they didn’t think the new tools would make harvesting any easier. Later, when we sat down to eat our lunch of veggie pizza made with gooseberry pesto sauce and wild greens salad, Colin was the first to say they might be done with the field they’re working on tomorrow.
Mikell then pointed out that they would probably have all the harvesting done in less than a fortnight. I figured they’d be done with harvesting in a sennight and turning over the fields before a fortnight. Now that we have two scythes with cradles it won’t take them long at all.
We also now have three wooden hay push forks, three wooden pitchforks, and one Hi-wheel push plow with a detachable seed planter. I personally don’t see them taking long at all and even hoped they’d get a chance to help on Cirella’s family farm. Her family’s main crop was rye, so if they could help with the harvest, I’m sure they’d give them seeds if asked instead of the normal coppers they get. I wanted to try my hand at making a better ale—well, I wanted to help Rolder make a better ale. The ale they drink is pure shit, and honestly, anything would be better than that!
The farm owner from across the way tried to come over, to offer his help with our harvesting. The fucking nerve of that piece of shit! Years ago, right after Rolder’s brother went away but before I was even born, Rolder went to him for help during that first harvest season he was alone. That man outright refused, dismissing Rolder as a "child farmer" who should let his son take over and even suggested Rolder work for him instead. Since then, Rolder and that man haven’t exchanged a single word, and we all know better than to speak to his ass let alone let him help us with anything. I still can’t believe he had the audacity to ask.
The motherfucker must have been keeping an eye on the farm, undoubtedly noticing our trips to the market and Hermitage delivering wood or new items. A few weeks ago, he even attempted to come over when he saw Rolder leaving in the wagon, unaware that Bass was here. The look on his face was priceless—he seemed on the verge of panic when confronted about visiting another man's family in his absence. It was made abundantly clear to him that Bass was now living here permanently to help out his sister and her family.
Mikell and Colin caught him attempting the same thing earlier today when he no doubt saw Rolder and Bass leaving together. Colin's imposing stature and Mikell's demeanor must have scared the man senseless this time because by the time Ruma and I went out to see what the commotion was about, he was already running back across the ocean road, visibly embarrassed with a wet spot on the front of his pants. Ruma's question about why his pants were wet sent us all into fits of laughter.
That night once all the work was done, we spent most of the night out back hanging out and sneaking some of Bass’s spiced wine. Mikell and Colin really felt like they were my true brothers. Seeing them handle that asshole made me so happy I’d pushed for them to stay, and don’t get me wrong, all I really did was suggest it. I had a feeling that Amarei and Rolder had a special place in their hearts for those boys. I’d been hearing them gush over them for moons, so I knew this was the route we needed to take!
Two moons later…
Thankfully, now that Bass has two apprentices, he’ll be able to focus more on commission pieces while teaching the boys how to work on making the metal farm tools we need. Jacks and Rogar look to be around my age, which really pissed me off at Gwendolyn’s employer/landlord for pushing kids out at such a young age.
Bass had taken us kids to meet Gwendolyn, who was like an aunt to us, saying we should know who to go to in case something happened to them. Gwendolyn was tall for a woman, with a thin face, red hair, beautiful blue eyes, and a sharp mouth. I instantly loved her spirit and the way she seemed to be a no-nonsense kind of woman in front of watching eyes. But when we had a chance to talk to her without all the other kids around, she was really nice and doted on Bass just like Amarei did.
Bass pitched her his idea to get apprentices only from the orphanage, like a sponsorship program, and told her that the only thing he was looking for in the kids was a willingness to learn their numbers and letters (which I would teach at the farm), they couldn’t be afraid of fire, and had to make a commitment to the forge during the length of the contract. Once he finished, she ushered in two boys who were soon to be too old to stay, and just like that, Bass now had a set of apprentices!
Rogar was the quiet type with black hair and the bluest eyes I’d ever seen, really tall for his age. Jacks, who had blond hair with green eyes, was at least a year younger and talked nonstop all the way back to the farm. They would share Alfred's room with him and Hermitage would be making them bunk beds now that we have more wood.
Thanks to my brothers putting in extra work, the harvest tax was paid a whole moon earlier. I knew the neighbors who saw the full rough-spun sacks of wheat berries separated from the boxed hay bales would do some double-takes. When I told him it was better to package his harvest this way, he didn’t understand at first. But once he could clearly see it, he understood why it was better to do it this way.
He got eight bushels per acre, which, once winnowed, was twenty-four twenty-pound sacks of just wheat berries. So, adding all his acres together, he yielded four hundred and eighty sacks of wheat berries. I then did the math for him, showing him that the rock gets three hundred and sixty sacks, and we get to keep one hundred and twenty sacks, which, to me, is a really good haul considering our next harvest would be in just five moons.
This also applied to the wheat straw that was baled, which was small, but we still had close to one thousand bales, so we got to keep two hundred and fifty of them. I had already been dividing it up in my head for animal feed, more three-, five-, ten- and twenty-pound sacks, and ten bales I'm allotted for my crafts. I really wanted to finish making rugs and sandal house shoes for everyone in the house.
Thankfully, now that it's market season, we can get some of our wares sold. Colin, who honestly should be a bricklayer, will be able to finish the oven, stove, and chimneys now that he has more time.
Chapter 12: The Family Hustle – “Working 9 to 5.”
Chapter Text
Decem of 281 AC, The Westerlands
Hermitage brought over a beautifully crafted cradle that Mikell had commissioned him to make. I wasn’t too shocked when he grabbed it and presented it to Ruma because the two had been making googly eyes at each other for moons now. He would even hold Rullia and play with her when no one was paying attention. Amarei already doted on her as if she were her grandchild, and Rolder was always giving her something to chew on now that she was teething. Bass said it wouldn’t be long before they’d married, and Rullia would be calling Mikell 'da.' He was joking but I don’t think its really that far off!
A fortnight later, Amarei, Rolder, Colin, and I made our way to the bustling windmill market, the sun rising gently over the horizon, casting a warm glow over the vibrant stalls and cheerful vendors. Our little group was filled with a mix of excitement and determination, ready to present our assortment of handcrafted goods to the eager market-goers.
Each of us had poured our hearts and skills into today's sale, resulting in a delightful variety of items that promised to catch the eye and fancy of every passerby. As we set up our stall, the air filled with the fragrant scents of rose and lavender, mingling with the earthy aroma of fresh clay and the sweet, inviting notes of honey-covered nuts.
Our offerings displayed:
One for Halfpenny items:
10 - small thimble-sized clay containers of toothpaste.
20 - small bars of rose-scented soap.
20 - small bars of lavender-scented soap.
10 - pieces of jumbo chalk.
10 - small stuffed dolls.
10 - wooden spoons.
One for a Copper items:
10 - medium-sized clay jugs of purified water.
25 - small pouches of dried wild berries and tea mix.
10 - small pouches of salted and honey-covered nuts.
10 - small clay jars with lids of powdered goat milk.
One for Two Coppers items:
10 - medium-sized clay jars with lids of dried pasta noodles with a sauce packet.
10 - small clay jars with lids of bread flour mix.
10 - small clay jars with lids of dried berries and oatmeal.
10 – Three-piece clay pantry jar set.
10 – four-piece clay supper set (plate, bowl, cup, and wooden spoon)
As we arranged our goods, the anticipation grew. Amarei's eyes sparkled with the excitement of meeting new customers, while Rolder meticulously adjusted each item for the perfect display. Colin, ever the optimist, hummed a cheerful tune, drawing smiles from those setting up around us. Our stall was becoming a beacon of warmth and inviting aromas in the bustling market.
To stop a lot of haggling, we separated the items strategically. Colin stood in front of all items that cost a halfpenny, his cheerful presence making even the simplest items seem irresistible. Amarei took charge of her pottery, her pride and knowledge about each piece shining through as she spoke with potential buyers. Rolder, with his calm and organized demeanor, managed the food items, ensuring everything was perfectly displayed and easily accessible. I stood by, vigilant and ready to ensure nothing went amiss, keeping a watchful eye on our precious goods.
When the market opened, a wave of people surged towards our table, their curiosity piqued by our varied offerings. Questions flew at us from all directions, and we responded with enthusiasm, sharing the stories behind each item. The water was the first to sell out, a testament to its necessity and the quality we provided. Then, as if a dam had burst, everything else began to fly off the table. The soaps, the nuts, the toothpaste—everything found eager buyers.
We didn’t even make it to the end of the market day. By early afternoon, we were packing up to leave, our stall nearly empty save for three supper sets. These had been put on hold by women that Amarei knew, who would come to the farm to pick them up and pay for them. The success of the day left us all in high spirits, the satisfaction of our hard work paying off in such a tangible way was exhilarating.
While Colin was hitching up Chomper for the ride home, we heard stunning news: the tournament had ended with Rhaegar crowning Lyanna Stark as his love and beauty, rather than his wife. The air seemed charged with excitement and tension. This unexpected turn of events sent ripples through the market, adding an undercurrent of intrigue to the day's success.
Once we got in the cart and started for home, Rolder and Amarei asked Colin to steer the wagon to the side of the road, away from the market’s commotion, to ask me again about what might happen next. Colin looked so confused as I started explaining what I knew would happen. We sat in the wagon, deep in conversation, for so long that Colin ended up understanding without even asking a question. The realization that the events from the books were unfolding in real life sent a shiver down my spine. It was time to reveal everything to my new family and share my contingency plan.
I wasn't sure if Rolder would ever leave the farm. After all the hard work we’d put into it, I didn't want to leave either. It had become the home I never knew I wanted and was quickly turning into the land of my dreams. This place was our sanctuary, a haven of safety and hope amidst the looming chaos. It was also time for Bass to craft a Damascus steel blade to see if it matched the legendary Valyrian steel. I needed him to start producing crossbows as well so everyone on the farm could learn to use one. The skills and tools we would need to protect our home and each other were paramount.
When we finally made it back to the farm, Colin let us out by the forge and turned the cart around to head out to Hermitage’s family land. He would inform them about the family meeting that Rolder asked him and the boys to join. While he did that, I walked into the forge while Rolder headed out to the fields to grab Mikell, who was adding a topcoat of compost to the fields. Amarei was walking to the house to set it up for the meeting.
Bass was in front of the hearth working on blades for the push mower. I had given him a list of items to make and sell for a high profit. Jacks was hammering out what looked like a short sword, and Rogar was at the tool station sorting out nails.
“Hey uncle, family meeting up at the big house soon. Bring the boys with you when you head out. I have some stuff I want to share, and I only want to do it once,” I said. After getting an okay from him, I headed to the barn where I knew Alfred would be. I swear, the kid is the Dr. Dolittle of Westeros because he handles all the animals on the farm without any help, like a boss. Even Joff’s mean ass took direction from him!
“Hey cousin, we’re having a family meeting up at the big house soon. What are you doing?” I asked when I noticed him trying to braid Billy’s lip beard. “It gets in his way while he’s chewing on his feed, so I’m getting it out of the way for him,” he said. I ended up doing the braid because, while Alfred was the animal whisperer, nobody on this farm could braid hair like me. Once we finished, and he got all the animal’s fresh water, we headed to the house.
“Ma?” I yelled, walking into the house when I didn’t see Amarei in the living room or kitchen. She came out of her bedroom, now dressed in her farm overalls, and began straightening up the living room and picking up Rullia’s toys. My little boo was sitting inside her wooden and fishnet playpen that Hymeth helped me make.
Amarei would toss a stuffed toy back inside with her, and Rullia would throw it right back out while making the cutest baby sounds. “I told Bass and asked him to bring the boys; they should be here soon,” I said, walking into the kitchen to get a water jug out of the floor pantry. Bass had made us a copper storage box that sits three feet into the ground to keep our drinks and vegetables cool.
Ruma was already in the kitchen, standing over the sink washing berries for a mixed berry pie she wanted to make for supper tonight. Figures, it was Mikell’s favorite pie, and we all knew not to say anything or complain. Ruma was stubborn as a mule and would not give two fucks. Once she had them all washed, she sat at the table and began mashing them up, adding honey, lemon juice, lemon zest, and a little lard to the mix.
Amarei pulled out the money we made at the market and pushed it over to me for counting. Alfred went to my room to grab a piece of parchment and a piece of black chalk off my desk. By the time I finished, Rolder, Mikell, Bass, Jacks, and Rogar had come inside the house. I explained that we had made a total of one hundred and ninty-five coppers but had to pay the market guild sixty-five coppers for the stall, which left us with a take-home of one hundred and thirty coppers or two stags, two stars, and a groat.
Everyone was happy with the amount considering everything we sold was handmade by us at no cost. The clay dirt, limestone, water, nuts, salt, lye water, and berries were all free. The only expense was the wood for the spoons, which Hermitage didn’t charge us for. He said that using him and the boys as taste testers for all the snacks and premade meals, and filling his small pantry box, was more than enough payment. I slid the money over to Rolder to put in the safe lockbox under their bed because it was up to him to decide what to spend it on as head of the house.
Colin, Hermitage, and the boys arrived back shortly after, and I knew it was time to come clean. We all found places around the living and kitchen areas to sit. I started by saying, “I have something to tell y’all,” taking a moment to look at each of their faces. “What I’m about to say will sound pretty crazy, but it’s all true, and I’m trusting you with it since we’re family. I know you all will have a thousand questions, but please wait until I’m done before asking them, okay?” After seeing everyone nod their heads, I said, “My real name is Tysha Halliwell, and I wasn’t born in Westeros.”
Seeing Mikell, Rogar, and Jacks shocked expressions, I continued, “I’m from a country called America that’s in a whole other world, where our life is way easier due to technology. The people of my world have electricity, which is like candles without fire. We have clean water that we get from pipes in everyone’s home, and devices to keep our homes at the temperature we like.
We have things called televisions where we can watch shows from the comfort of our home and computers that we can use to look up anything we want. We travel in metal carts called cars, buses, trains, and even airplanes that fly in the sky. We have cellphones to talk to people far away. Our healing centers are very advanced and accessible, with hospitals and clinics providing care. Food is abundant, sourced from supermarkets and restaurants, and clothing is mass-produced and widely available.
“In America, we operate as a democratic society which means everyone has rights, not just the lords and ladies. The rule of law is maintained by structured legal systems and law enforcement, providing a relatively secure environment. The military is professional and technologically advanced. The people in my country come from all different backgrounds and from all parts of our world. Early childhood learning is mandatory so everyone has the same opportunities for advancement.” I looked around, seeing the mix of amazement and confusion on their faces.
“In my world, this world is known as a show we watch called ‘Game of Thrones,’ based on a book series called ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ by an author named George R.R. Martin. The story is set in the fictional continents of Westeros and Essos and follows multiple intertwining plotlines. The primary narrative centers around the struggle for the Iron Throne, with various noble families vying for control. Key families include the Starks of Winterfell, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, the Baratheons of Storm's End, and the Targaryens. The show also explores the threat posed by the White Walkers in the north, beyond the Wall, where the Night's Watch defends the realm from these ancient creatures, which are real.”
“I am mentioned in the book as well, and I’m going to tell you more, but you all have to promise me that you will not go charging off like Rolder did.” I took a moment to look at all the men because none of them besides Rolder knew this part. So, after getting their promise for the second time, I went into detail about what would happen to me if I followed the same path as the book Tysha, which I was no longer in danger of doing. But even with their promises, Rolder had to hold Colin back while Ruma sat on Mikell, forcing him to hold Rullia, while I stood in front of the door trying to stop Hermitage, his boys, Alfred, and Bass from leaving.
Yelling that we had changed that fate calmed them down some, but I could see the tears threatening to fall in Mikell’s, Colin’s, Hermitage’s, and Bass’s eyes. Amarei was crying into Colin’s shoulder while he rubbed her back, trying not to break down, while Rolder held them both up. I didn’t even notice that Jacks and Rogar were holding Bass and Alfred back until they let them go. Seeing how this was affecting them made me so grateful for them. But I knew I had to get everything out so we could move on and focus on what we really needed to.
“War will be breaking out in Westeros soon, and we really need to start making plans,” I said, getting everyone’s attention again. “But first I want to say something to you all.” I turned to Rolder and said, “I never had a father, and as I grew older, I never cared to have one until I got to know you. You are more than I ever dreamed of, and I’m so proud to call you my pa! Amarei, if I die tomorrow and wake up somewhere else, no one will ever take your place in my heart as my mother. You are truly my sunshine on a cloudy day!”
Turning to Mikell and Colin, I said, “I didn’t grow up with older brothers, but if I had, I would hope they embodied everything you two are. I haven’t felt fear for the future since you’ve been back on the farm, and that alone is enough for me to always call you two my brothers, no matter what anyone else ever says.”
I then addressed Rogar and Jacks, “I know you guys haven’t been here long, but know you are now part of this family, and no one can take that away from you two ever!”
Looking at Hermitage and his boys, I said, “Hermitage, I’m not sure what they would call you here, but in my world, I’d call you my godfather. I know that if I ever need something, you would carve your way to me, and I am truly grateful to have you in my life. Hymeth and Haymeth, I look at you as godbrothers, and I will always have your backs just like you have shown to me.”
Looking at Bass, Ruma, and Alfred, I said, “I’ve made myself clear where you three stand with me, but just in case you need to hear it. Bass, you’re everything a girl could want in an uncle. Ruma, one day you’ll take over Amarei’s position in this family, so know that I’ve got your back the same as I have hers. Alfred, since you’ve been here, it’s been you and me against the world, and that will never change, cousin.” Looking around at all of them, I said, “I love you all. We’re family no matter what, and I trust you all. I know you have questions, so go ahead.”
And boy, did the questions come.
Rogar asked, "How did you end up in Westeros from your world? Was it magic or some other way? Is it possible for you to return to this America? If so, how? Is there any way for you to contact anyone from your world?"
I responded, "I don’t know exactly how I ended up here. It wasn't magic, at least not that I know of. And no, it’s not possible for me to return to America, nor can I contact anyone from my world. I’m not a witch." This last part was funny considering the last name I chose when I grew up, but I would wait to tell them about that later.
Jacks asked, "You mentioned dimokrace. How does that work in your world? How is it different from the rule of lords and kings?"
"Democracy is a system where the people have the power to make decisions through voting. We elect leaders and representatives to make laws and govern. It's different from the rule of lords and kings because it gives everyone a voice, not just the nobles."
After I answered, Colin asked, "You mentioned a book and a show that tell the story of Westeros. What else do you know about what might happen?"
I spent about another hour going over the complete storyline of the show, explaining the key events, characters, and twists that were still to come.
Rogar asked the hardest questions: "How do you feel about living in Westeros compared to America? Do you miss your old life? Do you have any family or loved ones back in America that you miss? Why did you keep this a secret for so long? What made you decide to tell us now?"
I took a deep breath. "Living in Westeros is very different and much harder than life in America. I do miss my old life, especially the convenience and the people I left behind. I have a self-made family of friends back in America that I miss every day. I kept this a secret because I was scared and unsure of how you all would react. But now, with everything happening, I felt it was time to be honest and share the truth with my family here."
Mikell’s question was, "Now that we know the truth, what are your plans? How can we help?" Ruma, following Mikell’s lead, asked, "How can we support you, knowing what we do now? What do you need from us?"
"My plans are to prepare for the coming war and ensure our family is safe. We need to gather resources, train, and fortify our home. You can help by supporting each other, staying united as a family, and being ready for what’s to come. Just knowing I have your support means the world to me. We need to be strong together to face what’s coming."
Bass said, "You said war is coming. How can we best prepare for it? What should we do? Are there any specific dangers or threats from the story that we should be aware of and prepare for?"
"We need to start stockpiling food, weapons, and supplies. Train everyone in basic combat and self-defense. The biggest threats are the White Walkers and the political conflicts between the noble houses. We need to be ready for both."
Colin asked, "Can you create some of the technology from your world here in Westeros? What would you need?"
"I can try to create some basic technology, but it will be difficult without the right materials and tools. We would need wood, metal, crafting tools, and the knowledge of how to assemble everything. It won't be like what we had in America, but with those materials, we can try to make a lot of useful things. I also have a list I’ve wanted to show you since I made it, and I would like Mikell, Colin, Hymeth, Haymeth, Rogar, and Jacks to listen and take a look at it as well."
I reread the entire list again, focusing on the farming details, land, and home remedies for my brothers, cousins, and “my parents.” For Bass, Hermitage, and the boys, I emphasized the building materials, things Hermitage might be able to make, items I thought would be well-received in Westeros, and blacksmith items. I explained that some of the most important things on the list were the glass canning jars, the steel pressure cooker, and learning to make cast iron products.
I expressed that using glass canning jars would be a significant boon for us, enhancing our ability to preserve food and ensure year-round availability. These jars would allow us to can fruits, vegetables, jams, and pickles, extending the shelf life of our harvests and reducing food waste. By preserving produce at its peak, we could enjoy a variety of nutritious foods throughout the year, even during the off-season. This method of food preservation would also provide a safeguard against poor harvests or unexpected shortages, ensuring the family always has a reliable food supply.
Additionally, glass canning jars would open up new economic opportunities for the farm. We could sell preserved goods at the mill, adding valuable and sought-after products. Items like jams, pickles, and canned fruits would likely fetch good prices, as they are convenient and desirable to other families and travelers. This not only diversifies our income streams but also enhances the farm's reputation for high-quality, homemade products.
After asking Bass if he was ready to learn how to make my world’s version of Valyrian steel, he eagerly agreed and said he would start gathering all the materials from the list I had given him earlier and get to work. I then mentioned to him that I believe I could recreate casting sand, but it would be a trial-and-error experiment, meaning we might lose a small amount of pig iron in the process. Bass looked at Rogar and Jacks, seeking their opinion. They agreed that it was worth attempting, noting that it could open up an entire area of learning and opportunity for us.
Then I pulled out the list I had been making for Hermitage. After reading out the list of woodworking tools, money-making items he could build, and the instructions for a pond water wheel, he gave me a big hug. I knew he couldn’t read well, having only picked up on a few words that are marked around the farm, but he kept looking at the list and smiling. This gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling that I knew came from the other Tysha, causing me to smile as well. The Lannisters aren’t the only ones who pay their debts!
Hermitage:
Moneymaking items:
Intricately designed seven-pointed star hand fan.
Intricately designed Keepsake Boxes.
Beehive boxes.
Cooking tools:
Wooden Spoons: Used for stirring, mixing, and serving food.
Spatulas: Flat, broad tools for flipping and turning food, especially on a griddle or in a skillet.
Rolling Pins: Cylindrical tools for rolling out dough.
Cutting Boards: Durable surfaces for cutting and chopping ingredients.
Mortar and Pestle: A set used for grinding and crushing spices, herbs, and other ingredients.
Salad Tongs: Tongs used for tossing and serving salads.
Butter Molds: Molds used to shape butter into decorative forms.
Honey Dippers: Tools with grooves for drizzling honey.
Measuring Spoons: Spoons of various sizes used for measuring ingredients.
Pastry Brushes: Brushes for spreading glazes, oils, or butter.
Forks: Large wooden forks for serving or mixing.
Muddlers: Tools used to mash fruits, herbs, and spices in the preparation of cocktails.
Reamers: Tools for juicing citrus fruits.
Utensil Holders: Containers for organizing and storing cooking utensils.
Herb Strippers: Tools for removing leaves from herb stems.
Serving Trays: Wooden trays for serving food and beverages.
Pepper Mills: Mills used to grind peppercorns.
Bread Bins: Containers for storing bread.
Wooden board games:
Chess: A strategic game with a wooden board and pieces.
Checkers (Draughts): A game played on a wooden board with wooden pieces.
Backgammon: A classic game with a wooden board and pieces.
Shut the Box: A dice game with a wooden box and numbered tiles.
Mancala: A traditional game with a wooden board and small stones or seeds.
Toys:
Rocking Horses: A classic toy, often elaborately carved and painted.
Dollhouses: Detailed miniature houses with wooden furniture and dolls.
Wooden Dolls: Hand-carved and painted, often with movable joints.
Pull Toys: Animals or figures on wheels with a string to pull them along.
Building Blocks: Simple wooden blocks in various shapes and sizes for stacking and building.
Tops: Spinning tops that could be set in motion by hand or with a string.
Jigsaw Puzzles: Wooden puzzles with interlocking pieces.
Marble Runs: Wooden tracks and mazes for marbles to roll through.
Toy Soldiers: Hand-carved and painted figures for imaginative play.
Toy Trains: Wooden trains with detachable cars and tracks.
Yo-Yos: Simple, classic yo-yos made from wood.
Push Toys: Figures or animals on wheels with a long handle for pushing.
Toy Boats: Small, wooden boats for playing in water.
Slates and Chalkboards: Wooden framed slates for drawing and writing.
Animal Figures: Hand-carved and painted wooden animals for play.
Whistles: Simple wooden whistles, often carved into interesting shapes.
Musical instruments:
Violins: String instruments played with a bow, typically made from spruce and maple.
Cellos: Larger string instruments also played with a bow, made from similar woods as violins.
Guitars: Popular string instruments with a wooden body, neck, and fretboard.
Flutes: Wind instruments made from various woods, including grenadilla and rosewood.
Clarinets: Woodwind instruments often made from African blackwood or grenadilla.
Recorders: Simple woodwind instruments commonly made from maple, pear, or rosewood.
Ukuleles: Small string instruments with a wooden body, similar to a guitar.
Lutes: Plucked string instruments with a deep round back and a wooden body.
Xylophones: Similar to marimbas, with wooden bars of varying lengths.
Harps: Large string instruments with a wooden frame and resonating body.
Acoustic Basses: Larger string instruments with a wooden body, used in orchestras and bands.
Outdoor family games:
Croquet: A game where players use wooden mallets to hit balls through hoops set up in a course.
Lawn Bowling: Similar to bocce, players roll wooden balls towards a target pin.
Quoits: A ring toss game where wooden or rope rings are thrown onto stakes.
Cornhole: A game where players throw wooden bean bags onto a raised wooden platform with a hole in it.
Giant Jenga: A larger version of the classic game, played with large wooden blocks stacked in a tower.
Ring Toss: A game where players throw wooden rings onto pegs.
Horseshoes: A game where players toss wooden or metal horseshoes towards stakes in the ground.
Treadle-Powered Woodworking Tools:
Treadle Lathe: Used for turning wood to create cylindrical shapes like table legs, spindles, and bowls.
Treadle Scroll Saw: Designed for intricate cuts and patterns in wood, often used for decorative work.
Treadle Band Saw: Ideal for cutting curves and irregular shapes in wood with a continuous looped blade.
Treadle Mortiser: Used to cut square or rectangular holes (mortises) in wood for joinery.
Treadle Drill Press: Used for precise drilling of holes in wood, often with adjustable speeds.
Treadle Grinder: Equipped with a grinding wheel for sharpening tools and blades.
Treadle Planer: Used to smooth and flatten wooden boards.
Treadle Shaper: A machine for cutting profiles and shapes on the edges of wood pieces.
Components for Building a Sawmill:
Saw Frame: A sturdy frame to hold the saw blade.
Saw Blade: Typically, a large, straight blade for cutting logs.
Log Carriage: A platform or carriage to hold and move logs into the saw.
Cogs and Gears: To transfer power from the water wheel or windmill to the saw mechanism.
Cranks and Shafts: To convert rotational power into linear motion for the saw blade.
Pulleys and Belts: To help transfer power and control the movement of the saw and log carriage.
Winches and Ropes: For lifting and moving heavy logs into place.
Log Dogs or Clamps: To secure logs onto the carriage or sawing platform.
Guide Rails: To ensure straight cuts by guiding the log through the saw.
Workbenches: For maintenance and sharpening of tools.
Sharpening Stones: For keeping the saw blade sharp.
Wooden Trestles: To support logs before and after cutting.
Hand Tools: Including axes, adzes, chisels, and mallets for preparing logs and maintaining equipment.
Peavey or Can’t Hook: For handling and turning logs.
Measuring Tools: Such as rulers, measuring tapes, and marking gauges to ensure accurate cuts.
Instructions for Building a Small Pond Water Wheel
Materials Needed:
Large wooden wheel (you can buy one or make one using planks and a central hub)
Paddles (pieces of wood or metal to be attached around the wheel)
Support structure (wooden frame or metal stands to hold the wheel)
Axle (a sturdy rod to allow the wheel to spin)
Water channel or pipe (to direct water from the pond to the wheel)
Tools (hammer, nails, saw, screwdriver, screws, wrench, etc.)
Steps:
Choose a Location:
Find a spot next to the pond where the water can flow easily to the wheel.
Ensure there’s enough space for the wheel and the support structure.
Build the Support Structure:
Construct a sturdy frame using wood or metal to hold the wheel. The frame should have two vertical supports and a horizontal beam.
The frame should be tall enough to allow the wheel to spin freely without hitting the ground.
Attach the Axle:
Insert a strong rod (the axle) through the center of the wheel.
Secure the axle to the top of the support structure so that the wheel can spin.
Add the Paddles:
Attach paddles evenly around the edge of the wheel. These paddles will catch the water and make the wheel turn.
Use nails or screws to fasten the paddles securely to the wheel.
Direct the Water:
Create a channel or use a pipe to direct water from the pond to the top of the wheel.
Ensure the water hits the paddles to make the wheel spin.
Test and Adjust:
Let the water flow and observe the wheel.
Make sure the wheel spins smoothly and adjust the paddles or the water flow if needed.
Tips:
Ensure the support structure is stable and securely anchored to the ground.
The paddles should be evenly spaced to balance the wheel.
Adjust the water flow to ensure it consistently hits the paddles for continuous spinning.
By following these steps, we can build a small pond water wheel that harnesses the power of flowing water. This will be a great way to learn about basic mechanics and renewable energy.
~ your goddaughter Tysha
I looked at Amarei and Ruma and mouthed the word "cookbook." They both turned to Rolder and Mikell, who stared at me, puzzled by the death glares they were receiving from their loves. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud while Amarei explained that I couldn’t make them a cookbook until I got more parchment or someone helped me make papper. I corrected her, saying it's called paper and explained that I would need either sawdust and hemp or cotton to make it. After getting an elbow tap in the ribs, Mikell said he would work on getting me what I needed, and Colin quickly jumped in, offering to help as well.
I then asked Haymeth if he wanted to do some experiments, as we call them in my world, which he instantly agreed to. I also brought up the need to dig out a storm shelter, explaining its purpose and importance. Everyone agreed to help out with that project.
Alfred asked what things I missed from my world besides my family and land. After giving it some thought, I said YouTube, social media, music, and my phone. He then asked, "What is YouTube?" which I figured would be a funny thing to explain to them.
"Alright, imagine a giant library, bigger than any you've ever seen," I began, my eyes sparkling with excitement. "But instead of books, this library is filled with videos. Videos about anything and everything you can think of. It's called YouTube."
Seeing their curious looks, I continued, "On YouTube, people from all over the world can share videos they’ve made. These videos can show how to do things, like fixing a wagon wheel or cooking a new recipe. Some videos are stories or performances, like mummers' shows. Others are just people talking about their lives or teaching you something new. You can watch these videos anytime you want, as many times as you want."
I paused, letting the idea sink in. "It's like having the best teachers, entertainers, and craftsmen right there in your home, ready to show you their skills whenever you need them. And if you have something you want to share, you can make your own videos and put them on YouTube for others to see."
I smiled, seeing the amazement on their faces. "So, it's not just about watching. It's also about sharing what we know with the world. That's what YouTube is."
The family’s eyes widened with amazement and curiosity as they absorbed the concept of YouTube. Amarei and Ruma exchanged glances, imagining the endless recipes and crafts they could learn. Rolder and Mikell looked intrigued by the idea of mastering new farming techniques and tools from the world's best craftsmen.
Alfred’s face lit up with excitement, envisioning the countless animal care tips and adventures he could explore. Hermitage and the boys were captivated by the thought of sharing their woodworking skills and seeing others’ creations from across the globe. The sheer scope of knowledge and entertainment that YouTube offered seemed almost magical to them, and they couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the possibilities it presented.
Rogar asked what our music sounded like, and I began explaining the different kinds of genres. "Our music is incredibly diverse," I started. "There's pop music, which is very catchy and often played on the radio. Rock music is louder and features electric guitars and drums. Hip-hop is rhythm and poetry combined, with a strong beat and often involves rapping. Country music tells stories about life and love, usually with guitars and sometimes a banjo. Classical music is more formal and composed, with orchestras and symphonies. Jazz has a lot of improvisation and features instruments like the saxophone and piano. Electronic dance music, or EDM, is created with electronic instruments and is great for dancing. R&B, or rhythm and blues, has a smooth sound often focused on love and relationships. And then there's folk music, which is more traditional and often acoustic." As I listed each genre, their eyes widened with fascination, trying to imagine the sounds and rhythms that filled my world.
Excited, I decided to give them a little taste of music from my world. I explained that without the instruments, they wouldn’t get the full effect, but they would be able to tell the difference between Westerosi music and the music I listened to. So, I started with a pop song:
"Oh, won't you, stay with me?"
"Cause you're, all I need"
"This ain't love, it's, clear to see"
"But darling, stay with me."
Then, knowing both the other Tysha and I could sing, I hit them with:
"There's a fire, starting in my heart"
"Reaching a fever pitch and it's, bringing me out the dark"
"Finally, I can see you crystal clear"
"Go 'head and sell me out, and I'll lay your shit bare"
"See, how I'll leave with every piece of you"
"Don't underestimate the things that I will do"
"There's a fire, starting in my heart"
"Reaching a fever pitch, and it's bringing me out the dark"
"The scars, of your love, remind me, of us"
"They keep, me, thinking that we almost had it all"
"The scars, of your love, they leave me breathless, I can't help feeling"
"We could have had it all"
and this is when a backup singer would come in and sing: "(you're gonna wish you, never had met me)"
then I would say: "Rolling in the deep"
backup singer would sing: "(tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)"
Me: "You, had my heart inside, of your hand"
backup: "(you're gonna wish you, never had met me)"
Me: "And you, played it, to the beat"
and last time for the backup singer: "(tears are gonna fall, rolling in the deep)"
Me: "Baby, I have, no story to be told"
"But, I've heard one on you, and I'm gonna make your head burn"
"Think of me, in the depths, of your despair"
"Making, a home down there, 'cause mine sure won't be shared"
"The scars, of your love, remind me, of us"
"They keep, me, thinking that we almost had it all"
"The scars, of your love, they leave me breathless, I can't help feeling"
"We could've had it all"
"Rolling in the deep"
"You, had my heart inside your hand"
"But you played it to the beat."
I apologized to Rolder and Amarei, for that song and again in advance because then I started rapping:
"I am a sinner"
"Who's probably gonna sin again"
"Lord forgive me"
"Lord forgive me"
"Things I don't understand"
"Sometimes I need to be alone"
"Bitch don't kill my vibe"
"Bitch don't kill my vibe"
"I can feel your energy from two planets away"
"I got my drink, I got my music, I would share it but today I'm yelling"
"Bitch don't kill my vibe"
"Bitch don't kill my vibe"
"Look inside of my soul, and you can find gold and maybe get rich"
"Look inside of your soul, and you can find out it never exists"
"I can feel the changes"
"I can feel a new life"
"I always knew life could be dangerous"
"I can say that I like a challenge and you tell me it's painless"
"You don't know what pain is"
"How can I paint this picture"
"When the color blind is hanging with ya?"
"Fell on my face and I woke with a scar"
"Another mistake living deep in my heart"
"Wear it on top of my sleeve in a flick"
"I can admit that it did look like yours"
"Why you resent every making of this?"
"Tell me your purpose is petty again"
"But even a small lighter can burn a bridge"
"Even a small lighter can burn a bridge."
Needless to say, their faces when I finished had me bursting out into the best laugh I think I’ve had since I’d been here.
Chapter 13: The Reality – “Work, Work, Work, Work, Work”
Chapter Text
Januarion 282 AC - The Westerlands
A fortnight has passed since the gossip began about Prince Rhaegar crowning Lyanna Stark as his queen of love and beauty. It's insane how this is the only thing anyone talks about. I mean, come on, we’ve got a king who's a complete psychopath, married to his own sister, and abusing her after setting people on fire for fun. But no, a flower wreath on a pretty girl's head—that's what gets everyone's knickers in a twist. Seriously, these folks need to get a life.
At our last family meeting, Amarei spilled the latest gossip she picked up from Katrina during their little tea session. Apparently, Lyanna used all of her fourteen-year-old, womanly wilds to coerce Rhaegar into crowning her—ugh! I really wish I could tell Katrina that Rhaegar’s a grown-ass man that’s not being led around by a teenager. His dumb ass is a dreamer who can’t interpret the damn dreams he has and pulled that stunt all on his own.
Plus, bitch, in what world do you blame his actions on a young girl? That’s just fucking ridiculous. But hey, this is Westeros we’re talking about—so that answered my question and is the only reason imma mind my motherfucking business!
Speaking of minding my own business, we’ve been having weekly family meetings since that first one, every seventh day. Most of the time, we discuss the progress made on the farm, now that everyone living here has titles with duties they're responsible for handling. Rolder is learning how to handle all the things a farm owner should know. He’s been really down on himself since we paid the harvest tax. Basically, he thinks he's been playing himself all these years because of how much grain we had after the harvest compared to what he usually has.
I tried to console him by saying, “We wouldn't be human if we could turn back time - well, everybody besides the Benjamin Buttons of the world!” He gave me a confused look, so I explained the story of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, hoping it would emphasize the importance of appreciating each day, even if it's bad. But I think I freaked him out instead, judging by his facial expression!
Changing the subject as fast as I could before he asked a question I wouldn’t be able to answer, I decided to push for something I think he would enjoy. I suggested to him that once he learns all my modern world farming techniques and puts his own Westerosi spin on them, he should think about starting something like a young farmers apprentice program. Pay it forward and help a young farmer that’s in the shoes he once wore!
When I saw his eyes moving like the gears in his head had started turning, I figured I’d done my job as a daughter and made him feel better. I left him alone so I could get back to some of my own duties and chores. I had already made him some imitation stock cards out of parchment paper for learning his new duties around the farm since we’re about four moons out from being able to make paper.
Mikell and Colin rode out to some of the farms they’d worked at over the years to purchase two stars worth of cotton, jute, and hemp seeds for me. Until the paper is ready, the stock cards are all we have. I tried to make them as easy as possible for Rolder's use by using yes or no boxes and multiple-choice questions. All he needs to do is answer them by circling or checking the one that applies to the farm at the time. Each card is in the order he should handle them with the title so he doesn’t accidentally mark the wrong data on the wrong card. Each card will cover a full moon's worth of daily logs with each day being underlined.
Each of the card’s titles are listed as Field Activity Logs, Planting Dates and Varieties, Crop Rotation Plans, Fertilizer Production, Pesticides Schedule, Irrigation Schedule, Harvest Dates, Yields Production Tracking, Soil Testing, Inventorying Supplies and Equipment, and Equipment Maintenance Logs. He will also have to handle some of the farm’s Financial Records, like Income, Expenses, Workers Files, and Tax Reports.
He starts the day by logging any field activities from the previous day or early morning. Then, he ensures the crop rotation plans are up to date. Next, he confirms the planting dates and varieties and determines the need for fertilizers or amendments by testing the soil. After that, he prepares and applies fertilizers as needed. He also applies pesticides during the right time of day to avoid heat and wind issues.
Next, he shifts his focus to monitoring the ollas, pond siphon tubes, and clay drain tiles to ensure all crops get adequate water. He checks the harvest dates to track the maturity of the crops and records yields from any harvested crops. He then ensures everything’s available and in good condition by inventorying supplies and equipment. He also performs and logs any necessary maintenance on equipment.
Finally, he wraps up the day by updating financial records, handling income, expenses, farm hands files, and tax reports to keep everything in order.
This routine keeps the farm running smoothly from the ground up, ensuring nothing gets overlooked.
Rolder will also be in charge of teaching Alfred, who has his own list of records he’ll be learning to keep for the farm's livestock. These include handling the Births, tracking the number of births, the Breeding Schedule, maintaining a Health File on all the animals that includes Feed and Nutrition, Treatment, Production Records (e.g., milk yield, egg production), and the livestock the farm still needs.
Mikell and Colin, now the farm manager assistants, will be learning everything that Rolder and Alfred know. Both of them also have side jobs. Mikell is now handling the planning and construction of a small playground for Alfred and Rullia to play in during our free time. The playground will be on one side of the soon-to-be fruit tree grove and our new flower garden park everybody's been helping me build. I finally found a wild beehive after searching high and low every day for two moons straight.
The wild beehive was on the path we walk to get down to the beach, tucked inside a small enclave on the cliff's wall. Alfred and I had gone down to the beach to check the sand fishing traps we made and the crab cage Bass made us. Two days ago we caught three large brown crabs and I really wanted to see if we'd caught anymore when Alfred pointed out the enclave.
The hive was huge, taking up most of the space it sat in, and I knew there had to be at least ten queens inside. When we got back to the house, I told Ruma, who had already stitched me a sheepskin beehive suit. I would still need to stuff it with extra wool when using it, but it would be better than the one I had back home - raw hide is hard as hell to penetrate.
Luckily, I had already woven a wicker face mask because I didn’t want to waste time making one when I eventually found the hive. I would borrow Colin's, Alfred's, and Jack's rabbit leather gloves I’d made for them to make sure I didn’t get stung. For backup, in case they tried to swarm me, I made a homemade bee repellent out of spearmint, soap shavings, and lemon balm water. I would also bring Alfred with me, who I’m pretty sure is a Warg but doesn’t know it. Either way, he can get the bees off me if they do end up swarming me.
Hermitage said at supper last night that he just needed to put the finishing touches on the beehive boxes we'd made, and he’d be dropping them off on the morrow. So, I can start the queen removal process, and once I have one queen in each box, I’m going to leave them there for the day to make sure all of them get a chance to migrate into one of the boxes with the queen of their choice. Mikell and Colin will come back with me the day after they settle to collect them.
We really needed honey too. After finally organizing the wicker pantry cabinet and going through all the items we needed, honey was at the top of that list. The honey pot had been scraped so clean it didn't even need washing. We’d used a lot of it for breakfast bars, snacks, treats, and we always try to add a drop in Rullia's milk bottle which everyone is still shocked that something like that existed in my world. It truly frees up so much of Ruma's time, it’s slightly funny, and Rullia took to the bottle like she's always had one.
Colin made Amarei a thin concrete top for her new pottery wheel, while Hermitage made her a wooden base that he attached to a treadle-powered pedal. He also made some pottery tools I'd commissioned for her. Since she got them, she's been making everything I listed out for her, and that's how we ended up with beautiful ceramic baby bottles.
The nipple wasn't hard to make either. I used an origami folding technique to shape a piece of a sheep's nipple hide and then I used a needle to poke a hole in it, ensuring just the right amount of milk could be sucked out. Amarei made the grooves at the top of the bottle just right for Hermitage. He was able to carve the nipple holder/bottle top just right because it screwed on with a tight fit. We even added a flat ring piece of particle board to ensure it’s sealed. Rullia has about twenty of them now, with Hermitage joining in to make a few wooden ones. He used wood from the willow tree, those are for when her teeth and gums are bothering her. I think Mikell gets a kick out of being able to put her to sleep using them while she holds on to her felt-stuffed bunny.
The best thing to happen since hearing the gossip about the tourney is that it lit a fire up Mikell’s ass because he finally got up the nerve to ask Bass for Ruma’s hand. Which we all saw coming from a mile away! After getting Bass’s blessing, he took her and Rullia on a picnic by the cliff pond and proposed to her, which she said she accepted immediately. I was able to convince them to wait until she turned sixteen and that it should be held at the end of the year so we can have a big wedding. I'd never planned a wedding, but I wanted it to be a showstopper and to show the other smallfolk that we can make it do what it do too, even though we're not nobles.
We had a small celebration supper, and afterward, we were all sitting around the living room talking, and somehow the topic came up of how we knew Mikell and Ruma were in love. Alfred and Bass had good stories, but I think mine was the best, considering it reminded me of one of my favorite love songs. So, after explaining that I knew the night of the first bonfire we had, the night Colin and Mikell ran off, whom we’ve taken to calling Mr. Pissmen.
We all got pretty tipsy off of Bass's spice wine, and Ruma puked it all back up - weak sauce! I got her cleaned up while Mikell cared for Rullia. But what made me think of the song, is the fact that not only did he hold her hair back, but she also asked him if he wanted her to make his bed up or a pallet on her floor since Rullia pissed on him and his bed! He told her no, he could handle it himself, that it was late and she's the one that needed to get some rest!
I ended up singing James Arthur's version of "Say You Won't Let Go," so they could hear the similarities in both stories. It ended with Ruma and Amarei shedding silent tears and Mikell asking me to teach him the song. Of course, I agreed to it but only if he'd teach me how to play his guitar. Which is another thing that blew my mind - an acoustic guitar wasn't even invented until the 19th century, and he'd had one for a few years now! George, you got some 'splainin' to do! Why is the only instrument that I know how to play not in this world, not even a pianoforte - ugh!
Anyway, Mikell and Colin are both now in charge of all deliveries and pick-ups for the farm as well. Since they both have horses thanks to Filner, the L-5 farmer keeping his word, it makes their job a lot easier. And Mikell has been taking Ruma and Rullia on trips around the farm for fun, which is honestly gaggingly sweet.
The proceeds from our next market venture will go towards getting a bigger shipment of wood so Hermitage's uncle can make them carts. Once he finishes them, I’m going to commission Hermitage to turn them into boxed peddler's carts. But the box part will be removable when not in use. This way, they can lock themselves in if they ever have to travel overnight.
Colin’s side job was of his own making since he’s been the one making all the bricks, shingles, and blocks we now have. Rolder asked him to keep it up until we can afford to get a worker. Because of this, he will be learning the farm assistant duties at a slower pace, but we can all see how much he loves doing it. He’s even making different items using Roman concrete, like the benches we’ll be using for the park and other stuff for Amarei's outside kitchen. He even thinks he may be able to build us a cistern for water storage!
Amarei is the farmhouse manager with Ruma as her assistant. I made them a similar set of stock cards, but it focuses on the garden and the park when it’s built since it’ll be filled with flowers and fruit trees. Haymeth and I will need to make them something like a detailed Better Homes catalog and cookbook when we get paper. They will still be in charge of felt, pottery, and thread production as well as cooking.
Amarei was able to make two sets of dominos, three mancala boards, and a couple sets of letter blocks for learning their letters, numbers, and counting. They play mancala almost every day together and picked it up really fast, which pleased the fuck out of me. I am not a teacher, but I learned more shit from board and table games in my first years than I did during those years at school. So, I know they’ll be able to learn using these techniques. Once they feel more confident with knowing their letters and numbers, they’ll be put in charge of deciding which items to make and sell at the market on our trips along with Hymeth.
He doesn’t technically live on the farm, but he asked to help out with this specifically. Thankful for the help, I searched my brain for half a day before I came up with his new title of the farm's merchandise coordinator. He will be in charge of confirming the number of stocked crafting items before the market, ensuring they work properly, and their priced correctly. He’ll also be responsible for customer orders, feedback, checking the current market prices, trends, our sales volume, and coming up with marketing strategies and plans.
Bass is the farm's blacksmith and forge owner. His only focus right now is to learn how to smelt iron ore into pig iron ingots, then alloy those to create thin steel sheets. I walked the men through the process of building the four-foot knock-off Bessemer furnace when Bass’s first shipment of pig iron came in. I had them dig a circular foundation in the ground, about eight feet in diameter and three feet deep. We filled it with wet Roman concrete which took four days to dry.
Next, Hermitage crafted wooden molds for the outer walls of the furnace and we filled it with Roman concrete forming a sturdy cylindrical structure. It took a sennight for it to cure when they removed the wooden mold, revealing smooth solid walls for the furnace. Inside the concrete cylinder, they applied a thick layer of clay mixed with sand. This refractory lining would protect the structure from the intense heat needed for smelting iron.
I knew that consistent airflow was crucial for this type of furnace to reach the necessary temperatures. So Hermitage and Bass made a set of bellows at the base of the furnace and crafted tuyères from copper, positioning them to direct air into the heart of the fire.
Three days ago, we charged the furnace. Bass and Rogar layered charcoal and iron ore inside the structure, ensuring there was enough space for air to circulate. Once everything was in place, Bass ignited the charcoal and began working the bellows. The furnace roared to life, flames licking the air as the temperature soared. Sweat dripped from his brow, but he continued to pump the bellows, maintaining a steady stream of air. As the iron ore melted and impurities burned away, I felt a surge of triumph.
I didn’t celebrate like everyone else once the smelting process was complete because I wanted to allow the furnace to cool and make sure we didn’t have any cracks first. When Bass extracted the refined iron, I’m sure my eyes shone with pride, but I held my smile back while looking at the precious metal. Once I inspected the furnace, I knew we had accomplished something fucking unbelievable in Westeros for this time period but didn’t give two fucks!
Now, with his own smelting furnace, Bass could make anything his heart desires. All the men will work together to get a roofless shed built around it so no one but us will know it exists. Damn—I was working on a farmer’s tool list for our smallfolk catalog with Haymeth yesterday and I can already see it’ll need to be updated now that Bass can make his own iron ingots. The rest of Westeros is about to be pissed off because the Westerlands smallfolk are about to be upgraded from wood tools to high-quality iron tools!
Rogar had already been put in charge of the kiln and fire pit maintenance, so it looks like we’ll be adding the furnace shed to his duties. Jacks may also be given more duties besides making briquettes, screws, nails, tacks, and handling the forge’s inventory.
Hermitage will soon be given the title of the farm’s lumber smith. Once he gets his pond water wheel up and running that is. Rolder talked him into building it here on the farm using the pond closest to where the horse barn being turned into a stable is built. The water wheel will have a barn built up around it and a hay loft apartment. Hermitage will still live on his grandpa’s lands, but he'll spend a couple of days here every sennight processing wood for both lands.
Haymeth will be staying on the farm for a few moons since I’m teaching him his letters and numbers. It's really payment for helping me with all my projects, even the secret ones the others don’t know about. Rolder is going to build us our own work experiment shed that we’re thinking of naming the SCC for Secret Collective Coalition or something like that. Haymeth wasn’t a fan of it but did like what we ended up naming my secret list of items—code named Build A Bear—ha! We haven’t been able to work on any of those projects yet. But we have completed a Game of Thrones timeline.
Westeros Timeline:
281 AC: The shit show - Tourney at Harrenhal.
282 AC: Petyr Baelish (baby-finger) messed around and found out during Brandon’s and Catelyn’s betrothal ceremony. Bad choices led to Lyanna running away with Rhaegar. Brandon’s and Catelyn’s almost marriage ceremony. Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark poked a crazy dragon. False spring, winter returns. People with big egos call their banners. Battle of the dumbasses with bells on.
283 AC: The false spring - winter ends! A cousin killing his cousin on the Trident. Feast of the Roses siege ends. The worst king of the worst kingdom is crowned.
284 AC – 288 AC: The Great Spring Sickness. Bitch of the Rock becomes queen. The Westerosi version of The Governor returns to the Rock.
289 AC: Storm shelter will be tested due to Squidward’s rebellion/Westerlands coastal attacks.
290 AC: Celebration of the Squidward’s/Greyjoys' defeat tourney at the rock.
298 AC: The king’s babysitter is retired by his wife at the request of her spineless lover baby-finger. The Honorable dumbass becomes the New Hand of the King.
299 AC: War of the five dumbest men starts.
304 AC: Dragons return to Westeros.
305 AC: The long night begins.
We also created the Westerosi calendar, which wasn’t hard after I explained how the citadel measured time using the different moon cycles and the phases of the moon, which refer to the various appearances of the moon as seen from the world, they called Planetos.
I'd already explained what the world was, and it was a very long conversation. But if nothing else, all smallfolk of Westeros knew how to measure the time of day using the sky, sun, and moon. Now Haymeth knew that over the course of approximately a moon, there are several phases:
The lunar cycle begins with the New Moon, when it is invisible in the night sky. As the Waxing Crescent appears, a sliver of the moon becomes visible. This progresses to the First Quarter, where half of the moon's surface is illuminated. The Waxing Gibbous follows, with more than half of the moon's surface aglow, leading to the Full Moon, when the entire face of the moon shines brightly. The Waning Gibbous phase sees the illuminated portion start to decrease. During the Last Quarter, half of the moon's surface is illuminated again, but opposite the First Quarter. Finally, the Waning Crescent appears, showing just a sliver of the moon, gradually diminishing until the New Moon phase returns.
These phases result from the moon's orbit around Planetos, changing its position relative to the sun and Planetos, thus altering the portion of the moon that is illuminated and visible to us. The time it takes for the moon to complete one full cycle from one new moon to the next is called a lunar (Moon/month), or synodic (moon/month), which is approximately 29.5 days, but we will round that up to 30 days.
This means there are roughly 12 lunar cycles in a year. A lunar year consists of about 354.36 days, which is roughly 11 days shorter than the American year of 365 days where I came from. We would base our calendar on a lunar year, which equals 360 days. Then, we listed out the names of each calendar moon using the Westerosi names versus the names we used on my world:
Moons in a Westeros calendar year:
Januarion is for (January).
Februarion is for (February).
Marth is for (March).
Aperion is for (April).
Maya is for (May).
Juven is for (June).
Julius is for (July).
Agost is for (August).
Siv is for (September).
Fennim is for (October).
Novem is for (November).
Decem is for (December).
Haymeth filled out the twelve square pieces of parchment paper with 30 days each moon once he understood the assignment. We also completed an hours-of-the-day chart once Haymeth explained what the hell the hour of the wolf meant to me.
Hours-of-the-Day Chart:
Around 6 AM: The Hour of the Eagle, starting at sunrise.
Around 8 AM: The Hour of the Lynx, as the day brightens.
Around 10 AM: The Hour of the Bear, when the morning matures.
Around Noon: The Hour of the Tortoise, marking the middle of the day.
Around 2 pm: The first hour of the cow, starting after Zenith.
Around 4 pm: The first hour of the bee, starting after Zenith before sunset.
Around 6 pm: The first hour of the bat, starting after the sun has set.
Around 8 pm: The first hour of the eel, coming just after the hour of the bat.
Around 10 PM: The Hour of the Bed, inviting rest after a long day.
Around Midnight: The Hour of the Ghost, when the night is deepest.
Around 2 am: The first hour of the wolf (known as the blackest part of the night).
Around 4 am: The first hour of the nightingale.
We also have the Westeros sales items and prices listed out to compare with our smallfolk and nobles sales catalog, and let’s just say, with Westeros prices, I can see why the smallfolk are struggling.
Mill Market Food and Trade Goods List:
Loaf of bread or a dozen eggs = 1 Copper.
A chicken or a lb of tea = 4 Coppers.
Pig (best in market) or 2 goats = 2 Silver Stags.
A cow = 9 Silver Stags.
1 lb silk or 20 lbs linen = 20 Silver Stags.
Cinnamon or cloves 1 lb = 2 Silver Stags.
1 lb saffron = 1 Gold Dragon.
Weapons:
Dagger = 20 Silver Stags.
Battleaxe = 50 Silver Stags.
Long Sword = 500 Silver Stags.
Greatsword = 800 Silver Stags.
Shield = 30 Silver Stags.
Spear = 50 Silver Stags.
War lance = 60 Silver Stags.
Morningstar = 80 Silver Stags.
Armor:
Robes = 3 Silver Stags.
Padded = 200 Silver Stags.
Leather = 300-400 Silver Stags.
Ring = 600 Silver Stags.
Mail = 800 Silver Stags.
Breastplate = 800 Silver Stags.
Scale/coin = 600 Silver Stags.
Splint = 1000 Silver Stags.
Half Plate = 2000 Silver Stags.
Full Plate = 3000 Silver Stags.
Mounts:
Destrier (awesome horse) = 1000 Silver Stags.
Courser (good horse) = 600 Silver Stags.
Palfrey (gentle riding horse) = 150 Silver Stags.
Rounsey (ok horse), Pony, or Stot (farm horse) = 50 Silver Stags.
Mule = 12 Silver Stags.
Miscellaneous:
Candle = 1 Copper.
Craftsman's Tools = 10-200 Silver Stags.
Lamp = 10 Coppers.
Flint and Steel = 2 Coppers.
Tent, Soldiers = 5 Silver Stags.
Fiddle = 10 Silver Stags.
Harp = 12 Silver Stags.
Pipes = 3 Silver Stags.
Peasant's garb = 1 Silver Stag.
Entertainer's garb = 4 Silver Stags.
Noble's garb = 100-1000 Silver Stags.
The disparity is staggering. Basic necessities like bread, eggs, and even a simple chicken cost significantly more than what most smallfolk can afford with their limited earnings. Meanwhile, the nobility splurges on luxuries like saffron and silks without a second thought.
For instance, a loaf of bread or a dozen eggs costing a single copper might seem trivial to the nobles, but for the smallfolk, that’s a significant portion of their daily income. A chicken costing four coppers or a pig costing two silver stags is a hefty price for those barely making ends meet. It’s no wonder the smallfolk are constantly teetering on the edge of poverty.
On the other hand, nobles can easily afford to spend 20 silver stags on a dagger or 500 silver stags on a long sword, while the smallfolk might never even see that amount of money in their lifetime. The price for basic farming tools and materials is another huge burden, making it nearly impossible for the smallfolk to improve their situation or increase their productivity.
Seeing these price differences laid out so starkly in this catalog underscores the immense economic divide in Westeros. It's a harsh reminder of why the smallfolk struggle so much and why there’s such a desperate need for fairer pricing and better economic opportunities for them. This comparison not only helps us understand the challenges faced by the smallfolk but also motivates us to find ways to bridge this gap and support them better.
Which is also why we’re creating a school curriculum guide and schedule for everyone on the farm, detailing who would be teaching what:
Reading (me).
Writing (me, then Hymeth).
Math (me, then Rolder).
Science (me, then Haymeth).
Geography (me, then Haymeth).
Biology (me, then Haymeth and Alfred).
Geology (everyone).
Animal studies (Rolder & Alfred).
Music (Mikell).
Art (Colin).
Cooking (Amarei).
Household management (Ruma).
We’ve also made a few banners out of some strips of cloth, two of them are of the letters in the alphabet. There written across the banner in a way to help them sing the sesame street alphabet song. I love doing the Patti Labelle version to throw’em off sometimes - Hehehe! When they worked so well in helping them remember the letters, we decided to make a few more but with numbers starting with the number one until we got to one hundred.
Now, they know how the numbers look, can get used to seeing them, and it will help them learn how to count coins faster. We also made a need-to-know farm elements chart, a flowers chart for the garden flowers, an animal chart that also doubles as a spelling and sounds chart, a butcher’s chart for each type of animal on the farm for slaughtering purpose, and we made a coin chart for a better understanding of Westerosi coin counting.
Currency Abbreviations:
cp = Copper.
ss = Silver Stag.
gd = Gold Dragon.
Coppers:
Half-copper/Halfpenny.
Copper or penny = 2 Half-copper/Halfpenny.
Half Groat = 2 Coppers.
Groat = 4 Coppers.
Star = 8 Coppers.
Silvers:
Stag = 7 Stars or 56 Coppers.
Moon = 7 Stags or 392 Coppers.
Gold:
Gold Dragon = 210 Stags or 30 Moons or 11,760 Coppers.
The one damn thing I’d never had to research while working at the St. Louis City Museum was clocks, but I knew the science behind the old ones. I would need to see if Bass could make a Weight-Driven clock, he's already working on a bimetallic copper strip for me. I want to try my hand at making or at least trying to make a cooking thermometer. Well, that’s if he can get the gauge to work.
I'll ask Hermitage to work on an Escapement clock, he was able to make a dial for the table loom—maybe I should call it a lean-to table loom? Ugh- I need to think of a better name. It’s called a Rigid Heddle loom back on my world, but Ruma and Amarei didn’t like the name when I called it that while showing them how it worked. Maybe I’ll just go with calling it a lap loom! I’ll probably have to draw them some plans for other looms once I have some paper too.
Haymeth and I are also creating a standardized measuring system. Using a balance scale to measure weight, which was easy because I could eyeball a pound of flour in my sleep. Once we found a rock that weighed the same as the flour, we created a weight tracking method for our goods. We could only weigh things with a max weight of ten pounds right now until Bass can make us a metal balancing scale to replace our wood and rope one.
We have a ruler, a yardstick, and a marked rope to use like a measuring tape. Thanks to the measuring rope, we found out that the farm size is actually forty-four acres instead of forty acres. The cliff area alone added two more acres, the sheep pen is actually eleven acres instead of the ten Rolder assumed and Cirella’s family farm is supposed to be five acres away from our border, its six.
Someone planted the hedge row an acre too far away from the real border. This turned out to be a boon now that we know about it because on our forgotten acre is a small three-foot-tall clay mound, and a seven-foot-tall stone hill – Booya! After we took the new measurement, we made a map guide of the farm for Colin to use as a template to draw us an actual map of the farm. He's the only one of us on the farm that knows how to really draw.
Hopefully in a few moons, we’ll be able to start on some of my projects, but I need a lot of things that we just don’t have yet or were still in the process of making them. I have to have cages for the field mice so we can test the medicines and poisons were going to make. I also need to pick the brain of a midwife; I need a guide on the type of medical tools I can craft that won’t seem too foreign for Westeros. We would also try our hand at making glass, but right now it’s pushed back because we need soda ash and a steel table. I’ve been trying to make soda ash from letting a salt brine solution dry out, but it keeps molding.
At this point, I’m sure I’ll have to wait until Bass, who just got in his shipments of copper and tin ore from the mill market, has time to make the three-copper pot distiller. It's next on his list but not at the top of the list of things needed right now. He is still trying to figure out how to alloy different kinds of steel. Once he has it down, Haymeth and I will start posting up in the forge for a couple of hours every seventh day to see if we can make some glass. It's really the only day we can work in there on this side project.
Every seventh day, not only do we have a family meeting, but we also spend family time together. It was the only requirement I asked Rolder to enforce when Bass agreed to build a forge on the land. I knew that without it, he would eventually work himself to death. Hermitage had the same requirement when he agreed to build the lumber mill.
Hermitage didn’t understand why at first until I told him that every creature needs a break, no matter who or what it is. Every seventh day should belong to him; if he chooses to work that day, it should only be on something for himself or as a gift because he wants to. I also mentioned that it was the only lazy day Rolder would allow the farm to have, and it would be a great day to play fun family games and eat a big meal to start off the next sennight.
Chapter 14: The Family Business – “Every day, I'm hustlin', every day, I'm hustlin!”
Chapter Text
1st day of Februarion in the year 282 AC
I was currently coaching a queen bee that was about to hatch out of her cell. This was the fourth and last one I would be caging for my beehive boxes since I didn’t want to dig too deep into the nest. Plus, these freshly hatched queens would be the healthiest ones out of the bunch anyway, so there was no need to keep going.
I had only needed to move the first two rows of honeycomb out of the way to see that the enclave was way too big for me to relocate the whole nest. Luckily, after removing the very first row of comb, I saw the six queen bee cells. Once I'd separated them from the comb they were attached to, I started stealing some of the comb for wax, honey, and nectar when the first one started to hatch. That was three queens ago, and now with this last one out, I just needed to steal a little more honeycomb, and we out!
I wasn't planning on checking the rest of the hive nearby because having four new queens hatching on the same day can only mean one of three things: either the other queens at the front of the hive or, in this case, the back of the hive, are sick, dead, or the hive is so big they need more queens to lay eggs. So, once I collected enough comb to fill up all three of the ceramic five-gallon container buckets, we left the cliff path to head home.
Colin, who insisted on coming with us for the removal process, claimed he wanted to watch. He really just wanted to watch me, and I loved him for it, but he used the excuse that they only kill the beehives here in Westeros instead of relocating them, and he wanted to see the process. Dude stood so far away the whole time; I don't think he saw a damn thing!
Alfred, on the other hand—the pinky to my brain—was standing next to me, watching everything I did the whole time. He was fascinated that my world rarely killed honeybees and even found a way of relocating them without killing them. I explained that we had other insects like hornets that we tried to fuck up onsite, and he got quiet.
The whole process went smoother than I'd even hoped, and I think it was because I didn’t have to disturb the whole hive, just the first three rows of comb. Either way, it’s done now, and we have three full five-gallon container buckets to take back with us to the farm for processing. I'm sure we'll fill up all six of our honey pots, and I can render it down enough for a good amount of wax. I was going to make candles, lip balm, crayons, and some salves for the farm's use.
After making sure the rest of the hive could access the four beehive boxes, we headed back to the farm. When we got back, the merchant Garrick had finally returned from his trip to the North and Vale. Damn – ole boy headed out back in Aperion. Yeah - I don’t want any part of traveling in Westeros until we get pedal carts with spiked metal wheels or a pedal houseboat!
He did come back with some good stuff, though. He brought Rolder, winter mint, chives, lovage, horseradish, parsnips, corn (Yes!), and barley from the north. He was able to pick up a few extra things from his merchant friend who lived in the Vale, who had beets (thank-fucking God), russet and sweet potatoes (hallelujah), leeks, and spinach (good shit)!
But he really outdid himself when he told Rolder he’d stopped by another merchant who had a permanent stall in the Pinkmaiden castle yard on his way here. The man had green and black olives, oregano, marjoram, and a bay laurel tree seed (I see you, Garrick). He didn’t have any tomatoes or rice, but it was still way more than I expected him to have.
For his payment, which was also an agreement Rolder had made with him before he left, he could take his pick of coin or double the amount of grain for his trouble. But now that we also had our own wares to offer, Rolder brought him inside the house to check them out.
Hymeth whispered that he wanted to get his opinion on the products as well. We had a small but rare list of items to offer. All were housed inside five-gallon ceramic container buckets with lids and handles. They were filled to the top with our wares for the next trip to the market. I asked him to call the containers clay storage buckets if he’s ever asked about them since the first thing he did was call them "huge clay baskets" - ugh! Westerosi had no fucking vision!
Garrick took so long deciding which buckets he wanted to take that Amarei felt bad for him and invited him to stay for lunch. We just so happened to be having pizza bianca again topped with wild dandelion leaves, sliced mushrooms, and sliced gooseberries, with a wild herb pesto sauce. It was paired with a wild green’s salad topped with shredded chicken breast and chopped hazelnuts, dried rowan berries with a wild berries and lemon balm herb dressing, and buttered garlic bread bites.
We’ve been eating like this for so many moons that it's normal for us, but it was funny as hell to see how Garrick reacted to our simple ingredients lunch in modern meal form. Dude was moaning so much that Rolder cleared his throat twice. Heh-Heh!
After lunch, Amarei made a deal with him, letting him sell ten of her supper sets, tea sets, and gave him a pick of six buckets instead of five to choose from if he splits the profits with us! When he finally made his choice of taking the last six buckets on the list, we got to work prepping the seeds and plants he’d brought.
The ten bucket containers housed the following products:
Twenty playsets of a jumbo piece of chalk, a pouch of twenty-five colored clay marbles, and a small container of sand playdough.
Ten ceramic puzzle boxes with a mystery prize (clay whistle).
Twenty teacups with a pouch of dried mixed berry tea inside it.
Ten stackable containers with lids that contained half a pound of bread flour.
Fifty pouches of salted roasted mixed nuts.
Twenty containers of campfire meals (egg noodles with a dry gravy seasoning mix).
Ten wooden cookware sets with a clay countertop holder that includes a large and small mixing Spoon, a spatula, and a rolling pin.
Ten women grooming bags that included a wooden comb, hairbrush, a bar of oats and lavender soap inside a ceramic soap holder, small vases with corked top of rose scented body wash, spearmint toothpaste, and a toothbrush.
Twenty men grooming bags that included a wooden-handled iron razors, shaving paste powder, and men’s saddle wood scented body wash, spearmint toothpaste, and a toothbrush.
Ten iron hammers with a 20 pcs iron nail and tack sets.
Once I finished logging the new seeds and plants, I headed to the forge. Bass's shipment of materials had been picked up by Colin yesterday, and I wanted to see if he needed guidance on anything since he's almost ready to start making a Damascus steel blade. Bass was a damn pro at making castle-forged steel, so I didn't think he would have any issues pulling this off, but why not check!
Rogar was at the drawing table stretching out a piece of thin iron rod to turn it into iron wire before trying it on the thin copper rod sitting next to him. Jacks had ridden out with Mikell and Ruma to talk to Fin, the L-5 farmer's son. Mikell wanted to see what kind of fish he had in his pond over there and find out if he's willing to sell some of them for the pond Mikell was building on our farm. He really wanted to try his hand at breeding fish, which would help the farm in so many ways.
Bass walked me through the process he used to make the two different kinds of steel needed for the blade. The first one was called 15N20, a bright and acid-resistant metal commonly used for forging together with other high-carbon steels to draw out the contrast in Damascus patterned knives and swords. He used one bar of pig iron, melted it down, and added seven and a half spoons of soot, four spoons of slag, two small seashell-sized blooms of nickel ore, one spoon of finely crushed cow bone ash, and a cup of finely sifted sand to make it.
I figured getting nickel ore would be super expensive, but shockingly, it's cheaper than pig iron. I had to remember to make a Westeros value chart of elements and their value, with Valyrian steel, diamond, gold, rubies, silver, copper, and pig iron all valued above nickel ore.
Once he was able to make it and cast it into thin steel plates, he moved on to making the other one called 1080 steel, a moderately high-carbon forging steel in the annealed state. He melted down another bar of pig iron, adding nine spoons of soot and slag, along with half a spoon of sulfur, finely crushed cow bone ash, and obsidian dust. I walked in right when he was checking the casted thin steel plates ready to stack them together interchangeably.
Rogar already had several strips of steel wire ready for us on his wire drawing table and helped Bass band them together. Once the metal turned a bright glowing red inside the hearth, they let their hammers go at it until it turned cold again, repeating the heating and hammering process until it had almost taken the shape of a dagger.
I had to return to the SCC shed where I was giving Haymeth a spelling test, as I needed to check his answers before supper to determine his progress. Bass had everything he needed to complete the project, even that funky barrel of pig's blood to quench the blade when finished. So I told him I'd be back before lunch to check on his progress.
Checking Haymeth's answers—who did splendidly, by the way—and melting down beeswax for the remainder of the morning had made the time fly by so fast that I didn't get to see Bass until lunch. I had actually forgotten because once I finished melting down the wax, Haymeth and I headed back to the shed to rack our brains over that damn sales catalog. Colin wanted to add a shit ton of useless stuff to it, Rolder didn't want to add any more of our grain products, and Hermitage, when asked, denounced the idea of adding campfire meals—I love the man dearly, but that motherfucker is tripping; it's our biggest seller! Needless to say, it's been a long ass day.
He didn't even sit down, which should've been my ah-ha moment, but I was hungry, low-key sleepy, and trying to figure out ways to talk Rolder into hiring someone, that I didn't catch it! When I looked at the amazed smile on his face, I knew something was off, so I asked why he was so happy and was completely flabbergasted by the fact that we just made real Valyrian steel for the first time in over four hundred years.
It honestly scared the shit out of me. I was truly thinking it may have been a new type of steel he could become famous for inventing, not the real fucking thing. George R.R. Martin said Damascus steel was the "closest" thing to Valyrian steel, not that it fucking was! I needed a moment away from everyone while they were celebrating. I had to think because I had a bad feeling that I might have just pushed us too far into the spotlight and had to figure out a way to get us the fuck back out of it. Shit!
At that week's meeting, the 7th of Februarion in the year 282 AC, we discussed my mistake, which no one thought was a big deal—ugh! So I pushed it out of my mind for now and focused on the next item on my list: Name days!
Haymeth and I have been finally able to narrow down what year everyone was born, but no one knew the moon or day they were born. So I figured if the nobles could make another fucking lord, we could give ourselves name days! I had everyone pick a domino from Rolder's new cowboy hat for actual moons and days. Rolder went first and pulled out a one and three, so he had his pick of Januarion or Marth as his name day moon, and the first, third, or thirteenth as the day. He ended up choosing the 3rd day of Januarion in the year 251 AC as his name day. After that, everyone followed suit -
Rolder - 3rd day of Januarion in the year 251 AC.
Amarei - 21st day of Februarion in the year 256 AC.
Mikell - 7th day of Aperion in the year 265 AC.
Colin - 1st day of Julius in the year 266 AC.
Me - 11th day of Siv in the year 272 AC.
Bass - 25th day of Juven in the year 251 AC.
Ruma - 5th day of Maya in the year 267 AC.
Rogar - 9th day of Novem in the year 270 AC.
Alfred - 30th day of Maya in the year 270 AC.
Jacks - 16th day of Fennim in the year 272 AC.
Rullia - 15th day of Januarion in the year 281 AC.
Hermitage - 2nd day of Juven in the year 251 AC.
Hymeth - 24th day of Agost in the year 266 AC.
Haymeth - 23rd day of Aperion in the year 269 AC.
Amarei's just so happens to be the first name day on the list, Februarion the 21st, which was in a fortnight. I really wanted her to have a great first name day party, so I got with Rolder to see if it's possible. After talking to him, we've decided to secretly throw her a bonfire cookout-themed name day party. She won't be allowed to do anything but entertain her female guests, hopefully in the kitchen, having tea and scones until the food is done.
Bass would oversee grilling the pork ribs, chops, steaks, and kabobs that I'll have marinating overnight, cooling in the backyard's kitchen water box we use for keeping raw meat fresh until it's cooked. Rogar will oversee the slow cooking of pork and mutton butts overnight in the in-ground cooking pit to make pulled pork sandwiches. Ruma will be making butter cabbage with carrots and six kinds of pies.
I'll be making chicken noodle soup, a lemon balm pesto and blueberry sauce for the pulled sandwiches, and the name day cake. We'll start making the sourdough pita bread when Bass is almost done with the grilled meat. We'll also set out one pot of our flavored pickles, a bowl of salted and honey-coated mixed nuts, a tray of goat cheese cracker sandwiches, a basket of honey nut oat sourdough bagels, and a container of our blueberry goat cream cheese spread. We need to get their reaction to the snacks to see if they would be items to add to the sales catalog we're making.
Luckily, it fell on a seventh day, so we've invited Gwendolyn and the orphanage kids, L-5 our neighbors on the left side of the farm, L-7 is Cirella's father's farm who are our neighbors to the right, L-10 is Hermitage's brother's farm, and L-8 is the farm we got Charlotte and Billy from, whom I call Mr. Wilson in my head because Alfred acts like Dennis the Menace towards him.
R-4 is Hermitage's mother's family, and shockingly, R-9 is Hermitage's uncle on his father's side farm. R-2 is the nice old lady whose always kind to Amarei and who sells honey sometimes at the market. Her story is downright the saddest I've ever heard. All three of her sons, five grandsons, her only brother, and husband died in the Reyne-Tarbecks rebellion, drowned inside Castamere. They were all just servants of the castle who got caught in the crossfire of egotistical nobles.
I felt truly sad for her. She looked old like the show's Olenna Tyrell as far as age and body type went, but without the cane and slick mouth. The day the castle was flooded, she was out collecting honey, which ended up saving her life by not being allowed to enter the castle due to Tywin laying siege to it that day. The daughter-in-law she moved in with after died from childbed fever along with the child, leaving her homeless and having to rent a small shed from a distant cousin whose husband ran the R-2 farm.
I wanted to get a feel for her during the party and bring up the idea of her moving to the farm. Not only was she one of us (a castaway), but she could handle honey and wax. If no one else saw it, I did; she could learn how to use a beehive box and help with its production. I know I can't do everything myself, so I've been looking hard for the right people to bring into our little world here on the farm who can benefit the farm, be loyal, and eventually become like family. I was making sure we didn't invite anyone who would cause drama or couldn't get on the same page as the rest of us.
22nd day of Februarion in the year 251 AC
"Ain't no party like a smallfolk party because a smallfolk party don't stop!" I was singing in my head the day after Amarei's name day party. I don't think people left until the hour of the wolf - we truly turned up. We didn't even have any leftovers because everything was a hit. The orphanage kids spent the entire time at the park playing in the sandbox, on the seesaw, the ladder walk, or swinging, playing hopscotch, jumping rope, and swimming in the pond under Rogar's and Jacks' supervision who they were all glad to see.
Mikell and Rolder kept the menfolk farmers occupied by giving them a tour of the field and showing off how their farming tools worked. Today, they're strutting around like peacocks from all the praises the men gave them and questions on how much they cost. Colin now had a couple of friends as well. A lot of the second sons and farmhands crowded around him, Hymeth, and Haymeth most of the night playing horseshoes and bowling games throughout the party and drinking what everyone's taken to calling Rolder's wine around the bonfire pit.
Ruma now had a couple of girlfriends, who were also new mothers that promised to stop by regularly for playdates with their kids that would include tea and pies. We told them that Ruma's "husband" was killed by bandits, forcing her to move in with her pa, 'Bass,' and moving to the farm with him, where she fell in love and got betrothed to the farm's 'heir,' Mikell, her adopted cousin." They ate that shit up because it had all the elements a Westerosi maiden would love—ugh!
As far as Amarei went, she will be the talk of the Ocean Road farmers for years to come. We managed to keep the party a surprise, but once the day came and we told her, she understood the assignment immediately and showed up and showed out! Ruma had made her a simple yet beautifully stitched purple wrap dress from the bolt of fabric I traded a whole container bucket of campfire meals for. Yeah, it was expensive, but you only live once!
Bass, Hermitage, and Jacks collectively made her a pair of black dyed rabbit leather slippers lined with cloth, with a thin layer of plated steel encased between two pieces of plywood and cushioned with thick cork insoles. I braided the front of her hair in Dutch braids and pinned it up into a top bun. Paired with a beautiful seashell necklace and bracelet Alfred made her, she looked so beautiful, healthy, and happy. Shit—call me a genie because, baby, her wish was just fulfilled.
I'm sure from now on, every woman who was at the party will be stopping by regularly for tea and scones. Oh, and the cooking lessons I'd offered for her to teach. Ha! I know it kinda threw her under the bus by saying she taught me and Ruma how to cook, but I wasn't starting a cooking class. I already had too damn much on my plate as is.
Plus, she needed more friends. She's only had one true friend, Gwendolyn, who can't get away hardly ever to visit. It took Hermitage, Bass, Colin, and Hymeth—who now had his own cart thanks to Rolder using the two extra silvers we just made at the market to buy another tree for the lumber and sawmill projects—all four of them to head to the orphanage at the hour of the nightingale to pick up Gwendolyn and the kids. Which really turned out to be a boon because she's really good at keeping things running in an organized fashion. And it brought tears to Amarei's eyes to have her best friend here celebrating her name day and first-ever party with her.
Hermitage fooled no one by offering to help her throughout the day with "anything she needed" - which was funny as hell for us to watch. Damn - he had it bad with his lovesick ass! For a brief second, I had an idea pop in my head of building an orphanage on that last acre right before the cliff and next to the pond for them. Having her and seventeen kids living on the farm would be a huge fucking boon. With all of them, we'd only need one or two laborers for the farm, and all of them would have a fucking chance at life in funky-ass Westeros.
But reality kicked in real quick when I realized it can only be a dream! I'm sure that would be pushing it to the limits with the way Westerosi talked. I could hear the nobles now - how could they afford to take care of seventeen extra mouths without stealing from their liege lord - bitches, the lot of them! Then that led me to thinking of being hauled down to the rock and gangbanged, which then had me screaming in my head in my Iyanla Vanzant voice, 'Not on my watch! So yeah - fuck all that!
But I still wanted to know why she wasn't giving Hermitage any play? Hell, he was Liam Hemsworth fine—if I was of age and not his goddaughter, I'd hit!
It's sad to think of the shoulda woulda because with her management style, I'd be able to offload hella shit onto her! Most days I feel like I'm juggling a million different things and dropping damn near most of them. I was going to bring the idea up at the next family meeting to just get a feel of how something like that could work for sure.
Thinking of that brought me to our house guest, who we started calling G-ma last night. Her real name is Daphney, no last name. Colin picked her up for us after dropping off his load of kids. He'd surprised her with the ride, having expected to walk since none of the other smallfolk on that farm wanted to attend. Colin was pissed when he came back about that, the raggedy-ass shed she lived in, and how frail she is when he helped her in the wagon. He even pulled our parents, Mikell, Ruma, and I in the house to stop us from sending her back.
Now the thing with Colin is he doesn't like how Westeros treats their women, especially the smallfolk women. He saw their old caretaker sell herself to the Lannisport guards to protect the girls in the orphanage, and it never sat right with him - thank the old gods because the seven ain't shit! So, he hated to see any woman down and out! Which really helped me convince our parents to let her stay.
And after the way she acted, they wanted her to stay more than us at the end of the night. The lady was more excited for Amarei than even we were, and when she found out what we were doing, she rolled up her sleeves and helped out by making plates. Right now, she's in the kitchen washing dishes. She also had a blast during the party because I could hear her laughing at the marvel of the beehive boxes in the park when Rolder showed them to her. It brought a smile to my face when I saw her enjoying sitting on the bench Colin made to watch the kids play.
To catch her off guard, we waited until everyone was getting ready to leave. I pulled out my acting cards again by pretending to look around for her overnight bag, saying, "Didn't Colin tell you to bring one? Because I'd already put fresh sheets and a clean cover on my bed for you, ma was hoping you'd spend a night and teach me all about Westeros beekeeping, since we now had the beehive boxes Hermitage invented."
After Amarei, knowing her role, said, "It doesn't matter, sweetling, I have something clean she can use as a nightshirt," and guided her into the house where Ruma already had hot and cold water in the tub with all our body products laid out for her a bath. And that was all it took for my family to accept her. After giving her a cup of chamomile tea that I snuck a spoonful of each queen bee honey and fermented garlic and honey into, I got on the couch and instantly fell asleep.
When I woke up, she was still abed sleeping. When she did wake, she told us she hadn't slept so soundly and well in years, making Amarei secretly pat me and Colin on the back. Mikell, who's known as the farm's heir, was the one to make the offer of her living with us here on the farm. She would get Bass's old room since the crazy bastard slept in a hut next to the fake Bessemer - talk about protecting something with your life - ugh!
She seemed in shock that we wanted her here, but Rolder shut that down, saying at her age, she shouldn't be living in a shed and that we could really use the extra set of eyes for Rullia, who she was holding at the time, and that I was only ten and would need guidance with the beehive boxes. He even offered to pay her, which she immediately turned down but accepted living on the farm if we'd have her, causing nearly everyone to give her a hug. Something I started after Bass and the others moved here. Ain't nothing like a hug from family.
We all made it clear to each other that her only real task was helping with Rullia, who already adores her, helping with the beehive boxes, and stopping her from trying to do any other work around the farm. That last part - was turning out to be funny as hell. She's fast for an older woman and has been keeping Ruma and Mikell on their toes along with doting over everyone. Her moving in came at the right time too because Ruma's been taking trips with the boys to pick up lumber, so now G-ma can watch Rullia for me so I can get some more stuff done on those days.
My slick uncle struck a deal with Woodward Buckler, saying he would make a few of his workers some castle-forged steel tools—specifically a saw for cutting down trees and a tool for removing bark—in exchange for a nice-sized tree. After making a set for Hermitage, his boys, and the shop boys, he could do it with his eyes closed. Buckler, having common sense, agreed to the deal, and they are still picking up wood to this day. The Woodward let them get a 45-meter-tall oak and all the sawdust they had lying around for six buck saws and ten log peelers. The wood had to be cut into five-foot sections, then halved, and quartered twice to fit in the back of the carts.
Once a sennight on the second day at the hour of the nightingale, Hymeth, Colin, or Mikell would head out to pick up new loads and return at the hour of the owl the next night. Colin would go when only wood was being picked up, and Mikell and Ruma would go every other fortnight to sweep up the sawdust and pack it in the cart under her old tent tarp with Bass tagging along.
Ruma really enjoyed these trips, as she confided in me after the second one. Bass would make her a bed on top of the sawdust with Alfred’s old tent tarps, while the guys slept on bedrolls in their carts surrounding hers and Bass. She said they'd talk most of the night until Bass climbed down to sleep under the cart, and Mikell would sneak up to hold her until she fell asleep, always being gone before the morn came.
She misses Rullia but said she never thought she could leave her with anyone besides Bass or Alfred and be at peace with it. So, she just enjoyed her time on the trip. I started making sure she had little extras on her trips. We wove her a huge picnic basket, Amarei made small plates and bowls for it, Bass made her a steel lunchbox to fit inside, and Hermitage made her a wooden canteen mug with a screw-on lid and wooden utensils.
Rolder cut a piece of sheep's hide, and I stitched it into an overnight bag with a long strap of rabbit leather so she could wear it on her shoulder or across her body. We filled it with a clean wrap dress, face towel, body drying cloth, a woman's grooming bag, and a smaller pouch for her moon blood with cloth panties, reusable cloth-lined felt pads, and a cloth hand towel.
They reached the sawmill as the sun was going down, giving them enough time to gather most of the sawdust and wood chips. Buckeye, Buckler’s son, let it slip to Mikell that his father gets happy every time he sees Ruma because she makes all the men clean up the wood scraps. Ruma has also started the habit of bringing her pie creations, which is what really gets the lumberjacks off their ass to help gather the sawdust and wood chips for her. She has them so well trained now that she doesn’t even help anymore; she focuses on making one of her campfire meals to get their opinion. Once they finish eating, they head home with a pie pocket, her "new" on-the-go dessert.
While they're doing all that, Hymeth would be making camp for them in a little clearing Buckler told him about. When the sun rises, Buckler’s men load as much wood onto the remaining carts as they can, leaving us with more than enough wood to finish all of our building projects if we use it carefully.
The first project Rolder started was building a brush fence and gate. He arched the fence part to cover a quarter of an acre of the brush starting at the sheep’s corner fence next to the brush, extending toward Ocean Road but stopping fifty feet away to align with the forge. He ended up enclosing that part of the land within the farm. For the brush part, I wanted to start a community plot for the orphanage.
Rolder would use some of the area by the acre next to the forge for farm workers’ apartments when he gets around to finding someone. Mikell and Alfred were shaping out his paddock for his horse. The underground storage area was already fenced in, but they haven't started digging yet for the forge’s completed work. We haven’t marked out spots for the male and female workers’ apartments yet because we need to use all available materials right now for the farm and to build our inventory up.
We’ve also been able to build a few things on my list over the last moon, like the brick-lined copper box dugout next to the pond, halfway above ground. We’ve started calling it the cooling box since it keeps all our drinks cold and vegetables fresh a lot longer. It even has a copper lift door with a lock to keep the food safe. They’ve started making the dry brick, mortar, and concrete mix for the underground storm shelter as well.
Haymeth and I have been working on so many projects that we’ve accidentally recruited a friend of his named Hope to help since she’d been hanging around after Amarei’s party. I’ve seen her a few times walking up or down Ocean Road on our way to the market. She’s a midwife in training or that's what we call her since she accompanies her ma, who is an actual midwife, to all the births. Haymeth invited her and her ma to the party, and I didn’t even notice them because there were so many new faces in the crowd. She turned out to be just like us—curious about everything that is Westeros.
After noticing her reluctantly walking away the third time Haymeth and I were about to start an experiment, I asked her if she wanted to stay and help. After she agreed, we made a big deal out of it, giving her, her own working station, calling her Hope the midwife's assistant, and telling everyone that she’s the newest addition to the Scientist Collective Coalition (SCC) we wrote on the outside of our shed that's next to the mushroom shack in the backyard.
She’s turning out to be pretty helpful and a fast learner. She understood the calendar and even asked for us to make her one. With her help over the last week, we’ve been able to get a few more of our charts, lists, maps, how-to guides, and a few experiments out of the way.
Today we’ve been working on a list of healing tinctures we can make to fill our new healer’s cabinet, which has been placed next to Hope’s workstation. Our workstations are those big lift-top desks used to store all our equipment like our new chalk pencils, parchment, short stick rulers we made using coins, painting supplies, and notes. I’d asked Hermitage to make me and Haymeth some, and today he just delivered Hope’s along with the healer’s cabinet Haymeth asked him to make for us.
I wanted to start getting ready for the great sickness they talked about in the lore. I wasn’t about to lose any of my new family members to something as simple as the common fucking cold. We have a list of items that we can turn into disinfectants, tinctures, pills, dental hygiene products, topical creams, and vitamins.
We’re still working on a healer’s tool kit, which I asked Hope to use the next time she helps deliver a baby if they're finished by then. I was now teaching her, along with Haymeth how to read. Hopefully soon, I'll be able to just give them a list to work on and move on to other things. Especially since Bass has finished our three-copper pot distiller that I’ll be showing everyone how to use on the morrow at the next family meeting.
*5th day of Marth in the year 282AC - Family meeting:
The three-copper pot distiller is a traditional alembic apparatus used for distilling spirits, essential oils, or medicinal preparations. It’s known for its excellent thermal conductivity and its ability to remove sulfur compounds, which can improve the quality of the distilled product. This setup is often used in rural or traditional settings and can be built and operated using basic tools and materials.
It consists of three interconnected copper pots called the Boiler Pot, where the raw material (like brine or filtered water and herbs) is placed. It's heated to produce steam. The Intermediate Pot collects the steam from the boiler and allows for some condensation. It usually has a pipe that channels the steam to the third pot. Lastly, the Condensing Pot: The steam from the intermediate pot enters here, where it is cooled and condensed back into liquid form.
The only two not at this meeting were Alfred, who didn’t have anything to discuss at this family meeting. Wheeled G-ma to the bee garden to look over the flowers and check on the bees since she didn't know anything about me yet. Plus, she was always looking for an excuse to use the gift Hermitage made for her, which I didn't even know he'd made or that he was that far down his new list. I was also a little concerned because I didn't know if Westeros was ready for a push wheelchair!
Damn - He was working through his list much faster than Bass, as he didn’t have any apprentices to teach along the way. G-ma cried when he presented it to her and hasn’t stopped using it when we are outside.
Gathering everyone around the alembic still, I felt a mix of excitement and pride as I prepared to teach them the art of distilling lavender essential oil for medicinal purposes. I took a deep breath and began.
“First, we need to ensure our equipment is clean,” I said, pointing to the alembic still. “It’s important to remove any residues or impurities.”
They nodded, watching as I carefully assembled the still, making sure all connections were secure. “Next, we prepare our lavender,” I continued. I had harvested fresh lavender flowers and stems earlier that day, choosing the blooms at their peak for the highest oil content. I demonstrated how to coarsely chop the lavender to increase the surface area for distillation.
“Now, we add water to the pot,” I instructed, filling the bottom of the still with just enough water to create steam. “If we’re using a basket, the lavender should be above the water level. Otherwise, we place it directly in the water.”
I placed the chopped lavender into the still, ensuring it was properly arranged. Lighting the wood beneath the pot, I explained, “We need to bring the water to a boil gradually. The steam will pass through the lavender and extract the essential oils. Maintain a steady temperature to avoid overheating and degrading the oil.”
Haymeth, my personal human watch, counted up to eleven minutes when the water began to boil. I watched the steam start to rise and pass through the lavender. I explained how the steam carried the essential oils through the condenser, where it cooled and returned to liquid form. The liquid distillate flowed out of the condenser into the collection vessel.
“Now, we collect the distillate,” I said, watching the mixture of essential oil and lavender hydrosol accumulate. “We let it settle so the essential oil can separate from the hydrosol.”
I carefully poured the distillate into a separator funnel. “The essential oil will float on top,” I explained, demonstrating how to drain the hydrosol from the bottom, leaving the precious lavender oil in the funnel. I collected the essential oil in a little dark ceramic vase bottle, sealing it tightly with a cork stopper.
“Store the essential oil in a cool, dark place,” I advised. “This will preserve its potency. The lavender hydrosol can also be stored and used for various purposes.”
My family watched intently, absorbing the knowledge. “Lavender essential oil is great for aromatherapy, topical applications, stress relief, and even minor burns and insect bites. By learning this process, we can harness the natural benefits of lavender right here at home,” I said, concluding my demonstration.
Seeing their amazement at the simplicity and effectiveness of the process, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I was grateful to share this ancient art with my family, knowing we could now create our own remedies from the beautiful lavender plants growing in our garden.
We were almost done with the rest of the meeting when Ruma, of all people, asked if we could make wine with it. Shit – I knew it would be a fight to get our healer’s cabinet filled if they hogged it for alcohol, but I won’t flat out lie to them or hold them back if they wanted to do it.
Chapter 15: The Family meetings - "They don't know, I do it for the culture, goddamn"
Chapter Text
6th Day of Marth, 282 AC, The Westerlands
G-ma had been here for almost a fortnight now, and needless to say, she was amazed by everything on the farm. Rolder took us on a cart ride around the property to give her a feel for where she would be living from now on, wanting her to feel at home. We were sitting in the cart together with Rullia, while Mikell and Ruma walked alongside, and Amarei sat up front on the bench seat with Rolder.
I was smiling at all the changes we’d made in the almost year since I’d been here. I was also proud of the men on this farm! The fields actually looked like the ones I’d see back home, with all twenty acres sectioned off into neat squares. A narrow cart pathway, made from a mixture of clay dirt, sand, crushed cement, and sea pebbles, ran throughout.
Colin wants to line both sides of the path with long, thin clay bricks once he has enough of them made. They had one water barrel sitting at the opening of each of the eighty fields entrance. In front of Rolder's experimental fields, next to those barrels, were small lean-tos that housed the shingles used for watering the fields and a small chest that held old sailing canvas for use in case of heavy rain.
Once we had a steady supply of wax, I was going to have them wax one side of the canvas, turning it into tarps so the water would just roll off. A scarecrow would need to be built and placed in the middle of the fields as well. We could use it to tent the tarp, ensuring the water didn't weigh it down.
The wheat was taller and bushier than last year’s harvest, proving to Rolder that the compost, homemade fertilizer, sawdust, wood chips, and new tools were working. They’ll be harvesting all fifteen acres—or as I like to say, sixty fields—of wheat this coming fortnight, before harvesting Rolder’s experimental wheat fields.
They've already harvested the oats Bass had brought with him, which we call Rullia’s oats. In another moon, they’ll be harvesting the rye Colin got from helping out Cirella’s family at the end of last year. The cotton, jute, and hemp seeds had been planted in Decem, so they still have two and four more moons to grow.
They just planted two rows of corn and a full field of barley, hoping they'll grow before winter comes, since I didn’t know the actual moon it’ll happen in. Rolder shared my concerns. He’s had a few farmhands stop by offering to buy some of his wine, and he wanted to see if he could make beer with the barley. So, I'll be having Haymeth pay close attention to the weather over the next four moons. We need at least that many moons to pass before winter comes because by then the ears of corn should have starch in them. We are going to need a lot of starch because we'll be eating a lot of stew this winter. Haymeth and I have been trying our damnedest to make glass, but we've failed every time. I wish I’d paid more attention to those glassblowers in Sauder Village. Damn it!
Continuing the tour and passing the last wheat field, we turned onto what we've taken to calling Animal Pathway. The first fenced-in half-acre we came to was the pig pen. Though not large, it was nicely built, insulated, and painted. It had a brick floor, wooden walls, a shingled roof, a concrete feeder, a barrel-fed watering trough, and a swing half-door with a latch.
On its left side was a man-made mud hole, and on the right side was a shallow watering pool. Inside the pen, we made her a wattle and daub room in the corner with a weaved rush hay-covered bed. She gets two forkfuls of hay delivered by Mikell every first day of the week for her to nest in. Alfred has her on a feeding schedule where she gets a five-pound bucket of pig chow that we make before he breaks his fast in the morning, before lunch, and before family supper since Charlotte had a litter of four piglets who are growing fast.
The chicken coop came up next, which didn’t need to be rebuilt since it was still new. However, they did add a ground fence around it, a chicken tractor for the fields set off to the side, and we built little straw chicken huts for them. What we didn’t know was that this would cause them to lay more eggs, and now we have way too many chickens running around.
As we moved on to the end of Animal Pathway, we turned right onto Farm Pathway to head to the farmhouse. As we pulled into the cart lean-to on the left side of the house, which now has a fence around it and a clay shingles awning over it, you could see the rabbit tractor sitting in what will soon be the front lawn. Mikell set it in that spot this morning so the rabbits could graze, cut the grass, and fertilize the lawn at the same time.
G-ma had seen the new side-by-side stable already, with a fence around one and a half acres. The stable will also be Alfred's soon-to-be loft apartment, which will be built in the back of the hayloft of the barn. The barn has finally been completely finished! All the rotted wood was removed and replaced with fresh planks. The roof beams and slats were replaced, and the roof was shingled.
An inside wall now runs down the middle of the barn, turning it into a side-by-side. A doorless frame in the middle of the wall allows Alfred to walk to either side while inside the barn. Four brick-lined wooden stalls have been added to both sides of the barn along the back walls.
Horses are housed on the left side of the barn next to the cart awning lean-to. Mules will be housed on the right side of the barn for easy access to the field tool shed and lean-to where the bigger attachable farming tools are kept. A swing door on both sides leads out to the double-sided paddock, allowing the animals to exercise and mingle with the others. Each stall has a concrete feeder, a barrel-fed watering trough, and a swing stall door with a latch. All of the horse stalls are in use most days.
Chomper lives in the one closest to the paddock; Sassy, Hermitage's horse, is housed next to him; then Colin's new horse, Jasper; and then Haymeth's horse, Butter. We are working to make enough at the next market sale to buy a mule. On the other side of the barn is just Bass's mean horse called Spider, who’s always trying to take a bite out of Chomper, ironically.
The side-by-side Milk Barn that houses Billy the goat and hopefully soon a cow and bull. Is down on the other side of willow tree and now has a fence built around the acre it sits on. It’s a little smaller than the horse stable, with only two stalls on either side. But it has way more amenities than any of the other animal pens. The floor was raised using wood with two inches in between the boards, allowing waste to be swept below and out instead of mucking out like in the horse stalls. There’s an inside tool shed on both sides for milking and taking care of the animals, with a hayloft and loft door allowing them fresh air without frightening them and affecting their milk production.
G-ma had already seen the forge, the kiln, the furnace, in-ground fire pit, brick lean-to work shed, and the potter's barn. All of these structures are located on the left side of the house along Brush Pathway, where the workers' home will be built one day and where the forge bunkhouse is currently under construction.
We’d shown her the compost ditch behind the house, where the outhouse used to be. This area now has a fence around it and a lean-to with a wood shingle awning. Colin is currently filling in the storm shelter spot near the mudroom door with concrete daily. The rabbit hutch that Hermitage made for me is on the right side of the house, not far from the gardens.
The mushroom shed is situated before the gardens, a little way from the cooling boxes that’s next to the willow tree pond. Inside the shed, we have six square hay bales covered with clean, damp, old sailcloth. Two of them have Chicken of the Woods mushrooms growing in them, one has oyster mushrooms, one has giant puffball mushrooms, and the last two have chanterelle mushrooms.
Next to the mushroom shed is the flourishing Farm Garden. Surrounding the one-acre garden are briar patches of blackberries, raspberries, boysenberries, dewberries, barberries, and thimbleberries, forming a wall with an opening. Within the garden, bushes producing blueberries, gooseberries, and black currants are lined up in neat rows of ten on both sides of the main pathway, which is 209 feet long. Every twenty feet, or ten bushes, there is a short walking path on both sides leading to our raised beds and then to the in-ground produce patches.
We have twenty-three in-ground patches planted, including:
Two patches each of onions, peas, spinach, cabbage, cucumbers, turnips, pumpkin, kale, and cauliflower.
One patch each of carrots, dandelions, asparagus, grapes, and wild strawberries.
Recently added: two patches of beets, one of russet potatoes, one of sweet potatoes, and one of horseradish.
There are four raised beds to a path, totaling forty raised beds inside the entire garden. So far, we have planted:
Herbs: peppermint, catmint, spearmint, lemon balm, fennel, dill weed, borage, marjoram, lavender, chamomile, nettle, meadowsweet, sage, rosemary, thyme, oregano, lemon verbena, winter mint/basil, hibiscus, echinacea, yarrow, leeks, garlic, spring onions, rose hip, marigold, clover, goldenrod, and parsley. Along with two for chives and sunflowers.
All the trees are sitting in pots in a neat row inside the bee garden. We have:
Four pots each of three different types of apple trees.
Ten pots each of lemon, pear, orange, hawthorn, fig, elderberry, wild cherry, and plum trees.
Eight pots each of almond, beech, chestnut, walnut, pecan, and hazelnut trees.
Twelve olive trees, with only half planted to be cautious.
Ten pots of bay laurel trees.
One baby willow tree.
In the bee garden, we have planted lavender, sunflowers, bee balm, coneflower, goldenrod, aster, clover, marigold, and foxglove. G-ma also had me and Colin dig up hollyhock, snapdragon, salvia, and penstemon to plant in the garden.
Thanks to the new garden our pantry cabinet is really coming along with five shelves full of items. The first two shelves are full of over fifty small square stackable ceramic spice containers with ceramic lids, each labeled with the name painted on them. Almost everything in the garden has been either dried, powdered, seeded, or minced when harvested.
The next two shelves are full of ceramic jars with cork lids containing lemon zest, orange zest, salt, queen bee honey, hive honey, dried pasta noodles, bread flour, wheat flour, all-purpose flour, wheat berries, oat flour, and toasted oats. The last shelf is full of ceramic fermenting containers with vinegar, salt brine, pickled hard-boiled eggs, cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, turnips, and asparagus.
At the bottom of the cabinet, we have three deep pull-out drawers. The top one has our dried yeast and yeast starts in five fermenting ceramic jars with cork lids. The second drawer holds three fermenting ceramic jars with cork lids containing our sourdough starters, which we feed daily with a cup of fresh wheat flour and filtered water for use. The last drawer has two jars of our vinegar starters fermenting from apple skins. Next to the cabinet, we keep two five-pound ceramic container buckets with lids, one full of pig lard and the other of sheep’s lard.
The pantry was a testament to our hard work and resourcefulness, a symbol of the self-sufficiency we were building. As I stood back, admiring the neatly organized shelves and drawers, I felt a deep sense of accomplishment. It was more than just food storage; it was a step towards ensuring our family's survival and comfort through the seasons.
After finishing up in the pantry, Amarei, Ruma, G-ma, and I made supper and joined the others at the table. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm glow over the farm. We gathered around, sharing a meal of fried chicken, mashed cauliflower and gravy, peas and carrots, pasta shells and cheese, and a loaf of sourdough hazelnut bread, talking about the day's work. Laughter and stories filled the air.
Later that evening, after everyone had gone off to their respective tasks or settled in for the night, I found a quiet moment with G-ma. I took her to the bee garden, just the two of us, and I told her my story. She didn’t even take a moment to blink and gave me a hug while saying she’d kill every Lannister in the rock before she let another one of them hurt a hair on another one of her family’s heads.
After being able to let out damn near a year’s worth of tears, we walked back into the house and she acted like nothing had happened and said, “So Ruma, my sweet little butterfly, will you teach me how to make some soap I can add a few flowers to?” And just like that, we added a grandmother to the family!
The next day, bright and early, Ruma was up showing G-ma how to make soap from wood ash. She started by sifting the ash, explaining where the cinders bucket was for the leftover chunks. Ruma made it clear that we should only use boiled filtered water when making anything, especially items for the body and food. She took G-ma over to the brick fire pit, got the fire started, then set the cauldron over the flames and dumped the bucket of ash water into it.
While the mixture simmered, we headed to the park to check on the boxes, knowing it would need to cook for a while before we could remove it, cover it, and let it sit for a day or two. I ran over occasionally to stir it, but Ruma reminded G-ma that this was only the first step.
A couple of days later, while I was helping Colin make more paint for marbles, Ruma showed G-ma how to collect the lye water and mix it with sheep fat oil. Once the mixture was thick enough, she demonstrated how to add rose and lavender petals and pour it into the clay soap mold we use for setting it.
As the soap set, G-ma and Ruma spent time together, sharing stories and laughter, bridging generations through their shared tasks. It was heartwarming to see G-ma so involved and eager to learn, her spirit as lively as ever. The farm felt more complete with her presence, a matriarch who brought warmth and wisdom to our daily lives.
*Family Meeting on the 12th Day of Marth, 282 AC:
Rolder announced plans for expanding the bee garden and building a new shed for storing the tools and supplies needed – this was thanks to G-ma. She walked the garden with him, and he told her what was needed they would build or get for her. Alfred proposed a system for better organizing our egg collecting, ensuring nothing went to waste. He asked for another chicken coop to be built and asked if we could think about adding ducks.
I brought up the orphanage and everyone promptly turned to G-ma who we figured would have the answers to my questions. And she really did and told us since we're a merchant farm, it would be expected of us by the townsfolk since we have more. That most of the orphanage owners are the faith, the nobles, the village they live in, or merchants. I don’t know what I expect her to say but it wasn’t that at all.
She then went on to say that the nobles love bragging about helping us smallfolk but don’t actually want to see us. So, it normally falls to the people in the village who either build a home for them or rent them one at a lower cost. She also pointed out that having an orphanage on a farm and still paying the proper amount of taxes will call out others to do better using the same methods or get other orphanages investigated and either improved or shut down.
She asked if we are in the position to do it and could afford it - which Rolder was proud to tell her that we were and that we wanted to do it.
That evening, we celebrated our progress with a hearty meal. The farmhouse buzzed with energy and hope, the aroma of freshly baked bread and stewed vegetables soup filling the air. As the sun set, casting a golden hue over the fields, I felt a deep sense of belonging and pride. We had built more than just a farm; we had built a family and a future.
Before turning in for the night, I took a moment to walk around the bee garden and park, reflecting on how far we had come. The moonlight bathed the fields in a soft glow, and I felt a renewed determination to protect and nurture this place and these people who had become my family.
In the days that followed, G-ma became a constant presence, her laughter and stories weaving into the fabric of our daily routines. She taught us old recipes, shared her wisdom, and even started adding Westerosi herbs in the garden next to the farmhouse, adding to the diversity of our crops.
Ruma's and G-ma's soap-making became a weekly activity, with different scents and colors as the days changed. It was more than just a practical skill; it was a symbol of our creativity and resilience, a testament to how we could turn simple resources into something beautiful and useful.
*Family Meeting on the 19th Day of Marth, 282 AC:
So, we’re building an orphanage! Colin, Haymeth, and I had been planning out how the orphanage would be built for a whole sennight. We’d even made a model of it out of wood, glue, mini bricks, rocks, and grass. Everyone was in awe of how nice it would look and that the children will love it.
The orphanage will be built by the pond, on that acre away from the cliff. The pond will be fenced off as their water source, with a barrel filtering system set up in a half-shed over a corner of the pond. In front of the house, a small park with a playground will be built, and to the right, a child-safe above-ground shed pool for learning to swim, water activities, and fun.
On the left side of the house, there will be a small two-horse stall barn and a covered awning cart port. A storm shelter will be built in the back next to their mudroom door, similar to ours. Rolder’s experimental fields are nearby, so he agreed to give them one to learn how to grow their own food and teach the class himself. The building itself will have two floors with a basement storm shelter. The storm shelter and first floor will be made of concrete, and the top floor will be wood. The storm shelter will also be used for food storage and an extra playroom for the children.
The first floor will have the kitchen, eating area, living room, and learning room. The second floor will be the sleeping area, with Gwendolyn’s room in the middle in front of the stairs. The boys’ bathroom will be on the left side, along with four sleeping rooms, and the girls’ bathroom will be on the right side with four sleeping rooms. Each room will have two sets of bunk beds, accommodating four children per room, leaving enough space for sixteen boys and sixteen girls.
I don’t think I’ve seen any of us this excited since Amarei’s name day party. Everyone was happy for different reasons though. Rolder was thinking of how this would improve the farm’s reputation even more. Amarei was happy to be able to give the kids and her friend a stable home, the children full bellies, and a family. I was happy we were getting a skilled child rearer who knows so many useful things. And I couldn’t wait to pass off half of my workload to her.
Lastly, we all knew of someone on this farm that would tie himself to her in a heartbeat, meaning more little godbrothers and godsisters for me and Alfred. If we could get Haymeth on board with us in setting them up. I was planning some old school parent trap type shit to get it to work and needed the boys on my side to help with the planning.
Hermitage rode out to the orphanage the day after the last family meeting to talk to Gwendolyn about the offer. We knew she had agreed when he returned with the biggest smile on his face. Him and Hymeth will be moving to the farm next moon and will live in the Lumber Barn until the orphanage is complete. Afterward, they will work on adding additional apartments to the Lumber Barn. When I asked why they didn’t want to wait, he said, "It's better than the one we sleep in!" All this time, I never knew they lived in a barn shared with three of his cousins—what the fuck! I lose more respect for Westeros as the years pass!
One good thing was I now have a cast iron Dutch oven, pot, skillet, a small smoke box, and a griddle. Making Valyrian steel helped Bass and the boys fix the cracking issue they were having when casting pig iron. They added small amounts of soot, slag, and limestone to the mixture. So now we had the ability to make casted metal items, pieces, and parts, which added over thirty items to the sales catalog we were making. I also gave him a metal alloying chart that I’d pieced together and hoped it was correct to see what items he could think up.
Metal Chart – Theory:
Alloying silver and gold will produce electrum.
Alloying Silver and Iron will produce sterling silver.
Alloying 10% tin and 90% copper will produce bronze.
Alloying copper, silver with Tin will produce Tin Silver.
Alloying Copper and zinc will produce Brass.
Alloying Copper and aluminum will produce Aluminum bronze.
Alloying Aluminum and Iron will produce Ferro aluminum.
Hermitage, who’s now at the lumber mill barn daily since it’s fully operational now, was standing on the bridge checking a paddle on the wheel. I handed him a short list of life-changing items from my world, including matches, a sketch of a wooden loom and flying shuttle mainly for Ruma, a wheelbarrow pedal cart, and pencils. I explained that for the matches, Haymeth was working on the fire paste for the tips, which is just finely crushed cow bone ash, ground copper ore, and tree sap. For the pencils, we would use wax, limestone, squid ink, crushed fire bricks, and different plant dyes for coloring.
*Family Meeting on the 3rd Day of Aperion, 282 AC:
I was trying to get as many things knocked off the list as possible after making that timeline chart. We’d all started training with the two crossbows Bass had been able to make. The boys were in the process of building a training yard on the side of the forge. All the men and boys on this farm would be trained in the sword, with a crossbow, and a spear. I wanted to be ready just in case something that was not in the show happened.
I knew that Tywin would be calling his banners in a few moons, so I asked how it normally went. Bass told us the men on this farm had nothing to worry about. Smallfolk men he knew only answered the call in hopes of being fed but were never forced to join the nobles’ armies. When I asked how he knew this, he said that old Jasper who trained and knighted him, had told him.
Wondering if I’d missed someone telling me that Bass was a knight, I pocketed that piece of information for later. G-ma said that smallfolk men are just expected to want to join the march for the honor of dying for their liege lord. I couldn’t help the laugh that came out because—fuck that! If any of the men on this farm try to “volunteer,” I’ll slit their fucking throats myself. I did not just spend a year trying to move us on up like the Jeffersons, for fucking fun!
Chapter 16: The Roots of Innovation- " A long time coming, but I know a change gon' come"
Chapter Text
4th Day of Aperion, 282 AC:
Rolder and Mikell just finished winnowing and baling up the last of the wheat from all acres. When it came time to do the count Rolder didn't feel as if he was ready, so he called on me to do it. The first harvest of the year turned out way better than even I expected it to. The yield this harvest was fourteen bushels per acre, which is damn near doubling last year’s yield amount of the eight bushels per acre we got. Those fifteen acres have now become very viable fields due to using the seed planter, tilling the fields, fertilizing the soil, and a routine watering schedule.
They even produced enough wheat berries to fill up six-hundred and thirty twenty-pound sacks and seven-hundred and fifty small twenty-pound bales of wheat straw, if we’d chosen to package them that way. Instead of using the small sacks, we decided to use the fifty-pound sacks we made for the farm and our largest baler. That would knock down the amount of delivery work the boys would need to put into transporting all of it to the mills market tax collector.
Everyone was happy at the progress of those fifteen acres but became amazed when I told them the amounts that the farm's personal acres brought in. Rolders five special acres, had brought in numbers that none of them have ever seen before! I was over the moon (the actual moon – I can’t wait until the word month is circulated around – ugh!) This shows them that the use of a seed planter, pesticides, a fertilization schedule instead of the one application during planting time worked. These acres have brought in yield amounts that some small farms in my world would normally bring in during the growing season. Well, the ones that used human powered equipment and only our standard farming practices, but they still produce four times the amount of crops any farm in Westeros could.
Acre number one is the experimental wheat acre, Rolder planted wheat on all four plots and yielded twenty-four bushels in total. That was enough wheat to fill up seventy-two twenty-pound sacks of wheat berries and one-hundred and fifteen twenty-five-pound bales of wheat straw. He agreed to leave one of the four plots fallow this growing season to build back up the nutrients in the soil.
Acre two is what we’ve taken to calling Rolders field of Rullia’s oats because he used the whole acre and still vetoed giving any to the animals. I love my pa dearly but that’s some greedy shit right there! The Oat did do well though yielding twenty-six bushels of oat groats which filled up forty-two sacks, giving us sixty-five bales of oat straw we could give to the animals. That acre now has peanuts and potatoes on the two left plots with hops and tea on the two right.
Acre three is full of Barley that still needed about two more moons of grow time but looks like they would have a higher yield than both the oats and wheat. Acre four has two plots of hemp, one of cotton, and one of jute, I can already see they’ll have some high yielding numbers as well. The last acre, number five was full of rye and had the highest yield to date for the farm at thirty bushels per acre.
Now the best thing about the yield sizes was that we get to keep it all! Those five acres are ours and only ours! We do not have to share it with the rock. I made sure I thought of that when I convince Rolder to split the acres up the way I did, ensuring we got our piece of the pie!
Colin arrived back from his secret trip to the mill market with Mikell's name day gift right as we finished. The idiot was supposed to hide it in the milk barn, but I've been learning that he's lousy at keeping secrets. He was showing the baby male mastiff off to Bass when we came out of the house and like a fool handed him right to Mikell—ugh! I couldn’t stay pissed at him after he reached back into the cart and handed me a baby girl mastiff.
Holding her, letting her lick my face a few times broke me down. It reminded me of the times L would do it, which led to me thinking about everyone I left back home in my world. When Rolder noticed I was crying, he ushered me into the house with Amarei. I think I cried on her shoulder for an hour, which did make me feel a little bit better, but it didn’t stop the hurt deep inside my heart.
By supper time I’d had both my new little friends cleaned, groomed, and fed. Looking at the girl and thinking about the type of place Westeros was, I decided to name her Bonnie. After supper, I hemmed up Mikell and convinced him to let me name the boy Clyde. So now I have my world’s most notorious couple, and I would make sure this Bonnie and Clyde grew strong and never surrendered, just like their namesakes!
The next day with Bonnie in hand I headed to the SCC shed. I wanted to go through my secret projects list’s and check to see what was left on my 12th-century one of items that should've been invented by the "Renaissance era" that Westeros has one foot in and out of. Glass was one of the items but trying to recreate it is not going how I imagined it would, which is crazy considering it’s been a workmen’s trade since before the common era.
I have all the materials needed: lime from limestone, soda ash from distilling a fresh salt brine, and silica from sand. I even have a container of small rock quartz, but we still haven't been able to produce a single piece of clear glass that isn't a clumpy, cracking mess. Because of that, I’m at a standstill on some of the more notable 12th-century inventions I've been trying to recreate. I need glass and magnesium for the compass; I wanted glass face plates for the clocks, well, once we have one that actually works, and eyeglasses.
Even with that small hiccup I'm extremely proud of this family when I think about the items, I’ve been able to check off this list with the help of everyone. We have windmills, thanks to Hermitage, who was able to make mini fan versions for the winnowing stands and threshing boxes. He also made two five-feet tall ones for him and Bass's metal tools.
I've given Rolder all of the agricultural innovations I could think of that could feasibly be made. We will be making paper the day after Mikell’s name day in a couple of days, so I'll be able to cross that off the list soon. Westeros already had horseshoes, stirrups, stone castles, and a “university” if the Citadel can be considered that.
Picking up the next list of notable 13th-century significant technologies and cultural advancements, I have all but one thing on that list completed because Amarei was able to make some of the cutest little ceramic buttons. Hermitage was able to upgrade the wooden ones they used here, Ruma was able to make better ties with her little wooden rope loom, and Jacks is working on casting tin and brass buttons, clasps, and clips.
Colin has the whole Gothic architecture thing down by using Roman concrete. We already made a knockoff blast furnace using the Roman concrete, which will become the blast kiln when Bass has enough metal to make a steel blast furnace. Hermitage has three water wheels completed already and is currently working on one for the farmhouse for our kitchen tools.
That only leaves the printing press, which I’ve eighty-sixed for the Chicago #11 Card Printing Press. The smallfolk can't read, so they don’t need a letter book; they need picture books that I guarantee will teach them how to read and write faster than an actual book filled with only letters could. I also knew it would fund the Cliff House Orphanage for a long time because I would give credit for the invention to TT Gwen.
Looking at the 15th-century notable inventions, I see only two things left since I wasn’t going to make the printing press, and I'm not even going to entertain the idea of giving Westeros gunpowder, cannons, or handguns, or anything for that matter, that will make it easier for them to fuck shit up! I didn’t know any shipwrights to give the caravel ship design to, and pigeoning that bitch to the Iron Islands is not happening.
I’ve already given Hermitage the list for musical instruments, and the spinning wheel was one of the first things he made, so I was able to check those items off the list early. Bass had already upgraded all the different scissors and razors, leaving me with a parachute, which I’ve also eighty-sixed for a kite instead, and wallpaper, which should be done a moon after the paper is.
Now the 16th-century period inventions list had the most items on it, even though some are basically upgrades, like a pocket watch or portable clock that I can’t start working on until we get the needed mechanisms for them finished. I was currently working on the scientific instruments, but not having glass limits what I can make right now, like the telescope and a glass face plate for the thermometer Bass is making for me. I also have the flushing toilet and a knitting machine that I haven’t even started working on yet.
The last list is of the 17th-century items that rounded off the end of the Renaissance era, like the microscope, which is a must on my list. A Westerosi slide rule for trade purchases, a barometer for the brick oven, the pendulum clock I want for the farmhouse living room, and a reflecting telescope (since Bass almost has the science behind reflective metals down and will soon be able to make clay-framed mirrors). A hygrometer and lightning rod are on his newest list of items I gave the forge to work on, along with the chronometer, sextant, and air pump Rogar asked to work on as a side project.
I didn’t know the complete science behind the smallpox vaccine, but I was going to try my hand at it, along with an adding machine, heliograph, phonograph, an eight key hand piano, a pianoforte, and a hot air balloon. Hermitage was already working on the flying shuttle and spinning jenny, which I’m hoping he’d have done before Ruma’s name day.
The steam engine was scratched off the list, and the steam-powered boat has been changed to a foot-pedal boat instead. All of these inventions played crucial roles in shaping the scientific, cultural, and industrial landscape of the Renaissance era, so my hope is to get them done and see if Westeros changes from it. I really want to see what the nobles do when the smallfolk become smarter than them!
7th Day of Aperion, 282 AC:
The last few days have been a whirlwind, all in preparation for today: Mikell’s name day. His simple wish was to play a few family games and have a small supper featuring all his favorite foods. I was all in favor of this, as a small family gathering sounded perfect. We’d set up the gates for Pall Mall and stashed the tote bags with the Kubb and Bocce ball sets in our lean-to by the brush gate.
The chicken breast for the Caesar salad was cooling on the stove, the greens were picked and washed, the garlic bread knots were ready for the oven, the asparagus needed only a quick steam, and the razor clams were cleaned and marinating for the grill. All that was left was to get Ruma’s pies in the oven, and we could kick off our day of fun. Mikell decided on teams: old versus young. I was confident we could take the adults down, especially since they’d never played any of the games with us before.
Later...
"Really, what in the hell kind of hit was that?" I screamed at Mikell.
I know it’s his name day and this is supposed to be fun, but he’s going to cost us the game if Colin misses his next shot. Damn—Colin just missed too! Rolder was up next, and I knew he would make his shot, but I was hoping he wouldn’t. When his shot rolled through the gate, I lost it. The next thing everyone saw was my mallet flying through the air, landing in the middle of the walking path that led back to the house.
"I give up! We can't win now," I said, looking at Hymeth and Alfred.
They looked just as pissed as I felt. Mikell was bent over, trying to catch his breath from laughing. Colin’s big-headed ass just stood there, looking as if he was lost in thought. We had just told them that if they missed their shots, Rolder, Amarei, G-ma, Hermitage, and Bass would win the game! This was some irritating, messed-up shit! So far, they’ve beaten our asses in Kubb, Bocce ball, and now Pall Mall. I won’t underestimate any of them next time—cheaters, the whole lot of them! Heading into the house for something to drink, I ran into Ruma, who was coming out from checking on her pies.
"Who won?" she asked.
"The parentals!" I grumbled, walking into the house as she started laughing.
When I came back out, instead of heading straight to the forge field, I decided to check on the farm’s new additions at the milk barn and see if they needed feeding. Clyde was a bit older than Bonnie but wasn’t fully weaned, and Bonnie wasn’t weaned at all, which was just cruel on so many levels but I had my girl.
Oh, and I can't forget about Shiva, Alfred's baby shadow cat, which looks like a bobcat to me. I’m thinking Westeros calls all wild cats shadow cats. Alfred rescued Shiva from a large male “shadow cat” that resembled a Canadian lynx. The male had scratched her a bit, but she was otherwise fine. The day before yesterday, we were baiting the traps for today’s catch when we stumbled upon the horrific scene with the massive male shadow cat devouring her mother in its attempt to get to her. It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed. I won’t lie; I was so frightened I almost pissed myself right before Colin shot a crossbow bolt, hitting the beast square in the eye.
The sight of that enormous cat, its fur matted with blood, and its eyes filled with savage hunger, is something I’ll never forget. I remember standing there, frozen in terror, as the shadow cat tore into the mother, its growls echoing through the southern brush. Alfred was the first to spot the danger, his eyes widening as he pointed out the scene to us.
Shiva, just a tiny kitten, trembled and mewled piteously beside the gruesome spectacle. Alfred had whispered fiercely for us to back away slowly, but before we could, the massive cat turned its gaze toward us. That’s when Colin, with a steadiness I envied, raised his crossbow and took the shot. The bolt flew true, striking the beast in the eye and sending it crashing to the ground with a final, furious roar.
In the aftermath, we stood breathless and shaken. Alfred rushed to the kitten, gently scooping her up and nestling her in his shirt. She was so small and frail, her fur blending with the clay mounds in that part of the brush, and her eyes wide with fear. Alfred held her close, whispering soothing words as he checked her scratch. I was sure she’d become his constant companion because even now, two days later, she follows him everywhere silently, she’ll be fiercely loyal to the boy who saved her life.
As for Bonnie and Clyde, they’ve brought a new level of joy and chaos to the farm. Clyde, with his boundless energy and playful spirit, and Bonnie, with her calm demeanor and gentle nature, make a perfect pair. They’ve quickly become beloved members of our little family and will add the layer of protection we need.
Two days later….
Today we'll finally be making paper and sugar. I had everyone standing around the copper tub where we’d just dumped all the pulped cotton we’ve been cutting up and soaking in a barrel of hot water since Mikell's name day two days ago. I showed them how to use the mesh screen to scoop up the pulp from the vat of water, allowing the water to drain through the mesh to form a thin layer of pulp on the screen, gently shaking it side to side to evenly distribute the pulp. I then transferred the wet sheet of pulp onto a piece of felt by inverting the mold and pressing down, creating our first sheet of paper.
Once everyone saw how easy it was, we had three stacks of paper not even an hour later, being pressed down by slabs of Roman concrete Colin made for this purpose. When all the excess water had drained, we separated the sheets and hung them to dry on the mudroom's drying line where they would stay until completely dry.
The hemp had to go through the retting process for at least a sennight before we could make hemp paper. Retting involves soaking the hemp stalks to break down the pectin that binds the fibers together, allowing us to separate the valuable bast fibers from the woody core. The stalks were placed in large barrels filled with water and left to soak. This process could take anywhere from five days to a week, depending on the temperature and water quality. Each day, we checked the progress, ensuring the fibers were breaking down correctly without rotting.
With the hemp still undergoing retting, I gathered everyone to explain the next steps we would take once the fibers became ready in a fortnight. Now that everyone knew how to make cotton paper, I didn’t foresee any issues with making hemp paper when the time came. The process would be similar, with a few adjustments to handle the tougher hemp fibers. We would cut the retted fibers into small pieces, cook them to soften them further, and then blend them into pulp. I was confident we could handle it smoothly.
Since the hemp process couldn't be started yet, we moved on to the sugar-making process. I led everyone to the beets we had harvested earlier. Once we had all the beets cut into small chunks, I showed them how to boil the pieces in a large pot of water. We let the beets cook until they were soft and easy to mash. After boiling, we mashed the beets thoroughly to release their juices, which we then strained using cheesecloth to separate the liquid from the pulp.
With the juice extracted, I explained the next steps: clarifying and concentrating the juice to make sugar. We carefully heated the juice to remove impurities, then continued boiling it down to evaporate the water. The process required patience and constant stirring to prevent burning. As the juice thickened into syrup, I showed them how to reduce the heat and let it cool slowly, allowing sugar crystals to form.
I explained that drying the sugar was just like drying salt. We poured the thick syrup into shallow trays and let it sit, gradually solidifying into sugar. The final step would be breaking the solidified mass into chunks and grinding them into granulated sugar. Once I have a cup full, I’m making myself some candy—fuck everything else until I get a jolly rancher stick!
A sennight later, I was heading to the side of the house to check on the retting barrels, wishing I’d walked out the front door instead of the back. As soon as I opened the door, all four smallfolk farmers' wives looked up at me. Amarei was having her third cooking class today, and I’d completely forgotten. Damn! Deciding it wasn’t worth the hassle of turning around and running, I politely walked over to speak to the women, showing them the proper respect, and then hightailed my ass out of there before they started asking stupid questions again.
Ruma and I had agreed to help Amarei with the first of each cooking class since the program only lasted a fortnight. In that fortnight, they would have seven classes, each session lasting from the hour of the Jaguar to the hour of the Tortoise. Only six women signed up for this first set of classes: Mr. Wilson's wife Joanne, who was honestly too damn old not to know how to cook; Filner’s wife Abby, who was a sweet woman; Katrina; and Hermitage's Aunt Darlessa, who was a strong-looking woman. His good sister Perriane and niece Helly signed up as well, but his brother couldn’t be bothered to drop them off, so either Mikell or Colin, along with Amarei, would pick them up along with two of her younger children who couldn’t help out on the farm yet.
Each woman agreed to pay either three coppers or the equivalent for the program. Abby paid in live trout and perch for the bee garden pond. Katrina paid using Amarei’s fix of wool. Joanne paid with a big wheel of cheese, and Darlessa would be making the bunk beds for the Cliff House Orphanage, so it was deducted from the cost. Perriane and Helly couldn’t pay the combined six coppers, so Hermitage’s kind ass covered their cost.
Ruma wanted Amarei to charge more, especially when she heard about all the things Amarei would be giving the women at the beginning and end of the program. It truly was a lot, but I supported her since she was so excited to be teaching a cooking class. On the first day, each woman received what we call a pantry starter kit that included a ceramic five-gallon bucket with a lid filled with salt, garlic, onion, ginger, fennel, sage, thyme, oregano, and leek powders in shakers. There were stackable pantry containers of dill, basil, rosemary, and spearmint leaves, along with one pound each of wheat, oat, and rye flour. In small cork-top spout vases were honey, lemon balm extract, peppermint oil, and herb-infused vinegar. Inside two larger corked ceramic jars were their own sourdough and vinegar starters. They received enough ingredients for a full day’s worth of family meals on the first day of the class since that’s what they would be learning to cook that day. At the end of the program, they would get to take home the one-pot briquette-burning standing rocket stoves each woman would be learning to cook on, made by Colin.
For the first class, Amarei taught them how to first feed their sourdough starters with a cup of flour, then showed them how to make bread with the portion they’d just separated, explaining how they would do this every day. She then moved on to showing them how she makes our breakfast. They learned how to use our oat roller table and a rolling pin. Once the oats were rolled out and toasted, she showed them how to cook them using boiled filtered water, a pinch of salt, a little milk, and butter, then adding dried wild berries, chopped nuts, and honey to make the oatmeal tasty. She also showed them how to make an omelet and French toast.
For lunch, she took them to the fenced-off section of the brush to collect dandelions and wild berries, then to the shed to pick mushrooms. She showed them how to make a simple wild greens, berries, mushroom, and chopped nut salad with hazelnut wild berry vinaigrette dressing. She took the time to explain all the different things they could make with the wild berries and nuts, like butters, milk, and syrups, which she would show them how to make during the second week.
For supper, she taught them all how to properly fillet a fish, make a fish batter, and deep-fry the fish the correct way. Then she showed them how to make French fries and hush puppies for the side dishes. She then explained to them that for the fourth class, each one had to bring in one of their staple crops or vegetables for the side dishes, and she would teach them different ways to prepare them. At the end of that day, all the women couldn’t stop singing Amarei's praises, proving she was the best person to do something like this.
21st Day of Aperion, 282 AC:
Tomorrow, we'll start prepping for Haymeth's name day party, so today I was busy moving between the breaker and the scotching board, working on turning a small bale of hay into string fibers. We needed at least sixty more pouches for some of our items, as we'll be heading to the market in a sennight. Moving on to the heckle, I started pulling the fibers through the nails when I noticed Shiva. It’s been a fortnight since we found her little butt, and she’s been running around the farm like she owns it.
Learning from my past mistakes, I had Alfred take her around the farm a few days ago to introduce her to all the animals so she could get their scent. I didn’t want her taking a bite out of any of them when she grew up, like Pookie did with my first set of koi fish. Shiva has been nothing but a pain in the ass when it comes to small spaces. We’ve had to move all of the glue traps off the floor around the house and check the water bucket traps around the farm daily because she likes to dive into them, trying to catch the field mice that hadn’t drowned yet.
Haymeth and I have made it clear to the whole farm that she is never allowed inside the SCC shed. We have a collection of wooden and screen cages that we do not want her getting into. Not only would it destroy our studies by eating the mice inside them, but she may also get into some of the poisons we’ve been making and die!
“What do you want, little girl?” I asked as I noticed the fibers were softening. When she started rubbing up against my leg, I knew she’d been shooed away from Alfred, who didn’t want her scaring our new milk cow, Bessie, while he was milking her.
Finally getting the hay roving where I wanted it—smooth and even—I picked Shiva up and took her into the house with me so I could pass the braided roving off to Amarei for spinning. Checking Shiva’s feeding and watering bowls to make sure they were both still full, I set her down next to them. She really liked the homemade cat food, and I could tell it had all the right nutrients she needed because her coat was silky soft.
Heading into the living room, stopping to scratch Bonnie on the head, I pulled out the sales catalog we’ve almost completed for Garrick, and reviewed some more details. I wanted to get this done before heading back out to start on another barrel of hay. I needed to at least get a few of the retting barrels empty so I could start soaking more cotton for the wallpaper-making process we’ve been working on.
I couldn’t wait to give a few more pieces to Cirella, who’s been able to come over at least once a sennight with Katrina to “help” with a special musical project I’m working on for Haymeth. I’ve been helping her learn her letters and numbers as payment, so having paper to work with, along with the chalkboard and chalk I’d given her, has been a great aid. After completing the cooking program, Katrina had become close friends with Amarei, and they now have their tea dates set in stone, sharing all the gossip they’ve heard with each other.
Amarei has gotten really good at spinning a gossiped story to fit what I’d told her about Game of Thrones. Back in Decem, we heard about the ending of the tourney held in Siv. Back in Marth, we’d heard that Baby-finger had learned not to poke a wolf, but that happened in Januarion. So, by my calculation, the Westeros gossip train was a slow-moving thing, which means Rickard and Brandon were probably already dead, and we just didn’t know it yet.
Amarei was able to spin the story that Caitlyn saving Petyr showed she must’ve had an interest in him. Which, when passed along, changed to: Caitlyn was in love with her father’s ward, Petyr, but was forced to marry the heir to the North. Or that she forced the ward to challenge the heir to the North to prove his love for her. Ha! I was helping G-ma harvest the queen bee honey when she shared that piece of gossip with me. She had heard it herself from a farmhand who worked on the R-2 farm the last time we set up a stall at the mill market to sell our wares. It was truly funny because I remembered from the show and books that she never liked Petyr like that.
G-ma was turning out to be a true boon for the farm. She knew everyone and was respected by them all. The last time we set up the stall at the market, nothing was left by the hour of the Tortoise. A few things she had given away to people who had always treated her kindly, but everything else was sold for coins, traded for other items, or sold on credit.
This was another of the things she’d implemented when we had a stall at the market. She explained that every smallfolk in the Westerlands would want our wares but might not have the coin at the time of sale. With me knowing how to write and count, she asked me to create a ledger to keep track of folks who could only pay later. So, Haymeth, Hope, and I created a ledger and accounts book for the farms that wanted our wares but could only get them on credit or through trade.
That opened a whole new revenue stream for the farm, which was now being run by Hymeth and G-ma. And she was good at it! She came up with the idea to make sample products and take them around, offering them to certain farms she knew would spread the word about the items. When the R-2 farmer stopped by asking if she could get our farm to trade with theirs, I knew she was walking on clouds for the remaining fortnight because her plan had worked. She also enjoyed watching his face when she said she would be willing if he threw in the grape and melon seeds, he grew for the rock.
She was also able to show Amarei and Ruma how to make chicken sausage, which turned out to be like deli meat. After I tasted a slice, I asked Mikell to buy another pig from Mr. Wilson so we could process it into pork sausages, hot dogs, bologna, hog head cheese, and salami. Once we got those pieces out of the way, I would use the rest of the pig for pork rinds, lard, bacon, hocks, tripe, and pickled pigs' feet, ears, and tails.
Finishing my quick review of the sales catalog, I took it to the shed and gave it to Hope to tally the total amount. She was currently checking one of the mice and giving out pieces of cabbage with the new cold syrup we made to see if it caused any damage before we added it to the catalog. Hope was pretty in her own way with long dirty blond hair, green eyes, and a little button nose. I could see the quick glances she would give Haymeth when she thought he wasn’t looking.
The oblivious fool was currently sitting at his desk, working on mixing more clay dust into the squid ink. The new chalk, clay, and colored pencils would be passed off as his brainchild after I explained the many uses for them. The first set he made, he gave to Hermitage, who improved them like he did with the coal and dyed clay ones by adding hide glue and sawdust on both sides of the two pieces of wood, then sanding them to look more like the pencils used in the Middle Ages in my world. With the improvement, Haymeth wanted to add them to the sales catalog.
We knew Garrick would be returning soon for Haymeth's name day party in a couple of days and would be asking for more items, especially after he laid his eyes on the new sales catalog we made. Garrick had agreed to take over selling our more expensive wares to the lords and ladies in Lannisport. We would keep selling items to the smallfolk since G-ma put a limit on the number of items sold to one person. She had caught word that a smallfolk merchant was trying to buy our products and upsell them to other smallfolk, which was something she said she would not allow. Garrick also said that he would make sure to keep a watch out for anyone trying to do it as well.
Another perk that Garrick provided was that the house he rents in Lannisport is on the same route as the orphanage. So now, in a way, we have a messenger of sorts to communicate with Gwendolyn, who can thankfully read. We keep her updated on the progress of the cliff home, and surprisingly she’s been sending little notes to Hermitage and Amarei to help with their reading and writing.
Garrick had become good friends with Amarei as well, and I’m sure if he lived in my world, he would be a proud gay man with at least two different supermarket chains. The man is a hustler and is really good at what he does, like G-ma. I, for damn sure, would’ve hired him if we were back home! After the first load of wares we gave him, he’s been back every fortnight like clockwork.
He hasn’t been able to make it out of the Westerlands with our wares yet due to selling out with his local merchant friend and now that friend's network. And of course, we haven’t been able to keep up with his demands, but I think he’s beginning to understand that we aren’t trying to. While we do appreciate the money—and the money is excellent—our main goal is to share those items as fillers. However, with so many projects requiring those high-end materials, our lane and pace is slow and steady.
Because of that, we're lucky he also managed to get the other merchants to sign a contract stating that if prices are changed from the maker's (the farm) price list, the difference must be paid during the next inventory pick-up or delivery, in Garrick’s case.
Another great benefit of him selling our wares is that he’s been meeting merchants from all over, each offering unique items. We now have chickpeas and rice from a merchant with dealings in Braavos, squash and zucchini from a Riverlands merchant, and artichokes, celery root, and tomatoes (finally) from The Reach. The rice isn’t long grain but what we called Italian rice back in my world. I’ll have to experiment with it since I usually use that type of rice for risottos and rice puddings. He also got some other seeds that we’ll have to grow to identify, but I’m happy with what he’s provided so far.
Especially when he managed to get me, or should I say “Bass,” a large barrel of tar—one of the three things on my "build-a-bear" list. The funny thing was that he didn’t even have to leave Lannisport to get it; they had some at the dock. It costed five stags, which was expensive as fuck but so worth it! I was shocked that George didn’t alter the historical method of sealing ship planks in Westeros—thank god, the old gods, and fuck the seven with the mountain's dick!
I didn’t know what I would do if they didn’t have tar here. Without it, half the innovations that’ll make life in Westeros bearable would have remained dreams. After distilling the tar, pitch had been my steadfast ally in countless projects. I remember the satisfaction of waterproofing our roofs and sealing the barn, knowing we'd stay dry during those relentless storms. The adhesives and coatings were crucial, making every tool and piece of equipment durable and long-lasting. Even our pathways benefited, with pitch binding the sandphalt, making the farm accessible even after the heaviest rains.
Then there was creosote, another unsung hero. It preserved our wooden structures from rot and insect damage, safeguarding the countless hours of labor poured into our home and farm. Its antiseptic and disinfectant properties were indispensable, transforming our rudimentary medical kit into something more effective. In the fields, creosote's fungicidal properties ensured our crops thrived, putting food on our table year-round.
Naphthalene, too, had played its part. Those mothballs kept our precious fabrics safe from destruction, allowing us to retain clothing and linens that would otherwise be lost. And its role in producing dyes and resins opened up a world of possibilities, enabling me to experiment with new materials and trades.
Benzene was a true game-changer. It's used to produce adipic acid via cyclohexane, which is a precursor for nylon, a type of synthetic polymer and resins derived from it made everyday chores easier, crafting tools and household items that were both durable and versatile. Jute treated with benzene created a synthetic fiber akin to nylon and polyester, revolutionizing our clothing with comfort and variety we currently lacked. Benzene-derived solvents kept our paints and coatings smooth, while its role in pharmaceuticals was nothing short of miraculous, providing the base for essential drugs. Detergents, too, kept our living spaces clean and hygienic, a small luxury in such a demanding world.
Toluene had proven indispensable in so many ways. It served as a solvent in paint thinners and adhesives, making repairs and crafts efficient and high-quality. The chemical intermediates it produced expanded our arsenal of resources, and the potential for explosives like TNT offered a strategic edge, though thankfully, we’d never have to use it.
Xylene had shown its versatility time and again. It was a godsend for printing and rubber, preserving documents and tools that were vital. In leather tanning, it ensured goods were durable yet supple, while in paints and coatings, it provided a high-quality finish that made all our projects shine. Plasticizers from xylene gave our tree plastics more flexibility, ensuring they were functional and long-lasting.
Lastly, carbolic acid, or phenol, brought safety and innovation. Phenolic resins like Bakelite were crucial for countless applications, from household items to tools. Its role in pharmaceuticals allowed us to produce an essential drug like aspirin, a true lifesaver. Disinfectants kept the SCC shed environment clean, and herbicides and pesticides protected our crops, ensuring a stable food supply. The vibrant dyes it helped produce added much-needed color to our lives, brightening even the dreariest days.
As I thought back on all these advancements, it was clear that without tar and its myriad by-products, our progress would have been impossible. It was also a testament to the smallfolk, showing how resourcefulness and knowledge could transform the simplest materials into pillars of survival and comfort in this unforgiving ass world.
Chapter 17: The Days of our lives – “Clap along if you know what happiness is to you”
Chapter Text
23rd day of Aperion, 282 AC:
Everyone on the farm has been hustling like a hive of bees, prepping for the Haymeth’s name day party, set for tomorrow. Haymeth, the eager beaver, has been yammering about this shindig for moons. He even took it upon himself to draft a wish list, without my knowledge or help - (pat on the back for yours truly, now where's my apple?).
His list, a mashup of our culinary escapades over the past year, reads like a gastronomic diary: ham and cheese sandwiches, chicken wraps, pasta salad, potato swirl chips on a stick, popcorn (both balled and regular), caramel apples, pickles on a stick, pork rinds, fruit salad, a colossal cake to rival Amarei’s, and pie pockets that brought you back to Mikell's legendary name day supper. Oh, and let's not forget the ears of corn Haymeth and I painstakingly harvested from the field, despite the nay-saying of Rolder and Mikell, who swore they needed another moon to reach their prime.
Not content with just a food fest, Haymeth’s wishlist also included a song from my world, a rematch with the parentals, and a sleepover for us “kids” at the cliff house playground. Fortunately, the playground boasts an 8-foot plywood panel fence, ensuring we’re safely corralled for the night’s escapades.
Seeing that Haymeth essentially wanted a bash to rival Amarei’s, but with a teenage twist, I took it upon myself to ensure every item on his list was checked off. My first friend in this strange and shitty world deserves nothing but the best. Over the last month, I’ve enlisted the help of Hymeth, Colin, Mikell, Alfred, Cirella, Rogar, and Hope to perfect a song I know will blow his socks off.
Meanwhile, the kitchen brigade—G-ma, Amarei, and Ruma—have been wrangling the extensive menu. It’s all hands on deck to make sure Haymeth’s name day is an affair to remember, a party so grand it’ll be the talk of the farm for moons to come.
The rematch - and let me tell you, it was the showdown of the century. The air was thick with anticipation, and everyone gathered around, eager to see the "kids" take on the parentals in a three-game face-off. We played with the fervor of champions, but alas, we only managed to clinch victory in one out of the three games. The parentals were up to their usual tricks—blatant cheating, I swear. The sly winks, the suspiciously convenient "accidental" fouls, and the uncanny way they seemed to always know our next move—it was all too fishy.
After the final game, as we licked our wounds and nursed our bruised egos, the parentals basked in their ill-gotten glory. Haymeth, ever the sportsman, shrugged it off with a laugh, but I could see the fire in his eyes. A rematch of the rematch was already brewing in his mind. We might have lost the battle, but the war was far from over.
After we sliced into the magnificent three-layer sponge cake—an edible masterpiece that could rival the works of Michelangelo—everyone gathered around, buzzing with anticipation. They were under the impression that I would be serenading Haymeth solo, but boy, were they in for a surprise. "So, this song is for you, Haymeth!" I announced, watching his eyes sparkle with delight as Hymeth, Colin, Mikell, Alfred, Cirella, Rogar, and Hope joined me on our makeshift stage.
Mikell cradled his guitar, Colin had bongo drums perched on his knees, Hope was poised at Rullia’s xylophone, I held my trusty eight-key finger piano, Alfred clutched cymbals ready to crash, and Rogar stood proudly behind Rullia’s toy echoing microphone. The scene was set, and the suspense was palpable. I took a deep breath and started us off. We all sang different parts of "I Gotta Feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas, with Hymeth conducting us with a makeshift baton—a wooden spoon swiped from the kitchen.
Once everyone was in position, Hymeth gave the signal, and Mikell and I began to lay down the beat. After a precise count of thirty—Hymeth was nothing if not meticulous—Rogar stepped forward and belted out the chorus:
"I gotta feeling that tonight's gonna be a good night,
That tonight's gonna be a good night,
That tonight's gonna be a good, good night!"
The crowd erupted with cheers and laughter, the atmosphere electric. We sang with all our hearts, each note filled with camaraderie and joy. Haymeth’s grin stretched from ear to ear, his eyes twinkling like stars. It was a perfect moment, a harmonious blend of music and friendship. The song ended with a triumphant crash of Alfred’s cymbals and a final strum of Mikell’s guitar, leaving us all breathless and beaming.
As the applause washed over us, I glanced at Haymeth and saw the pure, unadulterated happiness on his face. Jacks, unable to contain his excitement, plopped down beside Haymeth, giving him a playful shove and laughing uproariously. Haymeth laughed along, his eyes still sparkling. It was a snapshot of pure joy, a testament to the bond we all shared.
After everyone finished clapping, and the orphanage kids rushed up, their faces alight with excitement, I took Haymeth to the bee garden park to give him his gift: a bright red, blue, and yellow kite. His eyes sparkled with anticipation as I showed him how to use it. Once we got it airborne, his excitement was contagious. We spent the rest of the day together, flying the kite and laughing as we took turns holding the spool. I taught him how to pull the string to make the kite dip and dive, and how to let out more string to let it soar higher. By the end of the day, Haymeth was expertly maneuvering the kite with confidence.
As the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the bee garden park, we sat down to rest, the kite still flying high above us. It was one of those moments that felt like it should be captured in a painting, with the sky ablaze in colors and the sense of pure contentment between us.
Later, when we went to the storage shed to get the camping gear, G-ma asked me if the kite was in the smallfolk catalog. When I told her it wasn’t, she gave me that knowing look and said, “Make sure you add it.” Ha! I bet every smallfolk child—and some adults too—will have one before winter comes.
As we hauled out the gear, I glanced back at Haymeth, who was still gazing at the kite fluttering in the evening breeze. It was a perfect end to a perfect day. In that moment, I realized that the best gifts aren't just things—they're the memories we create with the people we care about. And as the first stars began to twinkle in the sky, I knew this was a day neither of us would ever forget.
The next morning, lying in my bedroll and trying not to move, I reflected on the day I’d woken up here. I had sworn off drinking, but Rolder's infamous wheat sleep (bourbon) must've clouded my judgment. Glancing over at Cirella, Thala, and Hope, I could see they felt the same. Hope was emptying her stomach, while Cirella and Thala clutched their heads, clearly regretting their life choices. "We ain't ever drinking that shit again," I muttered, joining Hope at the chamber pot.
Despite our hangovers, the party had been a roaring success, especially with the orphans in attendance. They brought a youthful energy that the older folks couldn’t match. Toms, Aden, Edgar, Darnold, and Thala—the oldest of TT Gwen’s brood—had stayed behind to help with building the cliff house. None of them wanted to return to the orphanage, having fallen in love with farm life.
Darnold, an eager eight-year-old, had been shadowing Colin, keen to learn the ropes of construction. Colin, hinting at his need for apprentices, had a conversation with TT, who inquired about what Darnold would gain and where he’d stay. The result: Darnold now shared Colin’s room, learning the trade firsthand.
Thala, meanwhile, asked Amarei if she could remain on the farm to learn cooking, adding another pair of hands to the kitchen crew. I had imparted all my culinary wisdom to Amarei and Ruma, who were now ready to teach the next generation of smallfolk children.
The rest of the orphans—Clarice, Lymond, Clifton, Forrest, Lorra, Merlo, Fay, Jani, Tessa, Wallen, Jorquen, and Caan—would return to the orphanage with TT, but not empty-handed. We prepared gifts for each of them to soften the blow. Each child received a clay chalkboard in a wooden frame with their name carved on it, a set of three different-colored chalk pencils, a toothbrush (TT was in charge of the toothpaste to avoid any candy confusion), a comb, a hairbrush, small sand-filled canvas animals, cement marbles in pouches, a small clay container of homemade playdough with a playdough tool set, and a variety of our new honey treats for snacks and rewards.
That evening, when Hermitage, Rolder, Bass, and Colin returned from escorting the kids back to the orphanage, they shared their observations. The orphanage was in dire need of repairs, prompting them to suggest hiring additional hands to speed up the cliff house construction. Rolder, recalling Amarei’s similar upbringing, asked me to draft a notice for Garrick to post on his sales board, which Hermitage had crafted for him.
Garrick, still nursing a hangover from Rolder's wheat sleep, promised to find suitable workers for the farm. While us kids had been preparing for the camping part of the party, Amarei had him pitch a tent in the front yard. Alfred had already taken care of his horse, ensuring it was fed, watered, and stabled.
The next morning, us girls settled for a light breakfast of hard-boiled eggs and plain wheat toast, retreating to the living room to nurse our headaches and wait for the pills to kick in. Bass was discussing plans for the next lumber yard trip with Rolder. He intended to pay his lumberjack friend Paul to continue delivering wood so that everyone on the farm could focus on building the cliff house.
Since Ruma wasn’t joining this trip, I asked Hermitage to assemble all the pieces of her loom so we could present it to her while they were gone. He agreed to set it up that night. With Ruma’s name day approaching, I wanted to see if she could master the large loom to create her own gown. She had already excelled with the belt, inkle, pin, backstrap, and table looms, so it was time for her to tackle the ultimate challenge—the cat daddy of them all.
4th day of Maya, 282 AC:
The day before Ruma name day I gazed at the beautiful gown made with rose dye hanging before me, its fabric catching the soft glow of the afternoon sun. The dress had a serene, pastel pink hue that instantly reminded me of delicate rose petals. The neckline was gracefully rounded, sitting just above the collarbone and offering a modest yet elegant look. The sleeves were perhaps the most captivating part of the dress. They extended from the shoulders down to the wrists and beyond, flaring out in a dramatic, bell-shaped fashion. The flowing fabric of the sleeves moved like gentle waves with every slight breeze, adding a touch of ethereal grace.
The bodice was fitted perfectly, hugging the natural curves of the torso and creating a flattering silhouette. I couldn’t even tell there were closures hidden at the back and sides, ensuring the dress fit snugly. At the waist, a decorative belt adorned with little clay beads she had made back when I gave her the belt loom drew the eye and added a sophisticated detail. From the waist down, the skirt flowed out gracefully, its fullness creating a beautiful, sweeping silhouette that would almost brush the ground as she moved. The bottom hem, like the edges of the sleeves, was accented with delicate trims, adding a touch of refinement, and completing the elegant design.
What made this dress even more special was that Ruma had made it herself. Her craftsmanship was evident in every stitch and seam, showcasing her skill and dedication. As I looked over the dress, I felt a sense of pride for my friend, knowing the love and effort she had poured into creating such a masterpiece. She was going to wear this dress on the morrow at the tea party we were throwing for her. It would be perfect for the occasion, making her feel both regal and at ease. I couldn't wait to see Ruma's face light up when everyone saw her wearing this beautiful creation.
Amarei had been saving all the thread she had been making for the last two moons for this loom when I told her about it and explained what it did. Ruma didn’t understand why we weren’t using it, and Amarei just kept saying it was for a special project she would be working on. I think Ruma understood what the project was when we showed her the loom. It took us a while to get it threaded that first time with the white thread.
Once it was ready, it only took Ruma and Amarei two days to master the small 12-inch floor shuttle loom. They quickly wove enough fabric for Rullia's little dress in a day and enough for Ruma’s dress in two. All the girls, including Katrina, Cirella, and Hope, had been diligently stitching the pieces together since then, and the result was nothing short of beautiful.
After we finished admiring the dress, Amarei, Thala, G-ma, and I headed to the garden. We needed to replenish our fresh tea supplies for the tea party the next day. As we collected flowers, Amarei and G-ma explained their uses to Thala, who was all ears. We showed her how to bunch them up and hang them in the drying shed. Thala was amazed by how straightforward the process was, paying close attention the entire time.
G-ma has been singing Thala's praises since her arrival, and I suspected she was trying to recruit her for what I’d started calling the sales team. Hymeth and G-ma were relentless about building up our inventory, always on the lookout for new items to add to the catalog.
Initially, my idea of selling goods at the market was a simple one—to make a little extra coin for items we couldn’t produce ourselves. But Hymeth and G-ma had grander visions. They were dreaming big, imagining a full-blown “Sears” in Westeros. Clearly, I had gone into too much detail about the stores back in my world. Now, they were envisioning an expansive enterprise, with a spark in their eyes and an excitement that was infectious.
G-ma was already planning for a permanent market stall, complete with an eye-catching display. Hymeth was constantly brainstorming new products, inspired by things he had never even heard of before I described them. Their enthusiasm was hard to resist. Maybe their dreams weren’t so far-fetched after all. With our skills, creativity, and now a vision, our little venture could become something much larger, something that would leave a lasting mark on Westeros.
I would bring it up at the next family meeting. As I watched them excitedly list potential wares, I felt a surge of pride. This wasn’t just about making extra coin anymore; it was about creating a legacy. And who knows? Maybe a "General store" in Westeros wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.
It felt like Grand Central Station on the farm today, with people coming and going non-stop. Paul was currently unloading a fresh batch of wood and chatting with Bass before heading off to his brother’s place a few miles away from the mill market. Alfred had just returned from a trip to Mr. Wilson's, and he wasn’t alone. In the back of Colin's cart, he had a new addition for the farm: a litter of cats and kittens. His plan was to create a pride pack for Shiva, hoping to keep her from wandering off when she’s in heat. He was also on the lookout for a suitable mate for her to have her own litter.
Peeking into the cart, I saw three enormous Maine Coons, two sleek Chartreux, and four tiny kittens. Assessing the lot of them, I was optimistic that one of these cats might win Shiva’s favor—and survive the attempt.
Katrina and Cirella had just left the farm before Alfred's arrival, and now I spotted Garrick pulling into the stable. By the time I reached the house from the milk barn, Amarei was jumping up and down, hugging Garrick. When I asked what all the excitement was about, she beamed and announced that we had just received our biggest payday to date—a gold dragon!
Garrick had sold all our wares—four box crates full of items—to the Lords and Ladies of the Westerlands. He said that as soon as he set up his stall in the courtyard of Lannisport’s Lannister castle, everything sold out. This was great news, but it also meant I needed to have a word with him about choosing a different location. The Lannisters’ attention on our goods made me uneasy.
Once the cliff house was complete, things would change. The Lannisters wouldn’t dare take food from the mouths of the smallfolk, especially after the incredible turnout we had for Ruma's name day. Every woman who attended left with a Ladies gift bag containing a moon's blood bag, a small bottle of cramping tincture, a scented candle of their choice, a bar of Oat-Milk & Honey soap, and a small bottle of Heavenly Lady scented perfume. The women sang her praises after enjoying our tea, honey stirrers, tiny sponge cakes with cream fillings, petite sandwiches, and sugar cookies. The afternoon was a roaring success, despite a minor hiccup—Shiva presented Rullia with one of the kittens, which turned out to be dead. She must’ve been challenged and emerged victorious—damn nature!
A sennight later, we tried to distract ourselves from the latest grim gossip. We all knew it was coming, but hearing it still sent chills down our spines. Aerys had been poked and chose violence! The crazy bastard probably doesn’t even care that he just started a full-blown war. There was already talk that banners would be called soon. Nothing official had come from the Rock, but I knew it was only a matter of time. One of the few things I could say about Westeros is they don't force men to join their army. It’s just expected of them to want to join, to give their lives for their liege lord—ugh!
Looking on the bright side, I couldn't wait to beat all their asses in Lords and Lands, the Westeros version of Monopoly. The only ones who even had a slim chance were Haymeth and Hope, who had helped me build the board and rename the sections to match the castles and landmarks of the Westerlands.
The living room was bustling with laughter and excitement as we all gathered around the large wooden table. In its center lay the handmade game board. I looked around, feeling a warm sense of belonging as I saw my family and friends, their faces lit with anticipation.
G-ma, sitting comfortably in her cushioned chair, clapped her hands together. “Alright, sweetlings, let’s see who can conquer the Westerlands tonight!” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
Rolder, ever the strategist, meticulously arranged his game piece: a horse and rider, symbolizing our family's steadfast spirit. “We’ll show them how it's done, Amarei,” he said, winking at her.
She chuckled, placing her thimble piece on the board. “As long as we don’t end up in debt to the Lannisters, I’ll be happy.”
Mikell chose the ship, grinning broadly. “I’ve got my eyes on Casterly Rock. Just wait and see.”
Colin, always competitive, selected the sword. “Hornvale will be mine in no time.”
Ruma picked the cart, while Rullia giggled, grabbing a wheelbarrow, eager to join in the fun.
Bass, with his characteristic jovial nature, opted for the cowboy hat. “I reckon I’ll make my fortune on the Goldroad.”
Hermitage picked the iron. “Let’s see if I can forge a path to victory.”
Hymeth and Haymeth chose the crossbow and boot respectively, exchanging playful jabs about their choices.
Alfred went for the money bag, his eyes gleaming with ambition. “I’ll be rolling in gold by the end of the night.”
Hope, the ever-optimistic friend, selected the dog. “I’m just here for the fun, but winning wouldn’t hurt!”
Feeling a surge of nostalgia, I picked the weirwood tree. “May the old gods guide me,” I said with a grin.
The game commenced with Rolder rolling the dice first. “Seven, lucky number,” he announced, moving his piece to Castamere. The game continued with fervor, each roll of the dice bringing cheers, groans, and the occasional playful argument.
As the evening progressed, the room filled with stories and banter. I watched as Amarei and Ruma discussed the best strategies for acquiring holdfasts, while Mikell and Colin engaged in a heated debate over the value of The Crag versus Faircastle.
G-ma, ever the storyteller, recounted tales of old Westeros, her words painting vivid pictures of the past. “Did I ever tell you about the time I outwitted a Reyne at a game of dice?” she asked, eyes twinkling. “He thought he had me cornered, but I turned the tables and walked away with a bag of coppers.”
Bass laughed heartily. “I believe it, G-ma. You’ve always had a knack for surprises.”
As the game reached its climax, the tension mounted. I found myself in a fierce battle with Alfred for control of Casterly Rock. “This is it,” I murmured, rolling the dice. With a collective breath held, the dice landed in my favor.
“Casterly Rock is mine!” I exclaimed, placing my holdfast on the property. The room erupted in cheers and applause, our competitive spirit momentarily giving way to joy and camaraderie.
A few days after delivering wood, Paul returned to the farm, but not for another drop-off. He was inquiring about job openings for his brother Lomont, who had been struggling to find stable, long-term work. We invited Paul to join us for lunch where he enjoyed our shepherd's pie and listened to us discuss various ongoing projects on the farm. Enthused by the environment and the meal, he didn't just ask; he practically implored Bass to consider his brother for a position, pointing out that Lomont’s wife, Melinda, could also contribute to farm duties.
The very next day, Lomont arrived with his family in tow, towering like a mountain. His imposing stature alone made me eager to recruit him. Initially, Melinda planned to remain in the wagon with their young son Marcel and baby daughter Leanna. However, Amarei and Ruma noticed her sitting aside and invited her in for sourdough bagels topped with mixed berries cream cheese and tea.
After discussing with Amarei, Mikell, and Ruma, Rolder decided to hire Lomont. Ruma mentioned that with Melinda trained, she could focus more on her fabric spinning and weaving tasks while Melinda handled some kitchen duties. Amarei agreed to train her, and Mikell, convinced by Lomont's physical presence and my discreet hint that his stature was an asset in itself, also gave his approval. It turned out, Lomont was quite skilled in building, which was a deciding factor for Rolder to bring him on as our new farmhand.
During the hiring discussion, the room initially overlooked the fact that we were employing Melinda too, which irked me. It was a reminder of the ongoing need to shift their perspectives regarding women’s work. I insisted that we discuss their specific duties first and then decide their compensation accordingly.
In search of guidance on reasonable wages, I consulted G-ma, my go-to for all things related to Westeros. I found her tending to the hive in the garden. She recounted her days as a scullery maid where she earned one or two coppers, depending on Lord Renye’s generosity. It was a stark reminder of the economic disparities she endured, as she typically wasn't paid because her husband, a laborer, made twelve coppers a fortnight.
Fueled by these revelations, I was determined to offer fair compensation on our farm. I was also keen to enhance our Lords and Ladies catalog with premade meals in glass canning jars, although our attempts at glassmaking had yet to succeed.
I decided it was time to formalize a salary list for our workers. After finalizing the duties with Haymeth—who had already begun drafting a list before getting sidetracked with arcade game designs—I asked Rolder to officially hire Lomont. We planned to discuss his roles and pay after a farm tour and lunch.
Lomont would take on the role of the farm's handyman and laborer, managing various maintenance, repair, and general upkeep tasks. Melinda would work as a kitchen aide and farm gardener, assisting with cooking, food preparation, and gardening chores. We still needed to fill a watchman position for farm security.
As for compensation, following G-ma’s insights, Lomont would receive a worker’s apartment, meals, and a star every sennight, while Melinda would earn a groat every sennight. Their children would enjoy the same amenities as other kids on the farm. After discussing these terms, Lomont was overwhelmingly grateful as he prepared to transition his family from a cramped shack to their new home on our farm. Rolder even advanced him the money to settle his debts with their landlord, ensuring a smooth start to their new chapter with us.
30th Day of Maya, 282 AC:
Today is Alfred's name day party—an occasion sprinkled with a dash of whimsy and a heap of culinary nostalgia, as we turned the humble pit into a veritable feast of amusement park delights. The menu boasted an array of choices fit for a king or a very hungry group of kids. The options spanned from the iconic corn dog on a stick to the ever-popular hot dog, slices of gooey pizza, heartwarming grilled cheese sandwiches, and a duo of tacos accompanied by either crunchy onion rings or cheesy nachos. For the sweet tooth in all of us, the dessert lineup was nothing short of a carnival: funnel cakes drizzled with wild berry syrups and crowned with whipped cream, an assortment of donuts, cupcakes, and cookies in flavors like blueberry and cherry almond that could make a grown man weep with joy.
To shatter the morning's fast, we indulged in pancake and sausage combos on a stick, fluffy omelets also perched on sticks (because why not?), and more donuts—because one round is never enough. Alfred, inspired by tales of my world's grand amusement parks like Six Flags and Disney, wished for a day filled with similar delights. And though constructing a roller coaster was beyond our current means (not for lack of trying—I could whip up a storm, but let's be honest, physics and local ordinances might frown upon such endeavors), we managed to recreate the essence of arcade games. The lineup included classics like Aunt Sally, the knock-the-cans challenge, ring toss, coin toss, and the shove ha'penny.
The hay bale shooting contest brought out the sharpshooters among us, but the pièce de résistance was undoubtedly the DIY dunking barrel—an ingenious contraption crafted by Hermitage and Rolder. This name day gift, though not an exact replica of the dunk tanks from my realm, certainly captured its spirit and was just as effective at soaking the unsuspecting. Instead of a traditional tank, we had a body-sized barrel with a precarious ledge seat. Operated by a pedal, this mechanism awaited the precise moment when a player rang a bell to send the seat's occupant splashing into the barrel below—a spectacle that drew cheers and laughter, cementing its place as the day's highlight. This contraption, a testament to ingenuity and name day merriment, promises to be a staple at many a festival to come, unless it finds a new life in another whimsical application.
I had never before witnessed the spectacle of nine grown men fervently debating who should be the first to sit on the precarious ledge of our makeshift dunking barrel. But there they were: Rolder, Hermitage, Bass, Garrick, Filner, Hermitage’s cousin Jeffyn, Mr. Wilson, Paul, and Lomont, all clamoring for a turn. By the time the stars claimed the sky, each had taken their splash with gusto, perhaps reveling in the shenanigans even more heartily than we youngsters. Observing their boisterous antics, I couldn’t help but muse about the potential chaos of Hermitage’s upcoming name day poker night in the lumber barn.
Amidst the revelry of Alfred’s name day, our birthday boy himself seemed almost preoccupied. While we indulged in games and laughter, Alfred was thoroughly engrossed with his presents. The farm, acting as a collective, had gifted him a castoff from Filner’s farm, affectionately named “Popcorn,” in exchange for a hefty twenty-five stags. Rolder, fretting over the financial pinch, clearly underestimated the joy this new companion would bring. We found ourselves repeatedly coaxing Alfred away from his beloved Popcorn to partake in a game or nibble on some of the festive fare.
As dusk embraced the farm and the clamor subsided, I rallied the younger crew—myself, Alfred, Haymeth, Rogar, Jacks, and now including Toms, Aden, Edgar, Darnold, and Thala—to our customary spot on the porch. This ritual, reminiscent of evenings spent with my old friends, seemed just as fitting with my new comrades. We gathered there as twilight deepened, unwinding in the cool evening air. There’s something profoundly comforting about sharing idle chatter as the day winds down, especially when the night is pregnant with unasked questions and unspoken dreams. For us, this simple tradition was more than just killing time; it was a way to softly bridge today with the possibilities of tomorrow.
Chapter 18: The Family We Choose – “You've got to know when to hold 'em”
Chapter Text
2nd Day of Juven, 282 AC:
Two days after Alfred's name day, it was time to celebrate Hermitage's. For his name day, Hermitage wanted a poker-themed party to reflect his love for the game, which I really didn't see coming when I’d taught the men on the farm how to play Texas Hold'em, Seven Card Stud, and Five Card Draw. At first, they didn't seem to be into it, but over the past three moons, it's become their favorite pastime. They play every sixth day of the sennight, with Hermitage being a real card shark. He ended up loving the game so much that Hymeth and Haymeth have become his personal dealers.
Initially, they played at the kitchen table, but one night, someone shouted, waking up G-ma, causing her to shoo them out to the barn, fearing her heart might give out. Another shout could have woken Rullia, which would've caused Amarei to have one of her frowning fits. And that’s a definite no-no in this house. Now they play in the lumber barn, where we can still hear their shouts sometimes but not enough to make G-ma get up out of her cozy bed and wheel herself over to them!
Hermitage has become so fascinated with the game that he made a twelve-seat hexagon-shaped poker table. He crafted twelve chairs to match, but with the hours they spend out there at night, G-ma, Haymeth, and I talked him into making boards for the seat and backrest so Bass could add springboards like he did with the living room furniture. Once they had them done, we covered the chairs with dyed green leather, then stuffed them with jute, wool, and hay fibers, making them very stylish and comfortable poker chairs.
Hermitage had wooden cards initially, but they were crumbling down the sides, so once Haymeth and I learned how to create tree plastics, we upgraded his cards. It took us a while because we had to learn how to use a wood planner to scrape off long strips of thin, paper-like sheets from one of his pre-cut wooden planks. But once we got it, we cut those strips down to playing card size and decorated them using crayons. We already had the cellulose solution from boiling sawdust in lye water and straining away the byproducts. We just had to pour the solution into a shallow ceramic pan and dip each side of the strips into the solution, allowing them to absorb it before setting them aside to dry. Now, Hermitage has five decks of plastic cards that won't wear out like the wooden ones did.
Once Hermitage decided to have a poker-themed party, Hymeth, Haymeth, and I set out to create real poker chips for him, inspired by the style I remembered from my world. With the help of Bass, Rogar, and Jacks, we crafted a poker case that held a total of one thousand painted wooden chips, each representing a specific copper value.
We made three hundred white chips, each worth 1 copper coin; two hundred red chips, each worth 5 copper coins; two hundred green chips, each worth 25 copper coins; one hundred black chips, each worth 100 copper coins; seventy-five purple chips, each worth 500 copper coins; fifty orange chips, each worth 1,000 copper coins; fifty yellow chips, each worth 2,000 copper coins; and twenty-five pink chips, each worth 5,000 copper coins. We even made a dealer button, as well as small and big blind buttons, from nickel-plated clay coin molds, all neatly housed in a nickel-plated case with a red felt liner.
This morning, Rolder, Mikell, and Colin surprised Hermitage by bringing TT and the kids to the farm to celebrate today with him. This also gave me a chance to whisper sweet nothings in TT's ear for Hermitage. This afternoon we are going to play sandbag poker toss, poker Jenga, and poker table games before his name day supper. Amarei and Melinda were preparing a large wild greens salad, garlic bread, and four types of pasta meals—spaghetti with mutton-burger balls, veggie lasagna, chicken Alfredo, and creamy stuffed pasta shells that everyone attacked on sight.
After these greedy-ass people finished eating, not even a stuffed shell was left. We headed to the cliff house playground to set up the tents where all of us kids would be sleeping tonight. Hermitage had invited most of the men around here to stay for the poker tournament they would have tonight in the lumber barn.
Rolder, Mikell, Colin, Bass, Lomont, his brother Paul, Garrick, Mr. Wilson, Fin, and his dad Filner had already paid their copper to enter the tournament. The men who had been here just to celebrate Hermitage's name day, ended up staying so they could try their luck at winning one of the five prizes we put together.
Rolder's first Hi wheel push plow was the biggest prize offered for the other farmers. Colin wanted to win the body care basket, for whom we don't know yet, but Hymeth said he'll keep his ear to the ground for me and G-ma. I needed to know which skank was trying to use my brother! Fin, surprisingly, wanted the pantry kit for his little girlfriend, whereas Mikell was gunning for the crochet sweater Ruma made and offered as a prize. But I think all the non-farmers are aiming for the grand prize of one silver stag.
What really shocked us all was the turnout because even Hermitage’s brother Herrock, his uncle’s Hendry and Jerren, their lads—Herros, Heward, Hewel, Joffrey—and of course his twin, Jeffyn, who's our new farmhand and lumber barn worker, showed up. And to add to the craziness, Bertrand and Ernest from the Mill Market's merchant guild have thrown their hats into the ring as well. I don't even know who invited them the last time we were at the Mill Market, but that shit better not happen again.
At the hour of the nightingale:
We were woken up by an impromptu early morning real-life recording of Jackass. These grown-ass men were just coming out of the lumber barn but were loud as hell. By the time Thala and I made it to the opening of the playground gate, you could hear they'd woken up everyone in the farmhouse and all of us kid’s acres away. G-ma was yelling from the porch telling them to hush up, and I was hoping they did before she got in her wheelchair.
Rolder was laughing so loud I'm sure it was rattling the shutters, but then he started to cry and draped himself over Colin and Mikell like a sagging curtain. I could hear him saying "my boys" with another laugh, only to turn into a blubbering wreck again, saying, "I should’ve worked harder to keep you two here," in the blink of an eye. It was embarrassing as hell, but I'm sure Ruma got it worse!
Mikell was holding onto Rolder, guiding him towards the farmhouse with Colin, when good ole Uncle Bass came out of the barn shouting at him. "Just you remember, boy," eyes narrowing with a playful menace, "ya lady came from these prized jewels, any harm to her is like taking a direct hit to my balls."
Ruma, who had just made it across the walking path to help him to the bunkhouse, looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. I was wishing she had a sock handy to stuff in his mouth, because Bass wasn’t done. He puffed out his chest and added, “And don’t forget, I’m a better shot with a crossbow than you’ll ever be, Mikell.” At that, Alfred, who was also coming to help him, lost it, laughter exploding out of him like a soda can shaken within an inch of its life, doubling over as the absurdity of it all hit him.
Meanwhile, Garrick was sprawled out on the grass, proclaiming his newfound spiritual bond with Mother Earth, while Amarei stood nearby, weighing whether to haul him up or just let him keep delivering his drunken sermon to the dirt. G-ma, on the other hand, had made it to her wheelchair, telling us all hell was about to break out if she got inside that barn before the rest of the men made it out.
As Thala and I were running down the path to the lumber barn to intercept G-ma, Fin came out of the stable with his horse and his pa's horse. This fool Filner got on his horse backwards and waved at the barn with slurred words of wisdom. Fin, with his pantry kit now strapped down, grab Filner’s horse lead line and guided him home. He didn’t even bother trying to direct his pa to sit on his horse the right way. By the time we made it to the lumber barn, you could see him bouncing up and down while holding on to his horse’s rear saddle as they headed to ocean road.
And let’s not forget Jeffyn, our so-called reliable farmhand, who was now crawling to his tent like he was crossing the Sahara, muttering about needing water like some overdramatic explorer. Then there’s Mr. Wilson—who couldn’t decide if he was heading back into the lumber barn or the stable until he saw G-ma wheeling herself closer and finally settled on going to the stable for his horse to leave.
When we made it inside, you could hear Hermitage up in the loft trying to wake up Herrock, whose snoring was so loud we couldn’t even hear the water wheel. Meanwhile, Paul, who I dubbed ‘Paul Bunyan,’ didn’t even bother leaving the poker table. He just sprawled out on top of it like a bear in hibernation until Lomont, who had just made it back from storing his new Hi wheel push plow, came to herd him toward his family tent, probably wishing he had a cattle prod.
Bert and Ernie’s sneaky asses were walking around the lumber barn until we entered, saying they'll take their leave now while holding the basket of body care products. The poker table stood like a defiant fortress, its felted mat and fancy cup and chip holders a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding it. The once orderly scene had descended into a battlefield—cards and chips scattered in every direction, painting the floor with a colorful mess of the night’s highs and lows.
G-ma, Thala, and yours truly looked around at the remnants of last night's poker bash snack table. The scene was a sorry sight: a lonely puddle of dipping sauce surrounded by the ghostly remains of chicken strips, celery sticks, mini sandwiches, and those damn pasta cupcakes that everyone swore they wouldn't eat but did anyway. It looked like a feast had been ravaged by wolves.
The barn had a strange smell of pine, oak, leather, and pond water mixed with an overlaid scent of Rolder’s ‘wheat sleep,’ which seemed to have seeped into the very floors. By the time we headed back to the farmhouse to help with breakfast, everything was quiet again. When we sat down to break our fast, the aftermath was clear in their faces. Rolder, Bass, Hermitage, Jeffyn, Lomont, Paul, and Garrick were slumped in their chairs, looking like some forgotten laundry left out to dry for too long. The hangovers they must have were evident by the way they were groaning and moaning about the headache pills not working—dumb-asses, the whole lot of them.
13th Day of Juven, 282 AC - Family Meeting:
We were going over the Pre-Wedding Essentials list with the planned budget of five moons. Everyone was sitting around the living room of the farmhouse for this meeting. The guest list had grown a little out of control since they wanted to invite most of the Ocean Road farmers, the Mill Market vendors, and Lidi, the mother of the bride, along with her "friends and coworkers."
I had already cleared my vision with Ruma who agreed and would allow me to show off a little, but in a sensible manner. The wedding will be on the only empty acre we have left on the farm since Lomont and Jeffyn's tents technically sit on the edge of the forge acre, leaving the brush gate acre behind it free for use. I hate that it sits between the sheep pen, brush gate, and the forge acres, but Hermitage already agreed to build a panel fence around the entire acre for the aesthetics I was trying to pull off. That was also the reason why Colin agreed to paint it white when it's built. This would give G-ma and TT a plain canvas to work with when hanging the long willow branches from it.
Deciding I really wanted the paved walkway, I glanced at Colin, who was currently digging in the kitchen's clay counter fridge, grabbing deli meat for the sandwich he was making. "Colin, can you add a stone walkway like the one in front of the house for Ruma?" I asked and went on to explain that she can use it to walk down the aisle. I hoped it wasn’t too much to add onto his growing list of tasks.
He turned from his sandwich, with a pensive look, reaching for his planner. "Yeah, I can manage that, but it'll take at least a moon to get all the materials ready. The shingles for the cliff house that are in the kiln now should be done in three days, then I can start on molding and baking the paving stones," he responded, his tone steady. Pleased with his commitment, I nodded. "We’ll also need a tent to cover the space when it’s ready," I said, looking at Rolder who nodded his head, marking it on the list to give to Garrick who would no doubt find one.
We had time since "winter is coming", Ruma saying that southern winters are unpredictable, and her warnings that she will not be walking down the aisle in snow. So, we are leaning toward the second sennight in Marth of 283 AC if the winter is bad in Decem. Plus, I was thinking it would be safer after winter’s end since everyone would still be at war, and we could mark it by the news of Rhaegar’s death.
The conversation shifted to the marriage officiant, with me glancing at G-ma, who was comfortably settled in her knitting chair, I asked her, "Since Bass is a knight, can’t he just officiate the wedding? Do we really need your Septon friend to make it legal?" hoping to simplify the process.
But her response was swift and firm, reminding us of the traditions we must pretend to follow. "Yes, everyone attending follows the Faith of the Seven!" she asserted, cutting through any shortcuts we might have considered. This redirected our focus, especially given the rumors Mr. Pissmen has been spreading about our supposedly cheating on our taxes, which could attract unwanted attention.
As we moved on to the "wedding vendors," a lighter moment surfaced when we listed Helly under cupcakes. Hymeth’s cheeks reddened as we teasingly referred to her as his girlfriend. She had already promised to handle the cupcakes when the time came, bringing a few chuckles around the room.
Turning to attire and accessories, I asked Amarei, who was perusing fabric samples Ruma made beside her. "Do you think the twenty sacks of cotton you have will be enough to make the thread for all the outfits, tablecloths, and the wedding dress?" She nodded, "Yes, I believe it will be enough. We made all of Rullia’s winter clothes with just one sack," allowing me to tick off another item.
I checked off the ties and belts, knowing Ruma was already on them, and then asked Alfred and Hermitage, "Do you have all the materials for everyone's shoes?" They both nodded affirmatively. I then looked at Rogar and Jacks, who were quietly discussing metalwork near the hearth, "Do you have all the metals needed to start on the jewelry once we’re back from Lannisport?" I asked. Receiving their affirmative nods was a relief, ensuring another crucial task was under control.
When the idea of having a painter to capture the event arose—Colin, with a smile, offered, "I can do it. It’ll add a touch of artistry to my tasks." We moved on to the rest of the entertainment which was another key area we needed to finalize. We have yet to secure a minstrel or a group of minstrels for the ceremony and reception, nor a puppeteer for the kids attending. I mentioned the picture books I was preparing for the puppeteer, featuring adaptations from The Little Mermaid, Frozen, Aladdin, Pocahontas, and The Lion King, adding a magical touch for the younger guests.
"I’ve picked out the songs; we just need to finalize the selection," I said, looking toward Ruma and Mikell. The "catering" was being handled by Amarei, Melinda, Katrina, and Abby, but required some final touches. Ruma, jotting down notes at the counter, spoke up, "I have the appetizers and desserts list finished, but we’re still working on the main course and drinks." I nodded, marking catering as in progress on our checklist.
I then asked Bass, "Have you made the cauldron for the cliff house yet? We might need a backup along with at least six more shallow tin pans and tin candle cups to make more water bath warmers." He checked his list, nodded, and made a note.
The discussion turned to the wedding cake, which I envisioned as a seven-layered angel food sponge cake, each layer adorned with either strawberry, raspberry, blueberry, or blackberry buttercream, topped with a light sprinkle of chopped nuts, a drizzle of caramel, and a dusting of powdered sugar. The concept was met with eager anticipation.
For floral arrangements and bouquets, I didn’t even need to consult G-ma, as TT Gwen and Thala had it covered and updated me yesterday. Moving on to the rest of the decorations and extras, I outlined our needs: a flower arch, banners, tablecloth runners, table mats, and a felt runner for the aisle. "Hermitage, when are you starting on the twenty ten-seater benches?" I inquired. His response, "We should have all the supplies by Colin’s name day," prompted me to remind him to ensure all benches had backs and that we had enough wood for the thirteen tables we planned to repurpose for the general store. As we discussed logistics for lighting and sound, I highlighted the ongoing need for more kerosene and the construction of the stage by Hermitage and Lomont.
Turning to transportation, I asked Hymeth, "Do you know the progress on the wagon bus your great uncle is making?" He consulted his notes and updated us, "The wheels, bench seats, divider wall, and frame is ready, but it’ll be tight to finish by Colin’s name day." Colin's name day was less than a moon away, so his uncle needed to hurry. That bus cart would serve as transportation for the entire farm, eliminating the need for most of the men to pick up TT, her kids, or guests on the day of the wedding.
We discussed wedding favors, contemplating backpacks with grooming kits for men, crossbody bags with grooming kits for women, and a picture book with a sack of toys for the kids. Ruma’s confirmation that Bass would cover the costs brought knowing smiles around the room. I glanced at him with a smirk, fully aware that Ruma would get what she wanted, even if it meant clearing out his savings after the scene he caused in front of Mikell, embarrassing her. He just nodded, his head down, clearly aware that she had him wrapped around her finger—especially after he shockingly told everyone she came out of his balls the other morning while he was still in his cups.
Finally, we turned our attention to the stationery needs—everything from Save-the-Dates and Invitations to Programs for the ceremony, Place Cards, and a Seating Chart for the reception. We also needed Thank-You Cards for gifts and attendance, along with a guest registry book. “Haymeth, do you have enough paper to make the guest book, invitations, and place cards?” I asked, knowing these materials were crucial. “Yes,” he responded, adding, “but I’ll need to make more adhesive for the binding and cardboard for the covers.”
As he spoke, Haymeth glanced at G-ma, checking on the status of the canvas she was preparing for the book’s cover. When she assured him it would be ready in a sennight, I shifted the conversation to the honeymoon house. “So, if everything is still on track, their cottage should be ready two moons after Lomont’s family home and the finishing of the bunkhouse, right?” I directed my question to Colin and Rolder, making sure the timeline was clear and everyone knew what to expect.
With the logistics of the wedding nearly settled, I broached the topic of the general store. “Have we been able to come up with a list of farms that we can outsource inventory making to?” I asked, explaining that for this to succeed, we’d need the support of several farms. The task was crucial, as having reliable suppliers on board would be key to making the store a sustainable venture. Getting other farms involved would not only help spread the workload but also ensure that we had the variety and quality needed to make the store a success.
So far, we’ve secured only a few partnerships, but they’re promising. Filner’s farm or (the L-5 ocean road farm) has already agreed to supply us with manure after the boys and Rolder helped clean up the five acres of rocky, sandy soil near the beach walking path. The acre closest to the horse stable has been transformed into a compost ditch, with a tool shed nestled between it and the acre where they’ll plant trees next spring. This area will sit alongside the oats field they planted back in Marth, which borders Abby’s new two-acre garden—a project cultivated with help from Amarei, Thala, G-ma, and Ruma. Abby is now learning to make more affordable feed with Amarei’s guidance. Colin, who’s been cooking all the rocks for them, will also be crafting an indoor stove for Abby on commission, using the sandy soil as payment to make sandstone.
Over at the R-7 ocean road land, which is Hermitage’s maternal uncle and aunt, have agreed to make furniture and cart parts, further strengthening our network of reliable suppliers. The L-10 ocean road farm, Hermitage's brother Herrock, with whom he’s gradually rebuilding a stronger relationship, has agreed to sell crops from his farm, adding a steady supply of fresh produce to our offerings. His wife, known for her intricate and beautifully crafted decorative baskets, will contribute her creations as well, providing unique items that are sure to attract attention. Their daughter, who has earned a reputation as the “cupcake queen,” will be baking fresh cupcakes daily, ensuring there’s always a sweet treat available when the store opens. This collaboration feels like a promising start, not just for business, but for mending old family ties too.
Amarei would continue her pottery work but felt-making would be better suited for Katrina and Cirella at their farm the L-7 ocean road farm, where they had more sheep year-round. Meanwhile, Switchel could easily be passed on to TT Gwen and her kids. With the lemon tree expected to start producing by next spring and ginger already thriving in her raised bed garden near the cliff house, the ingredients would be right at her fingertips. Mixing the lemon juice, ginger, vinegar, and a touch of sweetener like honey or molasses would create the refreshing, slightly tangy drink we all enjoyed. It was an old recipe, simple but effective, and now Gwen could take it over, ensuring we always had a batch on hand.
I would keep making my homemade sprite since I was the one that managed to create a naturally fizzy drink by mixing pine needles and freshly squeezed lemon juice with water and sugar, and then adding a small amount of yeast. The yeast fed on the sugar, producing those delightful carbon dioxide bubbles that give the drink its effervescence, and after a few days of fermenting, the result was a refreshing, slightly sparkling beverage with the woodsy flavor of pine and the tang of lemon. It was a simple process, yet it yielded a satisfying, homemade soda that felt like a small victory in this fucked-up world.
We are still arguing over the location of the general store with two spots in mind, and at this point, I think it’ll end up coming down to a coin toss. Hymeth wanted it on the farm to keep all the proceeds, and G-ma and I wanted it behind the Mill Market, which could add more suppliers, new business partners, and to keep the drama of it all away from the farm.
Right now, my focus was on getting a few more farms along the Ocean Road to join us in this venture. If these farms start producing the various products listed in our sales catalog and sell them through our general store, it will not only provide them with a better income, but it will also strengthen our position if any lords try to shut us down. If we can get at least ten farms to partner with us, those lords would be reluctant to interfere, knowing most of the farmers on this road would push back. Besides, the store is meant for the smallfolk, offering them a cheaper place to shop—taking that away would just be petty!
25th Day of Juven, 282 AC:
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the farm in a wash of purple hues of light, I found myself caught up in the bustling preparations for Bass's name day supper. He had chosen a modest celebration—just a hearty meal accompanied by tales from my world. It was quintessentially Bass: no frills, no fuss, just family.
The kitchen buzzed with activity. Amarei deftly handled the side dishes while keeping a watchful eye on the stuffed rabbit, her demeanor a mix of focus and calm. I found myself unnecessarily reminding Melinda to keep stirring the risotto, though she was already managing it perfectly.
Ruma, standing at the kitchen counter with a mischievous glint in her eye, was in charge of mashing the potatoes. Still harboring a bit of resentment for a recent jest Bass had made at her expense—calling out her beloved betrothed in front of everyone—she couldn't resist turning the task into a bit of playful revenge. Holding up the peeled potatoes, she announced loudly enough for Bass to hear, "Look, Pa, your balls!" Then, with an exaggerated flourish, she began mashing them vigorously, drawing bursts of laughter from everyone in the kitchen. Her antics lightened the mood, turning her mock irritation into a comical performance.
When we all sat down, the table groaned under the weight of our feast: fried fish, collard greens with bits of ham, sweet cornbread, and the stars of the evening—stuffed rabbit, risotto, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, and biscuits. Bass, looking over the spread, beamed with satisfaction. "This is perfect," he said, lifting his cider in a toast. "To the family we choose!"
The meal flowed with the familiar cadence of light teasing and laughter. Afterward, as we cleared the table, I settled everyone for a story session. I chose "Guardians of the Galaxy," a tale of a ragtag group of intergalactic outlaws who band together to protect the universe from cosmic threats—a narrative of unlikely heroes and the bonds they forge along the way.
As I recounted the adventures of Star-Lord, Gamora, Drax, Rocket, and Groot, their escapades and mishaps captured everyone's imagination. I described the colorful worlds they visited, the formidable enemies they faced, and their humorous yet heartfelt interactions.
"The beauty of these Guardians," I explained, "is that despite their differences and pasts, they come together to form a family, not by blood, but by choice—much like us." This struck a chord, as everyone nodded in agreement, seeing the parallels between the Guardians and our own blended family.
The story resonated deeply, highlighting the themes of unity and acceptance. Bass squeezed my hand across the table, his eyes twinkling with understanding and amusement. "Just like us, huh? A bunch of misfits turning into heroes in our own right," he chuckled.
We spent the remainder of the evening basking in the glow of the kerosene lamps, sharing laughs and musing about which of the Guardians we each resembled. It was an evening of simple joys, a vivid reminder of the solid, true foundation we had established together.
1st Day of Julius, year 282 AC:
Today was Colin’s name day, and the energy around the farm was almost tangible. I was currently walking around the cliff house with TT’s kids as they eagerly checked it out. It was completely built but not completely done. The Roman concrete panel walls still needed the wooden framing added, stuffed with the clay and sand mixture, then plastered over, limewashed, and painted. As we walked around, I noticed the place had grown way beyond what I’d first imagined. It now takes up a solid half-acre which added two more rooms on both sides of the second floor.
Heading back down to the kitchen, things were coming along down here too, though it still needed cabinets and counters but was fairly done. Hermitage made an “L” shaped table that was not only beautiful but allowed all the kids to sit together for their meals. Thanks to our new windmill-powered clay mixer, we’d already managed to make three clay counter fridges and ten clay Zeer pots that would truly keep their food fresh for a full sennight. They’ve also got a dome-shaped oven on top of a three-rack standing brick oven, which was going to make cooking a whole lot easier.
Outside, there garden was taking shape, adding some much-needed green to the area. Rolder had prepped a half-acre plot against the cliff wall of grain for them. He was planning on planting the "three sisters"—corn, beans, and squash. It’s an old technique that makes the most out of the space and keeps the soil healthy. The mix of ancient methods and modern tweaks was really starting to show.
Over at the cliff playground, Hermitage had turned the area into a makeshift campsite, all under TT's watchful eye. He'd arranged a bunch of sleeping tents in a semi-circle, giving off a communal vibe. Each tent was decked out with comfy bedding and a candle lantern for nighttime. This setup was their stopgap home until the cliff house was fixed up. Hermitage also rigged up a central fire pit for cooking, making sure they had a solid way to prep meals while they were camped out there.
"Once all the scavenger hunt participants had gathered behind the farmhouse, we gave them some time to snack. The prizes for the scavenger hunt were displayed prominently, drawing the eager eyes of adults, teens, and kids alike.
Prizes:
Kids: Two life-size dolls, two boxed shaped kites, two regular kites, two toddler rocking horses, and two marble trap board games.
Teens: Two umbrellas, two baskets of body products, two sacks of snacks, two boxed shaped kites, and two regular kites.
Adults: Two adult-sized umbrellas, two women's grooming kits, two men's grooming kits, two pantry sets, and two model #1 Hi-wheel push plows.
With everyone ready and the prizes set, Haymeth began reading out the ten questions that would send everyone searching across the farm.
Clue: Which animal on our farm donates white fluffy treasures for our pillows? (Chicken Feather).
Clue: I am long, green, and dance in the wind near the water’s edge. Find me at the place where the willows weep. (A Leaf from the Willow Tree).
Clue: I stand tall with golden crowns swaying in the breeze. Venture into the fields where I bask in the sun and pluck one of my golden ears. (A Corn Cob).
Clue: I am slender, gold, and a favorite chew of the barnyard critters. Look where the livestock feast and find me lying beneath their feet. (Wheat Straw).
Clue: I rest beside a shiny box that keeps our harvest cool. (A Small Stone by the Cooling Box).
Clue: I am vibrant red, fragrant, and a beauty among thorns. Tread carefully to the bee garden and pluck me gently from my bush. (A Rose from the Bee Garden).
Clue: I sprout into tomorrow’s bounty. Find me behind the farmhouse inside one of the many sheds. (A Seed).
Clue: I am adorned in yellow and black, buzzing with life’s sweet essence. Visit my home and claim a jar of what I produce. (A Jar of Honey).
Clue: I am strong, reliable, and carry you over fields and streams. Find me in the stables, and fetch what I wear on my hooves to trot and gallop. (Horseshoe).
Clue: I am tough, red, and born from the fire and earth. Look near the new constructions and pick one of me from the pile that builds our home. (A Clay Brick).
The scavenger hunt was all about celebrating Colin's name day. As soon as Haymeth read out the last clue, everyone took off at full speed, shouting and laughing as they hustled to find the items. It was a lively way to mark the occasion, focusing entirely on making Colin’s day memorable.
Tyrion Interlude:
Tyrion Lannister had always loved the view from the top of Casterly Rock. At ten name days old, he would often find himself perched on the highest parapet, legs dangling over the edge, the wind tousling his unruly blonde hair. It was a place where he could be alone with his thoughts, far from the prying eyes and whispered insults that seemed to follow him everywhere.
One particular day, as he sat there, he noticed something strange in the sky—a flicker of color against the endless blue, dancing and darting with a life of its own. It wasn’t like the gulls that wheeled above the cliffs or the ravens that nested in the towers. This was different, something he’d never seen before. Curiosity gnawed at him, as it often did, and he couldn’t resist the urge to find out what it was.
So, he scrambled down from his perch and sought out the first servant he could find, a sour-faced woman who was busy scrubbing the stone floor of one of the corridors. “What’s that in the sky?” he asked, pointing back toward the window.
The woman barely glanced up from her work. “It’s a bird, little lord,” she muttered, not bothering to hide the disdain in her voice. “Now off with you, I’ve work to do.”
Undeterred, Tyrion moved on to a passing guard, a tall, broad-shouldered man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but there. “Did you see it?” Tyrion asked, a little more urgently now. “Up there, in the sky—what is it?”
The guard shrugged, not even breaking stride. “A hawk, I’d wager. Nothing to worry yourself about, my lord.”
Frustration bubbling up inside him, Tyrion finally found his uncle Gerion, who was lounging in the courtyard with a wine cup in hand, laughing at some joke one of the knights had made. Tyrion approached him, tugging at his sleeve. “Uncle Gerion, what’s that up there? It’s not a bird, is it?”
Gerion, ever the jester of the family, ruffled Tyrion’s hair with a grin. “Might be a dragon, Tyrion. Or a griffin! But more likely, it’s a child’s fancy. Run along now, your father wouldn’t like to see you pestering the guards with such nonsense.”
Shooed away yet again, Tyrion returned to his perch, feeling smaller than ever. But he couldn’t shake the image of that strange, fluttering thing in the sky. He watched it for as long as it remained in view, trying to make sense of it on his own. If no one else would tell him what it was, he’d have to figure it out himself.
And so, Tyrion sat there, a ten-year-old boy with more questions than answers, staring out at the world beyond Casterly Rock. Perhaps, he thought, not for the last time, that he would have to learn to find his own answers in life, even if everyone else would rather pretend his questions didn’t exist at all.
Chapter 19: The City of Gold - “Concrete jungle where dreams are made of”
Chapter Text
4th Day of Julius, 282AC - Lannisport Trip - Tysha’s POV:
As we neared the bustling city of Lannisport, I felt a surge of excitement—this was my first visit here, and the sights overwhelmed me. The city was a stark contrast to the quieter, more familiar landscapes I’ve grown accustomed to on the farm. Nestled against the coastline of the Sunset Sea, Lannisport sprawled before me like a living tapestry, every inch pulsating with life and activity. You could tell the Rock had called their banners because everywhere you looked, there was a knight.
From my vantage point in the cart on the hill leading down, I could see my arch enemies’ golden banners flapping proudly in the sea breeze, their lion's head insignia catching the late afternoon sun. Below, the city was a maze of white stone buildings, their red-tiled roofs creating a vibrant patchwork that spread out in all directions. The narrow, winding streets were a hive of activity, teeming with people—merchants, knights, sailors, nobles, and smallfolk—all bustling about with an urgency that seemed driven by the ever-watchful eyes of the city’s overlords.
The docks were alive with the commotion of ships of all sizes and origins anchored in the deep harbor, their sails furled and hulls creaking as they gently swayed with the tide. The salty tang of the sea mixed with the pungent aromas of fish, tar, and the distant scent of roasting meat from the many taverns lining the waterfront. The air was a symphony of smells, almost as overwhelming as the Lannisters’ greed.
Inland, the ostentatious wealth of Lannisport was on full display, a vulgar testament to the Lannisters’ lavish indulgences. The streets closest to the port were lined with shops selling everything from exotic silks to finely crafted weapons. Jewelry shops showcased their wares in windows where gold and gemstones glittered with a cold, hard shine—like the hearts of those who ruled here. The sounds of haggling merchants, the clink of coins, and the laughter of children playing in the alleys blended into a cacophony that was as exhilarating as it was a stark reminder of the inequality fostered under the Lannisters’ rule.
Dominating the cityscape was the massive presence of Casterly Rock, looming above Lannisport like a foreboding sentinel. The ancient fortress, carved into the rock itself, was a formidable sight, its sheer size and grandeur a clear declaration of who held power here. Its shadow seemed to cast over the entire city, a constant, oppressive reminder of the Lannisters’ iron grip.
Despite the city’s opulence and the heavy presence of the Lannisters, there was an undercurrent of tension, the sharp edges hidden beneath the surface of its bustling commerce and apparent prosperity. It was a place where fortunes were made and lost, where power was as palpable as the sea breeze. Here, the lions of Lannister ruled with an iron fist, their golden splendor belying the cold ruthlessness with which they maintained their hold.
Yet, Lannisport intrigued me with its vibrancy—a city of endless possibilities, of stories waiting to be told. As I stood there, absorbing it all, I felt the pull of its promise and peril. This city was a living, breathing entity, and for the first time, I sensed the challenge and opportunity it presented—a chance to rise or be crushed under the weight of the Lannisters' golden boots.
After Colin parked his cart and hitched it to the post outside the first shop we encountered in the Lannisport Street of Steel district, we all climbed down. Colin and I planned to visit the glassblower’s guild, while Jacks and Rogar headed across the street to the jewelry maker's shop, a friend of Garrick's.
Jacks' POV:
“Hey Jay, you see that?” Roe asked, pointing to a stall a little ways down. I wasn’t the best reader among us, but I managed to make out the word “Inventions” on the wooden banner above it.
“I’m gonna check it out and see if the owner will let me ask a few questions. You good to stay here by yourself for a bit?” Roe asked, already moving down the road after I nodded.
I stepped into Elirick’s Goldsmith Shop, nestled between a bustling forge and a fine silks vendor on the Lannisport Street of Steel. It felt like entering a sanctuary of craftsmanship. The shop's exterior was simple, marked only by a modest wooden sign featuring a hammer and anvil crossed over a golden ring, but inside, the treasures gleamed on velvet trays behind spotless glass windows.
The warm ambiance enveloped me as I walked in, the air filled with the scent of metal and smoke, subtly sweetened by the aromatic beeswax used in finishing. The shop was impeccably organized, with every shelf perfectly aligned with tools and merchandise. A large workbench, the heart of Elirick’s operation, dominated the center, cluttered with small hammers, files, and pliers that bore the marks of many years of diligent labor.
Elirick, a man of slight build but with an undeniable presence, his hair flecked with strands of sterling silver and his hands roughened from years of working with metals, greeted me warmly. "I’m Jacks," I said, extending a hand. “Garrick, the merchant, told me that if I had any questions about making jewelry, I should come by your place while I’m in the city today. I’m learning the blacksmith trade under my uncle Bass at his forge, but jewelry—that’s a whole other craft, and he only specializes in forging steel. My cousin is getting married soon, and I want to make her something special.”
"Ah, young Jacks," Elirick’s voice was as warm as his forge, "you’re keen to learn the finer parts of the craft, then? Are you from the farm that sells those campfire meals?"
"Yes, I actually brought you some. Garrick said he sells out so fast that you don't always get a chance to get many!" I said, taking off my backpack and grabbing the three cardboard container meals TT Amarei gave me for him.
"Thank ya, these here meals are great for a single man like me," he said, putting them on his worktable away from all the gold dust. He then continued, "Well, let me tell you, there’s much more to this than just hammering some gold into shape."
He motioned me over to his workbench where a half-finished necklace of gold lay catching the hearth’s light. "Gold, it’s a fine thing—soft, easy to shape, doesn’t tarnish. But it’s heavy too, so we mix it with other metals to get just the right blend. Here’s what we usually do:
Yellow Gold: We blend three parts gold with one part silver and one part copper. This keeps the gold’s warm glow but makes it a bit harder, more suitable for everyday wear.
White Gold: That’s three parts gold to one part palladium or nickel. Then we give it a coating of rhodium to make it shine bright and white, almost like sterling silver.
Rose Gold: For that lovely pink shade, it’s predominantly three parts gold with a significant portion of copper.
Green Gold: A rarer kind, made by blending three parts gold with one part silver, giving it a subtle green hue.
Sterling Silver: It’s composed of nine and a half parts silver combined with half a part copper. This blend enhances the silver's natural durability and luster, making it superb for both intricate detailing and everyday use.
Each alloy is suited for different kinds of jewelry, depending on the desired final appearance and durability."
He picked up various tools from the bench. "These pliers are for bending and shaping. Files, like these, smooth the edges, and hammers, even these small ones, do the initial shaping. But the real magic," he said, picking up a finely worn engraving tool, "is in these finer tools. With these, I can etch the smallest details—be it initials, family crests, or intricate designs."
Elirick then led me over to a small, controlled furnace where a crucible of gold bubbled at just the right temperature. "Melting gold requires a careful watch over the heat. Too hot, and it’ll turn brittle as it cools; not hot enough, and it won’t pour correctly. That’s why I constantly adjust these bellows, to keep the fire at an optimal, steady heat."
He demonstrated how to pour the molten gold into a stone mold lined with a layer of graphite soot. "Once you pour it, let it set, and you’ve got your basic shape. But the true art comes afterward—with the fine detailing, filing, engraving, and polishing. It takes time, care, and a whole lot of patience."
Elirick proudly displayed a ring set with a deep blue sapphire, its band intricately worked with a pattern of intertwining vines and leaves. "This piece took a moon to finish. Setting the sapphire was meticulous, ensuring it was perfectly centered and secure. The band required continuous shaping and smoothing, and the engraving needed precise, steady hands. When it’s finished, it’s not just a ring; it’s a legacy to be cherished and passed down."
Listening to him, observing the spark in his eyes, the pride in his craftsmanship, I saw it clear as day—this wasn’t just a trade; it was an art form. Each piece was a bit of his soul made tangible, a blend of passion and skill that filled his shop with extraordinary wonders. And right there, amidst the glow of the gold and the fine metal dust, I understood the profound value of what Elirick created in his humble shop.
Rogar’s POV:
As I made my way down the bustling Street of Steel in Lannisport, surrounded by the clang of hammers and the glow of forges, my attention was fixed on the displays of finely crafted swords and armor. The air was thick with the scent of metal and coal, and the sounds of craftsmen bargaining and the steady rhythm of hammers striking anvils filled my ears.
I was here to learn more about jewelry making, yet the words on a banner caught my eye. It was an unassuming setup squeezed between two larger, flashier forges, with a sign that proclaimed, “Wonders of the Known World: Inventions and Curiosities.”
Driven by a spark of curiosity, I wandered over. The man tending to this unique stall, a fellow named Alden, was a wiry sort, dressed simply but neatly. He had a head full of wild, graying curls, and his eyes sparkled with the kind of enthusiasm that reminded me of Tay’s boundless curiosity.
“Welcome, good lad!” he called out as he noticed me approaching. “Step closer and see the marvels designed to make life easier, enhance your safety, and perhaps even line your pockets with extra coin!”
I raised an eyebrow but moved closer, intrigued by the odd assortment of what Tay would call gadgets and gizmos laid out before me. Alden eagerly picked up a small mechanical bird that immediately caught my attention.
“This here,” he explained, holding the bird up with a proud grin, “is something quite special. Give it a wind-up, and watch it flap its wings just like a real bird.”
I took the bird, turned the key as instructed, and watched in amazement as the wings moved with a smooth, lifelike motion.
“It’s a perfect piece for anyone who appreciates clever craftsmanship and the beauty of nature recreated by man!” Alden added, his eyes shining with pride.
Seeing my interest, Alden leaned in closer, his voice lowering with excitement. “I assembled this from the finest components I could find, each piece shaped and fitted to perfectly mimic the grace of a bird in flight. It's more than just a gadget; it's a testament to my creativity and skill.”
"My cousin would love this! How much do you want for it?" I asked, knowing I had to get it for Tay, but I also wanted to pick up something for my siblings to play with, to give Mama Lynn a small break.
We got to talking then, Alden eager to explain the mechanisms behind his inventions. He was thrilled to find someone who showed genuine interest, and his enthusiasm was infectious. As our conversation came to a close, an idea struck me, prompting me to extend an invitation.
“Alden, why don’t you come out to our farm sometime?” I suggested. “My cousins and grandma would be keen to see your work, and I’m certain they’d be interested in acquiring a few pieces. We could also exchange ideas, perhaps even collaborate on something entirely new. There’d be much to discuss with them, and perhaps the open fields and rural setting might inspire some new ideas for you.”
His face brightened at the invitation. “That’d be grand! I’d be more than happy to visit. It’s not every day I meet others who appreciate the value of innovation.”
"Then you'll love the farm. We invent something new every moon!" I said and told him how to get to our farm. We shook hands firmly—just as Hymeth taught us to do when striking a deal. Alden seemed both pleased with the prospect of more business and excited to meet people into innovation like himself. As I walked away, heading back to the jewelry shop, a stir of excitement bubbled within me. I was certain he could help me figure out how to get some of the items on my list working.
Tysha’s POV:
As Colin and I walked through the bustling streets of Lannisport, I nudged his arm, curiosity bubbling up inside me. "Colin, do you actually know where the glass blowers' guild house is?" I asked, eager to catch a glimpse of the artisans at work and learn how they melt and mold glass.
Colin nodded and pointed toward an impressive building adorned with stained glass windows and sturdy oak doors. My excitement built as we approached, but it quickly faded when a glorified doorstop in fancy armor blocked my path. His stern gaze swept over me, and with a dismissive tone, he said, "This ain't a place for girls. Off with you," while telling Colin he could come in.
Feeling a mix of disappointment and stubborn resolve, Colin and I didn’t stray far from the guild house. That’s when I noticed a boy about my age sitting on a crate, his eyes fixed on the entrance. Walking over to him, I asked, "Waiting for someone?" as I sat down beside him.
He looked up at me and Colin and replied, "Yeah, waiting for my pa. He's finishing up inside, and then we're off to grab some supper." The boy, who introduced himself as Trogon, seemed friendly enough.
A spark of an idea lit up in my mind as I pulled out my lunch box. I opened it to show him the contents—a ham and cheese sandwich, chips, and a small clay jug of juice. "If you could sneak me in to see how they make those fancy glass decorations for the nobles, I’ll trade you my lunch," I offered, hopeful.
Trogon eyed the food, but after a moment of contemplation, he said he couldn’t because it could cost his pa his job. Well damn, but I wasn’t about to give up after sitting in that cart for hours just to make it here. Thinking of his pa, I asked, "Does your pa make glass, or is he one of the other workers?"
“He melts the glass for the man that makes all the glass items for the shops around here,” he replied, his stomach growling, which made me just give him my lunch. I handed the lunch box to Trogon, who looked at me, then at Colin, who told him to eat and not to worry about trying to sneak us in. We didn’t want his pa to lose work. He actually said thanks and began eating but did end up asking if he could save some for his pa. I nodded and got up to leave, but he said to wait.
Once he finished drinking a little of the juice, Trogon whispered, "I can’t take you back to where my pa works but follow me and stay quiet." He led us around to a side door, briefly flashing a smile at a guard who barely gave us a second glance, and we slipped inside.
The guild house was alive with the sounds and sights of creation. Enormous furnaces lined the walls, glowing fiercely. Artisans moved fluidly from station to station, handling long poles to gather molten glass, which they skillfully rolled, blew, and shaped. I was captivated by the dance of fire and craftsmanship.
Trogon took me to a workstation where a craftsman was working with metal and glass. "Watch this," Trogon said as the artisan laid a thin sheet of copper over the blob of molten glass. With precise movements, he twisted and shaped the glass, the copper embedding within it, and then reheated the piece. The metal shimmered like captured stardust.
“This is where they teach the new workers, we just can’t get too close,” Trogon said. We then moved to another area where a glassblower was using a cast-iron mold to create a drinking glass—the only thing I really wanted to see. I watched, enthralled, as he guided the glowing glass into the mold and then blew into the pipe, the glass expanding to fill the intricate design. The craftsmanship was mesmerizing, each step a testament to the artisan's skill.
The guild house was a cacophony of clinking tools, roaring furnaces, and the steady hum of concentrated activity. It was a world unto itself, hidden behind the unassuming doors that so many, like me, were often barred from entering.
As we exited the guild house, I turned to Trogon, my heart full of gratitude. "Thank you, Trogon. This was incredible," I said, truly amazed by everything I had seen.
He smiled and said, "Thanks for the lunch." Then he asked where we got food like that from. “Our farm, we stay on the L-6 ocean road farm,” I said, then added, “If you or your pa ever need side work, come out; my pa always has something that needs getting done.” He nodded and said okay. We parted ways, with Colin and me walking towards the music we heard coming from what looked like a town square.
As we wandered through the winding streets of Lannisport, my senses were overwhelmed by the sheer variety of life around me—the clatter of hooves on cobblestones, the calls of merchants hawking their wares, and the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt and fish. Amid the noise and bustle, a softer, more melancholic sound caught my ear. It was the distant strains of a melody, played on a weathered lute and accompanied by a voice roughened by years of hard living.
Curiosity drew me forward, my steps light as I navigated through the crowd. The closer I got, the clearer the music became—a haunting tune, filled with the kind of sorrow and longing that only the most weathered souls could evoke. Finally, I found the source of the music: a pair of minstrels, their appearance as ragged as their song was beautiful.
The first was an older man, his once-dark hair now streaked with gray, his face lined with the deep creases of a life lived on the road. He held a lute in his gnarled hands, fingers moving with surprising dexterity over the strings. The instrument itself was worn, the wood scratched and dulled with age, but it still produced a sound that was rich and resonant. His clothes were patched and threadbare, barely enough to keep out the chill of the sea breeze, and a tattered cloak hung loosely from his thin shoulders.
Beside him stood a woman, younger but no less haggard. Her hair, a tangled mess of auburn curls, framed a face that might have once been pretty but was now hardened by the harsh realities of life. She sang with a voice that was raw yet hauntingly melodic, each note carrying the weight of forgotten dreams and unspoken heartaches. Her eyes were closed as she sang, as if she was lost in the music, or perhaps trying to escape the world around her. A small wooden bowl lay at her feet, a few tarnished coins glinting inside it—the meager offerings of nobles passing by.
I slowed my pace, drawing nearer to the pair but keeping a respectful distance. I watched as they played, their music weaving a spell over the crowd, though few seemed to truly listen. Most walked past without a second glance, too caught up in their own lives to notice the beauty hidden in the sorrowful notes.
The song was one of lost love and distant lands, of journeys that led nowhere and promises broken by time. It spoke of the harshness of life on the road, the loneliness that clung to those who wandered without a home. Yet, despite its sadness, there was a strength in the music—a defiance against the despair, a refusal to be silenced by hardship.
As the last notes of the song faded into the air, I felt a pang of empathy for the minstrels. They were survivors, enduring the world’s cruelties with nothing but their music to keep them going. Without hesitation, I reached into my pouch and pulled out a star, polished and bright against the dull copper in the bowl. I stepped forward, dropping the coin with a soft clink into the bowl.
The woman opened her eyes and met my gaze, her expression one of weary gratitude. The old man nodded his thanks, his fingers already moving to pluck the first notes of another song. I offered a small, understanding smile before walking up closer to them and asking if they were looking for musical work.
As I walked away, I couldn’t help but think of the minstrels and their music. In a city full of wealth and power, it was easy to forget the struggles of those who lived on the margins. Yet, in their song, I had found a truth that resonated deeply—a reminder that even in the darkest corners, there was still beauty to be found, and that music, however humble, could speak to the soul in ways that nothing else could. I couldn’t wait until they showed up at the farm.
Smallfolk Women at the Mill Market on 6th Day of Julius, 282 AC Interlude:
The market square was bustling as usual, but something was amiss, and the smallfolk women who frequented it were quick to notice. Amarei's family wasn’t there with their usual stall, and their absence was keenly felt by those who relied on their reasonably priced goods to fill their pantries.
Marge, the cobbler’s wife, was the first to voice her displeasure as she examined a sack of flour from one of the other stalls. “Three coppers more than what Amarei's family charges, and it’s not even the same quality,” she grumbled, shaking her head. “We’ll be eating stone soup if this keeps up.”
Beside her, Olna the washerwoman clucked her tongue while eyeing a string of onions hanging from another vendor’s stall. “Aye, and these onions are half the size and twice the price! How’s a body supposed to make a stew that’ll last the sennight with these?” She glanced around, hoping to spot a better deal, but the other stalls were just as disappointing.
Hilda, a shepherd’s daughter who often came to market to buy provisions for her large family, sighed as she looked over the sparse offerings. “It’s not just the price,” she said, “but Amarei's family always has those bundles of noodles and dried milk that are perfect for making your own campfire meals. With my brothers out in the fields all day, we need something that’ll keep, something we can stretch for days.”
The women nodded in agreement, their frustration mounting. It wasn’t just about the cost—though that was bad enough—it was the fact that Amarei’s family understood what the smallfolk needed. They knew how to package up a bundle of goods that could be turned into hearty meals over a sennight, meals that could be cooked up on a simple campfire during hard times.
“I heard they might be busy with the harvest,” Marge muttered, though it was clear the thought didn’t bring her much comfort. “But if they’re not back by next sennight, I don’t know what we’ll do. I can’t keep feeding my family on scraps and overpriced goods.”
Olna nodded, casting a wary eye at the other stalls. “We’ll have to make do for now, but if this is what the market’s come to without them, I’ll be counting the days until they’re back.”
As the women continued to browse, their disappointment was palpable. The market wasn’t the same without Amarei’s family, and the absence of their reasonably priced, practical goods made the day feel longer, and the burden of feeding their families heavier. Each silently resolved to return when they were back, knowing that then, they would find not just good prices but the kind of sustenance that could see them through the toughest moon.
8th Day of Julius, 282AC – The Minstrels:
Foley, his daughter Leyla, and her two sons, Elmar and Selmond, are the minstrels I met in Lannisport. They've been here for a few days and already look a thousand times better. Foley has been a traveling minstrel for years but settled down with Leyla’s mother in the mountains on House Swyft's lands. When his wife died and his daughter Leyla married, he gave her and her husband their shed home.
Leyla said that after her pa left, her husband started spending more time at the inn, drinking away their coin. A few years later, her husband took off, leaving her alone. By the time her pa came back for a stay, they were suffering. Half of the shed's roof had blown away, causing most of what they had to mildew. So, her pa took her and her boys on the road to build back up the coin he had left her.
When the Rock called the banners, the inn they were staying at in Lannisport booted them out for a knight who could pay more. That had been just a few days before we took our trip to Lannisport. They had been sleeping outside in the back of the inn and singing non-stop during those days to earn enough coin for a new room at a different inn.
When they arrived here, they looked worn down, dirty, and starving. The very first thing we did was make them sandwiches and instruct each one of them to take baths. Jacks and Alfred gave the boys clean clothes to wear, with Hymeth doing the same for Foley, and Ruma doing the same for Leyla. By the time all of that was done, it was time for lunch.
Today, we're having rabbit stew with carrots, potatoes, green beans, and pita bread on the side. I made sure to offer them seconds and even made a couple of stew sandwiches for them in case they get hungry before supper. Now that we have standing kerosene lanterns, which when mixed with beeswax and animal fat cooking oil provide much more light, we tend to eat later than most smallfolk who rely on candlelight.
Moving over to the living room area, Rolder asked them if they were interested in working as minstrels for the farm. He explained that his good sister took responsibility for a large number of children. He would like for Foley and his family to teach those kids how to play the instruments we have here on the farm, teach the ones who want to learn how to sing, and play at a few events we'll be having on the farm before and after winter.
For now, we would house them in one of our house tents on the other side of the forge, next to Lomont’s family home, which is almost finished. Rolder explained that Lomont is the farm's third assistant manager and would be close by in case they needed anything. They would be provided with three meals a day, plus snacks, and would be paid a lump sum at the beginning and end of the contract, unless they decide to extend it.
Foley immediately agreed and thanked Rolder for the opportunity. Hymeth then got down to business, explaining the contract in more detail, starting with their list of duties. “All of the children on this farm attend classes five days a sennight, from the first day to the fifth day, from the hour of the jaguar to the hour of the tortoise. This applies to them learning their letters, which are taught by Gwendolyn; numbers, which are taught by my little brother Haymeth; and writing, which is handled by me. Your class will be every first day, third day, and fifth day for music, from the hour of the cow to the hour of the bee. This way, they’ll be fresh after their lunch nap and shouldn’t give you too many problems.” He said, finishing that page and moving on to the next one.
Hymeth pointed to me and said, “She’s our little songwriter and has a book of songs that we would like you to learn. These songs will be for the six events you’ll be performing at during the length of the contract. The first one is Taytay’s small name day supper, then Jack’s name day celebration, our grandma’s name day brunch, my uncle Rolder’s name day party, three of my baby cousins’ shared name day celebration, and the main event—my cousins Mikell and Ruma’s wedding.” He said, moving on to their amenities.
“Along with the pay, meals, room, and board, you’ll have access to all of the instruments we have. If you help invent any new instruments, we will partner with you by covering the cost of crafting the item for a twenty percent return on all funds collected during the selling of the item. You and your daughter and grandsons can attend any and all classes taught on the farm. You’ll be given costumes for the events, seven sets of attire for everyday use, and a teacher’s uniform for when you’re teaching your classes.”
After Foley nodded that he understood, Hymeth asked him, “Do you have any questions?” When he shook his head no, Hymeth went on to explain the NDA part of the contract. “This states that none of you are allowed to say the name of the person who wrote the songs you’ll be learning and singing. But you are allowed to keep these songs and sing them when you travel. If you agree to all of these terms as I have informed you, I need you all to sign this contract with your marks.”
He then pulled out his stamp pad and had all four of them press their thumbs to the pad and then press their thumbs inside the circle area at the bottom of the contract, with them writing their names on the dotted lines next to it. Once it was all finished, I headed to the SCC shed with Bonnie tagging along to scratch off the second thing on my Build-a-Bear list.
20th Day of Julius, 282AC - Rogar's POV:
Alden arrived today for a visit, which I hope is the first of many. I greeted him with genuine enthusiasm, knowing he'd be able to help me with this stubborn clock. Rushing to the farm gate, I unlatched it and swung it open.
“Welcome! You're just in time to help me with something truly unique and important," I said as we headed towards the stable to water, feed, and house his horse. Inside, he asked about the stable design, and I explained, "It’s a side-by-side setup with a full system. This design enhances airflow and makes daily management more efficient. And these troughs," I gestured to the water system, "they automatically refill from those barrels when levels get low, ensuring the horses always have clean water."
Alden nodded, clearly impressed. "Smart system. And the feed?"
"My TT’s Amarei special recipe," I continued. "She crafts pellet feed tailored for each horse's needs. Keeps them healthy and strong."
Our next stop was the forge. As we approached, Bass and Jacks nodded in acknowledgment. "This is where we handle all our metalwork, mainly maintaining the farm's tools and equipment," I explained.
We moved through the bustling farmyard where children played, and the farm's pets roamed freely. The place was alive with activity, filled with the sounds of laughter and the occasional cluck of chickens.
In the farmhouse kitchen, Amarei and Melinda were busy at work. "Here’s where we have our meals," I introduced Alden. "Amarei, Melinda, this is Alden. He's the inventor I told you about." As we spoke, Rullia and Leanna watched from their highchairs, their curious eyes following every movement.
"Nice to meet you," Alden said, as Amarei smiled and continued her tasks.
We were supposed to briefly stop by the mudroom where G-ma and Ruma were doing laundry, but it’s G-ma, so my plans meant nothing! "This is my grandma and cousin Ruma," I introduced. Turning to G-ma, I added, "This is the inventor I told you about." We ended up in that hot box for a while, with G-ma demanding a full list of his inventions before he leaves. “Never a dull moment with these two," I joked with a forced cheerful smile.
Finally, we reached the SCC shed. "Tysha, Hermitage, and Hope are working on our seed conservation here," I pointed out as we peeked inside. The team was focused, but they managed quick nods of acknowledgment. I knew they would steal him away from me at some point, so I didn’t bother mentioning he was the inventor. They could find out after our midday meal—if no one lets it slip before then.
After the brief tour, we settled in the workshop. "Welcome to our slice of innovation, Alden!" I exclaimed, letting him take in the space brimming with tools and half-finished projects. I pulled out the pendulum clock shaped like Shiva, laying it on the workbench. "This has been giving us a bit of trouble," I explained, frowning as I pointed out the finer mechanisms that weren’t functioning as expected.
Alden’s eyes lit up, his hands itching to get to work. "Let's see what we can do," he said, his voice filled with the thrill of a challenge. As we delved into the intricacies of the device, Alden shared his knowledge of gears and springs, while I offered insights from my experience with farm machinery. Our collaboration was a perfect melding of expertise, each learning from the other.
Alden was fascinated, his interest peaking as he leaned in closer. "The precision must be paramount with something like this."
"Absolutely," I agreed. "It’s all about maintaining balance and accuracy."
The morning passed swiftly, and soon it was time for the midday meal. Amarei rang the bell, letting us know the meal was ready. I instructed Alden to wash his hands so we could join the others at the long table, where a hearty meal awaited. The aroma of chili filled the air—bell peppers, tomatoes, onions, and ground mutton simmered to perfection. Beside the main dish were bowls of saltine crackers, adding a crunchy contrast to the rich, spicy chili.
As we ate, Alden was introduced to the various family members and farmhands, each curious about the visitor with his gadgets. The conversation was lively, with discussions ranging from the latest farm innovations to tales of Lannisport's bustling markets.
After the midday meal, refreshed and reinvigorated, Alden and I returned to the workshop. We spent the afternoon fine-tuning the clock, our efforts punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of tools. By late afternoon, we had not only corrected my mistakes but improved the clock, integrating some of Alden's ingenious mechanisms to enhance its precision.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the farm, Alden packed up his tools, a satisfied grin on his face. "Thank you for a day well spent, and for the delicious meal," he said, his eyes twinkling with the joy of successful problem-solving and the warmth of new friendships.
"Anytime, Alden," I replied, clapping him on the back. "Please come back the next sennight, or my cousin will break one of my bones for not letting you help her with her projects.”
With a promise to return, Alden waved goodbye, leaving behind not only repaired instruments but also the seeds of future collaborations, cemented by shared knowledge and the simple joy of a meal enjoyed among friends.
Chapter 20: The Winter's Approaching Light – “We are family, Get up, everybody, and sing.”
Notes:
Sales catalog has been moved to its own chapter.
Chapter Text
16th Day of Agost, 282 AC - Family meeting:
We had just finalized the updates to the Smallfolk’s sale catalog and passed it around for everyone to see. The new sections included our latest crafts and produce. Each person quietly flipped through the pages, noting the improvements. Amarei pointed out the section she organized, and Bass mentioned the better layout for easier browsing. There were a few nods and brief comments, everyone focused on the work we’d done to get it ready.
Once everyone agreed with the prices we debated on where to stash our harvest before its delivery to the mill market, the sharp clang of the visitor bell cut through the tension. We rushed out of the house, only to find a sight that made my heart skip a beat—a flurry of Lion banners at the farm’s entrance.
Standing at our gate, with an air of unwanted authority, was the mill market tax collector. His presence was as unexpected as the news he brought. With the looming threat of war casting its shadow, he casually announced a change in protocol: our grain, usually taken to the mill market, would now be picked up directly from our farm. He spoke as if he were discussing the weather, casually asking when he might return to cart away the fruits of our hard work.
Ever the diplomat, Amarei invited Carlon to stay for lunch, a gesture meant to keep the peace. We set the table with Amarei’s best dishes, laying out a meal that, despite the underlying tension, smelled and tasted like everything was normal. The air was filled with the aroma of Scallion Herb Chickpea Salad sandwiches, paired with the crisp freshness of a garden salad. Throughout the meal, Carlon couldn’t stop praising the food or marveling at the lushness of our land and the well-kept state of our home.
After lunch, perhaps trying too hard to impress or just caught up in the moment, Rolder led our guest on a tour of the fields. Carlon was visibly stunned when he saw our harvest, already reaped and neatly piled, ready for collection. Such preparation was unheard of in the region, a true testament to our meticulous work. His surprise quickly turned into admiration, and as he loaded his cart with as much as it could carry, his parting glance said more than words ever could. It was clear he was about to head off and spread the word of our efficiency, likely adding his own twist to the tale while he was at it.
Mr. Pissmen Interlude:
Kester, or “Mr. Pissmen” as Tysha and the other kids liked to call him behind his back, was stewing with anger as the tax collector neared his farm. The sight of that man always got under his skin, especially knowing that Rolder and his family had been doing well enough to pay their dues on time. It burned him up that the farm across the way, the one he’d once dismissed as a “child’s farm,” had not only survived but thrived under Rolder’s care.
As the tax collector approached, Kester couldn’t hold back. He stormed out to meet him, a sneer already twisting his face. “You been collecting from that lot all morning, haven’t you?” he barked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward Rolder’s farm. “Three generations they’ve been there, sure, but it’s been nothing but luck. You know why Rolder’s farm is doing so well? It’s because he’s riding on the back of his father’s hard work. He hasn’t earned a damn thing himself.”
Kester’s voice dripped with bitterness as he went on, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten how that boy—because that’s all he was, a boy—snubbed my advice after his father passed. I tried to hand the farm over to my son, keep it in proper hands. But no, he thought he could do better. Now look at him, prancing around like he’s some seasoned farmer when all he’s doing is playing at it.”
He spat on the ground, eyes narrowing. “Mark my words, that farm’s success is just a flash in the pan. They’re cutting corners, I’ll bet. Bringing in outside help, under-the-table deals—something fishy’s going on over there. You ought to take a closer look at their ledger; you might find they’re not as honest as they seem.”
Kester crossed his arms, a smug grin spreading across his face as he added, “And that girl of his—Tysha—she’s got more cheek than sense. The whole lot of them think they’re better than us, but they’re not fooling anyone who’s been around long enough to know better.”
The tax collector, however, didn’t seem the least bit swayed by Kester’s rant. He gave a curt nod, acknowledging Kester’s words without a hint of interest, and casually announced a change in protocol: the grain, usually taken to market, would now be picked up directly from the Ocean Road farms.
As he continued on with his duties, Kester watched him go, his expression darkening further. He turned back to his own fields, muttering under his breath about how things ought to be, blind to the fact—or perhaps just unwilling to admit—that his bitterness only served to make Tysha’s family shine all the brighter by comparison.
The Lannisport Lannister’s Castle Interlude:
Carlon arrived at Lannisport Castle with the only farm that had finished their harvest. The quartermaster, Eldon, greeted him warmly as he pulled in to unload. Once they began unloading the sacks, a detail caught Eldon’s eye. The wheat berries were packed in neat, fifty-pound sacks, each one marked with a curious insignia: "L-6 Ocean Road Farm." The straw, instead of the usual loose piles, was bound in tight, box-shaped bundles. Eldon frowned, puzzled by this deviation from the norm.
Seeking clarity, he made his way over to the tax collector. "Carlon," Eldon called out, gesturing toward the sacks and bundles still on the wagon, "have you seen grain and straw packed like this before? It’s all from this 'L-6 Ocean Road Farm,' and I swear, it’s packaged almost too tidily."
Carlon, ever meticulous, inspected the sacks and bundles with a critical eye. "Yes, this is the third harvest they’ve sent in this way," he muttered, running his fingers over the smooth burlap of the sacks.
"L-6 Ocean Road Farm, you say? Do you know what the L-6 means?" Eldon asked.
"Yes, it means they’re on the sixth farm on the left side of the road," Carlon replied, walking away to find out how long the workers would be unloading the cart.
Eldon thought he’d have to inquire with Martyn at the granary about this and headed there, where Martyn Hill, the granary keeper, was busy overseeing the storage of the newly arrived grain. Martyn was a tall, thin man with a keen eye for detail, often muttering to himself as he worked.
"Martyn," Eldon called out, holding up one of the sacks. "Have you seen wheat berries packed like this? Or straw bundled so neatly? It’s from a farm on Ocean Road that calls themselves L6. Ring any bells?"
Martyn took the sack, inspecting the markings closely. "L-6 Ocean Road Farm… I’ve heard rumors. It’s a farm out on the coast, experimenting with new methods for packing and storing grain. Supposedly, it keeps the wheat fresher longer. As for the straw, it’s tightly packed for easy transport. Makes sense—easier to stack and store."
Eldon nodded thoughtfully. "They’ve sent us their finest, then. I’ll check how the kitchen master feels about it."
Meanwhile, in the bustling kitchens of Lannisport Castle, the kitchen master, a burly man named Baelor, was overseeing the day’s meals. He noticed the sacks of wheat berries had already been brought in and headed over to the bakery, where Dannyl the Pastry, the head baker, was kneading dough.
"Dannyl," Baelor called out over the rhythmic thud of kneading, "how’s the wheat tasting today? Came from some farm on Ocean Road. Notice any difference?"
Dannyl paused, wiping his flour-dusted hands on his apron. "Aye, it’s different," he replied, his voice tinged with surprise. "The flour’s finer, the wheat has a richer aroma. Makes for better dough, for sure. Whoever sent this knows their grain."
Back in the stables, the stable master, Harwin, was in good spirits. He had just finished feeding the horses and was marveling at how simple the job had been. The straw, usually a hassle to manage in loose piles, was now neatly bundled into bales that Harwin could easily handle.
"Finally, something sensible," Harwin muttered to himself as he placed the last of the straw in the corner. "No more mess, no more fuss. Just grab a bale and go. The horses seem pleased as well."
As the day progressed and the various stewards of Lannisport Castle continued with their duties, a subtle wave of approval spread through the castle. The innovative packaging from L-6 Ocean Road Farm had made a noticeable impact, quietly enhancing the efficiency of life within the Rock. Though the farm's name was new to many, its innovations were swiftly proving their value, one sack, one loaf, one bale at a time.
24th Day of Agost, 282 AC:
Hymeth waved off the idea of a traditional name day celebration, opting instead for a quiet date with Helly and a small family lunch. But in true Westerosi fashion, privacy was as elusive as a summer breeze. Haymeth and I somehow got roped into playing chaperones, spending more time dodging the not-so-subtle glances of relatives pretending to give them space than actually overseeing anything.
Herrock showed up with a smirk, clearly amused by Hymeth's getup—a pair of blue jeans, a plaid button-down shirt, and a felt cowboy hat perched on his head. Helly’s reaction was a mix of surprise and delight; her face lit up as they strolled through the bee park, their touches light, their smiles wide, sharing sweet, private moments that weren’t so private with all of us watching.
Under the sprawling branches of an ancient willow, every whispered word and stolen glance between Hymeth and Helly drew the family's curiosity tighter than a bowstring. Plates of roasted lamb gyros and cheese fries made the rounds, but the real focus was on the young couple, trying to carve out a bit of peace in the middle of the family’s noisy gathering.
Haymeth and I, laughing and clinking cups, shared knowing looks as we navigated through a sea of uncles and aunts, all armed with too much advice and cheeky comments. We spun wild tales and kicked off games to distract them, hoping to give Hymeth and Helly a moment of peace. But our kin knew exactly how to insert themselves back into the scene, like seasoned actors in a well-rehearsed play.
At one point, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, Hymeth and Helly managed to slip away from the crowd. They found a quiet spot by the beehives, where the hum of the bees mixed with the soft rustle of leaves. Hymeth took Helly's hand, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles as they stood close, faces inches apart. The world seemed to fade away as they talked in hushed tones, their words lost to the gentle buzz around them. Helly’s laugh, soft and musical, filled the air as Hymeth leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. For a moment, it was just the two of them, the rest of us forgotten.
Despite all the interruptions, the name day lunch was a lively affair, filled with laughter and clinking glasses. Aunts and uncles still found ways to intrude with well-meaning but overbearing gestures. Through it all, Hymeth’s kindness and attentiveness to Helly shone through, proving that even in the middle of family chaos, love could find a way to shine brighter.
7th Day of Siv, 282 AC - Farm Meeting:
As the nights grew colder, this evening marked the first lighting of the main chimney in the house. The spreading warmth was a tangible reminder that winter was drawing near. Everyone gathered in the main room, clustering near the fire. The atmosphere was charged with quiet determination—they understood the urgent preparations needed before the deep cold set in.
Foley's house was now complete, mirroring the sturdy structure of Lomont's family tiny home across the way. Both houses boasted fully finished interiors, including all essential furnishings: bed frames with mattresses, wardrobes, chests, cozy living room couches and chairs, and well-appointed kitchen nooks. The difference is that Lomont's home featured a cradle for the youngest family members and a toddler bed, ensuring comfort for all ages.
“We’ve made excellent progress,” Rolder began, his voice steady against the backdrop of crackling flames. “The bunkhouse is done, and both Lomont’s and Foley’s families are well-settled. Our next focus must be on ensuring everything is winter-ready.”
“Everyone’s contributions have been invaluable,” he added, his eyes sweeping the room. “Amarei, how are the minstrels adjusting to their home?”
“They’re settling in wonderfully,” Amarei replied with a note of practicality in her voice. “Having their own space, especially with the warmth and security these homes provide, has made a big difference. They’re all thankful.”
Lomont nodded, his expression a blend of gratitude and resolve. “Thank you, everyone. It's a relief to have a home fully prepared for winter.”
“With the homes secured, the provisions for the winter moons stored, and all the blankets made, what’s next?” Rolder asked, his gaze scanning the assembled group.
“I’ll check all the roofs tomorrow, make sure they’re sealed and insulated properly. We can’t have any drafts or leaks once the snow starts,” Lomont stated, his readiness evident.
Nods of agreement circulated around the room. “With the housing sorted, it’s crucial we all pitch in to get the animals winter-ready as well,” Alfred chimed in. Mikell, Lomont, and Rolder agreed, their nods affirming the plan.
The meeting concluded with everyone clear on their roles. The fire continued to burn brightly, proving winter was indeed on its way, but we’re prepared to meet it head-on.
11th Day of Siv, 282 AC – Tysha’s Name Day Supper:
The kitchen was buzzing with activity as everyone pitched in to prepare my name day supper. Amarei manned the stove, her brow furrowed as she stirred a big pot of stir-fry, brimming with slices of beef, chicken, shrimp, carrots, onions, and potatoes. She added fermented chickpeas, infusing the dish with flavors reminiscent of a Chinese stir-fry. Nearby, Melinda kneaded dough for bread, her hands moving with practiced ease. Ruma and Thala were busy slicing vegetables and arranging them on platters, while TT meticulously set the table, ensuring there were enough places for everyone.
The aroma of sautéed meat filled the air as G-ma opened the oven to check on the stuffed lamb chops. “Looking good,” she remarked with a nod. “Should be ready soon.”
“Perfect timing,” I responded, adjusting the plates. “Leyla and the others should be heading back to the farmhouse now after washing up for supper and getting their instruments.”
Foley, his daughter Leyla, and her two sons, Elmar and Selmond, had been learning how to play some of the songs from my world. They thought I had made them up but only asked one question: did I have more that were not in the book? They had learned all twenty-two songs I had in the book, even the rap ones, after they comfortably settled into the tiny home across from Lomont’s family’s two-story one. I was very eager to hear them play some of my world’s songs later.
As the final touches were put on the meal, everyone gathered around the table. The stir-fry steamed invitingly, the lamb chops were tender and perfectly cooked, and the bread was warm and golden—a simple yet hearty and satisfying meal, the kind that brings people together.
The minstrels arrived just as we began serving the food. “I hope you like what we’ve prepared,” I said as they took their seats.
“This looks wonderful,” Foley replied with a smile, reaching for a slice of bread. “Thank you for always inviting us.”
As we ate, the conversation flowed easily. Lomont inquired about Foley’s adjustment to the tiny home. “It’s cozy,” Leyla responded warmly. “Perfect for the four of us, and it’s nice to have a place to rest after traveling so much.”
Elmar nodded in agreement. “The best part is being surrounded by good company and good food.”
Thala grinned. “We’re glad to have you. And we’re looking forward to hearing you play some of your new songs.”
After supper, Foley and his family gathered near the fire. They sang the bass singer's version of "Hoist the Colours" perfectly, along with "Just the Two of Us" by Will Smith, which I had rewritten in a Westerosi style. That had me, Mikell, and Colin, hugging Rolder. When they finished, I stood up, taking my place next to Leyla as we prepared to sing together. The song was “Brother to Brother” by Gregg Allman, which I had renamed “Bear Islanders” to fit our Westerosi context.
As Leyla played the opening notes on her violin and Foley began to sing, his voice filling the room:
“Each of us enters this world on our own,
Bonded together by forces unknown,
First we'll fall, then stumble and learn how to run,
One day we'll find ourselves running for home.
Brother to brother, father to son,
Mother and daughter together as one,
Fight all our battles, make our amends,
Shoulder to shoulder until the end.”
Leyla and my part was up next, and our voices blended together smoothly:
“We walk through this world one step at a time,
Making our mark, toeing the line,
And we'll pass from this world, old, ageless and young,
Standing in judgment, we'll see what we've done.
Brother to brother, father to son,
Mother and daughter together as one,
Fight all our battles, make our amends,
Shoulder to shoulder until the end.”
Elmar and Selmond added their voices, enriching the harmony as the chorus repeated:
“Brother to brother, father to son,
Mother and daughter together as one,
Fight all our battles, make our amends,
Shoulder to shoulder until the end.
Brother to brother, father to son,
Mother and daughter together as one.”
Fight all our battles, make our amends,
Shoulder to shoulder until the end.
The song resonated deeply in the room, capturing the spirit of unity and the bonds that tied us all together. When the song ended, a quiet moment followed as everyone absorbed the emotion of the performance.
“That was beautiful,” Bass said, breaking the silence. “Thank you for sharing that with us.”
I smiled, content. “Thank you all for being here,” I said simply. “It’s been a good day.”
As the evening wound down, the conversation shifted to stories of the road, with Foley and his family sharing tales of their travels. Laughter filled the room, and for a while, the worries of winter faded away.
16th Day of Fennim, 282 AC:
The vibrant tent on the brush acre was festively adorned in deep blues and bright yellows, setting the stage for an unforgettable celebration of Jack’s name day. Inside, a robust wooden stage awaited Androw’s puppet mastery, promising a day filled with enchantment and storytelling. As the children gathered, kerosene lamps around the perimeter cast a brilliant glow that outshone anything many had seen before, beautifully illuminating the space and heightening the anticipation for the day's magical performances.
Androw began with "The Lion King," masterfully bringing the expansive savannah to life on the small stage. The backdrop was painted in warm, earthy tones, creating a vivid illusion of the landscape. The puppet shows traced young Simba's journey, capturing pivotal moments with great emotional depth and attention to detail.
As Simba's puppet stumbled across the stage, escaping his past, he met Timon and Pumbaa. The puppets for these characters were particularly vibrant, with Timon's quick, jerky movements contrasting with Pumbaa's slow, deliberate waddles. Their rendition of "Hakuna Matata" was a hit, complete with puppet dancing and playful antics that had the children laughing and clapping along. The stage was cleverly set with small props like bushes and a tiny waterfall, enhancing the sense of a carefree life in the jungle.
The mood shifted as Nala found Simba. The scene was set at night, with subtle blue lighting casting a serene glow over the puppet’s stage. When Nala's puppet appeared, a hushed silence fell over the tent. Their reunion was depicted through a tender puppet dance, orchestrated under a canopy of stars painted on the backdrop. The movements were gentle and deliberate, reminding everyone of their deep bond and shared past.
The tension escalated as Simba confronted Scar. The stage was transformed to evoke the fiery climax of the story, with red and orange lights flickering to simulate the fire surrounding Pride Rock. The puppets of Simba and Scar faced off in a dramatic battle, skillfully manipulated to mimic the fierce fight. The puppets lunged and dodged, their shadows large against the backdrop, enhancing the intensity of the duel.
As Simba’s victorious roar echoed through the tent, the lighting shifted to a bright, hopeful glow, symbolizing the return of order and peace to the kingdom. The final scene played out with Simba ascending Pride Rock, taking his rightful place as king. The puppet used for King Simba was slightly larger and adorned with a majestic mane, distinguishing him from his younger counterpart. The applause that followed was thunderous, the children's faces alight with the thrill of the story, deeply moved by the journey they had witnessed.
Following the excitement of "The Lion King," a festive interlude allowed everyone to indulge in Jacks feast. The children enjoyed pizza, chicken nuggets, and brightly decorated cupcakes. Laughter and chatter filled the tent as they relished the food and discussed their favorite moments from the show.
After the meal, as twilight began to deepen the colors of the tent, Androw returned to the stage for "Frozen." This show started with Elsa’s magical powers accidentally setting Arendelle in eternal winter. The kids were captivated as the snowflakes (crafted from bits of foil and white cloth) fluttered down from above the stage.
The highlight was undoubtedly when Elsa sang "Let It Go," with Androw encouraging the kids to join in. Their voices rose in unison, filling the tent with the anthem of freedom and self-acceptance, their earlier shyness forgotten in the joy of the moment.
As "Frozen" concluded and the last notes of the song faded away, the brightness of the kerosene lamps seemed to wrap the night in a warm embrace. TT Gwen, helped by Hermitage, Haymeth, and Hymeth, began to round up the kids, who were reluctant to leave the magical world they had been part of. Hermitage lifted the little ones, turning their departure into a game, while Haymeth and Hymeth managed the playful stragglers, ensuring everyone left with smiles and stories to share.
Tyrion Lannister Interlude:
The wind was brisk, churning the clouds into a frothy spectacle high above Casterly Rock. Tyrion Lannister's mismatched eyes were fixed not on the grandeur of the fortress nor the dizzying heights of its battlements, but upward, toward a singular, dancing object in the sky. It dipped and swirled with a grace he found mocking in its ease, unlike the clumsy attempts of his own body to navigate the world below.
"What is that?" Tyrion asked, though more to himself than to the man beside him. Alden, his old nurse's husband and a third cousin of his, stood with the contented expression of one privy to secrets. A man known for his tinkering and odd inventions; Alden had snuck Tyrion out of the keep to show him this latest marvel.
"A kite," Alden said, his voice a mix of pride and wonder. "A simple thing, really. Just paper and wood and string but see how it dances with the wind."
Tyrion squinted against the sun; his curiosity piqued. "And how, pray tell, did you come upon such a thing? We Lannisters are not known for our frivolous pursuits."
Alden chuckled, the sound deep and knowing. "It's not my invention, I confess. There's a family at L-6 Ocean Road Farm. Ingenious folk, full of ideas and life. They make these kites and fly them. I met them on my “travels”, looking for new ideas, and they showed me their farm, their work... their world."
The word 'world' hung between them, heavy with implications. Tyrion's life at Casterly Rock was one of stone and scheming, not skies and simple joys. "Tell me more about these people," he demanded, a touch more sharply than intended.
"The family is unique. Close-knit and innovative. They work the land, yes, but their minds... their minds craft wonders from the mundane. They harness the wind, the earth, the water. Everything they touch seems to turn into something unexpected," Alden explained, his eyes distant as if he could see the farm from where they stood.
"And you think they would welcome a Lannister?" Tyrion asked, his tone laced with a skepticism honed by years of ridicule.
Alden turned to him, his expression serious. "They judge a man not by his crest but by his craft, Tyrion. You'd be welcomed for what you could bring to the table, not the banner you fly."
That notion, so starkly different from the machinations of court life, drew a small, incredulous laugh from Tyrion. "And you would take me there? To this bastion of creativity?"
"If my wife permits me another journey, you'll be more than welcome to join me," Alden promised, his eyes twinkling with the prospect of adventure.
Tyrion looked back up at the kite, its colors a stark contrast against the blue of the sky, its form buoyant with the wind. Perhaps, he thought, there were still wonders in the world that even a Lannister had yet to touch. Wonders that did not plot in shadows or speak in whispers but simply soared, free and unburdened. And perhaps, just perhaps, he would get to see them for himself.
Chapter 21: (This Not A Chapter) The Reason I just disabled the comments for this story
Chapter Text
Why I just disabled the comments for this story:
First, I would like to take time out to address the Real fanfic readers on A03 - Hey y’all – Thank you for understanding the assignment – I really appreciate you lovely people. I hope you continue to read my wholesome GOT Fic….I’ve been hoping someone would write one for so long that I decided to throw myself out there and try my hand at writing it. Yeah - It’s got its ups and downs but I’m getting lemonade from it, so it is what it is!
Now for the ones that took the time out of their day to slither in my inbox just to leave a hateful comment - I don’t have a lot of time in my day-to-day life to address ya individually so I’ll leave it right here for y’all because "Today, I got time cuz!
Question - Are you slow or dumb? Are you a crack-baby or a meth-American? Yo parent's pay your phone bill, don’t they?
“Come here, a little closer - Fuck you, ya family, ya mama because she should’ve swallowed yo ass and ya daddy should’ve used a condom. See I’m a GenXer so I truly gives no fucks about your opinion and I’ve had four decades to learn how to not give a fuck about your feelings!
And you know I don’t even blame you for having The audacity to leave a comment telling me:
“What I'm about to say most likely will anger you so I'm sorry if it does”
I blame your parent’s because they should’ve taught yo ass “if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all!” But since they didn’t, let me be the one to educate you on that life lesson because you really can’t always get what you want! I mean hell – I wanted people to enjoy the story and be able to leave reasonable feedback.
But what we won’t do is tell me stupid shit like this:
The first chapter was good. love how you had a meltdown instead of being completely OK in a situation like that, like a lot of people will claim they would be
Second chapter, did not read it when I saw it was just a flashback would have been better if it was the first chapter.
third chapter, the one that made me stop reading this story sadly. honestly i think it always looks dumb when people say they would tell everyone everything that they come from another world and their nothing more then fictional characters in a story and have them believe you.
when in a society like this they would not believe you, at worse they see you as some kind of demon and kill you or at best see you as gone crazy because of the knock to your head.
Which is a shame because if you don't put that in, it would have been a more interesting story
Because once people put that in the story they have to do so many mental gymnastics to justify not getting anything bad happening to them in the story and it just ends up with the stories looking dumb
--------------------------------
You sound dumb ass fuck! Bitch this a fanfiction story – I can do what I muthafuckin want! I see why other A03 posters say “don’t like, don’t read” But I didn’t so you think that opened me up for you to leave the stupidest comment in the history of A03? Because you just sat here and said you stopped reading after the third chapter but you leave this comment on the 20th chapter? Do you need to sit in class with TT kids? Did you miss the day they taught kids to count past ten? I need you to have several seats – ya fucking idiot! And don’t forget to Mind yo motherfucking business or get some business - Either way - fuck you along with the fictional Seven that I can make do what the fuck I want in my motherfucking story!
So, thumb thug, dumb and dumber little tink-tink ass cousin - lets reiterate what we learned here today in “Chapter - 21” which, I know yo' non-counting ass go read, even though I blocked you, and the one other dumpster fire ass person, and even though you can’t differentiate between the numbers 1,2,3, and 20:
Yo wants mean nothing to me!
I give not a fuck about your feelings!
My story wholesome but I’m not bitch!
And you need a life!
Good day Karen or Ken, and I hope a bird shits in yo eye the next time you look up, if you ever slither out of that basement you reside in!
PS - i'm not going to put the users names out there because they gotta be somebody's bad ass kid that needed a spanking for playing with grown folks!
Update - 9/8/2024
PSS: With - NazerReich as a username, you only came here to troll, so I expect you to have no life, you miserable bastard. Go find a sheep to love on lil Nazi x! With thousands of different ethnic groups around the world, the fact that you choose that as a username in 2024 is utterly baffling! Maybe a little black girl magic is just what you need to change your perspective. 😄 wait...never mind ain't nobody got time to be given a tic tac to a whale!!!!
NazerReich (Registered User) left the following comment on A different Tysha:
This is terrible writing like seriously you have to be the dumbest person to freak out and blurt out that you are from another world.
Posted: 2024-09-08 11:47:09 UTC
NazerReich (Registered User) left the following comment on A different Tysha:
I can now see why the author chose to moderate comments cause he's quite a pathetic author who doesn't how to make and execute good stories.
Posted: 2024-09-08 11:49:04 UTC
Chapter 22: (Not a chapter): The Family Index & Farm layout only.
Notes:
As indicated in the title, this isn't a traditional chapter but rather a special inclusion by request.
Requested by van_der_ay ♥ — Comments are open! Let me know your thoughts. I'll keep updating this as the story progresses. Image coming soon as I can figure out how to make one...lbvs.
Chapter Text
A Different Tysha Characters: Requested by van_der_ay ♥
Main Character:
Tysha Halliwell - Taytay (30) as of 2020 – DOB: September 11, 1990, in St. Louis County, MO, USA. Foundling / Orphan – Parents unknown.
Notable info: Earned her Master’s degree in World History.
Westeros Life - (11) as of 282AC - DOB: Siv 11th 272AC.
Location: 6th farm on the left side of Ocean Road heading to Casterly Rock in The Westerlands of Westeros.
Family Members w/ (Ages) as of 282AC:
Father: Rolder Halliwell (31) – Farm Owner/Land Manager.
Estimated DOB: 3rd day of Januarion in the year 251 AC.
Mother: Amarei Halliwell nae~ Doe (26) - Farm Owner / Household Manager.
Estimated DOB: 21st day of Februarion in the year 256 AC.
Fun Fact: Amarei is technically the bastard of Lord Forrest of House Prester, Brother to Lord Forley Prester of Feastfires.
Paternal Uncle: Rolcker of the Nights Watch at Westwatch-by-the-Bridge.
Oldest Adopted Brother: Mikell Halliwell (17).
Estimated DOB: 7th day of Aperion in the year 265 AC.
2nd Oldest Adopted Brother: Colin Halliwell (16).
Estimated DOB: 1st day of Julius in the year 266 AC.
Adopted Maternal Grandma: Daphney “G-ma” Doe.
Estimated DOB: 4th day of Decem in the year (mind ya business).
Adopted Maternal Uncle: Bass (31) - Forge Bunkhouse Apartment A.
Estimated DOB: 25th day of Juven in the year 251 AC.
Adopted Cousins: Alfred - Al (12) - Stable Loft Apartment A.
Estimated DOB: 30th day of Maya in the year 270 AC.
Adopted Cousins: Ruma (15) w/ toddler daughter Rullia (1).
Estimated DOB: 5th day of Maya in the year 267 AC.
Estimated DOB: 15th day of Januarion in the year 281 AC.
Lidi (34) Ruma's Mother - Bass childhood sweetheart.
Adopted Maternal Aunt: Gwendolyn (TT) Doe – Cliff House Owner.
Adopted Cousins (TT kids):
Rogar (12), Estimated DOB: 9th day of Novem in the year 270 AC.
Jacks (11), Estimated DOB: 16th day of Fennim in the year 272 AC.
Thala - Lala (11), Toms - Tee (10), Aden - Denny (10), Clarice - Callie (10), Edgar - Egg (9), Darnold - Don (9), Lymond - Mond (8), Clifton - Cliff (8), Forrest (7), Lorra (7), Merlo (6), Fay (5), Wallen (4), Jorquen (4), Caan (3), Jani (2), Tessa (2).
Godfather: Hermitage Treadle (31) - Lumber Barn Loft Apartment.
Estimated DOB: 2nd day of Juven in the year 251 AC.
Godbrother: Hymeth Treadle (16) - Lumber Barn Loft Apartment.
Estimated DOB: 24th day of Agost in the year 266 AC.
Godbrother: Haymeth Treadle - Aims (13) - Lumber Barn Loft Apartment.
Estimated DOB: 23rd day of Aperion in the year 269 AC.
Tiny Home Village located at the edge of the Forge acre:
Lot A – Farm Permanent Residents:
Lomont Bunyan (28) – 3rd Assistant Farm Manager and Building attendant.
Melinda Bunyan (22) – Farms Sous Chef and Garden attendant.
Marcel (5).
Leanna (1).
Brother of Paul Bunyan (30) Bass friend (guest).
Lot B – Farm Guest:
Foley (43)
Leyla (28)
Elmar (14)
Selmond (12)
Business Partner:
Garrick (27) – Lives in Lannisport - additional info coming soon…
Hope (13) - Midwife apprentice.
Heather (31) - Hope's Mother and Bass girlfriend.
Left side of Ocean Road lands: (*) = L-6 Business partners:
L-1 Ocean Road Tavern and Inn – Chance and Maggie, Son Carter, his wife Tosha, and nephew Leonard.
L-2 Ocean Road Poultry Farm: Specialize in raising chickens, ducks, and quails for meat or egg production. additional info coming soon…
L-3 Ocean Road Poultry Farm: Specialize in raising chickens, ducks, and quails for meat or egg production. additional info coming soon…
L-4 Ocean Road Livestock Farm: Specialize in raising animals such as Mules and horses. Darreth (?) – Sales mules at the Mill Market every fortnight.
L-5 Ocean Road Livestock Farm: Specialize in raising Horses. * Filner (45) and Abby (31) w/ sons – Fin (18), and Flement (13).
L-6 Ocean Road Permaculture & Mixed Farm: Focus on sustainable and self-sufficient agricultural ecosystems.
L-7 Ocean Road Mixed Farm: Combine both crop cultivation and livestock raising. * Criston (43) children / Cletus (22) with 1st wife, Cirella (12) with 2nd wife. Current/3rd Wife Katrina (25).
L-8 Ocean Road Dairy & Livestock Farm: Focus on producing milk and dairy products from cows, goats, cattle, and pigs. * Mr.Wilson (Benedict) (50) wife Joanna (35) - children / Benford (20), Benic (15).
L-9 Ocean Road Dairy & Livestock Farm: Focus on producing milk and dairy products from cows, goats, cattle, and pigs. additional info coming soon…
L-10 Ocean Road Arable Farm: Focused on growing crops like wheat and millet. * Herrock (46) wife Perriane (31) Children/ Helly (14), Hubard (13), Hamon (12), Harald (11), Helen (10), lil Hermitage (8), Harker (4), and Helia (4).
L-11 Ocean Road Arable Farm: Focused on growing crops like wheat, corn, barley, and beans. - additional info coming soon…
L-12 Ocean Road Orchard Farm: Grow fruit trees like apples, oranges, peaches, or cherries. Willa (?) and Viola (?) – Older sisters who sale their fruit at the Mill Market.
L-13 Ocean Road Orchard Farm: Grow fruit trees like apples, oranges, peaches, or cherries. - additional info coming soon…
L-14 Ocean Road Silvopasture Farm: Combine forestry and grazing of domesticated animals in a mutually beneficial way. - additional info coming soon…
L-15 Ocean Road Silvopasture Farm: Combine forestry and grazing of domesticated animals in a mutually beneficial way. additional info coming soon…
Right side of Ocean Road Lands:
R-1 Ocean Road Bakery - additional info coming soon…
R-2 Ocean Road Vineyards: Specialize in growing grapes for wine production. * G-ma - Niece Darla (34) and husband Umfred (42) – children / Umfred (21), Urron (18), and Dolyse (14).
R-3 Ocean Road Vineyards: Specialize in growing grapes for wine production. additional info coming soon…
R-4 Ocean Road – Wheelwright. * Jerren (33) and Darlessa (36), children / Joseth (26) [m. Clarice (20) children /Jerren (6), Joseth (5), Josiah (3), James (2)], Deria (25) - married & moved away, Joffrey (24) [m. Evenlyn (21) children / Darlessa (2)] Twin - Jeffyn (24), Dorothy (21) married & moved away.
Fact: Land was a Lumber mill until Johanna Lannister cut all the trees down and pulled all the roots up to build ships in order to fend off the Iron born attack in 130 AC and allowed the smallfolk family to keep the lands in perpetuity for ended what she thought was their livelihood at the time.
R-5 Ocean Road Orchard Farm: Grow fruit trees like apples and oranges. additional info coming soon…
R-6 Ocean Road Mixed Farms: Combine both crop cultivation and livestock raising. Kester (Mr. Pissman) and wife Karen – Note: they have two grown sons - Kennon and Konrad - married (Celia) with two kids (Kormed and Kiyara) and three grown daughters moved away, one teen son (Kenden) and three teen daughters (Kristyne, Katalin, and Karolyn).
R-7 Ocean Road Mixed Farms: Combine both crop cultivation and livestock raising. Caspor (17), Mother - Genavene (29), Carrl (15), Cassandra (13), Clifford (11).
Note: Genavene husband was killed by bandits leaving her son to run the farm with his brothers. She sales crops and livestock to make extra for foods stuff and taxes.
R-8 Ocean Road Horticulture Farm: Focus on growing vegetables, flowers, or ornamental plants. - additional info coming soon…
R-9 Ocean Road Horticulture Farm: Focus on growing vegetables, flowers, or ornamental plants. - Hermitage uncle on fathers’ side. * Hendry (50), and Gladys (40) children / Herros (27), Heward (20), Hewel (18).
R-10 Ocean Road Specialty Farm: Produce unique or niche products, such as lavender, herbs, mushrooms, or honey. - additional info coming soon…
R-11 Ocean Road Specialty Farm: Produce unique or niche products, such as herbs, mushrooms, or honey. - additional info coming soon…
R-12 Ocean Road Silvopasture Farm: Combine forestry and grazing of domesticated animals in a mutually beneficial way. Jacob (?) – Sales vegetable crops when starting to go bad.
R-13 Ocean Road Silvopasture Farm: Combine forestry and grazing of domesticated animals in a mutually beneficial way. - additional info coming soon…
R-14 Ocean Road Livestock Farm: Specialize in raising animals such as cattle, sheep, goats, pigs, or poultry. - additional info coming soon…
R-15 Ocean Road Livestock Farm: Specialize in raising animals such as cattle, sheep, goats, pigs, or poultry. - additional info coming soon…
Mill Market Guild Members – Bertrand, Ernest, Larry, and Jonesy.
Mill Market Vendors:
Willa and Viola L-12 – Sales fruit.
Genavene and Caspor R-7 – Sales crops and livestock.
Darreth L-4 – Sales Mules.
Jacob R-12 – Sales vegetable crops when starting to go bad.
Allus and Arneld – Merchant brothers who sales only to trades men.
Blane and Cleoden – Merchant father and son who lives in a manse outside about ten miles from the mill market and sale Lannisport blacksmith wares.
Walton – Merchant lives closer to Lannisport but comes to the mill market every fortnight to sale his wares.
Onassis – a traveling smallfolk merchant who occasionally sales his wares at the local markets in the western part of The Westerlands only sales at the mill market once a moon.
Taladon - Butcher travels to local livestock farms to buy animals that he butchers and sales at the Market.
Vickard - Fisherman who sales his fish at the market.
Farm Layout
Main Farm Road Eastern Acres
Horse Stable Acre
Location: 150 feet from the entrance gate.
Details: Large side-by-side barn with a hay loft apartment (accessed by stairs at the back). Paddock covers the entire acre and extends slightly into the Chicken Coop Acre.
Chicken Coop Acre
Location: Between the Horse Stable Acre and the Wheat Fields.
Details: Dedicated area for chickens.
Wheat Acres (First Set)
Location: Directly left of the Chicken Coop Acre.
Details: Eight individual acres, each featuring a cross-shaped footpath in the middle.
Eastern Border Acres
Lumber Barn Acre
Location: Directly behind the Horse Stable Acre.
Details: Lumber barn with a small tool shed next to it. Tanning shed located in the corner. Tanning Yard dips off from this acre.
Pig Pen Acre
Location: To the left of the Lumber Barn Acre.
Details: Enclosed by a fence.
Wheat Acres (Second Set)
Location: Behind the first set of Wheat Acres.
Details: Additional wheat acres extending back toward the entrance gate.
Main Farm Road Western Acres
Forge Acre
Location: Across the main farm road from the Horse Stable Acre.
Details:
Forge Building: Positioned in the middle front part of the acre, 100 feet from the entrance gate.
Left Side: Storage shed and a 4ft tall windmill.
Right Side: Small horse paddock for forge customers.
Behind: Steel Bessemer furnace inside a half-roof shed, old Roman concrete Bessemer furnace, and brick beehive-style kiln.
Second Part: Two-story bunkhouse with four apartments (two on the top and two on the bottom).
Third Part: Fenced-in tiny home village for farm workers (one two-story tiny home and two one-story tiny homes).
Main Farmhouse Acre
Location: Left side of the Forge Acre.
Details:
Front Yard: Paving stone walking path (35 feet) from the main farm road to the house.
Backyard:
Rabbit hutch with a shed next to it for care.
Shed 20 feet from the rabbit hutch for farmhouse storage.
SCC shed.
Workshop.
Records keeping shed.
Adjacent Acres:
Left Side: Farm’s garden.
Next Acre: Bee garden park (front part with flowers, middle part with a tree grove, last part with bee hive boxes and shed).
Next Acre: Small playground, pond, and willow tree, with space for a tree grove connecting to the bee garden park's tree grove.
Milk Barn Acre
Location: Next to the Bee Garden Park.
Details: Side-by-side barn in the middle of the acre, fenced in. End of walking path leads to Sheep Pen entrance.
Rolder’s Crop Acres (1, 2, 3, 4)
Location: Behind the Milk Barn Acre.
Details: Four individual crop fields.
Western Border Acres
Event Acre
Location: Behind the Forge Acre.
Details: Pavilion in the middle, surrounded by a fence.
Sheep Pen Acre
Location: Behind Rolder’s Crop Acres.
Details: Extends for ten combined acres on the right side of the farm road.
Training Yard
Location: Across from the Cliff House Acres.
Details: Used for training activities.
Cliff House Acres
Location: In the middle of the cliffs, spanning two acres.
Details: Three-fourths of an acre, dropping down to a path leading to the sea below.
Brush Acre
Location: Next to the Event Acre by the front part of the Sheep Pen.
Details: Fenced in for easy foraging, not technically on the farm.
Roads and Pathways
Main Farm Road: Runs from the entrance gate to the Training Yard and Cliff House Acres, marking the primary access route through the farm.
Walking Paths: Connect various parts of the farm, including front and back yards, and around key structures like the farmhouse and bee garden park.
Smaller Cart Paths: Provide access between different areas such as the Milk Barn, Crop Acres, and Sheep Pen.
Sand Pathways: Connect the main structures and fields, facilitating movement across the farm.
Chapter 23: (Not a chapter): Smallfolk Sales Catalog. Smallfolk Trade Workers Sales Catalog. Nobles Sales Catalog.
Notes:
As stated in the title, this is not a chapter but I will update it with new items when they are invented.
Chapter Text
Smallfolk Sales Catalog –
Items Priced at Half-Copper:
Candies and Confections:
Candy Drops (2 pcs).
Caramel Bites (2 pcs).
Toffee Chews (2 pcs).
Large Lollipop (1 pc).
Slim Candy Sticks (2 pcs).
Thick Candy Stick (1 pc).
Toffee Sticks.
Molasses Toffee Square (1 pc).
Honeycomb Toffee Square (1 pc).
Honeycomb Cookies (1 pc).
Honey Caramel Bites.
Honey Lollipops.
Hard Honey Candy.
Honey Taffy.
Nut-Based Treats and Mixes (Paper pouch items):
Mixed Nuts (Salted & Sweet).
Energy Bites (Berry & Nut).
Trail Mix (Honey Nut & Berry).
Dried Fruits and Bars (Paper pouch items):
Dried Fruit Candies.
Oatmeal Bar (Berry Nut).
Granola Bar (Honey Nut).
Travel Snacks and Specialties (Paper pouch items):
Snack Mix.
Fruit Leather.
Pretzels.
Handheld Pie.
Pantry Items -
Cube Container Items:
Butter.
Hazelnut Spread.
Walnut Spread.
Earthenware Vase w/ Spout Items:
Berry Syrup Mix.
Cherry Syrup.
Apple Syrup.
Honey.
Vinegar.
Spout Jar w/ Cork Lid Items:
Mustard.
Ketchup.
Mayonnaise.
Hot Sauce.
Sugars and Sweeteners:
Honey Crystals (1 packet).
Toffee Sugar (1 packet).
Corn Sugar (1 packet).
Powdered Honey (1 packet).
1 Copper Items:
Herbs and Spices -
Spice Shakers:
Ground Black Pepper.
Ground Cloves.
Ground Nutmeg.
Ground Ginger.
Ground Turmeric.
Garlic Powder.
Onion Powder.
Ground Paprika.
Ground Coriander.
Mixed Herbs seasoning.
Stackable Dried Herb Containers:
Fennel seeds.
Cilantro.
Mint.
Rosemary.
Thyme.
Basil.
Lavender.
Sage.
Parsley.
Dairy Alternatives (Paper pouch items):
Powdered Milk (Cow, Goat, Sheep).
Yeast and Baking Agents:
Yeast (Dried, Small Jar).
Cream of Tartar (Dried, Small Jar).
Grains:
Wheat (2lb sack).
Barley (2lb sack).
Oats (2lb sack).
Rye (2lb sack).
Corn (2lb sack).
Millet (2lb sack).
Vegetables:
Carrots (6 per sack).
Potatoes (10 per sack).
Cabbages (2 per sack).
Onions (6 per string).
Turnips (5 per sack).
Peas (1lb sack).
Radishes (4 per sack).
Garlic (4 per sack).
Beverages:
Tea Mix (Dried).
Purified Water.
Berry Juice Mix.
Ginger Ale.
Switchel.
Lemon Pine Soda.
Standard and Specialty Flours (1/2 lb paper sack):
Wheat Flour.
Corn Flour.
Rye Flour.
Barley Flour.
Bread Flour Mix.
Cake Flour Mix.
Seasoned Frying Mix.
Fish Frying Mix.
Seafood Broil Mix.
Bath and Body:
Wooden Toothbrushes.
Toothpaste (Varieties: Lavender, Peppermint, Honey).
Toothpicks.
Wooden Hairbrush.
Wooden Comb.
Back Scratcher.
Oatmeal Soap Bars (Varieties: Clean, Lavender, Peppermint, Honey, Berry, Sandalwood).
Washcloth.
Bath Towel.
Shaving Cream.
Lip Balm – Cherry, Mix Berry, Bubble Gum.
Home Fragrances:
Scented Candles (Lavender, Lemon, Orange, Mixed Berry).
Candlesticks.
Candle Holders (Ceramic, Earthenware).
Candle Snuffer (Metal).
Storage Solutions:
Wooden Pantry Jar Set.
Ceramic Pantry Jar Set.
Zeer Pot (Evaporative Cooler).
Cedar Chest Box.
Educational Toys:
Number Learning Book ("My Three Pigs").
Numbers Dice Game.
Alphabet Learning Book (“by Houses or Realms”).
Matching Cards ("The Seven Kingdoms").
Seven Kingdom Animals Cards Set.
Writing Chalkboard w/ (Chalk or Chalk pencil).
Playsets and Crafts:
Play Modeling Clay.
Sand Dough Set (with tools).
Chalk Art Set (with Slate).
Slinky.
Spinning Top.
Wooden Yo-Yo.
Whistle.
Jump Rope.
Miniature Boat.
Sand-Filled Canvas Toys.
Stuffed Toy (Small).
Earthenware Doll (Small).
Frisbee.
Half-Groat Items:
Breakfast and Campfire Meals:
Maize Puffs.
Maize Flakes.
Barley Flakes.
Honey Nut Clusters.
Oatmeal Mix (Wild Berries & Nuts).
Rye Oat Mix (Berries & Nuts).
Pasta Meals (Dried with Sauce, Cheese, Herbs).
Toys and Dolls:
Rocking Horse (Tiny).
Earthenware Doll (Small).
Walking Stick Horse (Wooden).
Personal Care Sets:
Wooden-handled Steel Razor.
Facial Wax Kit.
Steel Nail Clippers.
Steel Tweezers.
Laundry and Cleaning Supplies:
Laundry Detergent (Varieties: Rainbow, Cloud, Rain.).
Clothesline (20 ft).
Clothespins (20 ct).
Long-handled Broom.
Long-handled Mop.
Groat Items:
Dining and Kitchenware:
Dining Sets (Wooden, Ceramic).
Serving Sets (Wooden, Ceramic).
Cookware (Iron Pots and Pans).
Tea Set (Ceramic with Tray).
Spice Set (Salt & Pepper Shakers).
Mortar and Pestle Set.
Medicinal Treatments -
Topical Applications:
Skin Relief Patch.
Bandage Wraps.
Band-Aids.
Healing Salves.
Cut Cleaner.
Moons-blood Care Kit.
Pills:
Headache Pills.
Multivitamins.
Cough Chews.
Tonics:
Sleep Aid.
Stress Relief.
Fever Reducer.
Digestive Aid.
Cramp Relief.
Bath and Body:
Travel Grooming kits.
*Hair Shampoo.
*Hair Conditioner.
*Body Oil.
*Body Butter.
(*Varieties: Woman - Heavenly Lady, Sweet Lemon Spice, Morning Dew, Cherry Blossom. Men - Lavender, Peppermint, Honey, Berry, Sandalwood. Children – Milk & Honey, Sweet Cherry Blossom, Morning Dew, Peppermint & Leather.)
Men's Cologne (Sandalwood, Leather, Lemongrass).
Women's Perfume (Varieties: Heavenly Lady, Sweet Lemon Spice, Morning Dew, Cherry Blossom).
Utility Tools:
Flint and Steel Striker.
Strike Sticks.
Nails.
Pottery Clay.
Hemp Rope.
Coal Briquettes (5lb sack).
Made to Order Items (prices will vary):
Home Decor:
Knitted Wool Blankets.
Felt Blanket.
Quilt.
Wall Tapestries.
Floor Mat.
Decorative Rug.
Wooden Furniture (Rocking Chair, Table and Bench Set, Table and Chair Set, Family Bench, Stools, Pantry Closet, Wardrobe, Bedframes, Childrens desk.).
Ceramic Wall Tiles (Per Box - 50, 100, 200).
Pewter Tableware.
Table Decoration Set.
Connectable Clay Floor Tiles (Per Box - 50, 100, 200).
Connectable Clay Roof Shingles (Per Crate - 25, 50, 100, 250).
Connectable Paving Stones (Per Crate - 20, 50, 100).
Exclusive Decorative and Utility Items:
Decorative Cane (Colors: Black, Blue, Red).
Seven-Pointed Star Hand-Carved Cane.
Hand Mirror (Tin Face Plate).
Hand Fan (Colors: Black, Blue, Red, Pink, Brown, Gray, Seven-Pointed Star).
Umbrella (Colors: Black, Blue, Red, Pink, Brown, Gray, Seven-Pointed Star).
My Mark - Stamp Board and Stamp.
Wooden Jewelry Box w/ Key.
Iron Door Knocker.
Iron Door Lock System w/ Key.
Storm Alarm Wind Chimes (Iron).
Toys and Dolls:
Large Wooden Dollhouse.
Large Rocking Horse.
Lifesize Porcelain Doll.
Family Games and Entertainment:
Marbles Race Game.
Juggling Balls.
Sock Puppets.
Children’s Puzzle (5-25 Pieces).
Puzzle Box with Prize.
Poker Set Chess Sets.
Playing Cards.
Board Game ("Lords and Ladies").
Board Game ("Sorry Not Sorry").
Board Game (Scrabble").
Board Game ("Clue").
Mystery Puzzle Box.
Table Puzzle (100-Piece).
Bowling Set (Wooden).
Beanbag Toss.
Horseshoe Toss.
Mancala Game (with Pebbles).
Family Game Set ("Pall Mall").
Coming Soon:
Rocket Stove (Brick, Stone, Iron).
Rocket Oven (Brick, Iron).
Pantry Sets.
Pantry Box.
Eggs (cartons of 4, 6, 12, 24).
Jams (Cherry, Apple, Blueberry, Mixed Berry).
Jarred Vegetables.
Jarred Whole Fruits.
Jarred Cooked Meats (Seasoned: Pork, Veal, Rabbit, Beef, Mutton).
Cheese (Varieties: Sliced, Cubed, Block, Wheel).
Smoked Meats (Seasoned: Sliced, Cubed, Block, Whole Cut).
Ready-to-Eat Jarred Meals.
Trade Workers Sales Catalog:
(Note: These items are Available Exclusively for Barter or Seeking Swaps: No Coin Purchases)
Farmer:
Farming/Gardening Equipment and Tools:
Straw Hat.
Leather Gloves (Rabbit, Tanning).
Wooden Hoe.
Wooden Rake.
Wooden Pitchfork.
Iron Spade.
Iron Skinning Knife.
Iron Fleshing Knife.
Iron Scraper.
Iron Shears (Leather Cutting, Pruning).
Handheld Watering Can (Clay, Wood, Iron).
Seed Dibber (Iron or Wood).
Grain Flail.
Garden Trowel (Iron).
Field Watering Can (Backstrap Barrel).
Harrow (Iron Pole).
Axe (Iron).
Mattock (Iron).
Sickle (Iron).
Shovel (Iron).
Hammer (Iron).
Sheep Shears (Iron).
Hi Wheel Parts (Iron).
Hi Wheel Push Plow (Wooden).
Wheelbarrow Spreader (Wooden).
Seeder (Wheelbarrow).
Scythe with Catcher Basket (Iron and Wood).
Thresher (Treadle, Wooden).
Winnowing Screen Box (Wooden).
Chaff Cutter (Treadle).
Baling Box.
Shearing Stand (Sheep).
Fishermen:
Fishing Supplies:
Fishing Line Weights.
Hooks.
Artificial Bait.
Fishing Line (12 yd).
Fishing Pole (Plain, Colors: Black, Blue, Red).
Fisherman’s Box (Complete Set).
Artisans:
Tools and Craft Supplies:
Woodworking Tools (Chisels, Planes, Saws).
Blacksmith Tools (Anvils, Hammers, Tongs).
Tailoring Tools (Needles, Thread, Scissors).
Pottery Tools (Clay, Potter's Wheel).
Leatherworking Tools (Awls, Stitching Needles).
Looms (Weaving Machines).
Knitting Machine.
Artists and Writers:
Canvas Sheets.
Drawing Paper.
Easel.
Drawing Board.
Palette Knife.
Palette.
Paints (All colors).
Colored Clay Pencils.
Charcoal Pencils.
Chalk Pencils.
Brushes (Multiple Sizes).
Ink (Black, Red, Blue, White).
Steel Quill.
Non-spill Ink Pot.
Minstrels:
Musical Instruments:
Singing Megaphone with stand.
Hand Piano (Eight Keys).
Cymbals.
Flutes.
Bagpipes.
Harps.
Violin.
Lutes.
Acoustic Guitars.
Cello.
Xylophone.
Drums.
Garrick’s - Nobles Sales Catalog:
Candies and Confections: (Housed in Decorative Ceramic Jars)
Candy Drops (20 pcs): 6 silver stags - Delicate sweets, perfect for any noble gathering, infused with natural fruit essences.
Caramel Bites (20 pcs): 6 silver stags - Rich and creamy, these caramel treats are a decadent delight.
Toffee Chews (20 pcs): 6 silver stags - Chewy toffee that provides a long-lasting flavor, crafted from the finest sugars.
Large Lollipop (10 pcs): 4 silver stags - Handcrafted lollipops, a favorite among the young and old alike at court.
Slim Candy Sticks (20 pcs): 5 silver stags - Elegant and flavorful, perfect for a subtle sweet treat during discussions.
Thick Candy Stick (10 pcs): 3 silver stags -A robust burst of sweetness, designed to satisfy any noble palate.
Toffee Sticks (5 pcs): 2 silver stags - Crisp and buttery, these toffee sticks are a luxurious snack.
Molasses Toffee Square (10 pcs): 5 silver stags - Deeply flavored with molasses, a sophisticated choice for the discerning tongue.
Honeycomb Toffee Square (10 pcs): 5 silver stags - Sweet and airy, like the finest honeycombs from the royal apiaries.
Honeycomb Cookies (12 pcs): 4 silver stags - Light and crisp, imbued with the essence of honeycomb for a royal treat.
Honey Caramel Bites (20 pcs): 6 silver stags - A delightful blend of honey and caramel, crafted for refined tastes.
Honey Lollipops (5 pcs): 3 silver stags - Made from the purest honey, these lollipops are a sweet, soothing treat.
Hard Honey Candy (20 pcs): 6 silver stags - A hard candy with a lingering honey flavor, perfect for long council meetings.
Honey Taffy (10 pcs): 4 silver stags - Stretchy and sweet, each piece is a delightful indulgence.
Nut-Based Treats and Mixes (Housed in Small Decorative Ceramic Containers):
Mixed Nuts (Salted & Sweet): 3 silver stags - A balanced mix of salted and sweetened nuts, ideal for an afternoon snack.
Energy Bites (Berry & Nut): 4 silver stags - Packed with berries and nuts, these bites are designed to provide sustained energy.
Trail Mix (Honey Nut & Berry): 4 silver stags - A delightful mix that combines the sweetness of honey with the tartness of berries, perfect for hunts or long journeys.
Dried Fruits and Bars (Paper Bag and Wrapped Items):
Dried Fruit Candies: 2 silver stags - Sweet and chewy, these dried fruits are a natural and healthy treat.
Oatmeal Bar (Berry Nut): 1 silver stag - Filled with hearty oats and fresh berries, a nourishing snack for any time.
Granola Bar (Honey Nut): 1 silver stag - Crunchy and sweet, these bars are a staple for early morning rides.
Snack Mix: 2 silver stags - A savory assortment of dried fruits, nuts, and grains, seasoned to perfection.
Fruit Leather: 1 silver stag - Pureed fruit dried into thin strips, an easy-to-carry snack for travel.
Pretzels: 1 silver stag - Twisted and salted, these pretzels are a classic choice for casual gatherings.
Handheld Pie: 2 silver stags - Small pies filled with seasonal fruits, enclosed in a flaky crust.
Toys and Dolls:
Large Wooden Dollhouse: 25 silver stags - An intricately designed dollhouse, complete with miniature furniture and accessories, reflecting the grandeur of a noble estate.
Large Rocking Horse: 15 silver stags - A sturdily built rocking horse, often a cherished gift to the children of highborn families.
Lifesize Porcelain Doll: 12 silver stags - Beautifully crafted with fine porcelain, dressed in silks and velvets, a collector's delight.
Exclusive Personal Decorative Items:
Decorative Cane (Colors: Black, Blue, Red): 15 silver stags - Elegantly carved and fitted with a silver tip, these canes signify status and sophistication.
Seven-Pointed Star Hand-Carved Cane: 25 silver stags - Adorned with the symbol of the Faith of the Seven, this cane is both a spiritual and a status symbol.
Hand Mirror (Tin Face Plate): 50 silver stags - A practical beauty accessory for noble ladies, framed with ornate silver or gold.
Hand Fan (Various Colors): 3 silver stags - Essential for comfort during summer, these fans are also used to convey subtle courtly messages.
Umbrella (Various Colors): 10 silver stags - A rare and valuable item, often used by noblewomen to shield themselves from the sun or rain.
Wooden Jewelry Box w/ Key: 14 silver stags - A secure place to store valuable jewels and trinkets, often lined with soft velvet.
My Ladies Personal Care Items:
Decorated Ceramic-handled Razor: 5 silver stags - A finely crafted razor with a ceramic handle, ideal for ensuring a smooth and close shave.
Shaving Cream: 2 silver stags - Rich and moisturizing, available in scents that soothe the skin and calm the mind.
Facial Wax Kit: 15 silver stags - Includes everything needed for maintaining flawless skin, ensuring a gentle yet effective treatment.
Tweezers: 2 silver stag - Precision tools for maintaining immaculate brows, an essential in every noblewoman's beauty kit.
Nail Clippers: 2 silver stag - Sturdily built to provide a clean cut every time, designed with a decorative handle.
Decorated Ceramic Back Scratcher: 2 silver stags - A practical yet elegant tool for reaching those hard-to-reach areas, a quirky addition to any noblewoman's boudoir.
Moons-blood Care Kit: 25 silver stags - A discreet and comprehensive kit for the needs of noblewomen, elegantly packaged.
Headache Pills: 5 silver stags - Effective remedies to alleviate headaches, essential for the stresses of court life.
Cramp Relief: 5 silver stags - A blend of natural ingredients designed to ease muscle cramps, a must-have for any lady.
Lip Balm: 2 silver stags - Nourishing balms in various flavors, keeping lips soft and supple in harsh climates.
Decorated Ceramic Toothbrushes: 5 silver stags - Ergonomically designed with a ceramic handle, blending functionality with elegance.
Toothpaste (Varieties: Lavender, Peppermint, Honey): 2 silver stags - Natural pastes that clean effectively while leaving a refreshing taste.
Decorated Ceramic Hairbrush: 14 silver stags - Beautifully crafted brushes that glide through hair, minimizing breakage and enhancing shine.
Decorated Ceramic Comb: 14 silver stags - Fine-toothed combs perfect for styling delicate hairstyles that are common at court.
Oatmeal Soap Bars (Varieties: Heavenly Lady, Sweet Lemon Spice, Morning Dew, Cherry Blossom): 10 silver stags - Luxurious soaps that cleanse gently, leaving skin smooth and fragrantly fresh.
Hair Shampoo (Varieties): 10 silver stags - Specially formulated to strengthen and nourish hair, leaving it lustrous and healthy.
Hair Conditioner (Varieties): 10 silver stags - Rich conditioners that detangle and restore moisture, crucial for maintaining long, beautiful locks.
Body Oil (Varieties): 10 silver stags - Silky body oils that hydrate and perfume the skin, essential after bathing.
Women's Perfume (Varieties): 15 silver stags - Exquisite fragrances crafted from the rarest essences, each scent tells a story of its own.
Home Fragrances:
Scented Candles (Lavender, Lemon, Orange, Mixed Berry): 5 silver stags - Candles that fill the air with calming and refreshing aromas, ideal for any chamber or hall.
Candlesticks: 3 silver stags - Functional yet decorative, these candlesticks are often used in pairs to adorn dining tables or mantelpieces.
Candle Holders (Ceramic): 10 silver stags - Elegantly molded ceramic holders that not only support candles but also add to the room's decor.
Candle Snuffer (Metal): 2 silver stags -A necessary tool for extinguishing candles safely, designed to prevent hot wax splatters.
Flint and Steel Striker: 20 silver stags -A reliable fire-starting kit, indispensable in any noble household.
Strike Sticks: 10 silver stags - Simple yet effective tools for lighting fires, a staple in kitchens and hearths across Westeros.
Chapter 24: The building of a bear - “Spread my wings-I’m doin’ things my way, it’s a new day.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
26th Day of Fennim, 282 AC:
Amarei, Ruma, and I were making our way to what was the farm's last clear acre, which we’ve now dubbed the farm’s event acre. It’s neatly enclosed by a 4ft, white-painted panel fence that stands guard around the entire perimeter. Right where the paths from the farmhouse and the forge intersect, about 100 feet from the brush gate, is the gate that swings open to reveal the heart of our celebration space.
A solid paving stone walkway sits in the middle of the acre and leads straight to the family's newly built Roman-style concrete pavilion, at a height of 8ft and covering a 60 x 40 feet wide space in the middle of the acre. It has three 2ft thick, stacked block columns on each side, giving it a solid yet refined look.
With the drop in temperature, we've tweaked the pavilion to be a year-round hangout spot by connecting eight brown-dyed and waxed sailcloth tarps to the outside ceiling beams that blend right in with the roof tiles. These tarps do more than just keep out the chill; they transform the space into a snug retreat that’s perfect for hosting events like Ruma and Mikell's wedding bash, and Rogar’s name day party, which is right around the corner.
I stood back and took in the scene as Colin and Lomont, along with their apprentices, Darnold and Edgar, finished the few added details to get the pavilion just right. They made sure every little detail was squared away and given the fact that it only took them a little over a fortnight to finish, I think it looks amazing. Once the tarps were rolled down, enclosing it, the inside became an open and vast space ready to be filled with whatever creative event we could come up with.
When we finished soaking in all the details, I hashed out some plans with Ruma and Amarei about making the most of this area for the wedding. We're thinking about setting up three large 20 x 20 feet tents around the pavilion for Ruma and Mikell's big day. One on the left for Ruma’s guests, one on the right for Mikell's guests, and another at the back with a stage ready for Foley’s band to play. With the tent flaps facing the pavilion thrown open and connecting them all together, would turn the space into one massive celebration hall.
Amid all the planning, I was practically buzzing with excitement to see our ideas come to life, but I didn't have time to explain every detail right now. I cut the chit-chat short, since I had to knock out my chores, and helped Alfred with his. As I walked away, I started planning everything we needed to do before supper because we’re sneaking off the farm right after.
Heading over to the newly built shed we use as an office for keeping the farm's records, I pulled out the fall harvest schedule and the list of what Melinda would be planting in the garden spots we just cleared. Once everything was checked and updated, I handed it off to Amarei, who would collect the seeds needed.
Moving on to the SCC shed, I did a quick check to make sure we had all the glassmaking materials we’d need for tomorrow. I had made it clear to Haymeth a fortnight ago that it was time to either stop or recruit someone who could help. And just as I figured, he is refusing to stop but did recruit the farm's own pyromaniac to help!
Running to the mushroom shack, I carefully collected some more mycelium for Hope and stored it in her science cabinet. She was starting her animal trials today and I wanted her to have fresh ingredients in case she needed to make more. Once that was done, I headed to the cliff house where Haymeth and I would show the younger crew how to make up a secret code, invisible ink, and then how to write secret messages to each other for today’s science lesson.
When we first explained the idea of a classroom to TT, she jumped all over it. But three moons ago she restructured the classes and schedule to fit us all better. She is the official school administrator and teaches the letters class or, as I’ve gotten everyone to call it language arts since there learning how to read, write, and spell. Haymeth is now her teacher's aide and the younger kid’s tutor.
Hymeth and G-ma teach numbers and sigils, which is basically Math and Westerosi Geography, with Thala recently being appointed as their teacher's aide and the kids' tutor. And with all the time she spends around the sales crew, I would’ve questioned why if she hadn’t been chosen. Plus, she picked up on counting coins fast as hell.
Rolder is the agricultural teacher and the boys' hygiene teacher. Amarei is the cooking instructor along with teaching the girls' hygiene classes. Hermitage teaches a woodworking class once a sennight for anyone who wants to learn, causing nearly everyone on the farm to attend. Bass teaches basic life skills and weapons training for everyone who wants to learn, with Rogar being his squire, and Jacks being the life skills teacher's aide.
Colin teaches art classes, and I believe that was the real reason he wanted to build the pavilion so he could use it as an outside art studio! Mikell, along with Alfred, handles riding lessons and animal care. Ruma still teaches household management but with a home economics spin on it and sewing classes, which the boys hate—hehehe!
G-ma is technically my teacher's aide for the social ethics class I've been teaching, but if anyone asks, she plans it out and teaches it to me so I can teach it to the younger kids, since I can relate better with them. Haymeth and I are allowed to teach science together, along with Hope or Cirella, whichever is here that day, since there both our teacher's aides.
With classes held five days a sennight, it took only two moons for everyone to grasp their letters and numbers. By the third moon, everyone past five name days was spelling words up to four letters long. We’re now pushing on to six-letter words and adding numbers past ten. Some of the older ones like Toms who we call Tee, Aden who we call Denny, Clarice who we call Callie, and little Merlo who doesn't have a nickname yet have even made their own games and pictured story books.
All of them pick up on things so fast that us “older” kids have had to watch some of the slang words we’ve been using around them after Aden called Edgar a bitch-ass dude in front of G-ma. And of course, she blamed us and gave us a tongue lashing that I actually felt.
We are all learning how to play different musical instruments with Foley instructing us as well. Elmar and Selmond are teaching us how to read Westeros sheet music, which is completely different from what I was taught in band class all those years ago. And Leyla holds private singing lessons for all who want to learn.
In yesterday's lesson, we went over songs I’ve tweaked to fit better in Westeros while passing them off as my own creations. Tonight, they'll be singing three of them at the inn. I’m nervous as hell and hoping they resonate with the smallfolk as well as spotlight a few Westerosi wrongs.
Later, after supper, as the hour of the eel crept upon us, Alfred and I pulled our cloaks tight, hoods up to cover our young faces, and slipped out under the cover of night to catch "The Foley Band" at the inn next to the Mill Market. Haymeth, Callie, and Thala had our backs, promising to cover for us if anyone came looking. With a quick nudge, I sent Bonnie back to the cliff house to stay with Callie until I returned. We then mounted Alfred’s horse Popcorn, and made our way to the inn, the cool night air brushing against our faces as we rode.
When we reached the inn, it was clear the place was packed. The buzz of excitement and chatter spilled out the doors—seemed like almost everyone who lived on Ocean Road was in here tonight. We squeezed into a spot against the back wall, the only place left to stand since all the stools were taken. We ducked behind a group of rowdy regulars, using them as a shield from Tosha, who's the wife of the son of the inn owner. She had become close with Amarei after starting her latest cooking class, and recognizing us could spoil the night.
The air was thick with the aroma of spiced ale and roasted meat, and the energy in the room was palpable. Foley’s free concerts had become a huge hit, drawing in bigger crowds every fortnight. Just as we settled in, hidden from view, the band started their first reinvented song, "I count on me" by Aloe Blacc. Elmar's voice led the charge, with Foley backing him up, and Selmond and Leyla harmonizing:
"If there's one thing that I'm sure about,
It's that I got a lot to learn,
If there's another thing that I'm sure about,
It's that I'm sick of sitting waiting my turn,
I've been knocked around,
Pushed to the ground,
People try to hold me down,
But here's a little thing that I'm sure about,
I'm gone be standing firm when I get back up again."
As Elmar's powerful voice filled the room, the crowd began to sway with the rhythm. A couple of smallfolk near us whispered to each other, "This one really hits home, don't it?" Another nodded, saying, "Feels like he's singing about my life."
"I count on me,
When everybody's counting me out,
I count on me,
When the world is full of doubt,
Through the storm, through the pain,
Through the fire, through the rain,
I count on me,
And that's the way it's gonna be,
When I look around, all that I can see,
Is people trying to shift the blame,
When I look around, yeah it's clear to me,
Something 'bout me ain't the same,
Some people are cold selling their soul,
I don't wanna be that way,
Take a look around, take a look at me,
I ain't never gonna change,
'Cause I know what I believe,
I count on me,
When everybody's counting me out,
I count on me, that's the way it's gonna be.”
The crowd loved it, breaking into applause and cheers as the song ended. A man in front of me shouted, "That's the spirit! We all gotta find our own way through this mess." The energy in the room was electric, everyone feeding off the song's message of resilience.
As the applause died down, Foley and Leyla stepped forward to sing the one song I barely needed to tweak "It's a Man's World by James Brown," their voices entwining with power and soul. Foley's deep, resonant tone carried the room:
"This is a man's world, a man's world,
But it wouldn't be nothing,
Nothing without a woman or a girl.”
"Man thinks about our little bitty baby girls and our baby boys,
Man made them happy,
'cause man made them toys,
And after man make everything,
everything he can,
You know that man makes, coin,
To buy from other man."
" This is a man's, man's, man's world.”
Leyla’s voice followed, strong and clear, adding depth to the performance, making the room feel the weight of every word.
"But it wouldn't be nothing, nothing, not one little thing, without a woman or a girl."
And Foley ended the song with, "But it's a man's world, don't cha' know!"
The song ended with a lingering note, and the room erupted into cheers. "Leyla's got the voice of an angel!" someone called out. Another added, "Aye, and Foley's got the power of the gods in his lungs!"
Then Foley, with a glint in his eye, addressed the crowd, announcing he had a new song to teach them. This was the moment I had been anticipating, one I knew would resonate deeply with the smallfolk of Westeros. The original song, "Rich Men North of Richmond" by Oliver Anthony, needed a lot of adapting to fit this world. Foley introduced, "Rich Men of Kings-Landin’." As he strummed the first chords, the room quieted, the audience eager to absorb the strains of this new tune:
"I've been selling my soul,
Working all day,
Overtime hours,
For bullshit pay,
So I can sit out here and waste my life away,
Dragged back home and drown my troubles away.”
“It's a damn shame what the world's gotten to,
For people like me, people like you,
Wish I could just wake up and it not be true,
But it is,
oh,
it is,
Livin' in the new world,
With an old soul,
These rich men up in Kings-landin',
The Gods know they all just wanna have total control,
Wanna know what you think, wanna know what you do,
And they don't think you know but I know that you do,
'Cause ya copper ain't shit and it's taxed to no end,
'Cause of rich men up in Kings-landin'."
As he sang, I watched the crowd closely, seeing how they reacted to the words. A murmur of agreement rippled through them, heads nodding in time with the beat. "Ain't that the truth," someone muttered nearby, and others echoed the sentiment.
"I wish nobles would look out for commoners,
And not just commoners in a brothel somewhere.”
Lords, we got folks in the street ain't got nothin' to eat,
And y'all obese not caring bout our welfare,
By the Gods, if you're five foot three and you're three hundred pounds,
Taxes ought not to pay for your bags of fun rounds,
Young men are putting themselves six feet in the ground,
'Cause all this damn country does is keep on kicking them down."
The crowd was quiet, listening intently, some with arms crossed, others with fists clenched, as if feeling the weight of the world pressing on them just like the song described.
"By the Gods, it's a damn shame what the world's gotten to,
For people like me, people like you,
Wish I could just wake up and it not be true,
But it is,
oh,
it is.
Livin' in the new world with an old soul,
These rich men in Kings-landin',
The Gods know they all just wanna have total control,
Wanna know what you think, wanna know what you do,
And they don't think you know but I know that you do,
'Cause ya copper ain't shit and it's taxed to no end,
'Cause of rich men in Kings-landin'."
As the chorus came around again, the crowd was fully engaged, some singing along, others clapping in time. "Sing it again!" a woman shouted from the back. "This is the song we need!"
The crowd’s reaction was electric. They hooted, hollered, and demanded an encore. Foley, seeing the enthusiasm, obliged and sang it again, the crowd joining in, their voices rising together, filling the room with a shared sense of defiance and unity. "That’s the song of our lives!" one man declared, his voice filled with emotion. "It’s about time someone sang it out loud!"
"I've been selling my soul,
working all day,
Overtime hours,
For bullshit pay."
As the last notes of music and echoes of revelry slipped into the night, Alfred and I turned our steps toward home. It wasn’t just the lyrics echoing in my mind—it was the thrum of the crowd's voices, their chorus ringing clear under the starlit sky. Hearing them latch onto every word I'd penned, feeling their hearts align with the strains of frustration woven through the melody, affirmed everything. Our ride back, cloaked in the quiet of a star-drenched night, felt charged with a newfound purpose. This night was more than mere fun; it was a revelation. The songs weren't just for us smallfolk, they were a message, a shared cry for understanding that even the highborn couldn’t ignore.
The next morning, I woke up buzzing with excitement, ready for the day. Haymeth and I were determined to walk into that forge and finally create a flawless piece of glass. We'd spent an entire year gathering information from every failure, sourcing new materials, and fine-tuning our process—basically dotting every damn i and crossing every fucking t.
Despite hitting more dead ends than we could count, everything changed when we brought Jacks' pyromaniac ass in for fire management. He cracked the temperature code on his first day, making us feel like fools for not involving him sooner.
Last seventh day, Jacks had squinted at our previous messes and remarked, “I think you’ve been overheating it.” It dawned on us that we'd been treating glass like metal, pushing it far beyond its limits. His suggestion to switch to real coal instead of briquettes for more heat proved to be a game-changer.
Today, standing beside Haymeth and Jacks in front of our new glassmaking furnace with a huge pedal powered bellow attached, there was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air—this attempt was going to be different. We could all feel it in the air and had agreed to spend the whole day in here if needed to get it right.
Haymeth, with his knack for selecting the perfect materials, had spent hours by the cliffs experimenting with sands from various locations, lime, and different types of ash including those from hardwoods, softwoods, and even bones, aiming to discover the ideal mix that would yield the clarity we sought.
I poured over every scrap of information I had noted about glassmaking, seeking any edge we could use, even the old Egyptian technique of using brine to purify the materials. It would be a long shot, but if it worked, it could drastically reduce the impurities that had sabotaged our previous attempts, potentially leading to a cleaner amalgamation.
During our deep dive into the collected research, I discovered that manganese acts as a decolorizing agent, capable of removing the natural greenish tint from materials and I hoped glass was one of them.
Today would be the culmination of all our efforts. Haymeth meticulously measured the purified sand, lime, and ash, while Jacks controlled the furnace, maintaining a steady fire. I adhered strictly to our refined guide, ensuring no step was missed. Jacks started working the pedal causing the furnace to roar to life, its heat causing the air around us to shimmer, filled with the scents of melting materials and burning coal—a constant reminder of the transformation underway.
"I think this batch is going to be the one," Haymeth said a little while later as he watched the ingredients begin to glow.
Jacks nodded, his usual calm interspersed with a flicker of excitement. "Let’s keep our fingers crossed and our eyes peeled. We’re not out of the woods yet."
As the materials melded into a thick, syrupy liquid, Jacks slowed the bellow lowering the temperature. I watched intently as the mixture began to clarify, still slightly cloudy but promising. When it was time, we carefully poured the molten mixture onto the heated metal table, spreading it thin to slowly cool. We waited in an expectant silence, the only sounds being the crackling furnace and the occasional clink of tools as Haymeth set them down.
Once the glass had cooled enough to handle, I lifted it, inspecting it by turning it over in my hands. It was thin, still slightly cloudy, but unmistakably glass—a small, imperfect pane that held the promise of greater things. Jacks couldn’t hide his grin. “I knew it! That’s the right temperature. We just need to refine it a bit more.”
Haymeth nodded, his mind already racing with ideas on how to improve the materials. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched them discuss our next steps. Despite the progress, a nagging thought lingered at the back of my mind—we were so close, so fucking close, yet the ultimate clarity we sought to make our glass truly exceptional was still just out of reach. For the next few hours, we threw ourselves back into our work with renewed vigor. Jacks, ever the perfectionist, continued to tweak the furnace's bellow, seeking the perfect balance of heat and duration.
The next batch was even more meticulously planned: the sand had been finely sifted, washed, and dried already, the lime measured with precision using out metal scale, and the hardwood ash chosen for its clean burn during Haymeth's meticulous tests. As Jacks vigilantly monitored the thermometer, Haymeth introduced the manganese, carefully incorporating it into the molten mix.
The effect was immediate. The glass in the furnace started to clear, the previous cloudiness dissolving as if touched by sunlight. We watched, holding our breath, as the molten glass turned a bright, nearly transparent yellow. When the time came, we once again poured the mixture, spreading it thinner than before, and waited for it to cool.
Finally, as I lifted the now-cooled glass, I knew instantly this was different. The pane was clear, nearly devoid of the imperfections that had marred our earlier attempts. It still bore a faint tint, but it was a vast improvement. I held it up, letting sunlight filter through, casting a bright, clear reflection—a testament to our breakthrough. Haymeth leaned in, scrutinizing the glass with a critical eye, then slowly nodded, a smile spreading across his face.
“Is this it?” Jacks asked, his voice tinged with awe. “This is what you’ve been working towards all this time, cool!”
Haymeth and I exchanged knowing glance—this was a huge fucking step, but it was just the beginning. There was still more to learn, more to refine, but for now, we allowed ourselves a moment to revel in our success. Holding the clear glass, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, I knew with this newfound clarity, we could create the glass covers for our clocks, along with all our science tools now.
I took a moment to wonder what the Night's Watch would do with it once Garrick sold it to them this spring in exchange for Rolcker's release from his ill-conceived oath. I even had a list of “tips” for the Lord Commander if he’s smart enough to use them. Partnering up with House Manderly for distribution will open up a future brimming with possibilities for the Wall.
I couldn’t wait for Garrick to get back from his trip to Dorne now, and I hope he took it to heart when Amarei told him to make sure he’s back in the Westerlands before the new year. I did not want him to get lynched for being a Westerlander in Dorne when word reached them of Elia and her babes. That’s gonna sit with me for a while and since I’m in a body so young I can't do shit to stop it without putting us in hot water.
An hour later, still riding high on our success, we were ready to push our limits even further. It didn’t take long before we set our sights on making the glass cover for our new clocks. Hermitage had already crafted a sturdy wooden frame, so our task was clear as day: make a flawless, circular glass face that would fit perfectly into his work. Haymeth took charge of the design, making sure every dimension was spot on. We kept it simple for our first attempt—nothing fancy, just something that worked.
I got busy crafting the mold from clay using his design, shaping it carefully to ensure the surface was smooth. This clock face had to be not just clear, but flawless—no bubbles, no imperfections, nothing to screw it up. We refined our process down to the smallest detail, experimenting with cooling times by tweaking the temperature ever so slightly. Every step had to be perfect; there was no more room for errors.
Once the mold was ready and the glass mixture perfected, it was time to bring it all together. We heated the furnace to the exact temperature we’d figured out and carefully poured the molten glass into the mold. The liquid settled smoothly, filling every curve and crevice of the clay form. Jacks and I watched closely, making damn sure the temperature stayed steady as the glass cooled.
The cooling process was the most nerve-wracking part. We’d learned the hard way that rushing it would lead to cracks or warping, so we forced ourselves to be patient. The glass needed to cool slowly and evenly. We checked on it constantly, each of us holding our breath as we waited. When the glass had finally cooled enough, Haymeth carefully removed the mold, and we all gathered around, the anticipation thick as hell. The glass was thin, perfectly round, and had a surface so smooth it reflected light beautifully. It was clearer than anything we’d made before, with only the faintest tint of color from the manganese.
As I held the piece up to the light, it shimmered like a piece of the morning sky. The clarity was almost mesmerizing, and I could already picture it as the centerpiece of a clock, with brass hands ticking away behind it. Haymeth, with his craftsman’s eye, inspected the piece, running his fingers along the edges.
“It’s perfect,” he murmured, a smile spreading across his face. “We fucking did it.”
Jacks grinned, clearly pleased with our accomplishment. “We’ll fit it into the frame and have Rogar add the mechanisms,” Jacks said, already thinking ahead.
The simple wooden frame Hermitage had crafted for this first clock would highlight the beauty of the glass without overshadowing it. The frame was uncarved, made from the finest oak Hermitage could find, sanded smooth, and finished with a light varnish that brought out the wood’s natural grain. It was designed to complement the clarity of the glass without drawing attention away from it.
Once Rogar finished assembling it, the clock looked nothing short of remarkable. The glass cover gleamed with an ethereal clarity, perfectly contrasted by the simple wooden frame. As the hands of the clock began to move, driven by the mechanisms Rogar had painstakingly assembled, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of accomplishment. We stepped back, admiring our creation—a testament to our determination.
The grandfather pendulum clock was not just a mere timekeeper but a visual and artistic spectacle. Standing tall with a meticulously crafted face, it displayed twenty-four distinct symbols, each intricately detailed and representing an hour of the day. At the stroke of midnight, a delicate white and black ghost marked the beginning of a new day. The hours progressed with equally captivating symbols: a white and black moon at 1 AM, a gray wolf at 2 AM, and a gray star at 3 AM signaled the quiet of the night.
As dawn approached, a black nightingale with white eyes graced the 4 AM hour, followed by a white owl with black eyes at 5 AM, heralding the early morning. The clock’s design transitioned into brighter tones as an orange-shaded eagle at 6 AM and a vibrant orange sun at 7 AM symbolized the break of dawn. The day's progression saw a gold lynx at 8 AM and a lion at 9 AM, encouraging a start full of courage and vigor. A brown bear at 10 AM and a gentle brown doe at 11 AM brought us to the turquoise tortoise at noon, marking midday with a calm presence.
The afternoon was depicted with a turquoise rabbit at 1 PM, a blue cow at 2 PM, and a red rose at 3 PM, embodying the vitality and color of the day. Industriousness was captured by a black and yellow bee at 4 PM, while the approaching evening was hinted at by a black raven with white eyes at 5 PM. Dusk was signaled by an indigo bat at 6 PM, transitioning into the evening hours marked by a festive table set at 7 PM, a violet-shaded eel at 8 PM, and a trout at 9 PM.
The day concluded with symbols of rest and dreaming: a white bed at 10 PM invited relaxation, and at 11 PM, closed eyes shaded in white marked the hour for dreaming, bringing the cycle back to midnight. Each symbol was evenly spaced around the clock face, ensuring clarity and readability. The hour hand moved in a slow, measured rotation, completing one full cycle every 24 hours, while the minute and second hands moved with familiar precision. This unique design grounded the clock’s whimsy in the rhythm of time.
This clock was more than a functional object; it was the farm's first collective creation—a work of art that beautifully blended practicality with a representation of the natural world and the passage of time. Watching the hands tick forward, a surge of pride welled up within me. This extraordinary creation not only kept time but also told a story of life's cyclical nature and the farm's shared experiences.
29th Day of Fennim, 282 AC – Clarice “Callie” POV:
I found myself squeezed into our classroom today, packed with everyone from the farm. My cousin Taytay, brothers Roe and Jay, along with our—I don’t know what Aims is to us. I saw his pa and my ma kissing, so would he be my brother soon? I would have to ask La-la, my big sister whose real name is Thala, but I don’t like it, so I gave her a nickname!
We weren’t going to go over any of our normal stuff about “social ethics,” which Granny always dozed off during; but even she was awake today, which told me this was something special. Everyone was here—my whole family, the farm workers, even Foley’s family, who were always around when something interesting was happening. The room buzzed with curiosity, all eyes on the strange contraption in the corner that Roe, Taytay, Jay, and Aims had been working on for what felt like forever.
And now, finally, we were going to see what all the fuss was about. Taytay looked proud, and she had every right to be. This was something none of us had ever seen before. I watched as Taytay took charge, her voice cutting through the low murmurs as she called us all to attention. "Alright, everyone," she said, and even Granny straightened up in her rocking chair looking at her. That’s when I knew for sure this wasn’t just any lesson.
We all crowded closer: "Today’s lesson is a little different," Taytay continued, a hint of a smile on her face. She pointed to the clock, which, even though it was finished, still looked like it had some secrets to reveal. "This here is a clock—our newest creation."
Excitement rippled through the room. You could practically feel everyone leaning in closer, eager to understand what this clock was all about. Granny’s eyes twinkled with curiosity and all our faces lit up in wonder at it. Taytay didn’t waste any time diving into her explanation. "Each symbol on this clock stands for an hour of the day, and each one is tied to something from the world around us."
I was hooked, just like everyone else. Taytay started pointing out the symbols, starting with the bright orange eagle at 6 AM. "This is the Hour of the Eagle," she explained, her finger tracing the symbol, "marking dawn—the start of our day, full of new chances."
I could almost see the eagle soaring in the sky, feeling the promise of a new day. Then, Taytay moved on to the gold lynx at 8 AM. "This one’s the Hour of the Lynx," she said, her voice steady, "a time to get sharp and ready for whatever the day throws at us."
The lynx looked ready to pounce, and I could feel the energy in the room shift—everyone was thinking about what they did in those early hours.
By the time she reached the lion at 9 AM, everyone was hanging on her every word. "And here’s the Hour of the Lion," she said, her voice growing stronger, "reminding us to tackle the morning’s challenges with courage."
I couldn’t help but feel a little braver, just thinking about that lion, ready to face whatever came our way. Noon was next, and the turquoise tortoise caught everyone’s eye. "The Hour of the Tortoise," Taytay said, her tone softening, "is about slowing down, taking a breather under the midday sun."
That tortoise seemed to know something we didn’t, like the secret to enjoying those quiet moments when the day was at its hottest.
Taytay didn’t miss a beat as she pointed out the rabbit at 1 PM and the cow at 2 PM. "The rabbit encourages quick thinking," she said, "and the cow, steady progress."
I could almost picture the rabbit darting through the fields, quick and clever, while the cow took its time, plodding along but never stopping. At 4 PM, a bee showed up, and I couldn’t help but grin—bees were our thing on the farm. "The Hour of the Bee means there’s still work to do," Taytay said with a nod, "so let’s get to it before the day ends."
That bee was like a little reminder, buzzing in our ears, telling us to keep going, no matter how tired we got.
As the day wound down, the indigo bat at 6 PM signaled evening was near. "The Hour of the Bat means it’s time to start wrapping things up," Taytay explained, and I could almost feel the night creeping in, cool and quiet.
Finally, she highlighted the eel at 8 PM and the white bed at 10 PM. "The eel signals night’s mysteries," Taytay said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "and the bed? Well, that’s when we rest and get ready for tomorrow."
That eel seemed to slither through the darkness, full of secrets, while the bed promised comfort and rest after a long day. Taytay wrapped it up at midnight with the ghost symbol. "And at midnight," she said, her eyes twinkling a bit, "the Hour of the Ghost is the perfect time for those quiet stories we share in the dark."
When she stepped back, everyone seemed to get it. The room was full of nodding heads and eager looks. "This clock isn’t just about time; it ties each hour to something real in our lives," Taytay said, pleased with herself. "As the hands move, you’ll see how our day plays out with each passing hour."
Everyone was talking about the clock, our heads full of new ideas about how each symbol tied into our lives. I couldn’t help but feel a little proud myself, knowing that this clock was something my family created—it was so cool! Looking back at the Hour of the Lion, then at the Hour of the Bear, I realized I get all that time to myself to read, since I am not touching a freaking weapon. I'm going to be a lady, and ladies don’t do that!
Notes:
Songs used this chapter:
Chapter song: "New day" by Patti LaBelle.https://youtu.be/80s8eRIthO8?si=RCAjr8EDlGhPcsqw
The Foley Band Song's:
* "I Count on Me" by Aloe Blacc.
Westeros version: "Me" by Elmar Foley.https://youtu.be/4jxqboZU89Y?si=hc_NRJWHmVC-l8gK
* "It's a Man's World" by James Brown.
Westeros version: "Nothing without a woman" By Foley and Leyla Foley.https://youtu.be/B9-7swuZi4E?si=MdYYhyiJiECCrlX4
* "Rich Men North of Richmond" by Oliver Anthony.
Westeros version: "Rich Men of Kings-Landin" by Foley Foley.https://youtu.be/sqSA-SY5Hro?si=78vBbtrvVGn2O0YW
Chapter 25: The Visitor – “Gold all in my chain, gold all in my ring.”
Chapter Text
2nd Day of Novem, 282 AC – The Rock, Janelle:
Janelle's connection to the Lannisters of Lannisport was not just a footnote in the family annals; it was a lineage she wore as both shield and armor. Positioned within this storied lineage as a second cousin to Joanna and a third cousin to Genna Lannister, she had become an integral part of Tyrion's life, especially following Joanna's tragic death. Joanna had been more than just family to me, a kindred spirit in this gilded cage, Janelle thought as she recalled the softer moments they had shared. Genna, recognizing Janelle’s compassion and capability, entrusted her with Tyrion's care—a responsibility that Janelle embraced with both hands.
In the sprawling, cold corridors of Casterly Rock, Janelle was Tyrion's steadfast protector. She was his barrier against the sharp tongues and colder hearts of his father Tywin and sister Cersei, ensuring he experienced warmth and belonging amid the starkness of his ancestral home. Every snide remark from Cersei was a dagger, but every smile from Tyrion was a shield, she mused, her resolve hardening with each passing day. Janelle’s protection extended beyond mere emotional support; she was a tactical guardian, deftly navigating the treacherous waters of Lannister politics to shield her charge.
As Tyrion grew, so did Janelle’s affection and admiration for his astute intellect and sharp humor—qualities that endeared him to her and made her task all the more critical. Janelle often found herself at odds with Cersei, whose treatment of Tyrion was anything but sisterly. This friction only strengthened Janelle's resolve to provide Tyrion with moments of normalcy and happiness, rare as they might be within the golden walls of this fortress.
The opportunity for escape arose on a day brimming with the promise of adventure. The Westerland army had been marching for nearly two moons. With Genna's tacit approval—secured through Janelle's persuasive assurances of safety—plans were set into motion. Janelle dressed Tyrion in the simple garb of a commoner, a disguise he adopted with surprising ease, slipping into the role with a flair that hinted at a life less constrained. As they prepared to step outside, Janelle thought he looked almost free, a bittersweet pang tightening her chest.
Alden, her husband, often remained a mystery, even to those who knew him as a lord. His frequent, covert trips to Lannisport's Street of Steel to sell his inventions were a testament to his inventive spirit and need for anonymity. His admiration for Tyrion was based on a shared appreciation for knowledge and ingenuity. On this day, Alden led Janelle in her scheme, eager to show Tyrion a world where his value was defined not by his stature or family name but by his sharp mind and curious heart.
Alden and Tyrion together ventured into the bustling streets, allowing Tyrion a taste of freedom. This day of simple pleasures and unexpected friendships would later be remembered as a rare moment of unfiltered joy and normalcy in Tyrion’s otherwise scrutinized existence. Today, he is just a boy, not a Lannister, Janelle reflected, watching Tyrion with a mixture of pride and a protective sadness, knowing all too well the walls they would have to return to.
The hour of the Lynx (8am) - Tysha POV:
We'd just arrived at the mill market to set up our booth when Alden’s merchant cart came bouncing down Ocean Road like it was on a mission from the gods. The sight of that cart always sparked a wave of anticipation—or maybe it was just my hope that it wouldn't fall apart before reaching us. I crossed my fingers, hoping he’d stick around long enough for me to rope him and Rogar into wrestling with the windup fan we've been tinkering with. This contraption had the potential to be the cash cow of the general store—if, that is, we could manage to keep it running longer than a hiccup. It was a simple enough idea: a fan to ward off the summer heat without needing to crank it by hand every two minutes, but making it work reliably was turning out to be a real comedy of errors.
As I glanced back at our so-called "bus" cart, my attention was momentarily hijacked by the circus of activity around it. A few smallfolk wives were already deep in negotiation with Amarei, probably trading secrets or haggling over prices. The bus itself was quite the spectacle at the market, capable of seating an army—or at least twenty-four of us—and stretched the length of two normal carts. It sat a little lower to the ground than other carts, thanks to its clown-car-sized wheels and its bizarre construction where the seating wasn’t directly connected to the cart but to the frame it was built on, making it look like a bit of an engineering afterthought.
When we first got our hands on it, Hermitage and Rolder had the bright idea to take the whole thing apart just to add the 'necessary' upgrades. Now, it boasted a waxed tarp that could be stretched over the top like a convertible, offering some much-needed shade or protection from the rain. They also added leaf springs for what they optimistically called a 'smoother' ride and metal ball joints to make it easier for our mules, Fred and Ethel, to pull. All these modifications not only made it more comfortable but turned it into something of a local legend in our little corner of the world.
The interior had already been fitted with a short divider wall running down the middle of the cart, a safety feature designed to keep the kids strapped in securely in case a wheel decided to spontaneously combust—no more incidents of kids flying or falling from carts during a bumpy ride. This setup also allowed the kids to pair up with the one next to them on the bench on their side of the wall. We bigger kids usually claimed the back benches on either side of the wall, leaving the front ones for the littler ones, who were often more than happy to be up front where they could gawk at everything.
Today, the entire left side of the cart was crammed full of wares for sale, making it look even more like a traveling merchant's fever dream. I hustled over to help Rolder, Colin, Jacks, Thala, and Hymeth with the unloading, each of us moving with the well-practiced ease of those too familiar with the routine. Meanwhile, Amarei was deep into what looked like a riveting gossip session, probably catching up on the latest scandal, and G-ma had wandered off to chat with Bert and Ernie, likely either negotiating a deal or just exchanging the usual pleasantries.
With all this bustling activity, the hope of catching Alden for a serious chat about the windup fan was slowly turning from a flicker of optimism into a wistful dream as the market morning wore on.
Tyrion POV:
As we traveled through Lannisport on Ocean Road, Alden chatted about the clock he’d helped a young but exceptionally bright lad named Rogar construct. This marvel, unlike anything I’d ever heard of, was described by Alden as one of the world’s greatest inventions yet. Intrigued by Alden's description, I found myself pondering the intricate gears and dials of the clock, wondering how such a contraption could influence timekeeping and artistry in our world.
Our journey along the Ocean Road was filled with quiet conversations, Alden’s subtle guidance easing me into the reality of our task. The merchant cart we traveled in was a far cry from the luxury I was accustomed to, but the experience was oddly exhilarating. There’s a certain thrill in stepping away from the gilded cage of nobility, even if only for a day. It felt like freedom—a rare commodity in my world.
When we finally arrived at the L-6 Ocean Road farm, the sight that greeted me was not what I had expected. A well-carved tall stone stood embedded in the ground as a marker, signaling where to turn to enter the farm. There was just enough space for maybe three carts to wait off the Ocean Road before entering the entrance gate.
As we approached, massive wooden beams rose vertically, crisscrossed by sturdy horizontal bars, framing the gate that both invited and warned. Above, the farm's name was etched deeply into the seasoned wood, each letter a testament to generations of care. Delicate yet strong ironwork curled around the timbers, mirroring the complexity of the lands it guarded.
There, standing amidst the morning light, was a girl of striking beauty. Alden introduced her as Clarice, though she quickly added that everyone called her Callie. Her knee-length blond hair cascaded in soft waves, clean and radiant as the dawn itself. Her cheeks were flushed with the natural color of youth, her lips full and inviting, and there was a simplicity to her that immediately captivated me. In her presence, I was reminded of the purity of things untainted by the harshness of the world.
She wore a plain dress, yet it possessed a strange beauty, fastened at the front with unusual clasps that piqued my curiosity. The fabric was unlike any I had encountered—neither linen nor wool, but something entirely different, something that whispered of foreign lands and distant shores.
When Clarice’s eyes met mine, she smiled—a smile that was warm and welcoming, a smile that held no judgment, only curiosity.
"Good morning, Alden," she greeted him, her voice as light as the breeze that rustled the leaves. She then turned her attention to me, her eyes widening in surprise. "Hi!" she exclaimed, before glancing back at Alden. "You have a son!?" She curtsied then, a gesture both polite and endearing, and introduced herself to me. "My ma said we curtsey when we meet new people. My name's Clarice, but everyone calls me Callie! What's your name? How old are you?"
She spoke with such speed that I barely had time to open my mouth before she was off on another tangent, asking Alden about having a daughter. Alden, seemingly accustomed to her rapid-fire questioning, quickly clarified, "No daughter. His name is Tyrion, and you and he should be about the same age."
At this, she looked back at me, flashing another one of those beautiful smiles before her eyes grew large with curiosity. "Oh, do you have dwarfism?" she asked, her tone filled with genuine interest rather than the usual scorn I encountered. She continued without missing a beat, "That’s so cool! We learned about it in our science and social ethics classes. Ya wanna play with me? All the boys are in the training yard until the Hour of the Lion with Uncle Bass, so I have nothing to do until the Hour of the Bear when our language arts class starts."
I barely nodded my head before she grabbed my hand and began pulling me down the dirt path, waving goodbye to Alden with the ease of a child who knew her place in the world. While I was trying to piece together what a ‘Language arts’, ‘Science’, and ‘Social Ethics’ class were, she called out, "We'll see you later at lunch." What in the gods is that? I started to ask when she cut me off by asking me another question, "Do you know all your letters and numbers?"
"Yes," I managed to say, realizing that if I didn’t answer quickly, she would simply move on to the next topic.
"Really? Can you spell your name?" she asked, her eyes bright with excitement.
"Yes!" I replied, and before I could even ask why, she was spelling out her own name. "C-L-A-R-I-C-E," she recited proudly, then added, "And I can spell my nickname too. See—C-A-L-L-I-E. Oh, we can make you a nickname too! Spell your name."
"T-Y-R-I-O-N," I spelled out for her, and then, with the sort of seriousness only a child can muster, she sounded it out, saying, "Ty! That can be your nickname! None of my brothers or sisters are named Ty! My cousin Tysha's name starts with TY, but we call her Taytay. Are you tired? Should we rest?" She asked, but before I could even consider answering, she was off again, chatting about her sister Jani, and how when she takes her to their “playground” and to visit the animals, they need to rest a lot but that she was a whirlwind of energy, and only she knew it.
I found myself being completely intrigued and swept along, my usual defenses crumbling in the face of her relentless cheerfulness. We stopped briefly to check on some animals—Billy the goat and her new babe Jean, Daisy the cow and her babe Duke. Callie seemed to have a connection with each of them, treating them with a kindness that only comes from those who truly care for the creatures in their charge.
When we finally reached her house, Callie introduced me with the same enthusiasm she had shown before, calling me "Ty, Alden's son, and her new best friend," to a woman who she called her Ma Gwen. The woman, who looked like a goddess, turned to look at me, then at Callie, with a little smile. "That's nice, sweetling. Now, how are you and your new best friend going to spend your free time?"
As I followed Callie’s gaze, I noticed a moving picture with ‘Is that glass?’ standing in what appeared to be a solar, with long settees arranged around it. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, yet I understood its purpose almost instantly. Her mother, noticing my interest, smiled and asked Callie to show me their clock.
Callie’s words tumbled out faster than I could keep up, but the concept she explained made perfect sense. I could understand why Alden had spoken so highly of it. It was a piece of craftsmanship that defied the expectations of smallfolk, something that belonged more in the halls of The Red Keep, than in a modest farmhouse.
She led me into what she called the kitchen, a small but well-maintained area that, like the rest of the house, was far removed from the hovels Maesters often described. I had to suppress a laugh at how different this reality was from what I had been taught. My thoughts were interrupted by Callie introducing me to her little sister, Jani, who also had dwarfism.
"Ty, this is my little sister, Jani. She has dwarfism too," she whispered conspiratorially in my ear. "She's my favorite, but don't tell Lala or Tessa!"
I knelt down to Jani’s level, and as I did, Callie dashed off, saying, "I'll be right back, they forgot her stuffed teddy bear!"
While Callie was away, I turned my attention to Jani, smiling gently. "Hello, Jani," I said softly. She looked at me with wide eyes, her small form clutching a doll almost as big as she was. I felt an unexpected kinship with her, knowing all too well the challenges she faced. "I've never met someone like me in person before. I promise, if you ever need me when you are older, I’ll look out for you."
Jani smiled, a tiny, hopeful expression that warmed my heart.
"Really?" she whispered back.
"Really," I confirmed, my voice firm with a promise I intended to keep. This brief exchange, though simple, felt profound—a vow made not out of duty but out of shared understanding.
Callie returned then, hugging a well-worn teddy bear to her chest. "Here he is!" she exclaimed, jumping back into the conversation without missing a beat. "Now, where were we? Oh, Ty, do you like games?"
We moved into a room filled with bookshelves, another one of those clocks, and a wall of games, and Callie was already reaching for a game before I could even ask what it was.
"Since you know your letters and numbers?" she asked brightly, not waiting for an answer before adding, "Today is the spelling bee, but you don’t have to join if you don’t want to. But we've been trying to beat Aimes for a moon now, so your help would be appreciated if you do! The teen-faces think they’re so smart, but if we can beat Aimes, we can beat Al. And if we beat Al," she leaned in and whispered, "Taytay, who I think is the smartest person on the farm, will join just so we can’t get one up on them—or is it down? I’m not sure, but we want to win for the “clout” of it all—that’s what Taytay says. While we wait for class to start, we can play letters, charts, and blocks, or we can play another game together before we start."
She pulled out a simple counting game, laying it before me with a confident grin. “Here, let’s start with this,” she said, clearly expecting me to struggle. But the game was child’s play, and I finished it in seconds, my fingers moving deftly as I completed the sequence. Callie blinked, her smile faltering just a bit before she quickly reached for the next game—a block letter matching set.
She explained the rules with the same enthusiasm, showing me how to match each block to the word and animal on the card. Once again, I breezed through it, my movements precise and sure.
Callie’s brows furrowed as she watched me, her earlier confidence giving way to a look of wonder. “You’re really good at this,” she muttered, more to herself than to me. Determined to see how good I could spell, she pulled out what she said was the hardest game they had called “Scrabble.” “Okay, let’s see how you do with this one,” she said, her tone taking on a challenging edge as she set up the board.
We played in near silence, her focus entirely on the game as I effortlessly spelled out words that earned me high points. She was still grappling with the realization of my skill when the door creaked open, and four boys walked in.
“Hey! Tee, Denny, Egg, Don!” Callie called out; her earlier concentration forgotten in the excitement of introducing me. “This is Ty,” she said, grinning as she pointed to me. “He’s Alden’s son. He’s really cool, and has dwarfism like Jani, but he’s, our age! And Ty, these are my brothers. This is Toms, but we call him Tee, Aden who we call Denny, that’s Egg but his name is Edgar, and Darnold who we call Don.”
The boys looked at me with curiosity, and one by one, they greeted me with a mix of awe and friendliness. “Hi, Ty,” Tee said, nodding approvingly at the Scrabble board. “You’re pretty good at this.”
Callie, clearly proud of me, her new friend, added with a giggle, “Isn’t that so freaking cool? He’s gonna win the spelling bee for us for sho’ today.”
The boys echoed their greetings, their expressions a mixture of intrigue and admiration as they watched me play. Their “Oohh’s” and “Aahh’s” punctuated the room each time I placed a high-scoring word on the board. I could tell that my skill had impressed them, and for once, I didn’t feel like the odd one out, the Lannister with the twisted legs and the quick tongue. In that moment, I was simply Ty, one of them, and it was a feeling I found strangely comforting.
Just as I was about to place another word, the door opened again, and Callie’s mother entered the room, along with a boy who had an air of authority about him. This must have been the famous Aimes. His presence commanded the attention of everyone in the room, and the chatter quickly died down.
"Everyone, sit in your desks," her ma said. Then she turned to me with a smile, "Ty, will you be staying for class, or do you want Haymeth to escort you to the workshop where your pa is?"
The idea of staying intrigued me, the chance to experience their lessons firsthand was too tempting to pass up, and I told Callie I would try to win this ‘spelling’ competition for them. "I’d like to stay," I replied, my voice steady, masking the excitement bubbling beneath the surface.
"Very well," she said, pleased, and sent Aimes to fetch a desk that would better suit my needs. He returned with a desk similar to the others, yet clearly designed with someone like me in mind. Then, he brought in what he called a "climber," a stepstool with a railing attached, making it easier for me to reach the seat.
"Walk up the stairs and have a seat," he instructed, his tone respectful, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. I did as he said, finding the desk surprisingly comfortable to be so far off the floor. "This will be Jani's desk when she joins," Callie’s ma explained, and I couldn’t help but feel a small thrill of satisfaction at the thought of being included so thoughtfully. Then I took note of something peculiar: none of them actually looked alike, but I wouldn’t be so rude to my new friends to mention it, not after the kindness they have shown.
As time passed, I was so absorbed in the novelty of the situation, the level of learning these smallfolk children were engaged in, that I nearly missed the conversation happening behind me.
“Ready for the spelling bee?” Aimes asked Aden, his tone light but laced with the confidence of someone who was used to winning.
Aden nodded, but instead of answering, he pointed to me and said, "We have someone who can beat you now." Aimes’ gaze shifted to me, his brows raising in surprise as if he didn’t believe it. “And what, you think he could beat me, the farm's spelling bee champion?”
Callie, ever the enthusiastic defender of me, it seemed, piped up before anyone else could speak. “Ty is really smart like his pa, and he’s our age and really good at games too! Be ready to lose, teen-face!”
“Sweetling, what happens when you insult someone in this class?” her ma asked, prompting Callie to get up and walk to the other side of the room and sit in a chair facing the wall. “Sorry, ma,” Callie said with her head down.
This caused me to look back at her brothers, who all sat behind our row of desks, noticing they were holding back laughter while Tee shook his head at me, signaling not to say anything and to turn back around.
Aimes chuckled, clearly impressed despite himself. “Well then, Ty, are you going to join the spelling bee?”
For a moment, I hesitated. Not out of fear, but out of a lifetime of conditioning that had taught me to guard against situations where my stature would be used against me. But this wasn’t the Red Keep, and these weren’t courtiers waiting to pounce on any sign of weakness. This was different. These were children—smallfolk—who seemed to see me as nothing more or less than a potential friend.
“I’d like that,” I said, my voice calm, though I felt a flicker of anticipation.
When the spelling bee commenced, I quickly found myself not just participating but excelling. Word after word, I spelled with the kind of confidence that had once allowed me to argue with grown men twice my size. My mind was sharp, my tongue quick, and the other children watched with a mix of admiration and something akin to awe. Each time I got a word right, they cheered me on, their support genuine and heartwarming.
By the time the final word was called, it was clear who the victor would be when Aimes missed the last word, “Skahazadhan,” and I got it right. When my victory was announced, the room erupted into applause, our cheers filling the air. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. It was a smile of triumph, yes, but more than that, it was a smile born of belonging. For the first time, I was more than just the dwarf or the Lannister with the quick wit. I was Ty—a friend, an equal.
As the cheers continued, I realized something that had eluded me for so long: this was what it felt like to be accepted without reservation. To be seen not for what I was, but for who I was. And it was a feeling I knew I would carry with me long after I left this farm.
As Tyrion climbed into the cart beside Alden, he took one last look at the farm that had given him a day of unexpected freedom. With a small sigh of contentment mixed with reluctance, he settled into the seat, his mind replaying the day’s adventures as the cart started down the path, carrying him away from this brief escape and back towards his usual world.
The Hour of the Raven (5 PM) - Tysha POV:
When we made it back to the farm, the atmosphere was tense. The place, which typically bustles on a sales day, was eerily quiet. It didn’t take long to figure out why when we walked into the house to find Bass yelling at the other kids. Alden, who had been coming around for moons now, had been hiding his noble blood. And to complicate matters, he’d brought Tyrion Lannister along with him. It wasn't exactly the kind of surprise we needed today.
Now we were all gathered in the farmhouse, trying to work through the list of potential problems this unexpected visit could bring. We hadn’t even begun to address the complications that could arise from Tyrion's presence. But what was already unfolding was enough to leave us all concerned.
Callie, ever the trusting chatty Kathy, had let them in before anyone could reach the gate. None of us had ever thought of Alden as a stranger—he’d been coming around, dabbling in our projects for a long time now. But Callie, bless her, didn’t see the potential risk, and her decision had everyone believing that the young boy with Alden was his own. Alden, absentminded as he can be, didn’t see any harm in letting the boy mingle. Tee, Denny, Egg, and Don welcomed him into our classes like any other farm kid.
Bass, who usually notices anything unusual at the gate, didn’t catch on until Rogar stormed into the forge, clearly upset. He barely got the words out about our noble guest before Bass was out the door, ready to confront Alden. At the workshop shed, Bass found Alden but no sign of the boy.
When Bass confronted him, Alden tried to explain, “Just showing him folks like us, that’s all,” but it did little to ease Bass’s concern.
Meanwhile, the kids had already taken a liking to the boy, calling him “cool” and “smart,” thinking of him as their new friend. I had decided to wait a couple of years before telling TT and the younger ones about the real me, leaving them unaware of the situation with Tyrion’s ass. But Haymeth and Alfred pulled me to the side, making some pretty clear points on how we could use this as protection.
“Lil dude loved it here and smiled damn near the whole time in class, putting aside the few minutes Callie had to sit in the naughty chair,” Haymeth said.
“Why did Callie, of all people, get put in the naughty chair?” I asked him, knowing she was a star student in that class.
“She called me teen-face again!” he said, while we all burst out laughing.
“She refuses to say shit face still?” I asked as we got back on point.
“He wasn’t even around when I told Rogar that Ty was actually short for Tyrion Lannister, which I still can’t believe none of you noticed who the hell he was. Ole boy literally had one dark eye and one green and shows clear signs of dwarfism. What the fuck, dude—where was your damn brain at?” Alfred asked Haymeth.
Haymeth just shrugged his shoulders and said, “I didn’t think of him as nothing but Alden’s son after Callie said that was who he was! Why would I doubt Callie, who can get ten answers out of you in one minute!” he said, raising his arms.
“Okay, point well made. He wasn’t around when Bass confronted Alden after lunch either because he was helping Don with his pyramid clubhouse and had to literally be dragged away by Callie from the go-kart that Egg, Money, and Cliff are building when it was time for them to depart back to the Rock,” Alfred said.
After the confrontation with Bass, Alden got the message and left the farm, but Bass had made it clear to him that the damage was already done. He did go on to say that the farm as a whole would discuss this and asked him to return since we now had business ties and multiple inventions in the works.
Hymeth, always the mediator, suggested we gather for a quick family meeting that ended up turning into a heated debate.
“Let’s just vote,” Ruma urged, eager to resolve the matter. I was the first to agree, casting my vote to continue working with Alden. His mechanical skills are unmatched by any of us and are invaluable for the general store.
As for Tyrion, if he returns, I'll make it clear to him and Alden that his lordly antics need to stay in check. Hymeth and G-ma supported the idea of having Alden sign a contract if he’s interested in future collaborations, but first, we needed to have a serious conversation about the situation he’d put us in when he did return.
So much for a quiet fucking sales day.
Chapter 26: The things that matter - “Everything is everything. What is meant to be, will be.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
9th Day of Novem, 282 AC – Tysha’s POV:
The crisp autumn air carried the scent of woodsmoke and the lingering warmth of an Indian summer as we gathered on the farm's event acre for Rogar’s name day celebration. The skies were clear, a deep azure that stretched infinitely above us, dotted with the occasional cloud that drifted lazily across the horizon. It was the kind of day that made you forget the harshness of winter's approach, allowing us all to lose ourselves in the joy of family and this new tradition of celebrating each other.
The acre was set up and split into five different sections of fun for today’s events. All the guests and family would feast and hang in the pavilion where Foley’s band was setting up to play for the day. Colin was there as well, setting up his face painting section.
On the right side of the pavilion in the northern corner of the acre, we had two connecting smaller tents set up for G-ma and Hymeth who wanted to share our upcoming winter prep items with our business partners who have all now signed contracts. These are items we do not have in the sales catalog like our oil-burning lanterns, but they will need to take a fire safety class before being allowed to take them home. Our clay fridges, cotton lined felt blankets, the new wood-burning, countertop pizza and bread oven with an attachable window chimney pipe, and our small mantel clocks.
In the southern corner on that side of the acre, a 20 by 30-foot, wooden pole canopy tent is set up. Inside, we have a bench table loaded with pies for the pie-eating contest at the back. Against the left side of the tent, we have five tin tubs set up next to each other for the bobbing for apples contest. Up against the right side of the tent, we have a pumpkin carving area set up on the ground, and a huge paper piñata hanging from the middle pole.
On the left side of the pavilion in the northern corner next to the brush is where the sack race and then archery competition will be held. The south corner of the acre on that side next to the brush had three of our 20 by 10-foot wooden pole canopy tents set up and connected to each other. This is our version of a haunted house tent, where the brave souls that made it to the other side would win a prize.
We had invited our usual guests, who, over the last year, had become not only friends but also business partners. From L-5 Ranch, we welcomed Filner, his wife Abby, and their sons Fin and Flement. Filner, a robust man with a deep, booming laugh, greeted everyone with the enthusiasm of someone who cherished these gatherings. Abby, with her warm smile and ever-ready helping hand, had already taken charge of organizing the food table, ensuring everything would be laid out perfectly when the time came. Their sons, Fin and Flement, mirrored their parents' energy, already racing towards the game tent set up for the day's festivities.
Joining us from L-7 Farm were Kristina, Cirella, and her father Criston. Kristina, always the picture of elegance even in the rustic setting, wore a simple but beautifully embroidered dress that fluttered in the breeze. She immediately set about catching up with Amarei, the two of them exchanging more gossip evident in their animated conversation. Cirella, my bestie, was ready to spank some ass in today’s competition. She wasted no time in challenging Colin to a game of horseshoes, her competitive spirit shining through her playful grin. Her father Criston, a stoic man with a sharp eye for cropping, spent his time talking shop with Rolder and Mikell, discussing the upcoming winter planting season.
From L-8 Farm, Mr. Wilson (Benedict), his wife Joanna, and their sons, Benford and Benic, arrived with their usual punctuality. Mr. Wilson, a man of few words but many talents. He brought along some of his latest woodworking creations for Rogar's name day gift. He’d learned how to make them from taking Hermitage's woodworking class. Joanna, her eyes twinkling with amusement, laughed as her sons wanted to immediately dive into the pie-eating contest preparations, eagerly sizing up their competition. Benford and Benic were always the first to participate in any challenge, and today would be no exception.
Hermitage's brother Herrock and his wife Perriane, along with their lively children Helly, Hubard, Hamon, Harald, Helen, lil Hermitage, Harker, and Helia, joined us from L-10 Farm. Their arrival was marked by a chorus of shouts and laughter as the children, another bunch of "H’s," tumbled out of their wagon, each more eager than the last to start the day's events. Herrock, a mountain of a man with a heart as big as his biceps we've learned with time, waved to everyone as he helped his wife Perriane down from the wagon. Perriane, with her long auburn hair and motherly grace, immediately began organizing the children, ensuring they were all dressed warmly enough for the cool afternoon.
Additionally, Hermitage’s uncles and their families were here to celebrate: Jerren and Darlessa brought their son Joseth, his wife Carol, and their children Jerren, Joseth, Josiah, and James. Jerren Sr., was a man who had seen a few winters and carried the wisdom of each one in his lined face. He shared stories of the past with anyone who would listen, often ending his tales with a piece of advice or a lesson learned from his life as a smallfolk man. Darlessa, a woman of quiet strength, was the glue that held their family together, always knowing just what to say or do to keep everyone in line. Their sons, Joseth and Joffrey, were the spitting image of their father, strong and dependable, with their own growing families by their sides.
Their second oldest son Joffrey, his wife Evelyn, and their children Darlessa and his son named after his twin Jeffryn—who already stayed on our farm are from R-4 Ocean Road’s old lumber mill. Joffrey, a bit more reserved than his brother, had a keen mind for strategy and often led the planning of their cart trades. Evelyn, ever the supportive partner, worked closely with G-ma on the farm's textile projects, her nimble fingers always busy with some new creation. Their children, Darlessa and Jeffryn, were inseparable, often finishing each other's sentences and playing pranks on the other kids, much to the delight of everyone.
From R-9 Farm, Hendry and Gladys, along with their children Herros, Heward, and Hewel, completed our gathering. Hendry, the youngest of Hermitage’s uncles, had a mischievous streak that kept everyone on their toes. He could often be found at the center of any joke or lighthearted competition, always eager to test his mettle against the others. Gladys, his patient and loving wife, managed to keep him in check, her soft-spoken nature balancing out Hendry’s more boisterous personality. Their sons, Herros, Heward, and Hewel, were the perfect mix of their parents, with Herros being the prankster, Heward the diplomat, and Hewel the quiet observer who missed nothing.
As our guests arrived, G-ma greeted them warmly, handing out woolen fingerless gloves, scarves, and hats she had spent countless hours knitting on her new machine. The children's eyes lit up as they received their gifts, each one a testament to G-ma's love and care for everyone who set foot on our farm. She had made sure no one would catch a cold since everything would be outdoors today, and her efforts were met with grateful smiles and hugs from both the children and the adults.
After Melinda passed out cups of hot apple cider and fresh donuts, their sweet aroma mingling with the crisp autumn air, we led all the kids over to Colin's face-painting station. The kids could hardly contain their excitement as Colin, always the artist, transformed each of them into different farm animals. The air was filled with laughter as pigs, cows, chickens, and even a mischievous goat or two paraded around the farm. I, of course, ended up looking like a pumpkin, much to everyone’s amusement.
Once we finished, we headed to the first of many events planned for today: the sack races. Ruma had to explain the rules to everyone since all the men decided they could beat us kids. “First ten to cross the finish line move on to the next round where the first five will move on to the final race for the prize of your choice of family table game. If you fall, you can get back up and keep going!” she finished. Then counted to ten and yelled “GO”.
Now here I am, bunny hopping and trying to avoid the chaos around me on this field. I watched as Rolder took out Bass, who ended up taking out Fin and his pa. Mikell and Colin are somewhere behind me, having fallen the moment we started. Jack's fast ass was in the lead, but Hope was on his tail and would be the first to cross this round.
Starting the second round was me, Rogar, Jacks, Toms, Haymeth, Hope, Benic, Flement, Helen, and Lomont’s grown ass. When we started hopping, Haymeth and Rogar both aimed to take out Hope, so I had to take them out, causing Flement to get caught in the crossfire taking us all out. Lomont just jumped over us and kept hopping towards the finish line, making it right before Helen could get there, causing all the men to shout him out for making it. Which to me was some bullshit; he shouldn’t even have his grown ass in the race!
The final round came, and I was praying Jacks, Toms, or Benic would take out Lomont so Hope could win. She was the fastest out of all us girls, so we were all rooting for her, even the women with G-ma waving her little flag. But in the end, Lomont's grown ass crossed the finish line first after listening to the others on taking out all the kids left. This is a damn shame!
The pie-eating competitions were next, with Alfred’s greedy ass winning out of all of us kids, but not without Benic giving all he had. Now they were both on the other side of the tent puking their brains out-Hahaha! The acre was bustling with energy as the kid's archery competition started. It was designed to display the archery skills of us youngsters. We had ten hundred-pound straw bales with paper painted targets that had concentric circles and a red bullseye in the middle. Making it the perfect setting for this contest. Our families gathered, creating a cheerful atmosphere as they rooted for us young archers.
We were equipped with simple longbows crafted from elm, ready to shoot arrows tipped with blunt ends for safety. The competition was organized by age groups—six to eight, nine to one and ten name days, and two and ten to four and ten name days old—with targets set at appropriate distances for each group. Rolder, Bass, and Herrock judged the event, carefully noting each archer's precision and accuracy.
The event took an unexpected turn when Bass introduced the "New fast-shooting children’s crossbows," aiming to demonstrate their quick capabilities. Some of the other kids who’d never seen them excitedly tried these new crossbows, aiming at the targets to win the coveted crossbows and best marksman medals in white, blue, and green. However, the competition's spirit briefly faltered when the men began taking the crossbows from the boys set to go next to have a go themselves, disrupting the flow.
Feeling a mix of amusement and annoyance at the disruption, I decided to step away from the chaos. I walked over to the Haunted tent to help with decorations for the haunted house and upcoming pumpkin picking and carving session, knowing well that with the men dominating the competition, I wouldn't get another shot at the targets. Despite the brief upheaval, the day remained a joyful celebration of fun and skills, with each kid receiving a token of participation—a small badge or ribbon—to remember the fun-filled day.
Once Amarei picked out her two favorite pumpkins, we all sat down to Rogar's name day feast in the pavilion. The wives had to go round up the men on the other side of the field to come eat and stop competing. Once they took off, all of us kids tried to smash the food before they came back, but there was still a lot of taco stuff left for them to get full, unfortunately. Those assholes deserved nothing!
Foley, the sweet man, started playing his set of new bagpipes to distract the men. We could hear the "Braveheart" melody as we walked to the haunted tent and the other kids started standing in line to enter one by one. As I saw Herros approached the entrance of the tent I went in and got in place to do my part in make his ass piss himself before reaching the other end.
The Haunted tent had an eerie candlelight casting a long sinuous shadow that slithered across the front of the door like a spectral finger. The tent itself loomed ominously; it had a weathered looking wooden door which sent out a groaning noise when opened or closed. The air was thick with the stench of rotting wood and leather, hinting at a grim past. Carved pumpkin lanterns with grotesquely twisted faces lined the way, their flickering candles casting unsettling, dancing shadows that seemed to mock cautious steps.
The entrance was guarded by a massive, leaf filled bodies sitting next to the door that would slide open just a hair when the next victim got close. Chains with sharp, rusted edges hung across the pole beams, clinking softly using the windup fan’s breeze—a sound that seemed to whisper threats in the pitch-black darkness of the tent with three small candle lanterns lit. Amarei had carved them to look like spiders were on the walls giving the tent an even creepier look and feel.
As I heard the rope connected to the door start to move, I slowly started opening the wooden coffin I was hiding in. I snapped it open when I had it halfway up causing it to hit the side of itself with a loud bang. This caused him to not only jump but stop dead in his tracks when I set up fast, with fake blood pooling out my mouth. I slowly started turning just my head so he could see my sickly green painted skin mixing with the fake blood.
That caused him to rush past me right into Mikell who had on a mask that made him look like a white walker. His only job was to open his mouth which would prompt Ruma to break some of our horribly made glass, making it sound like the white walker was trying to talk to him. Dude ran so fast back through the entrance, he damn near broke the door down as he fled.
It bummed me out because he was the one person, I thought would make it to the next section. But I didn’t stay bummed for long because Hewel made it to Gwen, who we had laid out on a bench table while Hermitage stood over her. He was dressed as a maester, playing like he was eating her fake organs straight from her body. Melinda and Amarei spent a lot of time making them and they turned out perfect.
When he ran past that part, he came upon a macabre gallery of horrors. We used cotton to make it look like spiderwebs were hung from the beams, looking like tattered curtains. Using the misting can we made the air in this part of the tent seem damp, cold, and I’m sure it felt like walking through a very thin mist of rain. The area was dimly lit by sporadic torches, each flicker revealed heart-stopping sights: skeletons dressed in ragged medieval garb, some still shackled to the walls with iron chains that had been made to rattle by Alfred who was moaning from somewhere in the tent. Others were positioned in grotesque displays of eternal torment, sprawled on the ground or contorted in silent screams. Torture devices from the darkest medieval days were strategically placed around the room, their cold, iron surfaces glinting in the torchlight.
A cardboard, iron maiden stood ajar, its interior spikes menacingly sharp and stained with dark, dried liquids that were better left unidentified. Near the center, a stretching rack was displayed with a dummy, its limbs stretched to a horrifying degree. The sounds of creaking wood and groaning echoed around it thanks to Colin making it seem as if the device was still in use.
G-ma stood there in an old cloth sheet with a powder white face, cooking fake hands and eyeballs in a cauldron. Reaching out her hand she offered him a cup of the hot liquid. Dude never really makes a sound, but I could hear him screaming like someone was trying to kill him. What he didn’t see coming when he pushed past her part of the tent was the sorcerer's lair escape room in its ghastly splendor. The large fake spell book on the central little leaf table was open to a page with firefly’s glowing fluid painted runes that he would need to figure out before he can depart the area.
Glass jars filled with unspeakable things—fingers, eyes, unidentifiable liquids—bubbled and emitted a phosphorescent glow, casting sickly hues on the tent walls. The little cauldron in the middle of the room next to the table bubbled with a thick, green potion, and every so often, a dense smoke fog spilled from under the sides of the tent, flowing across the floor like a living thing, reaching out as if to pull him down.
Once he flipped the book to the correct page, the escape door through a square narrow wood passage covered with hay would open up. He would then be able to start his descent out of madness. The funny thing was that the longer he took to crawl through, the walls would seem to close in around him with the light at the end of the tunnel starting to flicker as if it might extinguish at any moment and threaten to leave him trapped in the darkness forever.
When he finally emerged into the cool night air, the relief was palpable, yet the bone-deep chill from the tent’s horrors clung to him, causing him to keep looking around and shaking. He ran to his ma and sat next to her, holding on to her arm for the rest of the party.
Once all the grown-ass men started coming over to take turns, I could still hear Foley's "Amazing Grace" in the distance. When the last of them made it past my part, I headed out of the tent done for the evening. I headed to the cliff house to help Thala change lil Merlo's pants after his try and wipe off the makeup before the Haunted Hayride.
Rogar POV:
As my name day celebration drew to a close, the crowd around the pavilion began to disperse. Parents called out to their kids, and the younger ones, tired yet still buzzing from the day's festivities, were herded towards their wagons or our cart bus for the ride home. The fire pits crackled low, sending occasional sparks skyward to mingle with the stars in the crisp night air. Watching the farm return to its usual quiet, I wasn't quite ready to call it a night.
Ma Gwen had graciously permitted a sleepover, and after securing agreement from everyone’s parents, Flement, Hubard, Hamon, and Benic were all set to stay. “Hey, how about we head up to my room?” I suggested, turning to them as we left Al’s apartment above the stable. They had stuck by me throughout the day, and now, as the night began to wind down, it felt right to retreat somewhere more private, where we could keep the fun going a bit longer.
We picked up some leftover pies and cider from the farmhouse and made our way to my place. Lanterns along the path flickered in the cool breeze coming off the sea, casting dancing shadows on our way. The cliff house, tall and dark against the night sky, stood as a comforting, familiar silhouette.
Once inside, the warmth of the house welcomed us. We snuck past my siblings and headed straight to my room—a place where Ma Gwen let me have my freedom. It wasn’t just a room, but my personal retreat filled with picture books, tools, and trinkets from the various inventions I was working on. The bed was large enough for a few of us to sprawl out comfortably.
We kicked off our boots, stowing them on the rack, and settled in. The room filled with the aroma of apples and berries from the pies, mixed with a hint of salt from the ocean breeze sneaking in through the slightly open window. There was no need for much conversation—just being there together was enough. Flement started dealing cards, while Hamon and Hubard debated over which board game to play next. Benic, half-asleep but clinging to wakefulness, leaned against the pillows on the floor, trying to read Colin's latest issue of 'The Avenging Gods.' I knew he'd join in the games once we started.
As we played, laughter came easily, the type that’s only possible with close friends. Every now and then, I’d glance around the room, feeling that same sense of warmth I’d felt all day. This was the best part—being here, in this space, with my best mates, just enjoying the end of a perfect day. The clock showed it was already the hour of the bed, but with tomorrow being a seventh day, we could afford to stay up late.
Eventually, the fire in the hearth dwindled to embers, and the first light of dawn began to peek through the window. One by one, each of the boys had drifted off, wrapped in thick blankets and spread out around the room—Flement and I in the queen-sized bed, Hubard and Hamon on the pull-out trundle, and Benic in the fold-out chair in the corner. The last thought I had before sleep took me was how this day would be one I’d always remember and cherish.
Tysha POV:
My room in the farmhouse transformed into the epicenter of our latest teenage strategy session. Cirella, Hope, Thala, Callie, and Helen piled into my room for what was supposed to be just another sleepover—spoiler alert: it was anything but ordinary. Cirella snagged her usual spot in my bed, while Hope and Thala commandeered the trundle below. Callie and Helen rolled out a mattress on the floor, claiming their territory for the night, all set for an evening that was slated to be about more than just board games.
Hope's been hanging around a lot more these days, not just because she blends in so well, but because her ma has been a frequent visitor, checking on Melinda who's four moons into her pregnancy. The rumor mill churns with whispers of something simmering between Hope’s ma and Bass—maybe a mix of business and pleasure? We skirted around that hot gossip for the night. As Hope steps into a role akin to a junior partner, she and her ma have become staples at our free classes for business partners. Fingers crossed whatever’s brewing between her and Bass sorts itself out soon, ideally with her ma stepping up as our much-needed medical teacher.
But the evening took a sharp turn during a game of Girl Talk when Cirella nonchalantly dropped that she’s crushing on Colin—yes, that Colin. The news washed over us like an icy river splash. Honestly, they’d make a cute pair if you look past the whole she’s-only-twelve complication and the usual Westerosi courtship hurdles. Cirella’s revelation was soon followed by another twist: Mr. Pissmen’s son has been lurking around, eyeing her as a means to secure her father’s lands. Just your average Westerosi romance drama.
Our lighthearted game night morphed into a tactical powwow. Callie, ever the strategist, plotted out a series of innocent run-ins, while Helen ensured our plans remained just covert enough to work. The mission? Engineer a pretend courtship between Colin and Cirella to deter the other suitors, and who knows—maybe we could nudge Colin into actually falling for her if she played her cards right.
As dawn began to break, our covert operation was fully mapped out, from “accidental” encounters by the forge to carefully orchestrated moments at the upcoming harvest festival. Tucked under blankets and amid hushed whispers, what started as a simple sleepover had turned into a full-blown strategic mission. Who needs straightforward sleep when you can weave a web of intrigue that might just push our little corner of Westeros into slightly more progressive dating practices? By the time the sun climbed high, it felt like we’d concocted something monumental—or at least something to keep the gossip mills buzzing for moons to come.
4th day of Decem, 282 AC:
With it being biting cold outside the pavilion, I knew the Battle of the Bells might be raging around this time, or just concluded, but with the slow-moving gossip train, we hadn't heard a thing yet, which is a little crazy considering how much gossip Amarei and Ruma’s friends share every time they come for tea.
The last few sennights brought only a light frosting, with no snowfall, causing just the tops of the water barrels to freeze slightly, not enough to churn ice cream, which was disappointing. I had hoped that with real snow and ice, it would be the perfect opportunity to teach Amarei and Ruma how to make various frozen treats, which we had planned to make for G-ma’s name day celebration like ice cream, sorbet, frozen yogurt, smoothies, iced tea, and cocktails using Rolder’s wheat ale and vodka, but as soon as snow did fall, I would be on it.
G-ma opted for an intimate gathering in the pavilion to celebrate her name day, inviting both her niece's family; our business partners; and her mill market friends, whom I affectionately call the old lady gang. We prepared a large pot of her favorite dish, 'chili', and Amarei and Helly crafted a butter pecan cake adorned with pecan buttercream icing and chopped pecans.
G-ma, who unlike us chose today as her name day, picked this as her preferred time, a nod to the number of children she lost many years ago on this very day. Aware of her deep pain and the life she's endured, we decided to do something truly special for her under my guidance. I spent a fortnight racking my brain, recalling lyrics to songs that would capture her spirit and demonstrate how deeply she is cherished by us all.
After a fortnight of deliberation, I selected two songs I knew would perfectly encapsulate her spirit and show her how much she's loved by us. As Foley began setting up the musical instruments, we cleared away the food and rearranged the seating. We positioned G-ma and her friends' bench in the center of the pavilion, not directly in front of the stage but close enough for an intimate experience. Her niece's family was seated on the second bench, with our business partners and farm workers behind them, and we settled into the last rows of benches.
The first song I chose was “Feeling Good” by the fabulous Nina Simone. Before Leyla began to sing, Callie stepped forward to introduce the song with a heartfelt speech, saying, “Granny, we think this song fits your soul and hope you feel the same way once you hear it. Love you, G-ma!” After her words, she moved aside, allowing Leyla to take the stage.
“Birds flyin' high, you know how I feel,
Sun in the sky, you know how I feel,
Breeze driftin' on by, you know how I feel,
It's a new dawn,
It's a new day,
It's a new life for me,
Yeah,
It's a new dawn,
It's a new day,
It's a new life for me,
Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo,
And I'm feeling good.”
“Fish in the sea, you know how I feel,
River running free, you know how I feel,
Blossom on the tree, you know how I feel,
It's a new dawn,
It's a new day,
It's a new life, for me,
And I'm feeling good.”
“Dragonfly out in the sun,
You know what I mean, don't you know?,
Butterflies all havin' fun,
You know what I mean,
Sleep in peace when day is done,
That's what I mean,
And this old world is a new world,
And a bold world, for me,
yeah,
yeah.”
“Stars when you shine, you know how I feel,
Scent of the pine, you know how I feel,
Oh, freedom is mine,
And I know how I feel,
It's a new dawn,
It's a new day,
It's a new life for me,
Oh, I'm feeling good.”
After Leyla finished the moving rendition of "Feeling Good," G-ma, visibly touched, clapped the hardest of everyone. Her eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, conveyed her deep appreciation. She stood, glancing around at all the familiar, loving faces gathered in her honor, and said with a gentle smile, "I don’t know what to say, darlings. You've truly outdone yourselves today. This song, these lyrics—they’re just so perfect. It’s like feeling the sun on my face after a long night. Thank you, thank you all for this warmth."
I think she stood up to look for us because we could hear Leyla saying, “Your chosen family would like to dedicate this next song to you so you can always remember how much you’re loved.” She then started the next song, "Pieces of Me" by Ledisi:
“People just don't know what I'm about,
They haven't seen what's there behind my smile,
There's so much more of me I'm showing now.”
And when Leyla sang the chorus, “These are the pieces of me,” Amarei, Rolder, Mikell, Colin, and I walked in, each holding white roses. We approached G-ma, with Amarei kissing her left cheek, which made her break out in what I hoped were happy tears. As Leyla continued to sing:
“When it looks like I'm up, sometimes I'm down,
I'm alone even with people all around,
But that don’t change the happiness I found,
These are the pieces of me.”
After the last note, Bass, Ruma—who was holding Rullia—and Alfred walked out, giving her red roses, with Bass giving her a kiss on the forehead.
“So when you look at my face,
You gotta know that I'm made,
Of everything love and pain,
These are the pieces of me.”
Then TT Gwen and her crew walked in, giving her a bouquet of flowers with twenty different colors, with Gwen kissing her on her right cheek.
“Like every woman I know,
I'm complicated for sho',
But when I love I love 'til there's no love no more,
These are the pieces of me.”
In walked Hermitage and his boys with a beautifully carved wooden flower, and he kissed her on the forehead as well.
“So many colors,
That make up the woman that you see,
A good friend and mother,
Anything you want, yes I can be,
I can run the business and make time for family,
These are the pieces of me.”
Melinda walked in front of Lomont, who was carrying Leanna and holding Marcel's hand. Melinda bent down, whispered something in G-ma's ear, and gave her a kiss on both cheeks. Leyla kept singing while we hoped this showed her and everyone here that we are pieces of her as well.
“Now I'm gonna make mistakes from time to time,
But in the end, believe that I'm gon' fly,
No matter if I'm wrong or if I'm right,
These are the pieces of me.”
“So when you look at my face,
You gotta know that I'm made,
Of everything love and pain,
These are the pieces of me.”
“Like every woman I know,
I'm complicated for sho',
But when I love I love 'til there's no love no more,
These are the pieces of me.”
“Oh, as the pieces of me start to unfold,
Now I start to understand all that I am,
A woman not afraid to be strong, strong,
So when you look at my face,
You gotta know that I'm made,
Of everything love and pain,
These are the pieces of me.”
“Like every woman I know,
I'm complicated for sho',
But when I love I love 'til there's no love no more,
These are the pieces of me.”
“I'm a woman,
A woman,
Yes, I'm a woman,
And these are the pieces of me.”
After the last strains of "Pieces of Me" faded away, the pavilion was filled with a resonant silence, broken only by the soft rustle of the wind outside. G-ma, deeply moved, stood surrounded by the many faces of her family and friends, each reflecting a part of the journey she had traveled.
With a tearful smile, G-ma stepped forward, gathering her strength and voice to address everyone gathered. "I'm overwhelmed," she began, her voice thick with emotion. "To see all of you here, to hear these songs that resonate so deeply with my soul—it's more than I could have ever asked for. Each of you is a precious piece of my life, a chapter in the story that is still being written."
She paused, looking around at each of our faces, her eyes glistening. "This isn't just a celebration of my years; it's a celebration of you all, of the love and strength you give me every day. You've made my life a melody, sometimes a symphony, of love and resilience."
G-ma reached out, taking the hands of those nearest to her. "Thank you for being my family, my friends, my strength. I am because we are. And for as long as I live, I will cherish these moments, these pieces of me, reflected in each of you."
As the group came together, enveloping her in a warm, collective embrace, the pavilion seemed to glow with the warmth of their affection and the cool Decem air whispered promises of future gatherings, echoing with laughter and song. This name day celebration, marked by heartfelt music and deep connections, would linger long in our memories, a poignant reminder of the shared bonds and enduring love we have for each other, and it was because we, are family!
Notes:
Songs used this chapter:
Chapter song: "Everything is everything" by Lauryn Hill.
♥Outlawed Tunes On Outlawed Pipes/Braveheart by James Horner.
♥Amazing Grace by Royal Scots Dragoon Guards.
Westeros version: Foley Bagpipes songs.
* "Feeling Good" by Nina Simone.
Westeros version: "G-ma" by Leyla Foley.
* "Pieces of Me" by Ledisi.
Westeros version: "These are the pieces of me" by Leyla Foley.
Chapter 27: The Negotiation Part 1 – “I got power, poison, pain and joy, Inside my DNA.”.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
8th Day of Decem, 282 AC –
At the hour of the eagle, Tysha:
Callie and I were in the tanner's shed, shaving a chunk of ice to make iced tea to go with our breakfast. It was so cold that our breaths came out in thick clouds, swirling with every exhale. I was extremely grateful we had our winter gear ready in time.
We were dressed in our newly designed insulated blue jean bibs we could now wear during farm chores. We were also wearing snowsuits with attached overcoats, gloves, scarves, and hats, all made by G-ma. Wearing them made us feel like we were playing in the snow—cold, yet warm. The boys also loved the ski masks G-ma made for them using my design, which Alfred's crazy ass refuses to take off even inside the house.
The day after G-ma’s name day celebration, I woke up thrilled to see around three inches of snow on the ground. Since then, we’ve been setting full barrels of purified water outside overnight to make barrel ice, which we store in this shed, since it's the only outbuilding we have on the farm without a heating source. It has been thoroughly disinfected and has become part of mine and Callie’s daily routine. Over the past few days, we've made so many tasty frozen treats that most of us don’t even want the snow to melt.
Yesterday, we had a huge snowball fight, with even the grown-ups joining in. We also got a chance to do a little sledding up by the cliff house. For our science classes, we’ve been showing the brat pack all the things you can do with snow and ice.
I helped them make miniature ice sculptures by freezing a mixture of sawdust and a watery snow slurry together. Haymeth even managed to make a makeshift snow machine for them using the windup fan and winnowing box.
G-ma, after tasting ice cream and iced tea, now understands why I said the North is missing out on so much coin by not selling ice to the other realms. It was a hint for her to think of ways to get them to start doing it!
Her appreciation for these simple frozen treats of joy wasn’t as bright today. Soon, at the Hour of the Lynx, we will erect the beautiful headstone made in memory of the loved ones she lost in the flooding of Castamere.
The marker is located in the back corner section of the bee garden park for privacy. This was the last name-day gift we had for her as a family this year. The area is small, only big enough for three two-seater benches, but she loved it and thanked us all. Colin and Lomont built a brick enclosure around it to keep it private from visitors.
Bass is adding a metal bar gate with a lock on it at the entrance. After dedicating it to her and them, we left her there alone to honor those lost family members in peace. The silence in the area felt heavy, but it was the kind of quiet that speaks of respect.
Amarei, Colin, and I are in the process of sculpting figurines in the image of the Seven for her and they'll be placed in the opposite corner. Once we finish them, we'll attach them to the outside of a structure that resembles a sept. Though it’s actually based on Colin's miniature model of the God's hall that he and G-ma designed for his ‘Avenging Gods’ comic books series.
His characters are the Planetos gods, but they're all inspired by my world’s comic book characters. Hahaha! The hall will sit on a small round table with a cushioned kneeling bench in front of it once all the snow melts.
At the Hour of the Bear, Alden had returned for a visit, but only after we had sent Colin to the Rock a few days earlier to arrange this meeting here on the farm. We all sensed the mood would shift as soon as Alden arrived. After bringing him inside, we began discussing the plan to bring Tyrion to the farm and the details of our current partnership.
Rolder sat at the head of the long wooden table, his expression stern because he was pissed that Alden never told us he was a lord. Around him were several members of my family: Amarei, Bass, Hermitage, G-ma, Ruma, Mikell, Colin, Hymeth, Alfred, Rogar, Haymeth, Jacks, Thala, and me. Alden sat across from him, feeling the weight of our collective gaze, I'm sure. The room, usually alive with the energy of the younger kids and the sounds of daily farm life, was uncharacteristically quiet, charged with an undercurrent of tension. The only sounds were the occasional crackle from the metal stove and the soft rustling of clothing as someone shifted in their seat.
Rolder cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “My lord,” Rolder started, before Alden cut him off to ask him to continue calling him by his name. Apparently, he didn't like using titles!
"Alden, we consider you a friend, and your contributions to the inventions this farm has made have been invaluable. But that day, you forced us to confront some hard truths. Bringing Tyrion Lannister here without warning put us all in danger.”
Alden shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his usual confident demeanor faltering. Showing us that this action was weighing on him, more suffocating than the collective stares of those around him. “I realize that now, Rolder. I didn't think about the risk to you.”
Amarei, seated beside Rolder, leaned forward. Her voice was calm but firm, carrying a maternal authority that left no room for doubt. “We may live in better conditions than most smallfolk, but we are still smallfolk, Alden. All it takes is one noble to think we're overreaching or become jealous of what we have, and we could all be killed. You must understand the gravity of that.” Her eyes softened slightly, willing Alden to truly grasp the peril we faced.
"Alden nodded solemnly, the reality of his actions sinking in deeper with each word. The weight of his mistake seemed to grow heavier. 'I do, Amarei. I didn't mean to endanger anyone. I wanted to collaborate with like-minded people and give Tyrion a day of freedom.'
When it came to Alden, who could easily spend a full day with his head wrapped around an invention, I could understand his reasoning. But that Tyrion comment? It made me want to read his ass for filth. Luckily, Rolder gave no fucks about Tyrion’s freedom either, because he shot back, 'You would trade our lives for his day of freedom?'"
"Of course not! This farm is a haven for thinkers like him and myself, and I would not knowingly invite harm to it. I assure you of that, Rolder, on my honor!" Alden said.
Hymeth, ever the diplomat and probably trying to move things along and get Alden to sign the contract, spoke up next, his voice measured and deliberate. “We want to continue working with you, Alden. Your skills and inventions are too valuable to lose. But moving forward, we need to set some ground rules to protect everyone involved.” He pulled a leather-bound book from his satchel and opened it to a page marked with a ribbon. He paused for a moment, allowing the gravity of the situation to settle over the room.
“We've drafted a contract that outlines the terms of our partnership. We'll split the proceeds from any joint projects evenly. You'll have free use of the workshop whenever you need it for these projects and your own. If you choose to add your wares to our sales catalog, you'll receive nine parts of the profits, with the other one part going to the sales team—G-ma, Thala, and myself.”
G-ma nodded in agreement, her wise eyes glinting with a mixture of shrewdness. “You and your wife will also be provided with luxury items we produce here at half cost, along with a complimentary welcoming gift basket, should you become a business partner. You and your family will have access to all our classes and workshops, and we'll provide meals during your visits.
"We've added an additional clause concerning Tyrion. With this being Lannister lands, we cannot stop him from coming here, but he must be accompanied by two junior guards who will act as his protectors while he is on the farm."
“What are junior guards? I’ve never heard of them before,” Alden interrupted.
"A junior guard would be a young, unknighted son of a minor noble or knightly house, trained with swords from an early age and willing to serve in protective duties. They must understand that harming anyone on the farm is strictly forbidden.
Callie and the other children who are friends with Tyrion put together a list of young men who might serve as junior guards and suitable companions for him—ones who are close in age and from knightly houses or distant relatives of the Lannisters. Here’s the list."
Hymeth's voice was calm, almost too calm, as if he were discussing the weather rather than something that could potentially alter the course of many lives. He would’ve been a great lawyer in my world!
Alden scanned the names, recognizing a few. Each name brought with it a host of implications and responsibilities. “I see. This would help ensure Tyrion's safety and perhaps even his happiness. I will do my best to arrange it, and I would like to continue our partnership, so I will sign the contract.” His voice was soft, yet carried a firmness that made it clear this was something he wanted to do.
Hymeth slid the contract across the table, placing a metal quill and a small stamp pad beside it. “Then sign here, Alden, on the dotted line, and place your thumbprint in the circle here.” His hand rested on the contract for a moment longer, silently urging Alden to consider the weight of what he was about to commit to.
Alden took the metal quill he had helped refine, hesitating briefly as he looked around the room, seeing the trust—or perhaps the hope—in the eyes of the farm's family. He signed his name with a flourish. Then, pressing his thumb into the ink, he stamped it next to his signature. As he did so, a sense of finality settled over him, mixed with the faintest hint of trepidation.
Hymeth smiled and handed him a parchment paper copy of the contract, while keeping our paper version for filing in the records shed. “This is your copy. Keep it safe.” His tone was friendly, but there was an underlying seriousness that made Alden clutch the parchment a little tighter.
Once the contract was safely tucked away, Hymeth’s expression turned serious again. The warmth from before was replaced with a cold precision. “There's one more thing, Alden—an NDA, a non-disclosure agreement. This means that whatever you see, hear, or learn while on this farm must never be repeated without our explicit permission, a signed agreement with the farm, and the party you wish to disclose information to. It applies to us as well on your end.”
Alden frowned slightly, unfamiliar with the concept. “An NDA? I've never heard of such a thing,” he admitted, feeling a pang of unease at the unfamiliarity of it all. We're pushing boundaries he had never considered before.
Hymeth nodded, his eyes locking with Alden's, making sure the importance of what he was saying wasn't lost. “It's a legal document that ensures our safety and privacy. We've added another additional clause concerning Tyrion, which he would also need to sign.”
Alden signed the NDA without hesitation, pressing his thumbprint beside his signature. As Hymeth put away the documents, a sense of relief washed over the room. Yet, there was an air of something unsaid, a lingering tension hinting at secrets yet to be revealed.
I hated this, but I had run out of time and didn’t have a choice anymore. I knew he was the missing link when we found out he was a lord and didn’t try to take our inventions for himself. I needed him for the last part of my BAB project. If I didn’t secure this final piece and kept making these changes, we would never be safe. Hell, all our business partners were learning to read, write, and count with TT Gwen’s picture book collection.
On that first snowy day at the market, a little boy didn’t trudge through the snow for who knows how long for the hot rabbit stew or chicken noodle soup we gave out, or even for the free winter items for children—he came for an ABC’s & Coins reading book! Shit was getting real, and I realized I needed a lord on my side. Alden was the perfect choice, despite his little mishap with Tyrion.
“Alden, there are a few more things you need to know,” I said.
Alden looked at me, noticing a seriousness in my eyes that hadn’t been there before. “What would those things be, Tysha?”
I hesitated, glancing around the room as if seeking support from the others. The room seemed to hold its breath as I continued, the tension palpable. “I need to show you something."
I reached across the table, slowly pulling the Valyrian steel sword from its sheath halfway, just enough for Alden to see the unmistakable gleam and ripples in the metal. The sight of it stopped him mid-question, his mouth falling open. His mind was surely racing, trying to reconcile the impossible with what he was seeing.
Without saying a word, I flicked the lighter I had kept hidden in my dress pocket, letting the small flame dance in the warm air between us. I held it for a few seconds, giving Alden time to take in the flame before releasing the pressure and extinguishing it. The object was so out of place in this world—it was enough to make him close his mouth.
His eyes flickered between the sword and the lighter, and I could see the gears turning in his head. The slow realization was dawning on him. He was still in shock, but disbelief was giving way to the understanding that something much bigger was at play. I reached under the bed, pulled out the toy truck I kept there, and rolled it toward him.
"This is called a car, and it’s one of the ways people traveled in what I think was my past life, in a world I somehow remember. So, I want to tell you about me." The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.
"After a terrible wagon accident two years ago, I woke up knowing things I didn’t know before—like how certain items worked and how to build things I had never even heard of. I also knew other strange things about this world that I hadn’t known before the accident. We still don’t understand why, but we"—I glanced at everyone—"have been testing out things I remember from what I believe was my past life, and they work. Rogar and Jacks are the only ones in the cliff house who know, because we want to give the others time to process this new normal. Of all our business partners, only Hope and Cirella know this, and now you. We don’t want this shared with anyone outside the farm, because we don’t want people looking at me differently—or trying to take me away."
Alden stood there, clearly overwhelmed, shifting on his feet as he tried to process everything. His silence spoke volumes—he was still skeptical, still trying to make sense of it all. The unease in his posture was plain, but it wasn’t anger or distrust. It was confusion. He didn’t say much, just nodded slightly, clearly needing time to digest everything he had heard.
Rogar noticed Alden's discomfort and motioned for him to follow him outside. "Let’s step out for a moment," Rogar said, his tone calm but firm. Without a word, Alden complied. As they left, Alfred caught Bass's eye. "Go with them, Pa," he murmured, barely audible. The family trusted Alden, but Bass’s keen judgment was needed to assess where Alden’s head was at. If Rogar and Bass didn’t trust him anymore, we were fucked—and it would be because I fucked up.
While they spoke outside, the rest of us waited in heavy silence. No one needed to say what we were all thinking: Alden’s fate hinged on what Rogar and Bass thought of him now. Bass had pointed out multiple times that the farm was too important to risk, and he would protect it, no matter how much we liked or needed Alden.
After a while, they returned with Alden, and the tension in the room eased. Whatever conversation had taken place between the three of them had given Rogar and Bass enough confidence to let him go. Alden was still visibly shaken, still uncertain, but it was clear they did not see him as a threat. He needed time to think, and we were willing to give him that.
Before leaving, Alden approached the door where the gift basket for his wife and the chest for Tyrion were waiting. The chest was filled with toys, treats, books, and a stack of letters from the brat pack, meant to keep Tyrion’s spirits up—ugh!
Alden accepted both the basket and chest quietly, his hands lingering on them as if finding solace in something familiar amidst all the chaos he had just experienced.
He turned to face us directly, finally spoke, his voice steady but still formal. “You have my word. I shall not speak of what I’ve learned here today.” His words were measured, proper, and sincere, fitting the man he was.
Alden – The Hour of the Ghost:
Alden lay awake in his chambers, the events of the day playing relentlessly in his mind. Shadows flickered across the ceiling, but his thoughts were consumed by what he had seen. Tysha’s deliberate movements, revealing the Valyrian steel sword just enough for the light to catch the rippling metal, still lingered in his memory. Even now, hours later, the gleam of that blade made his breath hitch. The weight of the moment pressed on him, thick with tension, as if the very air in the room held its breath. The sword alone, a rare relic tied to ancient stories, could have shaken him. But it was what came after that shattered his understanding.
Tysha had produced a strange, metallic object from her pocket. With a quick flick, a flame leapt to life in her hand. Alden had been frozen, unable to comprehend what he was witnessing. A flame, conjured without tinder or spark, without effort. The impossibility of it burned into his mind as his heart pounded in his chest. The flame danced briefly before she closed the device with a click, leaving him stunned. What sorcery was this? No... it hadn’t felt like magic. This was something else entirely, something beyond his understanding.
Even now, the thought gnawed at him. How could something so small, so simple in her hands, create fire with such ease? And how could Tysha sit so calmly, as if the object was no more remarkable than a coin? The contrast between her composure and his growing unease widened like a chasm. His world, his grasp on what was possible, had been torn apart, and yet she acted as though nothing had changed.
He had risen then, unable to contain the storm of thoughts roiling inside him. The room had felt too small, too confining, as he paced, hands trembling—not from fear, but from the unsettling realization that everything he had been taught, everything he knew, was slipping away. The foundations of his world, so solid that morning, now felt as if they were crumbling beneath him.
He had hoped for some reassurance, some explanation that would make sense of it all. But Tysha had only watched him, calm and unreadable. That calm had fueled his unrest. The absurdity of it all—his world, so familiar—now seemed fragile, like a tapestry unraveling at the edges. The others present had remained silent, their quiet pressing in on him, heavy and suffocating.
“A car…” He had whispered the word, as if speaking it aloud might help him grasp something solid in the shifting sands of his reality. But the word felt hollow, offering him no comfort.
Now, in the solitude of his bedchamber, Alden found no rest. His mind returned to the sword, to that strange device, to the fire it had conjured. The world he had known felt as though it had slipped beyond his reach. He could not leave it unanswered. Tysha knew more than she had revealed—that much was clear.
On the morrow, he resolved, he would ride back to the farm. He would demand answers, lay bare every burning question that gnawed at him. Until then, sleep would not come. His mind was too restless, too full of uncertainty. The truth awaited him, and when dawn broke, he would uncover it.
The hour of the Sun:
The next morn, I returned to the farm, my mind a whirlwind of questions and my heart a leaden weight of uncertainty. The revelations of the previous day had banished sleep, leaving me to a restless night filled with visions of Valyrian steel, impossible flames, and truths that threatened to unravel my world. I needed to speak with Tysha—alone, if possible—but first, I had to navigate through Rolder’s ever-watchful eyes.
Once I had cleared it with him, I was finally allowed to approach her, though not without company. Haymeth, Colin, and Alfred lingered at the far side of the workshop, their presence a subtle cage. Their eyes occasionally met mine, showing a mixture of curiosity and caution, giving us just enough space to speak privately.
Tysha stood before me, an oasis of calm in the tempest of my thoughts. My hands trembled slightly as I took a breath, steadying myself before speaking.
“Is it truly true?” I managed, my voice a mix of disbelief and fear. The absurdity of it all—clawed at my sanity.
Her eyes, unwavering, met mine, and her voice, soft yet firm, sliced through the tension. “Yes, Alden. It’s all true.”
A chill ran down my spine as I collapsed back into the chair behind me, the strength draining from my body. “Why here, of all places?” I whispered hoarsely, the words barely escaping my lips.
As Tysha began to weave her tale, each word felt like a chisel striking away at my disbelief. She spoke of ancient knowledge, of Westeros and its hidden lore, and the dangerous truths she carried. Each revelation draped over me like a cloak, its threads spun from destiny, prophecy, and inevitability.
Her resolve was palpable, acknowledging the dangers she chose to avoid. “But your act of bringing him here… it showed me we're not safe as we could be. Showing me some things are inevitable, no matter what I do.”
Her acceptance of such fate struck a chord in me. “So, we’re moving on to Plan B,” she said, her tone shifting to a more practical note. “How adept are you and your wife at negotiating?”
Caught off-guard, I answered, "My wife has the sharper tongue for politics, admittedly. why?" I paused, trying to gather my thoughts. “And how did you craft those items? Was that why I had to sign the NDA first? Why reveal all this now? What do you gain from my knowing?”
Tysha sighed, her eyes never leaving mine. “I promise, I’ll explain everything. But for now, understand the danger we face,” she urged, her voice a quiet yet insistent call to action.
Then, she dropped another bombshell, adding another twist to our already convoluted discussion. Alden, have you ever heard of Maggie the Frog?”
I nodded, a flicker of recognition crossing my mind. “Yes,” I replied, a thread of unease weaving through my voice. “Are you… like her now?”
Her smile was wistful, almost sad. “I wish. If I were, perhaps I could have foreseen all this. No, Alden, I need you to take me to her. She’s the only one who can answer some lingering questions.”
“Could she see the future?” I asked, even though the answer was clear.
“Yes,” Tysha confirmed. “She foresaw that none of Cersei’s children would be Robert’s, long before Cersei... well, before she did what she did.”
As Tysha’s words enveloped me, I grappled with the depth of the revelations. What had begun as a simple visit had spiraled into a journey fraught with danger and personal stakes. As our conversation continued, my role became undeniable, urging me to action. Whatever lay ahead, it would undoubtedly alter everything.
Tysha:
"Oh, and Alden," I began, my voice steady but carrying the weight of the decision I was about to make, "I would like to tell your wife and Tyrion the truth. Do you believe they can be trusted with this information?"
Alden’s brow furrowed slightly, the tension from our earlier conversation still present. He hesitated, clearly weighing his thoughts. "You wish to tell them everything?" he asked, his voice formal, cautious, as though the gravity of the situation was beginning to fully settle upon him.
"Yes," I replied, firm but not without a trace of hesitation. "But I need your honest advice. Do you think it wise? Or should I wait—or not reveal it at all?"
Alden took a deep breath, his gaze thoughtful. "My wife is a woman of considerable intellect. If anyone could be trusted to safeguard such knowledge, it would be her. She is discreet and understands the weight of dangerous information." He paused, his expression growing more serious. "As for Tyrion, however—that is a different matter."
He glanced at me, his tone measured and careful. "Tyrion is as sharp as any man I’ve met, but his wit often leads him to act before he fully considers the consequences. He enjoys freedom of thought and speech, which can be both his strength and his flaw. To trust him with such delicate knowledge is a risk, and one not easily calculated. If you tell him, you may find an ally, but you may also stir forces beyond your control."
I absorbed his words, considering the potential dangers. "So you suggest caution with Tyrion?"
Alden inclined his head slightly. "Indeed. I advise patience. Until you are certain that Tyrion understands the gravity of what he would learn, it might be safer to keep this truth from him. There is a chance he could become an invaluable asset, but there is also the risk that he may act rashly, with consequences neither of us could foresee."
I nodded, taking in his words. "I understand, Alden. I’ll take your advice into account. When the time comes, I may ask for your help in handling this matter."
Alden met my gaze, his expression steady but serious. "You will have my support, Tysha, as much as I am able. But please, be mindful of the dangers. The wrong word spoken to the wrong person could unravel all that you have worked to protect here."
Alden:
As I stepped into the farmhouse for the midday meal, a flicker of resolve began to form amidst the confusion and disbelief. Tysha’s revelations had left me reeling, yet I couldn’t allow myself to remain adrift. There was a purpose here, and I needed to anchor myself to it.
I took my seat at the table, the familiar smell of the meal—pasta with chicken, mushrooms, and herbs—filling the room. It was a comforting reminder of the farm’s self-sufficiency, the care and dedication evident in every dish. Yet, my mind could not rest on the meal. Tysha had told me everything, not just to protect them, but because she had another purpose for me. She wanted me to take her designs—the inventions from her treasured sketchbook—and bring them into this world under my own name. I would be the inventor, the owner. The weight of that request settled heavily upon me. Could I really claim such things as my own?
My eyes drifted around the room, taking in the sturdy, marble-like plastered walls and the richly designed rugs beneath my feet. These people had built this place with their hands, and yet here Tysha was, asking me to build something even greater, to create things no one had seen before.
My gaze landed on the large fireplace, its stonework flawless, and the new iron stove beside it. The metal and brick design was something unusual for a farmhouse, modern in every sense. Even the seating in the room, carefully arranged, spoke of comfort and thoughtfulness. This was not a place simply built to survive, but to thrive.
But as much as the warmth of the room wrapped around me, I couldn’t ignore the truth. We were still vulnerable. The threats of the outside world had not disappeared, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Tysha’s inventions might be the key to securing not only the farm but the people who lived here. It was an opportunity—a chance to make a lasting difference.
A sense of purpose reignited within me. Perhaps this was my role, not just as a Lord protector, but as a creator. If I could bring these designs to life and claim them as my own, it would strengthen our position, safeguard our future. The responsibility of leadership pressed upon me once more. This farm, these people—they needed more than just a leader. They needed someone who could take action, who could create and defend.
As my thoughts raced, my gaze fell upon something that stopped me in my tracks—a thick glass window, its surface glistening as snow melted against it. I hadn’t noticed it before. Both of the inside and outside shutters had been left open, allowing the light to reveal the window’s presence. Glass. In a farmhouse. It was astonishing.
I rose from my seat and crossed the room, running my fingers over the smooth glass, marveling at its craftsmanship. "Did you… make this?" I asked, turning toward Tysha.
She glanced up from the table, her casual tone never quite matching the significance of what she had accomplished. "Yeah, me, Haymeth, and Jacks worked on it. Took a bit, but it’s worth it, don’t you think?"
I nodded slowly, my mind still reeling from the possibilities. If this was what she could make here, with limited resources, what else was she capable of?
"What else do you know how to make?" I asked, the question hanging in the air as the enormity of what lay before us settled within me.
Notes:
Chapter song – DNA by Kendrick Lamar
https://youtu.be/uX6uBHPGfSs?si=s5bzuozKLhpPwO4Y
Chapter 28: The Rock – “Always got to try, No matter how long that shit take.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
9th Day of Decem, 282 AC –
The Rock:
Alden entered the chambers he shared with Janelle, he was happy to see her woke even with his thoughts still weighed down by the events of the past few hours. The journey to the castle had been long, but it was the revelations and decisions that truly burdened him. As the door closed softly behind him, the sound seemed louder in his mind, like the final note of a song that had played on too long.
Janelle sat near the hearth in their modest sitting room, her golden hair shimmering in the firelight as she worked on her embroidery. The flames cast a soft glow across her face, and when she looked up, her smile was enough to momentarily ease the tension Alden had carried with him.
"You have returned earlier than I expected," she said, her voice warm with affection but touched by curiosity. "How did your journey fare?" Her eyes studied his face, already sensing the gravity behind his expression.
Alden smiled, though a hint of tension remained. The warmth of the room did little to melt the cold knot of worry in his gut. "It was... informative, if nothing else. There is something I must discuss with you, Janelle." His tone was reserved, his words lingering between them like an unspoken question.
Janelle tilted her head, curiosity sharpening her features. She set her needle and thread aside, giving him her full attention. "Of course, Alden. What troubles you?" Her voice was calm, but there was a subtle tightening in her posture, as if bracing for the news.
Alden hesitated for a moment, collecting his thoughts. The fire crackled softly, a stark contrast to the tempest brewing within him. "Nothing, nothing dear but in a fortnight, I would ask you to accompany me to the Ocean Road farm. They have invited us for something they call ‘brunch’—a meal taken after breaking one’s fast but before midday." The word was foreign on his tongue, but it carried a strange sense of significance.
Janelle frowned slightly, the unfamiliar word catching her attention. "Brunch? I have not heard of such a thing. What manner of meal is this?" Her tone carried curiosity, a touch of amusement at the odd term.
Alden allowed himself a small chuckle, the tension easing from his shoulders slightly. "It is a meal taken after breaking one’s fast but before midday—a feast of sorts, though lighter than a traditional luncheon. It seems to be a custom unique to the farm, and I thought it worth experiencing firsthand." His tone remained light, though the weight of his thoughts lingered.
Janelle’s eyes brightened with intrigue. "That does sound novel. I have never shied away from new customs, especially where food is concerned." She smiled, her teasing tone bringing some levity to the moment. "And I would like to meet these smallfolk you have spoken so highly of."
Alden’s smile widened, a sense of relief washing over him. "I am glad to hear it. The farm is... unlike anything we have ever encountered. The way they live, it defies what we have long believed about smallfolk." His voice softened, the admiration for the people evident.
Janelle leaned forward, her curiosity deepening. "How so?” Her voice was gentle, inviting him to explain further.
Alden handed her a parchment, smaller than most, containing the list he had brought back from the farm. "They have asked if Tyrion could accompany us, under the protection of two junior guards for his safety. The farm will hire hedge knights to ensure his protection while he is there. The children Tyrion befriended helped choose the guards—they are bright, like him." His voice was steady, though the concern in his eyes betrayed him.
Janelle took the parchment, her brow furrowing as she read the names. "Tristifer Lannett would answer the call without question. Melwyn Sarsfield? He has never been kind to Tyrion—he would not suit. Tyrus Hetherspoon is his father’s squire, and he is on the Westerlands boarder just pass Deep Den with The Westerlands army; he may not return for some time. As for Cleos... he would not refuse the duty, but I doubt he would do it well."
Her gaze returned to the list, and she read aloud: "Sandor Clegane, Torwyn Lantell, and Lymond Vikary. Knightly houses, each one likely to accept." She looked up at Alden, her expression thoughtful. "These are solid choices, only a few years older than Tyrion. I am glad he has made friends there, even if they are only smallfolk. Although, it would be wise for him to remain close to them while at the farm only. Speak to him about this, gather his thoughts." Her tone was calm, but Alden could see the wheels turning in her mind as she weighed every detail.
Alden nodded, feeling a small sense of accomplishment, though it was tempered by the ever-present anxiety of the past few hours. "There is something else. The women at the farm have sent a basket of gifts for you since I am now officially a signed business partner. I wanted to give it to you the night before, but I arrived after you had gone to bed." He placed the large basket on the table and gently pulled back the cloth, revealing the contents inside.
Janelle’s eyes lit up as she reached in and withdrew a small ceramic jar filled with salted and sweetened nuts. "How thoughtful," she said, her voice soft with appreciation. She continued, pulling out a hand fan, its deep red fabric embroidered with intricate designs. "This is beautifully made but I have never seen its like before," she added, fluttering it lightly.
Alden watched her explore the basket, finding more treasures: candy sticks wrapped in elegant packaging, scented body oils, lavender and lemon candles, and a finely crafted hand mirror with an ornate silver frame. Janelle let out a soft gasp as she held the mirror up, her reflection clearer than she had ever seen. "Ahh, Alden! This is incredible. I have never had a mirror of my own before." Her fingers traced the ornate silver frame, admiration in her voice. "I have only ever used the one in my mother’s chambers. This is... it is beautiful."
"They have thought of everything," she said, lifting a container of honey caramel bites. She opened it and tasted one. "These are divine," she added, her eyes sparkling with delight.
Alden smiled at her joy. "The women take great pride in what they create. I knew you would appreciate their work."
Janelle continued to explore the basket, pulling out a ceramic hairbrush, oatmeal-scented soap bars, and decorative ceramic toothbrushes. "I have never seen anything quite like these," she said, tracing the patterns on the items with her fingertips. "They are not just useful; they are lovely."
Alden felt a quiet sense of satisfaction as he watched her. "I thought you would enjoy them. The farm is a remarkable place."
Janelle’s gaze shifted toward the wooden chest by the door. Her curiosity sparked again, she asked, "And what is in that chest, Alden? It looks well-traveled."
Alden glanced over, a soft chuckle escaping him. "That is for Tyrion. His little friends at the farm sent it with me. It is filled with things they have made for him—small trinkets, stories, drawings. They have grown quite fond of him." He smiled, recalling the children’s eagerness.
Janelle smiled softly, her heart clearly warmed by the thought of the smallfolk children’s affection for Tyrion. "I would like to see him after you give it to him," she said gently, her voice touched with emotion.
Tyrion’s Chambers:
A soft knock at the door interrupted Tyrion’s thoughts. Alden entered the room, the firelight casting a warm glow over the small, cozy space. Tyrion looked up, setting his book aside, his eyes filled with curiosity.
"Alden, is something wrong?" His voice was soft, tinged with concern.
Alden shook his head, smiling warmly. "No, nothing is wrong. I bring news that may lift your spirits." He reached into his satchel and pulled out a large stack of letters, handing them to Tyrion with a gentle smile.
Tyrion’s eyes lit up as he saw the letters, especially the one from Callie, with "Best Friends Forever" written in large red letters across the top. His face softened as he reviewed her cheerful letters on top. "They remembered me," he said quietly, touched by the thoughtfulness of his only friends. His voice was a mix of joy and disbelief, as if he had not dared to hope he would be remembered.
"They certainly did," Alden replied warmly, his heart swelling with affection for the boy. "And there is more." He placed a large chest beside the bed and opened it, revealing a collection of picture book sets, each one vividly illustrated. "These were sent for you as well. And these five books," he continued, holding up a small stack, "are stories they think you will find captivating."
Tyrion picked up each book, his surprise growing as he noticed the covers had detailed descriptions of the stories. His fingers traced the cover of Braveheart, reading aloud.
In a land torn apart by warlords and oppressive rulers, William Wallace, a man of the people, rises to challenge the brutal reign of a distant king. With fire in his heart and a sword in his hand, Wallace leads a rebellion for freedom, uniting clans long divided by blood feuds. But in a world of betrayal and shifting alliances, victory is not easily won. His courage inspires a nation, but will it be enough to turn the tide of war against a crown that holds all the power?
The Man in the Iron Mask—
In the hidden dungeons beneath a grand palace, a mysterious prisoner lives in darkness, his face locked behind a mask of iron. Unknown to the world, he is the rightful heir to the throne, imprisoned by a ruthless king determined to keep his power. But when loyal soldiers and a disgraced captain discover the truth, a daring rescue plan is set in motion. The fate of the kingdom lies in the balance as conspiracies unravel and brother turns against brother.
Romeo and Juliet—
In a world where ancient rivalries tear cities apart, two young lovers defy their families and risk everything for love. Romeo and Juliet, children of two feuding houses, find themselves trapped between their devotion to each other and the bitter hatred that surrounds them. Their secret love blossoms amidst violence, but as tensions rise and swords are drawn, fate conspires against them.
The Titanic—
The Titanic, the largest and most magnificent ship ever built, embarks on its maiden voyage across the treacherous seas. Onboard, lives from different worlds collide—aristocrats, merchants, and laborers share the decks, unaware that disaster is lurking in the icy waters ahead. Among them are Jack, a free-spirited artist, and Rose, a young woman trapped by societal expectations. As the ship sails towards destiny, love blooms against the odds, but when tragedy strikes, survival becomes the only battle that matters.
The Miracle Worker—
In a world where hope seems lost, a young girl named Helen is born blind and deaf, living in isolation from the world around her. Her family is desperate, but when a determined teacher named Annie Sullivan enters their lives, everything changes. Armed with patience, wisdom, and an unshakable belief in Helen’s potential, Annie breaks through the walls of silence and darkness.
Alden added, "There is also the full series of The Avenging Gods: A Comic Book Series by Colin, as Edgar called them."
The Old Gods:
Quill the Northman (Star-Lord): The leader of the Guardians of the Northern Realm.
Gamora: A deadly woman warrior, fierce and loyal.
Drax: A stone god with immense strength.
Rocket: A brilliant strategist and engineer, resembling a raccoon but with unmatched intelligence.
Groot: The first Weirwood tree who can speak, and Rocket’s best friend.
Nebula: The Night Queen, created by the Night King from pieces of different women of the North, later saved and turned against him.
Mantis: A being created in the likeness of Northern grass and insects, able to feel the emotions of those around her.
The Faith of the Seven:
The Father (Odin): Represents divine justice and judgment.
The Mother (Gaea): Symbolizes mercy, peace, fertility, and childbirth.
The Maiden (Angela): Embodies purity, innocence, love, and beauty.
The Crone (Frigga): Represents wisdom and foresight.
The Warrior (Thor): Stands for strength and courage in battle.
The Smith (Loki): Known for creation and craftsmanship.
The Stranger (Hela): Represents death and the unknown, the villain among the Seven.
Other Gods:
The Drowned God (The Deep): Represents the sea, war, and storms.
The Lord of Light (R’hllor as Ghost Rider): The god of fire and light, locked in eternal battle with the Great Other.
The Many-Faced God (God of Death as Mystique): Represents all aspects of death.
The Great Stallion (The Valkyries): Symbol of strength and freedom.
The Great Shepherd (Professor X): Dedicated to peace and caring for the people.
The Weeping Woman (Wanda Maximoff): Represents sorrow and loss.
The Lion of Night (The Mandarin): Associated with darkness and terror.
Issue Breakdown:
Issue #1: "The Fight for the Dawn"
The Old Gods — Quill, Gamora, Drax, Rocket, Groot, Mantis, and Nebula — battle the Night King. Though they manage to drive him back to the Land of Always Winter and confine him, they cannot destroy him. The battle breaks the Arm of Dorne and The Neck, causing widespread devastation. The issue ends with the Night King’s ominous promise to return with hearts of men turned cold and a new faith that does not care about the people.
Issue #2: "The Seven"
Hela, the Stranger, begins a campaign to enslave all of Planetos. The other six gods of the Seven, initially following her, cause a climactic battle with the Old Gods. However, they soon realize her tyranny and the destruction she brings.
Issue #3: "The Faith of the Seven Affirmed"
At the end of the climactic battle with the Old Gods, Odin decides to repent and joins forces with the Old Gods to banish Hela to the Seven Hells. After confining her, the remaining six gods vow to change their ways by accepting all who choose to live in their light.
Issue #4: "The Eternal Battle"
The Drowned God and the Lord of Light engage in an endless struggle for dominance, with the Many-Faced God weaving death into the mix. Realizing that their conflict is destroying the world, the gods retreat into hiding, forcing their followers to face the consequences of their eternal war.
Issue #5: "The Valkyrie’s Revenge"
Hela escapes from the Seven Hells with the help of her pet dragon, Pete, and begins building Astapor in secret. When she kidnaps the son of a Valkyrie named Brunnhilde, the Valkyries launch a battle to stop her. Despite Hela’s deadly power, Brunnhilde and one other Valkyrie manage to thwart her and drive her back to her prison but not before killing all the other Valkyries in the battle.
Issue #6: "The World Weeps"
The Great Shepherd and the Weeping Woman come together to try and save the people of Planetos. However, the slavers and nobles of Essos reject their peaceful ways, showing that even though the world suffers, it does little to change its fate.
Issue #7: "The Lion Roars"
The Lion of Night unleashes terror on the world, using caches of hidden wildfire to destroy entire cities. The Old Gods and the remaining gods of the Seven band together in a desperate attempt to stop him before he eradicates everything.
"And something very special that Clarice sent you—a clock just like the small one you noticed in the farmhouse." His voice was soft, filled with pride for Tyrion’s growing interests.
Tyrion’s breath caught as he took in the sight of the books and the clock. "This… these are incredible, Alden. Thank you." His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with gratitude and wonder. He paused, glancing up at Alden, his eyes full of hope. "Do you think… I will be able to visit them again?"
Alden nodded, smiling at the boy’s eagerness. "Yes, you will. In fact, you have been invited to Rolder’s name day party and to Ruma and Mikell’s wedding. But you will not be attending as Lord Tyrion Lannister—you will be there as their friend, and my Seven gods-son, as Aden called it." He paused, watching Tyrion’s eyes widen in surprise. "However, they have made a request—you will need to choose two personal Junior guards to accompany you for your safety. Here is a list of names to consider." His voice was gentle but firm, ensuring Tyrion understood the seriousness of the situation.
Tyrion took the list, his eyes scanning the names thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Tristifer Lannett and Sandor Clegane," he said after a moment, his voice filled with quiet determination. "They are only two years older than me, but they have been training with swords since they were six name days. They will be perfect as these Junior guards." His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of something deeper—an understanding of the responsibility he was taking on.
Alden smiled approvingly, his heart swelling with pride. "A wise choice, Tyrion. Sandor Clegane is as strong as his family loyalties, and Tristifer Lannett comes from a long line of honorable men. You will be in good hands with them." His voice was filled with quiet confidence, reassuring Tyrion.
Tyrion nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and responsibility. Before Alden could leave, he added, "Also, can we head to Clegane’s Keep in a fortnight to pick out my own dog? Callie suggested it when I was there." His voice was soft, filled with shy hope.
Alden chuckled, his heart warmed by the boy’s enthusiasm. "Clarice seems to have quite an influence on you. Indeed, she speaks wisely. You will find a loyal hound at Clegane’s Keep." His voice was affectionate, and he ruffled Tyrion’s hair with a smile.
Tyrion looked back at the books, his fingers tracing the cover of Braveheart. "I cannot wait to read these," he said quietly, reading the back cover. "This one is about a knight named William Wallace from a place called Scotland. He leads a revolt after his love is killed. It seems really good, Alden." His voice was filled with quiet wonder, a new world opening to him through the pages of the book.
Alden’s heart swelled with pride for the boy’s empathy and intellect. "It sounds like a powerful story, Tyrion. I am glad you will give it a try. Remember, though, that sometimes the most important stories do not have happy endings." His voice was soft, filled with quiet wisdom from experience.
Tyrion nodded solemnly, lost in thought. "I understand, Alden." His voice was quiet, filled with a newfound maturity.
Alden smiled and ruffled his hair affectionately. "We all do, Tyrion. We all do." His voice was soft, filled with affection for the boy who was quickly becoming like a son to him.
When Alden leaves, Tyrion picks up Callie’s letter and opens the seal, but he cannot help laughing at the little wheat stock and bee stamped on the wax.
"To My Lord Tyrion ‘Ty’ Lannister."
Lord? Tyrion frowned. He knew this was not going to be a letter full of pleasantries.
"It didn’t take me by too much of a surprise to find out you’re a lord – you can spell really good and speak like a noble! Do I have to call you my lord every time? Taytay said I should get a pass when no one is around but pack! Are you still pack? We think of you as pack, after all you won the spelling bee against the teen crew! How come you never mentioned such an important thing?" Tyrion could nearly hear her firing off all these questions without taking one moment to breath! Her educated but straightforward voice in his head, reproachful yet affectionate. His smirk broadened, yet her following words stirred a deeper contemplation.
"Still, our friendship has not changed a bit. But you should not keep such things from me. It is not right!"
A warm flush spread through him—still friends. This reassurance meant more than he expected. Many sought him out for his title, his lineage. Yet here was Callie, scolding him over his secrecy while reaffirming their solid connection.
"From here on out, I want us to be honest with each other. No more secrets, alright? It is really frustrating!"
Tyrion chuckled softly, impressed as ever by her spirit. Very well, Callie. Your point is well taken. Despite her humble origins, her command of language and presence was thoroughly respectable, making him feel more a person than a Lannister.
Her message then took on a more serious tone.
"My family has been on edge since your last visit. They’re worried you might lay claim to what little we have, with you being a Lannister and all. But I told them you would not do something like that to us—we are pack."
Tyrion sighed. Such concerns were usual among the smallfolk, deeply rooted and not unfounded. He had no such intentions, but he recognized the need for a tactful approach.
"I have heard some talk as well; My Uncle Rolder will hire the older guards from the inn who could watch the gate when you visit—which was Uncle Bass' idea. And that you should get and bring a junior guard with you, someone close in age and like-minded which was Aims' idea. He should be well-mannered while here—not threatening, more easy-going like us. Taytay, in particular, is really worried about your visits, though she would accept them for the sales team and Rogar. We have to make sure she feels everyone here is safe or she will come for our pack."
Tyrion’s brow arched. Callie’s news and strategic thinking were as sharp as they were practical—a reflection of her education and her mother's influence.
The letter ended with a lighter touch.
"Oh! And before I forget, I really need your help with that book I want to write. You will help me, yes? Looking forward to your next visit!"
Then she ended it with her signature:
“Clarice "Callie" Doe,
Toodles!!”
Ah, yes, the book about the peculiar girl named Pippi Longstocking. Tyrion shook his head fondly. He folded the letter the same way and gently placed it back in its glove-like holder, his thoughts already on how he might discreetly heed her suggestions without arousing further suspicion.
“PS – use my flowery letter after this one if anyone ask to see what I wrote you!”
Next, after laughing at the other letter’s he picked up one of the letters from Tee. His eyes scanned the opening lines, and immediately, he was met with a different tone.
"I must say, you have rather bungled things with Callie, but since you are pack, she forgave you. Uncle Bass has her training in the yard now, what with her consorting with nobles and all. Ha! We have all been at the records shed with the teen crew for days trying to figure out how to keep you in my Uncle Rolder’s and Aunt Amarei's good graces. Since ya’ brat pack—no thanks is needed because we help each other, not hide things from each other. Remember that in the future, why don’t ya’?"
Tyrion winced slightly. Of course, he would bring that up. He had not intended to upset them or Callie - she was his friend.
"We are on our best behavior to ensure your visits go smoothly. It is your turn to step it up! Hey, remember all those plans we made for the go-kart, scooter, and Ferris wheel? Shhhh… I have managed to get the designs thanks to Al, but I cannot hold onto them forever, so make haste, would you?"
Of course, I remember and I will try!
The letter then posed a question that made him pause.
"So, what is it truly like being a high lord and all?"
Tyrion leaned back in his chair. How could he explain the true responsibilities of his position? Being a high lord was not merely about the opulence most imagined. It was indeed a heavy burden—a relentless juggling act between responsibilities and expectations. He pondered over how to explain this to Tee, who seemed to view nobility differently from the others. He knew he would have to be selective with his words during his next visit.
Tee concluded his note with a straightforward sign-off, "Catch you later, Ty."
Direct and to the point, as usual. Tyrion valued that about Tee. No unnecessary embellishments.
He glanced at the remaining letters, deciding to tackle them later. For now, the messages from Callie and Tee occupied his thoughts. One offering counsel, the other posing inquiries. Both eagerly awaiting his next move.
He set the letters aside, feeling a mix of rebuke and reassurance in their words. They served as a reminder of the fine line he treads between two very different classes. As he picked up his new metal quill, Tyrion resolved to reply with sincerity, thoughtfulness, and above all, no more secrets.
Genna’s chambers:
When Janelle stepped into Genna’s chambers that evening, the fragrance of sweet lemon spice and cherry blossom followed her like a whisper on the wind. The soft, golden light from the candles bathed the room, casting long shadows that danced across the rich tapestries hanging on the walls. Genna, seated at her writing desk, glanced up from her work, her keen eyes narrowing slightly as the pleasant scent reached her.
"Janelle," Genna greeted with a graceful lift of her brow, her tone carrying the refined air of a noble lady who had seen much of the world yet still found curiosity in its offerings. "What is that fragrance? It is quite unlike anything I have encountered before." Her voice was calm, measured as always, yet there was a distinct note of intrigue underlying her words, as though already contemplating the source and its significance.
Janelle’s lips curled into a warm smile, her eyes gleaming with quiet excitement. "It is a gift from some merchant smallfolk friends of Alden’s. They live on a farm off Ocean Road where they create all sorts of marvelous things. I have been invited there for something they call 'brunch' in a fortnight." Her voice brimmed with anticipation, clearly taken by the novelty of it all.
Genna’s interest sharpened, her eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and calculation. "Smallfolk merchants, you say? And they craft such luxuries? This is unusual, especially given the modest means typical of their station. It would appear this farm is far more than meets the eye, though I trust they are diligent in ensuring my brother receives his rightful dues. Such treasures ought not to escape the notice of their liege lord." Her words were laced with a delicate warning, though wrapped in a layer of noble politeness, always mindful of her place and the responsibilities that came with it.
Janelle let out a soft laugh, the sound light and carefree. "It is pretty incredible, is it not? I have never smelled anything quite like it. Want to see the other things they sent?" Her voice remained casual, an eager invitation to share the excitement of her discoveries.
Genna’s curiosity was evident as she gave a regal nod. "By all means, do bring them forward. I should very much like to see the full extent of this farm’s handiwork. If they are capable of such fine creations, it may prove worthwhile to explore their potential further."
Janelle returned from her chambers, carrying a large basket brimming with goods from the farm. She placed it on the table in Genna’s sitting room, and immediately, the rich scents mingled, creating an atmosphere of warmth and comfort. Genna’s eyes widened ever so slightly as she took in the beautifully crafted items, her fingers poised but not yet reaching out, as though waiting for the proper moment to inspect the treasures more closely.
Janelle began to unpack each item, starting with elegantly wrapped sweets, moving on to the delicate bottles of body oils and perfumes. "These are just a few of the things they make," she explained, her voice full of admiration. "I got these as gifts, but they have got a whole catalog of stuff for sale. I did not even know they sold to nobles until Alden told me."
Genna’s fingers brushed over the smooth surface of a ceramic hairbrush, her expression softening into a rare show of genuine surprise. "This is... quite extraordinary," she murmured, her tone reflecting both admiration and a strategic pondering. "The quality is remarkable, beyond anything I would expect from smallfolk. When one considers the artisans of Lannisport, even their work does not always reach such precision." She picked up a mirror, and upon seeing the clarity of her reflection, she gasped softly, a fleeting but undeniable note of astonishment escaping her. "This level of craftsmanship... did they truly fashion this on their farm? It rivals that of renowned artisans. Do you know which individual is responsible for such exquisite work?"
Before Janelle could answer, Genna’s gaze drifted to a set of small sticks and brushes, each one labeled with strange inscriptions. She furrowed her brow slightly as she picked them up, reading aloud, "Lips by Taytay, eyeliner, pretty in pink blush... and what precisely is this?" She held up a flat wooden plaque adorned with a collection of colors arranged in neat rows. "Make-up palette? And what, pray tell, is 'makeup'? it was listed as ‘Face by Taytay’." Her tone was perplexed, but her curiosity was piqued, as this was clearly something beyond her usual sphere of knowledge.
Janelle chuckled, amused by Genna’s bewilderment. "Yes, I did not know either. When I asked Alden, he said I would have to ask when I go to the farm. But these," she continued, pulling out a small cloth bag, "are even weirder." She opened the bag to reveal a moons-blood pouch, along with several intriguing items inside.
Genna’s eyebrows rose higher, her expression hovering between fascination and astonishment. "It would seem this farm is no ordinary enterprise, but rather a veritable treasure trove of rare and wondrous creations." She handed Janelle a small pouch filled with silver stags, the weight of the coins palpable in her hand. "Acquire more of these items for me upon your return. I find myself unexpectedly charmed by their craftsmanship. These sweets are finer than any I have tasted, and the perfume... it is heavenly, far exceeding anything I have sampled from even the most exclusive vendors." Her tone, typically restrained and measured, now carried an uncharacteristic note of indulgence, though she kept it in check, as befitting a lady of her station.
Janelle’s smile deepened, a sense of satisfaction blooming at Genna’s reaction. "Of course, Genna. I will make sure you get the best of what they offer," she said softly, her tone filled with quiet certainty that the farm would continue to impress her cousin.
Genna’s mind was clearly already calculating, her expression thoughtful as she spoke again. "When you return, you will tell me everything about this farm and its people. I expect a thorough account. Such a place deserves more than just passing curiosity. It may hold potential beyond what we see now." Her voice, calm and controlled as always, nevertheless betrayed a ripple of excitement—an unusual crack in the poised demeanor she typically maintained.
"So these smallfolk are both merchants and farmers?" Genna asked, her tone tinged with curiosity, though layered with a more formal air. "I should like to see this catalog for myself. Ensure that a copy is delivered to me. If they are as capable as you say, their goods may find favor among more than just our household. As the matriarch of The Westerlands it is my responsibility to find items such as these." Though her words were firm, there was no mistaking the rare delight that had crept into her voice.
The next morn, Genna invited Tyrion to join her while she broke her fast. The early light streamed through the windows, casting a soft glow over the room as Tyrion sat down with her. He carried a book with him, setting it aside before eating. His small hands fiddled with the edge of his tunic, his mind racing with how to answer her questions.
"Aunt Genna," he began seriously, though there was excitement in his voice, "the farm I visited… it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The people there… they don’t act like smallfolk or merchants." His voice was soft, but filled with wonder as he shared his discoveries.
Genna’s sharp eyes narrowed, intrigued. "What do you mean by that, Tyrion?" she asked, her tone calm but curious.
Tyrion hesitated, looking for the right words. "They live well, Aunt Genna. They’re educated, inventive… and they seem happy. It’s nothing like what the Maesters taught us about smallfolk or merchants." His voice softened, filled with awe. "Little Merlo, only six name days old, can already read and write."
Genna’s brow furrowed in surprise. "Smallfolk who know how to read?" she asked, her voice skeptical. "How did they learn such things?"
Tyrion chuckled, a small grin appearing on his face. "Well, Aunt Genna, it’s thanks to my mother. Callie’s mother, her uncle, and her aunt were all raised in an orphanage in Lannisport. My mother used to visit there often, reading to the children. She’d sit with them, teaching them words, and their matron would pick up a few things along the way. My mother never knew, but the matron began teaching the children as best she could." He paused for a moment, thinking back. "It turns out Callie’s mother and her siblings were among those children. So, in a way, my mother helped them learn to read. Callie’s mother passed it on to her and the others."
Genna’s expression softened, a glint of understanding in her eyes as she listened. "Joanna? At the orphanage in Lannisport?" she said thoughtfully. "I never realized she did such things." Her voice carried a note of both admiration and surprise as she processed the unexpected connection.
Tyrion nodded, a touch of pride in his voice. "It’s funny how things come around, isn’t it? Callie’s mother taught all the children on the farm, and now even the little ones can read and write. They’ve made something special there, Aunt Genna."
Genna raised an eyebrow, impressed but cautious. "That is quite remarkable, Tyrion. But education brings knowledge, and knowledge can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Still, it’s curious how smallfolk from such humble beginnings have managed so much." Her voice carried a mix of intrigue and concern as her mind spun with thoughts of what this might mean for the future.
Tyrion smiled softly, his admiration for the farm and its people evident. "They just want to live in peace, Aunt Genna," he said. "That’s all they ask."
Genna’s mind raced with questions, but she chose to keep them to herself for now. "It sounds like a remarkable place, Tyrion. Perhaps there’s much we could learn from them," she said, though her eyes showed she was already considering ways to investigate further.
Tyrion nodded, feeling connected to the smallfolk children. "I think so, Aunt Genna. Their ‘lunch’ was unlike anything I’ve ever had, and I ate so much I almost made myself sick. They called it ‘open pie,’ but Callie calls it ‘pizza.’ They eat it often because it’s easy. Even their ‘salad’ was something else—it had chicken, nuts, and all sorts of vegetables. When I asked if our cook could make it, he didn’t even know smallfolk ate like that."
He paused, excitement growing in his voice. "Amarei—the one who taught everyone on the farm to cook—said they can all make it. But our cook just called it ‘smallfolk food.’ But Aunt Genna, it’s better than most of the meals here at the Rock. Still, I doubt he’d ever make it."
Genna noticed how his gaze fell before he looked up again, a little hurt. Then he added, "Callie said nobles would never let them live in peace if they had something they wanted. All they want is to live happily on the farm." His voice was softer now, shaped by letters from Callie and the others, who had scolded him for not telling them he was a lord sooner. He was part of their ‘brat pack,’ he thought, smiling at the memory of their teasing.
Alden’s advice echoed in his head—Best not share too much about their inventions. Some things are better kept within the farm. That kept him from saying more.
Before Genna could speak, Tyrion’s expression hardened, his gaze sharp like Tywin’s. "I would protect them, Aunt Genna, as a noble should," he said firmly. "Especially since they send more grain than they need to." His voice was full of determination, surprising for his age.
This made her ask, "How do you know that?" Her voice remained calm, though curiosity lingered.
"Callie showed me the fifteen acres of wheat they’ve set aside for the Rock. That leaves them with only five acres for themselves. They keep livestock, but Callie told me they give us more than half the herds each year. Aunt Genna, they’ve managed to make their small farm seem three times its size through clever management." His voice brimmed with admiration.
"How is that possible?" she asked, still puzzled at how such a small farm could produce so much.
"They each take on different roles to keep things running, like how the Rock is managed," he explained. Then he told her about the different tasks, the people, and the most surprising part—the inventions the children had created. Genna realized she would need to look into how the farm operated to see if there was more to uncover.
"And they sent me books, Aunt Genna. Books!" Tyrion’s face lit up as he gestured to the one he’d set aside. "This one is called The Miracle Worker. It’s about a girl who was blind and deaf, but she learned to communicate. It sounds like a miracle." He grinned, his excitement clear. "It’s nothing like the books we have here."
Genna’s brow furrowed. "How could a girl who is both deaf and blind learn to communicate?" she asked, her skepticism obvious.
Tyrion smiled, eager to explain. "They taught her through touch. Her teacher would spell words into her hand, and she learned to understand. It’s amazing. The children at the farm say it’s the most wonderful story they’ve read."
Smiling, Genna ruffled Tyrion’s hair. "You’re growing up to be a fine young man, Tyrion. I’m proud of you." Her voice was warm, but her mind was already planning to look into the farm, the taxes, and this strange business of adopting twenty children.
Tyrion beamed at her words. "Thank you, Aunt Genna. I just want to make sure they’re safe and don’t hold any ill will towards me for being a lie-face, even though I did not want to be." His voice was soft, but there was a quiet determination to protect his friends.
As they sat together, Tyrion’s thoughts drifted back to the farm, to the friends he had made, and to the warmth and kindness he’d felt there. For the first time, he felt hopeful for the future, knowing that whatever came his way, he would face it with the heart of a lion.
Meanwhile, Genna sat there, mouthing the words "Lie-Face" and wanting to get her hands on that book.
Later in the day in the quiet of her chambers, Genna Lannister sat behind a sturdy oak desk, her fingers lightly tapping against the arm of her chair. Across from her stood the steward of Casterly Rock, a man of precise manners and sharp memory. He held a scroll in his hand, detailing the reports from the workers concerning the curious farm—L-6 Ocean Road Farm—that had piqued her interest.
"You have the details, I trust?" Genna asked, her tone cool and expectant.
The steward gave a short bow. "Yes, my lady. I’ve spoken to the workers, as you instructed. Each one has given their assessment of the goods from L-6 Ocean Road Farm."
"Proceed," Genna replied, gesturing for him to continue.
The steward unfurled the scroll and began. "Eldon, the quartermaster, mentioned that the wheat berries arrived packed in unusually neat fifty-pound sacks. Hundreds of them which are delivered in multiple loads. He noted the precision in the packaging—each sack marked with their insignia, ‘L-6 Ocean Road Farm.’ The straw, too, was bound in tight, box-shaped bales, making it far easier to transport and store. He was impressed with the efficiency, though he mentioned that it seemed almost too meticulous for what one would expect from a small farm."
Genna gave a small nod, already intrigued. "And the granary?"
"Martyn Hill, the granary keeper, my lady," the steward continued, "was particularly struck by the quality of the wheat itself. He confirmed that the grain stays fresher for longer than others we've received. Martyn mentioned that they’ve been experimenting with new methods for preservation. He believes we could learn from them, as the wheat is finer and more fragrant than even our best sources."
Her brows lifted slightly, a faint smile playing at her lips. "Interesting. What of the kitchens?"
The steward nodded and consulted his notes. "Baelor, the kitchen master, and Dannyl, the head baker, both praised the quality of the flour. They said the wheat produced a richer dough, and the bread tasted noticeably better. Baelor suggested that if L-6 continues to provide grain of this quality, it could become a preferred source for the Rock."
Genna leaned back, considering the information. "And the stables?"
"Harwin, the stable master, is especially pleased, my lady. He reported that the straw was tightly bundled, making it easier to handle and store. He said the usual hassle of loose straw has disappeared, and the horses seem well-satisfied with the change."
The steward paused, waiting for Genna’s response. She folded her hands, letting a moment pass as she absorbed the details. The farm had already proven itself valuable, but she sensed there was more.
"Anything else?" she asked, her voice calm but pointed.
"Yes, my lady," the steward replied, glancing back at the scroll. "L-6 also sends additional products for the Lord’s household. They produce a variety of goods—perfumes, body oils, and sweets among them. They are said to craft everything on the farm itself, including pottery and other items for personal use. From what I’ve gathered, their methods are unorthodox but highly effective. They've even created something called a ‘smallfolk catalog,’ which the smallfolk claim is unlike anything seen in the Westerlands. This catalog has an extensive list of products."
Genna’s eyes glinted with interest, and she raised a hand, cutting him off before he could continue. "A catalog, you say?"
The steward bowed. "Yes, my lady. They have a list of the goods they produce. I can acquire it for you if you wish."
"Do so," Genna ordered, her voice decisive. "I want to see the full extent of their offerings before I make any further decisions. Bring it to me at once."
The steward nodded, backing away respectfully. "As you wish, my lady. I will have it delivered to your chambers shortly."
With a final bow, he took his leave, the quiet rustle of the scroll his only sound as he departed. Genna remained seated, her mind already turning over the possibilities. This L-6 Ocean Road Farm was clearly no ordinary farm, and she intended to find out just how deep its potential ran.
Notes:
Chapter song – Piano & I by Alicia Keys
https://youtu.be/kXO0xSDcyqE?si=x5alxLXB_Wjprfcv
in place of – Moonlight sonata by Beethoven
https://youtu.be/4Tr0otuiQuU?si=B7CnewQC_ANAsfsA
Chapter 29: The Company We Keep - “Started from the bottom, now we're here.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
10th day of Decem, 282AC –
The Rock, Tyrion:
After breaking his fast, Tyrion made his way through the winding halls of Casterly Rock, his steps light but purposeful. His mind was abuzz with thoughts of a new scheme. He had already prepared what he would say and was grateful to Alden for explaining the best way to achieve his goal.
Reaching the door to Maester Creylen’s chambers, he knocked briefly and entered without waiting for a reply. The room smelled of parchment, ink, and dried herbs. Maester Creylen, seated behind his desk, looked up from the scroll he was writing on, as Tyrion approached.
"Lord Tyrion," Creylen greeted, setting his quill aside. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Tyrion did not bother with pleasantries because Denny’s letter had advised him to throw an impossible option alongside a possible one. “Maester, I have a question about protocol. What would I need to do to get my own personal guards?"
Maester Creylen blinked in surprise at the directness of the question but motioned for Tyrion to take a seat. "A personal guard? That is not a request often made lightly. Typically, only those with significant duties or titles are granted personal guards—lords, knights, those who hold important responsibilities."
Tyrion leaned forward; his gaze intense. "And who decides that? Father?"
"Yes," Maester Creylen confirmed. "Your father, as Lord of Casterly Rock, would be the one to grant such a request. Personal guards are not merely for show; they are expensive, trained men whose primary purpose is to ensure your safety. Lord Tywin would need a strong reason to grant such a resource."
Tyrion nodded, processing the information. He would need to demonstrate a need for such protection—something that would not raise suspicion. But his real reason was not about danger. No, it was something far more enjoyable.
He thought of the farm. He had only been there once, but that visit had left him yearning to return. His new friends had welcomed him warmly, offering a kind of companionship he never experienced here in Casterly Rock. Spending time with Callie and the others was a rare respite from the pressures of being an unwanted son, and he found himself looking forward to each of his future visits more and more. If he could sneak off at least once a sennight, under the guise of a noble excursion, it would make things much easier.
The problem, of course, was that leaving the Rock so frequently could raise questions. But if he had two junior guards and Alden with him, anyone who noticed his absence would assume he was simply in Lannisport. It was a place he was allowed to go without much fuss, and his guards could easily back up that lie. Tyrion smirked at the thought. It was a simple, but effective, solution.
"So I would need to demonstrate why I need them—why I am in danger or have duties that require protection."
"Exactly," said the Maester. "Your father would expect you to prove such a need. He does not give away resources without purpose."
Tyrion paused, his mind working quickly. Then he asked, "What about junior guards?"
Maester Creylen looked momentarily puzzled. "Junior guards?"
Tyrion nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. "Unknighted boys or young men-at-arms. Apprentices, squires, or even pages—people who are not formal guards, but who could still serve and protect me in a less... official capacity, as well as be a companion of sort."
The Maester stroked his beard thoughtfully. "An interesting idea. While there is no official title of a 'junior guard,' what you describe could certainly be arranged. Pages and squires could be assigned to you, though their role would be less defined than that of a sworn guard. Such an arrangement would not require a formal request for personal guards."
Tyrion’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. A perfect workaround. He would not even need to involve his father in this, and with a little more thought, he could fund it all without anyone raising an eyebrow. He was old enough to allocate funds from his personal household budget—something his father had allowed him to control some moons ago. It was not much, but it would be enough to pay his junior guards, ensuring their loyalty while keeping the arrangement discreet.
"I would not need my father’s explicit permission for that, would I?" Tyrion asked, leaning back in his chair with a look of ease.
Maester Creylen smiled faintly. "While the stewards who manage the household would still need to be informed, a request for squires or pages is far less formal. Your father may not take issue with such an arrangement, though he is not one to overlook details."
Tyrion handed two raven scrolls to the Maester. "Send these out immediately—one to my distant cousin, Tristifer Lannett, and the other to Sandor Clegane. I have been informed he is due to arrive here soon, seeking placement with the reserve army set to move out of Lannisport."
Maester Creylen took the scrolls, glancing at them before giving a small nod. "As you wish, my lord. I will send the ravens immediately."
Tyrion nodded, satisfied with the arrangement. "Good. I will leave you to it, then. I need to speak with Uncle Kevan in the training yard. He is overseeing some of the reserves there at this time, correct?"
"Yes, My Lord," Maester Creylen said.
As Tyrion turned to leave the chamber, a surge of satisfaction welled up within him. With these junior guards in place, he could come and go from the Rock with relative ease. The farm was not far from Clegane keep which meant the ride was only a few hours away, and now, he would have the perfect cover. If anyone questioned his whereabouts, he could simply say he had been in Lannisport, as was his right. The junior guards and Alden could corroborate the story, and no one would be the wiser.
Not even Father.
With that, Tyrion left the room, his steps lighter, making his way through the stone halls toward the training yard. Maester Creylen watched him go, marveling at how much more the young Lannister already seemed to understand about the ways of power than many older men.
Sandor:
Sandor Clegane stood in the yard of Clegane’s Keep, his eyes sweeping over the bleak, oppressive landscape. The weight of the place pressed down on him, but more so now with the knowledge that the brute would return as soon as the war was over. Just the day before, a raven had arrived from that monster, informing their father that Lord Tywin's army would soon march from the Westerlands. Sandor was expected to join Kevan Lannister’s forces in Lannisport for the march to King’s Landing.
His jaw tightened, the thought of seeing the beast again making his blood boil. His brother’s cruelty lingered in his mind, especially here, where it all began. Sandor’s hand absently brushed the scars on his face, a constant reminder of the day the monster had forced his head into the brazier. He had only been seven, barely more than a child, and all he had wanted was to play with the wooden knight that brute had been gifted—a simple, innocent curiosity. But for the Mountain, it was just another excuse for violence.
Sandor could still hear his own screams; still remember the three grown men it took to pull that beast off him. His father had done nothing then. Later, when asked about the burns, the old man had lied—claiming it was bedding that caught fire. Sandor had never forgiven him for that betrayal. His father might still live, but to Sandor, the man was as distant as a stranger.
A servant appeared at his side, breathless, holding a raven scroll.
“A note arrived for you, Sandor,” the servant muttered, quickly handing him the raven scroll and retreating.
Breaking the wax seal, Sandor scanned the handwriting of Tyrion Lannister.
To Sandor Clegane,
"I offer you a position in my household as a junior guard. You’ll find that my needs differ from those of my family’s. You’re not expected to serve in the same capacity. - Tyrion Lannister."
Sandor snorted, his first instinct to crush the scroll. A junior guard? What in the seven hells did that mean? His eyes went back to the letter, focusing on the line: You’re not expected to serve in the same capacity.
Did the boy think him a fool? Or worse—a dog to be commanded? Did Tyrion expect him to run after him like some squire, fetching meals or polishing boots? The thought made Sandor sneer.
He looked around the yard, the weight of the Keep bearing down on him as always. This had never been a home, not after what the brute had done to him. His shadow loomed over this place, a dark cloud that poisoned everything. Sandor’s hand moved to his face again, as if the old scars still throbbed.
The idea of staying here, under the same roof as that monster again, churned his stomach. It wasn’t just the burns or the beatings. It was the suffocating presence of the beast, the man who killed and destroyed without mercy—rumors even claimed he’d killed their sister. Sandor had never believed the official story, but no one dared speak of it aloud anymore. And now, the brute would return, bringing his violence and cruelty back to this cursed place.
Do I really want to be here when he comes back?
He thought about the raven scroll that beast had sent, the one that would soon send him to Lannisport with Kevan’s army. But Tyrion’s offer now seemed different. At first ridiculous, it now held a certain appeal. The boy wasn’t asking for a knight, wasn’t asking him to play a noble’s role. Perhaps Tyrion understood him better than most—better than his father, who had turned a blind eye to the beast’s savagery, and better than the men who still whispered about him.
Tyrion’s offer was a chance to leave, not just to join Kevan’s march, but to escape the Mountain’s shadow. A chance to break free from the past that clung to this place like a curse.
Gritting his teeth, Sandor shoved the scroll into his pocket and headed for his father’s solar. Every step felt heavy with the decision he was making. He couldn’t stay here—not with the brute returning. Not with the past always ready to rear its ugly head.
He entered his father’s solar without a word. The room smelled of dust and leather, and his father sat behind his desk, barely glancing up.
Without hesitation, Sandor moved to the table by the window, grabbed a quill and parchment, and began to write.
"When?"
He stared at the single word for a moment. It was all Tyrion needed to know and all Sandor was willing to offer. He wasn’t going to play knight for the Lannisters, but anything was better than waiting here for the beast to return. Tyrion’s offer would take him far away from the monster and from this wretched place.
Satisfied, he sealed the scroll and left the solar without a word. As he handed it to the Maester, watching the man prepare a raven, Sandor allowed himself a brief moment of relief. Kevan’s summons meant he would be heading to Casterly Rock regardless, but now he had a new plan. Tyrion’s offer would keep him far from the monster, at least for now.
Anything was better than being here when the brute returned.
Tristifer:
Tristifer Lannett stared at the scroll, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. A summons to serve House Lannister—Tyrion Lannister, no less. His eyes traced the elegant seal of the golden lion, the weight of it heavy in his hand. The Rock, Casterly Rock. It was an honor he had not dared dream of, and now it was within his grasp.
His fingers ran over the wax seal, the golden lion of his distant kin shining in the candlelight. It was not often that the Lannetts were reminded of their Lannister blood, but moments like this made the connection feel stronger. Guarding a Lannister—no matter which one—was more than a step forward.
It was a chance to prove his worth, not only to his family, but to the world. After all, the Lannetts were not as wealthy or powerful as the name might suggest. They lived under the shadow of their more prosperous cousins, and Tristifer had long understood the importance of maintaining appearances. His family hid their true circumstances well enough, but a position at Casterly Rock could cement their place among the noble families of the West. This is my chance.
He turned to his older brother, Tarion, who was leaning casually against the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"The Imp?" Tarion’s chuckle filled the room, his voice dripping with condescension. "Of all the Lannisters to guard, you get Tyrion. How cruel."
Tristifer’s face reddened at the jab, but he refused to let it show in his expression. He straightened, meeting his brother’s mocking gaze with quiet resolve. "It is still the Rock, Tarion. And it is still House Lannister." His voice was steady, though inside, his heart pounded with determination. He would not let his brother’s ridicule dampen the significance of the summons. He had been called by a Lannister, and that meant something, no matter which one it was.
Tarion crossed his arms, a lazy grin still on his face. "Well, I hope you are ready to chase after him. Just make sure you do not trip over him in the hall." The words were sharp, but Tristifer had grown used to Tarion’s barbs. It was always like this—Tarion, the elder, taller, and always so sure of himself, lording his position over the younger brother.
The truth was, Tarion often liked to remind him that the Lannetts were nothing more than a dwindling branch of the Lannister tree, propped up by the glory of their cousins while they quietly struggled to keep their estate running. The lands their family held were modest, and while they maintained the appearance of wealth, every coin was carefully counted. But none of that mattered now. The Lannisters had summoned him.
Tristifer clenched the scroll in his hand, resisting the urge to fire back. He had nothing to prove to Tarion, not now. He would prove himself through action, through service, through loyalty to the Lannisters. His time would come. "Say what you like, Tarion," Tristifer replied, his voice cool and controlled. "I have been summoned to guard a Lannister, and that is what matters. The Rock is the Rock, and it is an honor."
Tarion shrugged, still chuckling under his breath. "If you say so, brother. But do not come crying to me when Tyrion makes you run errands that are beneath you."
Just then, a softer, lighter voice broke through the tension. Their younger sister, Melody, piped up from her seat by the hearth, her eyes wide with excitement. "That is wonderful, Tris! Maybe when you settle in, you can bring me to the Rock with you." Her face was bright with admiration, always eager to see her older brothers succeed.
Tristifer could not help but smile at her enthusiasm. Melody had always looked up to him, the quiet but determined sibling. "The Rock is no place for little girls, Melody," he replied gently, though there was a trace of fondness in his voice. The thought of his young sister amidst the cold stone walls of the Lannisters’ keep seemed absurd.
But Melody, always persistent, was not deterred. She grinned up at him, her hands clasped together in hopeful anticipation. "Maybe Lady Genna Lannister needs a new handmaiden. You could put in a word for me. Imagine—me, in service to the great House Lannister!"
Tristifer chuckled, his mood lifting slightly as his sister’s excitement proved contagious. "I will see what I can do," he said, though he knew full well how rare such an opportunity would be. "But do not get your hopes up too high. The Lannisters are... particular."
Melody’s face beamed with delight, clearly unbothered by the odds. "I am sure she is looking for someone just like me. And you know how quickly word spreads if you are already there."
Tristifer shook his head, amused by her enthusiasm, but his mind quickly returned to the gravity of the summons. While Tarion’s laughter lingered in the background and Melody’s dreams of life at Casterly Rock filled the air, the weight of the moment settled over him. His heart pounded not just with excitement, but with the pressure of the expectations he had placed upon himself. This was his chance to prove his worth, not only to House Lannister, but to his own family—especially Tarion, who had always been quick to mock and dismiss him.
No matter what anyone else thought, Tristifer knew this was his moment. A summons from the Rock was no small thing, even if the post involved guarding Tyrion, the least regarded of the Lannisters. Tyrion might be underestimated by the other nobles, but Tristifer had heard the rumors—the Imp had a sharp mind, and there were whispers that his intellect might one day be his greatest weapon. Tristifer did not care what the rest of the family thought. If Tyrion Lannister wanted him in his service, it was a step toward proving himself. And once he was inside those stone walls, there would be more chances to rise.
He glanced down at the scroll in his hand, the golden lion of Lannister stamped clearly on the seal. This was the beginning, he reminded himself. There was opportunity in everything, even in serving the Imp. And if he played his cards right, he could return to his family not just as a minor noble, but as one who had earned the Lannisters’ favor.
Tarion’s laughter had faded by now, but Tristifer could still feel his older brother’s judgment hanging in the air. "You will see," he murmured under his breath. "You will all see." He was not going to let Tarion or anyone else strip the honor from this moment. He would make a name for himself—Lannett may not be a house as grand as the Lannisters, but he would make them proud, nonetheless.
As the fire crackled in the hearth and Melody continued to daydream about serving Lady Genna, Tristifer let his excitement swell within him. He could already see it—the halls of Casterly Rock, the power that moved behind its walls, the chance to show them all. He would stand beside a Lannister, one of the most powerful families in the realm. That was more than Tarion could say.
Tristifer squared his shoulders and looked once more at his brother. "Mock all you want, Tarion. You will be the one who is surprised." His voice was firm, filled with the quiet confidence of a young man ready to seize his future.
He tucked the scroll into his coat and turned toward the door. "I will write to you when I arrive at the Rock," he called to Melody, who waved eagerly from her seat. Then, without another glance at Tarion, Tristifer strode out of the room, his heart set on the path ahead.
Alden:
Alden shifted slightly on the bench of his old merchant cart, adjusting the position of his legs to achieve more comfort as the cart jolted along the forest road. Tysha sat beside him, her attention fixed on the trees lining the path ahead, deep in thought as the cart rattled through Lannisport’s forest. He studied her for a moment—her brows slightly furrowed, lips pressed together, as though her mind were working out a puzzle.
His own mind, however, was buzzing with curiosity. He could not resist.
“So,” Alden began, breaking the silence. “These rail tracks you have been working on—how do you plan to lay them across the rocky terrain around the hills? The hand-pump and foot-pedal system seems brilliant in concept, but surely the incline will slow down any rail car.”
Tysha turned her head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You know, Alden, for someone who didn’t believe in the idea, you certainly have a lot questions.”
Alden chuckled, running a hand through his untidy hair. “That is what happens when a good idea starts to make sense. I simply want to understand how it works. The hand-pump rail cars, the foot-pedal ones—you have captured my interest.”
She explained, her voice calm and steady, how the rail tracks would be strategically placed between key towns and cities. Each rail car would be manually operated, at least initially, by hand-pumping or pedaling, allowing travelers to move more swiftly than by horse or foot. She envisioned a system by which commonfolk could transport goods and people across Westeros more efficiently.
Alden leaned back slightly, absorbing her words. “A fast-transporting system such as that… It could change everything. Trade, communication—even how houses exert their power. You are talking about a complete transformation of the way people live.”
“That’s the idea,” Tysha replied. “If we can make it work, it will connect the smallfolk in ways the lords never intended. That is why it was so important for me to tell you my truth.”
Alden glanced at her, understanding dawning on him. She had urged him to see her vision not merely as a fanciful invention, but as a strategy to reshape the fabric of Westeros. He admired her ambition, though it made him wonder—what kind of deal would she suggest next?
As if reading his mind, Tysha added, “And that is why you should look into House Mormont. Their waters are rough, but their resolve is strong. A pedal-powered houseboat could serve us well. Consider what a deal like that could mean—not just for us, but for them as well.”
Alden nodded, thinking over her words. The idea had potential. House Mormont might be remote, but they were resourceful. Partnering with them for pedal boats was the kind of bold idea he could see succeeding. “I shall give it thought,” he said. “Perhaps I shall send a raven once we are back.”
Their conversation quieted as the cart pulled up in front of Maggie the Frog’s hovel, a rundown shack hidden deep in the forest. Colin gave Alden a nod, his expression unreadable, and climbed down from the driver’s bench. Behind them, Mikell, Hymeth, and Haymeth followed in Rolder’s old wagon, their presence more ceremonial than necessary.
Tysha jumped out of the cart, cradling one of the large baskets she had prepared for Maggie. Alden could not help but smile at the sight of it. The gifts she had crafted were both practical and clever, but they also showed how much thought Tysha had put into this meeting. It was not every day someone brought a lighter or a pair of fake blood teeth to a witch.
“I shall admit,” Alden said as they walked toward the hovel’s door. “You certainly know how to make an impression.”
Tysha grinned. “It’s all about the details.”
Inside, Maggie the Frog’s sharp eyes glinted from the shadows. Alden stood back as Tysha presented the basket of gifts—her glass globe filled with fine sand and water, the fake teeth from Rogar’s haunted house tent, a steel-cased lighter, and the soothsayer’s wrap dress. The old woman’s bony fingers plucked through each item, her curiosity plain.
Maggie’s raspy voice cut through the room. "Aye now, what be all this then, eh?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as they fixed on Tysha.
Tysha patiently explained each item, detailing the thought behind them. The globe, the lighter, the dress—Maggie listened, nodding slowly as Tysha spoke. When she finished, Maggie motioned for her to sit at the small round table. Alden watched closely as the witch’s weathered hand reached forward, plucking a single strand of Tysha’s hair.
Maggie dropped the hair into a small bowl, and with the lighter Tysha had given her, set it aflame. Smoke curled up as the hair burned, and then—something strange happened. Maggie inhaled the smoke deeply, her eyes fluttering shut. Alden's breath caught in his throat as the room plunged into an eerie silence.
He had never witnessed anything like it.
The old woman remained still, unmoving for what felt like an eternity, until her eyes snapped open, locking onto Alden with a cold, unsettling stare.
Maggie's voice, now oddly altered, cut through the silence: "The winds have shifted, and nothing will be the same again."
Before Alden could react, she burst into wild, uncontrollable laughter that echoed off the hovel’s walls. His pulse quickened. Then, abruptly, her laughter transformed into violent shaking, her body convulsing as if seized by an unseen force.
“Tysha!” Alden cried out, but she was already beside the old woman, panic clear in her eyes. “One of you—find me a small stick, quickly!” she shouted to the men.
Before anyone could move, Maggie’s convulsions stopped as suddenly as they had begun.
Then, she spoke again, her voice returning to its calm and natural tone.
"Yer paths are forked, girl. I sees ‘em plain," Maggie rasped. "Yeh'll break the wheel, aye, but… won't be naught pleasant, that I’ll say."
Tysha’s grip on the witch loosened, her head dropping as Maggie passed out in her lap. Alden stood frozen, his heart racing. What in the Seven Hells had just happened?
They waited, time dragging on as Maggie lay unconscious. It felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes. Finally, Maggie’s eyes fluttered open, and she immediately began looking for Tysha. When she spotted her, her voice came out in a rasping whisper.
“To answer yer first question," Maggie croaked, "ye’ll break the wheel, but, eh lass, yeh won’t like what ye’ll pay fer it."
Tysha’s face was a mask of confusion, but Maggie continued, her voice gaining strength as she spoke.
“I sees two paths—two yeh’s in different pasts. I can only give yeh three bits to help yeh tread yer path. Yeh'll know ‘em when it’s time."
Tysha leaned forward, listening intently.
"First," Maggie said, "the wife, the three, the matriarch, the frog—aye, they’ll stand by yeh. No betrayals, trust ‘em. Second, when time comes stop lookin’ right and start lookin’ from the right that’ll be when the love comes. And last—the two browns, one green, they’ll form what yeh need against Tywin. But yeh only get what yeh want by usin’ what yeh have—yer own precious.”
Alden glanced at Tysha, whose face was twisted in confusion. The cryptic prophecy left more questions than answers, and Alden could not help but wonder what it all meant—and what Tysha would have to sacrifice to break the wheel.
Tysha:
As we made our way back to the farm, the rhythmic sound of the cart’s wheels rolling over the uneven forest road filled the silence between us. Alden held the reins loosely in his hands, his gaze distant, lost in thought. I kept my eyes fixed on the path ahead, but my mind was far from the road. Maggie’s words circled endlessly in my thoughts.
After a few long moments, Alden finally spoke, breaking the quiet.
“You looked confused back there,” he said, casting a glance in my direction. “Do you even understand half of what Maggie said?”
I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my lips. Confused? Not entirely. I kept my gaze forward as I answered. “Actually, I understood most of it.”
Alden raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my response. “Really? Because I barely grasped a word of it. She speaks in riddles, Tysha. What could she possibly mean by ‘the wife, the three, the matriarch’?”
I turned toward him, my expression growing serious. “The wife—I am almost certain that is Janelle, your wife.”
Alden blinked, caught off guard by the mention of his wife. “Janelle? What makes you so sure?”
“She has been loyal to you, has she not?” I said. “You trust her more than most. Maggie’s words sounded like a warning to trust in those who have already stood by your side.”
Alden nodded slowly, as though the idea were sinking in. Janelle had always been steadfast, even when their lives grew complicated.
“But I am not sure about the three or the matriarch,” I continued, frowning as I tried to piece that part together. It still felt elusive to me, a puzzle I had not yet solved.
Alden hummed thoughtfully. “And the rest? The whole business about the frog?”
I felt a spark of clarity then, my mind sharpening. “That part I do know. The houseboat, and I suggested House Mormont. But I was wrong. It shouldn’t be the Mormont’s that get that.”
Alden’s curiosity was piqued. “Then who?”
“House Reed,” I said firmly. “Maggie’s hint about the frog—it was not subtle. The Reeds are the frog-eaters of the Neck. A pedal-powered houseboat would suit them better than anyone.”
Alden nodded, visibly impressed. “That makes sense. And what about the second part—‘look from the right side instead of always looking right?’ Any idea what she meant by that?”
I pressed my lips together, uncertain. “That is not something I care to figure out right now.”
“And the rest?” Alden prompted, clearly eager to see how much I had pieced together.
“The two browns and one green,” I murmured, my thoughts already working on it. “I need to figure out what that means. But the last part? I already know. She said I can only get what I want by using what I have—‘my precious.’ I know exactly what that is.”
Alden looked at me, his interest obvious. I did not leave him in suspense for long. I took a deep breath and spoke plainly. “My precious,” I said, “is the formula to forge Valyrian steel. It is something I have guarded closely, but if I am to get whatever Maggie meant by the two browns and one green, I will need to trade it.”
Alden’s eyes widened slightly. “The formula for Valyrian steel… That is a powerful bargaining tool. Are you certain you are willing to part with it?”
I nodded, my resolve unshaken. “If it means breaking the wheel, then yes. But I need to find out exactly what the two browns and one green represent before I make any moves. I can’t act without knowing what I’m trading it for.”
Alden nodded thoughtfully, and the conversation faded into a heavy silence. I could sense that he understood the weight of what I was considering. The cart rolled on slowly, the silence thick between us.
As we traveled, I shifted in my seat, my hands tightening around the edges of the wooden bench. A strange sensation had settled inside me, one that I could not quite explain. It was more than just the burden of Maggie’s prophecy or the decisions I would soon need to make—it was something deeper. An unease, like something had awakened within me during that meeting, something I could not name.
Why do I feel so strange? I wondered, trying to shake off the sensation. My thoughts should have been focused on her prophecy, on the steps I needed to take, but instead, I felt an unsettling pull, as though I were being drawn toward something unknown.
I shook my head slightly, attempting to clear my mind, but the feeling lingered, persistent and gnawing at me. Something was happening, something I did not yet understand—and whatever it was, I knew it was far from over.
Maggie The Frog:
Maggie the Frog watched from the doorway of her hovel as Alden and Tysha disappeared down the forest path, their cart creaking into the distance. She chuckled to herself, her old bones creaking as she turned back inside, the silence of the forest returning to its natural hum. With a soft grunt, she bent over one of the baskets of gifts Tysha had brought, her bony fingers eagerly poking through the items. Alone now, she could take her time.
The glass globe caught her eye first. She picked it up, her gnarled hands shaking it gently, watching the sand swirl within before settling back at the bottom. A low, raspy laugh escaped her lips. "How many times could’ve used somethin' like this," she muttered, turning the globe over in her hand. "To ward off all those witless fools with nothin’ but empty pasts an’ dull futures... but not little Taytay. Oh, she’s got layers, that one, aye. Lives lived, futures split." She snorted, still watching the sand slip away. "Could’ve stayed in that one forever."
Her musings were interrupted by a voice, faint but sharp in her mind—Tysha. But not the Tysha who had just left. No, this was a different Tysha, the one Maggie had pulled from the new Tysha to clear away the dark energy clinging to her soul. The voice, cold and angry, echoed in Maggie’s head.
"You had no right to separate us! You have to call her back and put my soul back in my body!"
Maggie’s face hardened, her eyes narrowing as she clutched the globe tighter. Her voice came out cold, serious, brooking no argument. "NO! Ye will stop her from fulfillin’ what she so clearly wants. Ye want to fight fate, but ye can’t."
The voice inside Maggie’s mind grew desperate, almost pleading. "She needs me so she can feel the hurt, the pain, the suffering she’s meant to experience in this world! That was my body first! I want it back! It’s mine! Send me back! This was my life, and I want my revenge—she promised me revenge!"
Maggie laughed then, a deep, rattling laugh that shook her frail frame. "Well that’s too damn bad, aye? She’d never be able to break the wheel with all that filth—corruption, pain, misery, wrapped ‘round her soul. Ye’ve had yer filthy hands on her heart fer too long, squeezin' it... Mi lady!" she spat, mocking.
The voice inside her head snarled, filled with anger now. "You Bitch, call her back! Call her back now! She will die trying to break the wheel—together, I wouldn’t allow her to give up her life for these shit-rotten people!"
Maggie’s laughter faded, and a shadow of sadness crossed her face. "I know," she said softly. "She will not survive her battle, but she will win it. That’s what mattered to her, ye fool. Not livin’ this life! That was her endgame with ye, wasn’t it? Ye knew it too, deep down."
"I would not have let that happen!" the other Tysha shouted back, her voice trembling with rage. "I would’ve stopped her before it ever got that close!"
Maggie’s temper flared, her eyes blazing with sudden fury. "NO! Ye would’ve stopped her from lovin' the man she’s meant to be with! In favor of yer own selfish love, pushin’ her to somethin’ she’d have never wanted!"
The voice roared back, seething with bitter fury. "But you aren’t—her so-called ‘great love’ will leave her for duty when it calls, breaking her heart, and you know it! Just like you know she never wanted to be more than a smallfolk merchant! Yet you’re leading her down a path she never asked for!"
Maggie let out a long, tired sigh, her anger cooling into something wearier. "Oh, child, hush now. A knightly house is but a half-step up from where she is. Ye? Ye would’ve had her reachin’ for all of the Westerlands. Greed... it would’ve swallowed her whole. Now, little girl, be GONE."
With a sharp gesture of her hand, Maggie banished the spirit, casting the other Tysha into the distant reaches of the seventh heavens. The hovel fell silent once more, save for Maggie’s labored breaths.
Maggie’s face softened, her old eyes dull with the weight of years and knowledge. "She’ll win, aye it’ll cost her but not everything," she muttered, placing the glass globe gently back into the basket. "And that’s somethin' ye couldn’t stomach, lass."
The fire in the hearth flickered, the shadows dancing on the walls as Maggie settled back into her chair, alone once more.
Tyrion:
A full sennight had passed since Sandor and Tristifer’s arrival at Casterly Rock, and in that time, Tyrion began to feel the pieces of his plan falling into place. Tristifer Lannett had arrived the very day Tyrion’s raven reached him, much to his satisfaction. Despite being a minor noble, Tristifer carried himself with a dignity fitting his Lannister blood, though he wore his eagerness openly. He was a steadfast companion, always close by, never straying unless summoned to Aunt Genna’s chambers. His loyalty, discretion, and the burning desire to prove his worth made him invaluable.
In nine days, Tyrion found their bond growing deeper than he had expected. Tristifer, with his shared love of books, had been an unexpected joy. Tyrion had thought his new junior guard might find interest in the history tomes or perhaps the military strategies he collected, but it was the farm’s comics that fascinated Tristifer most. The strange tales and vivid illustrations of God's and their improbable quests captured his imagination. Hours passed with them pouring over the stories, debating what ancient legends or forgotten histories might have inspired the art.
It was clear Tristifer’s fascination stemmed from his own dreams of knighthood. Tyrion could see the eyes light up when they discussed knightly codes or the intricacies of armor design. More than once, Tristifer spoke of crafting his own clock, a project inspired by the tales of legendary knights and their mechanical wonders. Tyrion could not help but smile at the ambition, even if the idea was impractical.
Convincing Tristifer to become his junior guard had been a calculated move. After reading through the boy’s letters from the farm, Tyrion knew just what to offer. Tristifer’s eagerness could be a weapon, and his loyalty, a shield. Aunt Genna’s assistance had been crucial. She had subtly suggested to Kevan that the arrangement be announced at supper before the family. Leaving no room for objection, not even from Cersei. Now that it was done, Tristifer’s excitement only grew. Every step he took seemed to bring him closer to proving his worth.
Sandor Clegane had arrived the day after Tristifer. He was as Tyrion had expected—gruff, guarded, and cloaked in a bitterness that only years of suffering at Gregor’s hands could create. Tyrion had always heard the stories of Gregor’s cruelty, but seeing Sandor’s scarred face up close for the first time ignited an anger in Tyrion he had not anticipated. It was impossible not to draw a parallel between the cruelty Sandor had suffered under his brother and the treachery Tyrion himself had endured from Cersei. In some unspoken way, he felt a kinship with Sandor, though neither would ever admit it aloud.
Sandor, naturally, had resisted the idea of serving Tyrion at first. He assumed that accepting the role would involve a knighthood, an idea he despised. But Tyrion had been quick to dispel that notion. “No need for all that,” he had said with a knowing smile. “I don’t care for titles or knights bound to outdated codes. I need someone who can think for themselves and act on instinct. Your sword will answer only to you!”
That simple promise had softened Sandor’s reluctance. The contract was clear, practical, and without unnecessary flourishes—just the way Sandor liked it. There were no oaths of chivalry or honor. Sandor would fight as he saw fit, and Tyrion ensured him there would be no obligation to play the part of a traditional knight. The perks, too, were significant: a private room at the Rock, away from the prying eyes of other knights; custom weapons, crafted in secret by Callie’s uncle, Bass, a newly renowned smith; and a generous payment that would ensure Sandor’s future was secure, however long it might be.
Tyrion hadn’t crafted these contracts alone. Alden and Maester Creylen had helped draft the agreements, though their involvement had been carefully managed. Alden, sharp as ever, had remembered every clause and nuance that Tyrion had suggested. To Maester Creylen, however, Alden appeared to be inventing a revolutionary method for ironclad agreements. When Creylen had asked if the Citadel should be informed of this new development, Alden had immediately declined. “I have been informed,” Alden had said dryly, “that nothing occurring within the Rock is to be shared with anyone outside the Lannisters, as my wife has reminded me.”
Creylen, ever curious, had frowned slightly but asked in his usual measured tone, “Ah, yes, my lord, that is correct. But with your permission, I would be allowed to share this exciting new approach to contracts between parties.”
“Well, in that case, no,” Alden replied, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do not want to share this idea with the Citadel.” Creylen had frowned but acquiesced, realizing he had no choice but to comply.
The eve before visiting the farm:
The fire crackled in the hearth, sending flickers of light across the stone walls of Tyrion's small room within the towering halls of Casterly Rock. Tyrion Lannister, only a boy of ten but with a wit far sharper than his age suggested, sat cross-legged in his chair. Before him lay a scattering of comic books—his prized collection of The Avenging Gods, sent to him from his friends on the farm. Across from him, Tristifer and Sandor, boys of twelve name days, lounged uncomfortably in their chairs. Supper had long since been cleared away, leaving the table open for their newest shared interest.
“I never thought I’d be caught dead reading something like this,” Sandor muttered, thumbing through one of the issues with his large hands. “But Rocket… he’s different. Small and scrappy, but he’s sharp. Smarter than half the lords and knights I’ve known, I reckon.”
Tyrion grinned, his eyes bright in the firelight. “Ah, Rocket. The one no one takes seriously because of how he looks. There’s a certain appeal in that, don’t you think?” He gestured vaguely with his hand. “Being the cleverest in the room, while everyone else thinks you are a fool. It has its advantages.”
Tristifer, who had been more quietly flipping through the first issue, looked up with a thoughtful smile. “Rocket’s clever, aye, but I rather like Quill. He’s not the strongest or the brightest, but he’s the one who holds them all together. There’s a certain strength in that. A leader who doesn’t need to be the best, just the one who knows what his friends need.”
Tyrion raised his brow, considering the point. “Quill does have that… quality. He’s the one who bears the weight of their quest more than the others, I suppose. That scene where they force the Night King back to the Land of Always Winter—now that was a moment. But still, they could not destroy him outright. They will face him again, I have no doubt.”
“Quill’s alright,” Sandor grunted, tossing the issue aside. “But Nebula’s the one I’d follow into a fight. A girl made from pieces of others, forged by the Night King, and she still had the strength to turn on him. That’s real strength—choosing for yourself, not just following orders like some mindless blade.”
Tyrion tilted his head, considering. “Nebula is fascinating, I will give you that. She is a creature of death who chooses life, an instrument of destruction who finds her own path. There is something… redemptive in her story, don’t you think? It’s as if even those who are broken can rise again and make a different choice.”
Tristifer nodded slowly, eyes still lingering on the artwork of Issue #2, where the gods of the Seven were reimagined in a cosmic clash. “It is not just the Old Gods that interest me. The way they’ve written the Seven… the Father as Odin, the Mother as Gaea… it makes them seem like real forces, not just statues in a sept. They’re out there, fighting alongside everyone else.”
“Fighting?” Sandor scoffed, though his tone carried amusement. “Aye, fighting, and nearly destroying everything. Hela, the Stranger—she almost brought the whole world down in flames. If the other gods hadn’t seen sense and turned against her, there’d be no one left in Planetos to fight for.”
Tyrion grinned at the memory of those issues. “That was a fine twist, wasn’t it? The gods of the Seven, fooled by Hela’s promises of a better world, only to find themselves on the brink of destruction. But when they came together with the Old Gods to banish her to the Seven Hells, well, that was something to remember. Even gods can learn the value of setting aside pride.”
Tristifer’s brow furrowed in thought. “It’s the same lesson, in a way, with the Drowned God and the Lord of Light in Issue #4. They’d been fighting for so long, they didn’t even realize their war was tearing the world apart. In the end, they both had to retreat into hiding before there was nothing left. Even gods need to learn when to stop.”
Sandor let out a low chuckle. “Gods or men, it doesn’t matter. All they care about is power, and the ones who suffer are the smallfolk. But I’ll say this—Rocket’s got the right of it. Keep your wits sharp, trust no one, and make sure you survive.”
Tyrion leaned forward, setting his goblet down on the table. “Perhaps, Sandor, but surviving is not always enough. Take Issue #5 with the Valkyries. When they went after Hela, it wasn’t for survival or power. They fought because it was the right thing to do, to protect the weak. They knew they were outmatched, but they stood their ground.”
Sandor’s eyes darkened as he set his comic aside, though his expression remained guarded. “Maybe,” he muttered, quieter now. “But in the end, it’s the ones like Rocket who live. Not the ones with their heads full of noble ideas.”
For a long moment, the room was quiet save for the crackling fire. Tristifer, his hands idly turning a page, finally broke the silence. “You’ve a point, Sandor, but even Rocket wouldn’t get far without his friends. He might not trust anyone, but he still fights alongside them. Quill, Nebula—they fight because they have something worth more than surviving.”
Tyrion smiled warmly, raising his goblet again. “Look at us—three boys from Westerland houses, sitting here in the heart of Casterly Rock, discussing gods and heroes. Strange company we keep.”
Sandor grunted, though there was no bite to it. “Maybe we’re not so different from those stories after all,” he muttered. “Fighting battles we didn’t choose, trying to find our way in a world that doesn’t make sense. But I’ll still take Rocket’s way. No gods. No masters.”
Tyrion chuckled softly. “Perhaps, Sandor, but even Rocket knows there is strength in numbers. Sometimes, even the cleverest need a friend or two.”
Tristifer smiled, lifting his own cup. “To us, the three and strange alliances, then.”
And for a brief moment, the boys shared a knowing look—each of them understanding that, in a world filled with battles, betrayals, and shifting allegiances, there was still room for unexpected friendships, even if they came from the most unlikely of places.
Notes:
Chapter song – Started from the bottom by Drake.
https://youtu.be/-D6USHQMFDE?si=m_pPQlFVjH8GbGTs
Chapter 30: The Nobles Visit – “Welcome to the good life, let's go on a living spree, Shit, they say the best things in life are free.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
22nd Day of Decem, 282 AC –
The Farm, Tysha:
The day's air was crisp, and it was clear of the snowfall that covered the ground a fortnight ago. Alden and Janelle arrived with Tyrion, Sandor Clegane, and Tristifer Lannett accompanying them this morn. The two hedge knights, Ser Melvinor and Ser Belvidere, were already tucked in their brick guard shacks at the farm's entrance gates.
When Alden's group arrived, they came out to open the gate, introduced themselves, and explained that when the group departs later for the Rock, they would escort them and confirm they made it there safely as part of their contract.
None of them knew that contracting these two hedge knights was costing the farm a fair amount of coin due to their skill level and trusted recommendations from the mill marketers and the inn owner.
When they made it to the farmhouse, it had an inviting warmth, and the scent of fresh-baked bread wafted from the kitchen area, a stark contrast to the chilly wind outside. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, but as the day unfolded, the weight of their reality began to settle in.
Alden introduced Janelle, Sandor, and Tristifer to all the farm members who were crowded around the farmhouse's porch, living room, dining room, and kitchen, enjoying the day and preparing for today’s brunch.
Rolder, who'd never waste an opportunity to show off the farm, rushed Amarei and G-ma to give them winter accessories, warm apple cider, and a bacon, egg, and cheese bagel sandwich, so he could start his tour.
Janelle:
Janelle couldn’t quite hide her surprise when what she assumed to be the farm’s matriarch—surely too busy for such tasks—handed them beautifully crafted winter accessories. The hats, scarves, and what she referred to as "mittens that could be opened into fingerless gloves" were warm and wonderfully soft.
Janelle marveled at their practicality, trying not to show too much surprise. What a marvelous idea, she thought, her fingers flexing inside the mittens. Even as a minor noblewoman, she had never encountered something so practical yet elegantly simple. The warmth radiated through her fingers, and she was struck by the fact that the matriarch had personally made these for them.
Then there was the "breakfast sandwich" they had been served that morning. Another strange name, Janelle thought, but it was a delightful treat nonetheless. The perfectly cooked bacon and egg, combined with some sort of crispy bread, was unlike anything she had ever tasted. She made a mental note to ask their cook to recreate this strange but delicious meal for Genna.
As the farmer, who had been distant and reluctant, led them around the farm, she expected they would simply walk. Instead, he guided them to the back of the house, where another wagon lean-to shed stood—though this was unlike any wagon shed she had ever seen. Inside was the strangest cart: sleek, almost modern in appearance, with far more comfort than any cart she had ever ridden in. Alden had mentioned there would be surprises, but this "slim bus cart" exceeded her expectations. It was ten times more comfortable than Alden’s usual merchant cart, and as she sat in it, she found herself silently impressed by the farm’s ingenuity.
Their first stop was a short ride away, though she was certain they could have easily walked. A tall fence blocked the view of what was clearly a separate section of the farm. Once inside, Janelle spotted a small pavilion at the center of the field, charming and aesthetically pleasing. The area seemed intentionally set apart, almost as if reserved for special occasions. Alden was already explaining that this field was where they would hold art classes, and something called "skating lessons." He also mentioned that name day celebrations and even a wedding were planned here. A wedding? Janelle’s eyebrows shot up. What kind of farm hosts weddings? She glanced at Alden, who seemed thoroughly engrossed in his conversation with the boys.
As they continued riding down the dirt path, the farm opened up before her. To the west was an enormous sheep pen, seemingly taking up the entire western side of the farm. Sheep wandered freely within the pens, and Janelle couldn’t believe how many there were. She had always assumed you simply sheared sheep and were done with it, but Alden explained that the farm had something called a "pond washing station" for the sheep. A pond washing station? Janelle thought incredulously. You can wash sheep? Every turn on this farm revealed something new, something that completely upended her understanding of how things were done.
And then there were the sheep pen sheds. So many of them, each large and sturdy. Janelle couldn’t understand why there were so many. Surely sheep could sleep outside; they had fleece, after all. The way this farm operated was far more complex than she had expected.
The cart pulled into another small wagon lean-to, and Alden guided her toward a huge willow tree. To her surprise, there was a bench seat hanging from the tree, suspended by thick ropes. "Hold on to me, love," Alden said as he settled her onto the bench. Before she could brace herself, he kicked off with his long legs, and the bench swung into motion. The movement startled her, and she let out an undignified scream, clutching Alden tightly. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks as she realized they weren’t in danger of falling.
Once Alden stopped the swing, he helped her off and lifted Tyrion onto the bench, giving the boy his turn to experience the swing. Tyrion’s laughter filled the air as the swing swayed gently, his small legs dangling as if he were flying in the air like a bird. Or in his case, perhaps a dragon, but I promised Joanna to always keep her secrets, even when she was no longer here.
Janelle smiled at his joy, though her mind was still spinning from the unexpected experiences this farm offered. The simple things here seemed to have an odd charm, even if they were completely foreign to her. Climbing back onto the bus cart, they continued down the dirt road path to the end of the sheep pen on her right, where a small training yard sat, but when she looked to the left on that same path, she saw it—a manse.
Or, as they called it, "the Cliff House." Janelle’s breath caught in her throat. A manse on a farm? The building was large and beautifully constructed, following the same dark brown and red undertone color scheme as the other farm buildings. Yet, its grandeur stood out. Janelle hadn’t expected such a sophisticated structure in a place like this.
Instead of heading to the Cliff House first, Sandor and Tristifer wished to explore the small training yard. Janelle stepped through the gate of the training yard, her eyes narrowing as she took in the curious sight before her. "By the Seven, what manner of yard is this?" she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with equal parts confusion and curiosity.
The entire half-acre was covered in crushed sandstone gravel and sand, firm beneath her boots yet soft enough to absorb a stumble. The circular wooden fence that enclosed the yard seemed ordinary enough, but the scene within was anything but.
"A triangle, within a circle? What oddity is this?" She moved closer, her hands brushing along the smooth timber of the outer fence. The inner wooden fence formed a perfect triangle, separating it from the rest of the yard. Inside, resting on a small standing shelf, she saw large red mittens—an unexpected sight. Her fingers itched to touch them, but she held herself back, wondering what manner of training these were used for.
"They would use these for strikes, mayhaps," she murmured, half to herself, imagining the force one must need to wear such mittens in battle practice.
To the left of the triangle, her gaze fell upon the dummies—some fashioned from wood, others of straw or clay—lined neatly along the circular fence. Their worn forms bore the scars of many a blade, each strike leaving its mark. "Aye, here they would train for sword work," she mused, stepping closer to inspect them. Her hand hovered over a particularly battered straw dummy, noting the precision of the strikes that had felled its limbs. She could almost see the young squires slashing at them, the air filled with the sound of steel upon target.
On the other side of the triangle, she spied the hay bales—tightly packed and arranged in a row against the circular fence. "And here... targets for the bowmen," she noted, recognizing the simplicity of the setup. She could almost hear the twang of bowstrings and see the arrows thudding into the bales, each archer competing for accuracy and speed.
Janelle found herself oddly impressed. It was not the grand tourney grounds she had seen in Lannisport or the rugged sparring yards of the North, but it had a sense of practicality, of innovation even. The triangle within the circle—it was a curious thing, but perhaps it allowed for a more focused training within the larger space.
"Simple, yet clever," she murmured to herself, her eyes lingering on the bleachers directly in front of the flat side of the triangle. From there, any onlooker could witness the entirety of the yard—the dummies, the hay bales, and the mysterious triangle training space. "Aye, clever indeed," Alden said.
As she turned to leave, Janelle couldn't help but wonder what other surprises this farm might hold. "I shall have to see how well they train here," she mused with a knowing smile.
When they arrived at the Cliff House, Tyrion’s friends, Callie and Tee, eagerly took over the tour at this point, leading them inside the house. As Janelle stepped through the doors, she was immediately struck by the grandeur of the family room, which seemed to dominate the entire entrance area. A grand staircase stood in the center of the room, with walkways underneath on either side. They were led down the right walkway and into a large room—the classroom.
It was unlike any learning space Janelle had ever seen. The desks were not like the long tables in a Maester’s quarters but individual pieces of furniture with chairs attached to them. Tyrion, having already been before, walked up to one of the desks and lifted the top, revealing stacks of unusually white parchment and strange thin colorful wooden sticks. Janelle leaned over, trying to make sense of it.
The woman in charge—Gwendolyn, Alden had said—began explaining the workings of the classroom. Janelle’s surprise grew with each word. They teach classes here? The twenty slim bookshelves held lesson plans, books, and what Gwendolyn called "worksheets." All of the children, along with some adults, attended classes six days a sennight. Janelle found herself impressed, though slightly overwhelmed by the level of organization.
In what she had heard was their basement, music, arts, and science classes were held. But before she could question what they were, Tyrion effortlessly explained it to her again, even going so far as to request to attend a few lessons with other children if allowed. I was going to explain that these were the Lannisters' lands and that he could do what he liked, but I was cut off, quite caught off guard by hearing Gwendolyn say that as Alden’s Seventh-Gods' son, he is allowed every advancement the children of the farm receive whenever he is here.
Her gaze wandered to the wall where a strange black board hung. “What is that black board there hanging on the wall?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
“Oh, this is our chalkboard,” Gwendolyn explained, taking a small white stick and writing her name on it. Janelle watched in fascination. She had never seen anything like it. “Westeros language arts?” she asked, repeating the words Gwendolyn had written.
“It is learning to read, write, and spell the Westeros language,” Tyrion answered easily, causing Janelle to blink in surprise.
“Do you teach more than one language?” she asked, suddenly curious about how far the farm’s education extended.
Gwendolyn smiled. “Not yet. We do not have anyone here who speaks another language, but I hope one day the children will have someone to teach them.”
Janelle’s heart steadied at the answer. So they are not teaching noble knowledge, just the basics, she reassured herself.
They continued the tour, passing back through the large living room to the left walkway, which led to their "kitchen"—a setup unlike any she had ever seen. Guiding her back out to the living area space again and up the stairs to their sleeping quarters.
Gwendolyn explained that her two oldest girls had their own rooms, while the younger ones shared the two rooms in between theirs, with her second oldest soon having the largest room on this right side closest to the staircase. The rest of her boys’ rooms were spread out on the left, on the other side of her master suite, which had its own solar and bathing room.
Each room on this second floor was clean and surprisingly well-furnished. Janelle hadn’t expected such care and attention to detail in an orphanage—or as the woman corrected her, a familyless child's waiting station.
As they made their way back to the cart, Tyrion, Sandor, and Tristifer opted to stay behind in the classroom, engrossed in a game based on the Westerlands houses. Janelle and Alden continued on the tour, and now, the farmer seemed to be a bit more welcoming. He spoke eagerly about the wheat fields and his plans for the winter harvest, which he assured them would be on time, weather permitting.
I glanced back at the Cliff House as we rode away, still trying to process everything I had seen. A farm? I thought again. This is unlike any farm I have ever known.
After spending a little time in the workshop where Alden had been working, I was escorted back to the farmhouse for the brunch they had prepared.
Tristifer:
Arriving at the farm, I found myself quietly stunned by what I saw. This was no simple cluster of cottages or barren land. The place was alive with activity. The smallfolk here moved with purpose, their voices full of laughter and ease. At Lannett Hall, everything was restrained, every coin carefully measured. But here, these people seemed to live freely, with a wealth that had little to do with coin. It was a life that spoke of abundance, though not in the way I had been taught to understand wealth.
I had expected something modest. When Tyrion mentioned we would be visiting a farm, I imagined a simple place, perhaps a few barns and fields. Yet the farm’s matriarch greeted us with finely made mittens and scarves, gifts that seemed almost extravagant. These were the sorts of things we would consider a luxury back home. And yet, here they were given freely, as though it were nothing. I couldn’t help but feel a small sense of surprise. These smallfolk merchants lived with a kind of care and thoughtfulness I had not expected.
The farm itself was impressive. The sheep pens, the pond washing station—everything had a sense of order and purpose. There was no sign of neglect or struggle. Every building stood sturdy, every field well-tended. It was clear that these smallfolk had built something prosperous, something remarkable. I had not thought such a thing possible for people of their station.
But the greatest surprise came when we arrived at the Cliff House.
A manse. On a farm.
I had to stop myself from staring. The idea seemed absurd, and yet, there it stood. The dark wood and red accents gave the house a striking presence. It was grand, far beyond what I would have expected any smallfolk family to possess. The structure had the dignity of a nobleman’s home. I could scarcely believe that people of their rank had built such a place.
Stepping inside, my disbelief only deepened. The family room was vast, with a grand staircase at its center. Every inch of the house was designed with care. This was not the crude home of smallfolk merchants—it was refined, with purpose behind every choice. The rooms were alive, filled with energy and life. It was a far cry from the halls of Lannett Hall, where silence often filled the empty rooms.
Then we were shown the classroom.
This was something beyond my expectations. Desks, each neatly arranged, and shelves filled with books and parchments. I found myself captivated by the sight. A classroom on a farm. I had never imagined such a thing. Gwendolyn, the woman in charge, explained how they used something called a "chalkboard" for teaching. I watched as she wrote on it, fascinated by the way the letters appeared and could be erased. I had never seen anything like it.
What impressed me most, however, were the books. Rows of them lined the shelves, and I couldn’t help but feel the pull to explore their contents. These smallfolk were not just working the land—they were learning, advancing. The thought stirred something in me. What knowledge did they possess that we, with all our titles and history, had neglected?
The classroom wasn’t simply a place of study—it was a space where the future was being shaped. I was struck by how much these smallfolk merchants had achieved. They had created something that even many noble families would envy. I brushed my fingers across the spines of the books, wishing I had the time to sit and read, to see what ideas they were teaching their children.
As we continued the tour of the Cliff House, I kept my thoughts to myself, but inwardly I was filled with wonder. These smallfolk merchants had built something far greater than I had expected. They had taken the land and made it flourish in ways I had never thought possible. The house, the farm, the classroom—it all made me question what we, as nobility, had been doing wrong.
It wasn’t just the size or the wealth of the place that impressed me—it was the thought behind it all. This was no accident. The smallfolk here had built a life that thrived, using cleverness and hard work. They had created something lasting, something that could rival the homes of lesser nobles. The contrast with Lannett Hall was stark. Where we clung to tradition and the remnants of our former glory, these people had moved forward.
I felt an unfamiliar excitement building within me. There was so much more to this farm, more to learn. These smallfolk merchants had surprised me, and I found myself eager to see what else they had accomplished. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something here, some knowledge or lesson, that could help my own family. Perhaps we had spent too long looking down on the smallfolk, when we should have been learning from them.
As we prepared to leave the Cliff House, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. This place had been full of surprises, and I knew there were more yet to discover.
Tyrion:
As Callie's Ma and Janelle exited the classroom, I signaled to Sandor and Tristifer to remain calm, no matter what unfolded; Aden's letter had braced me for the impending challenge. "I'm not a lie-face," it had assertively declared. Despite this forewarning, the punch to my stomach took me by surprise, its impact less painful than expected, but the subsequent kick to my posterior was genuinely jarring. As Callie assisted me back to my feet, chiding Aden while others around us snickered, she inquired, “Did he hurt you?”
“No, I am okay,” I managed to articulate, right as Sandor seized Aden and sternly warned, “Never do that again, you fool. He is a Lord, and any mark on him could cost us our lives!”
“Sandor, it's alright,” I reassured him, “I had it coming for being a lie-face, which I will not be again!” Meanwhile, Callie was busy retrieving a board game from the shelf—a distraction from the recent skirmish.
“We have limited time, and I need your help with house names where Pippi could’ve traveled,” she began, but was quickly interrupted by Tee. “No, he promised to help us with the go-kart steering and traction issues we’re having.”
Before I could respond, Jani pulled me toward the living area, leaving me no option but to follow. She pointed at a strange painting on the wall. “What is it?” Tristifer echoed my thoughts as we both studied the seemingly animated artwork.
“It’s called The Colin Illusion. It's an optical illusion or error in visual perception where the apparent contrast of an object varies significantly to most viewers depending on its relative contrast to the field on which it is displayed,” Tysha, or Taytay as Callie referred to her, explained.
She entered the room accompanied by the 'teen crew'—Aims, Roe, Jay, and the distant Al, plus three unfamiliar girls. Taytay introduced them as Lala, Callie’s eldest sister; Cirella, whom Taytay called her BFF; and the last girl named Hope. The group surveyed us with mature, discerning eyes.
Taytay particularly struck me; her soft brown hair cascaded past her waist, her light blue maiden gown adorned with a slender belt, enhancing her beauty through its understatement. Despite being the shortest, her allure outshone the others, intriguingly blending in more with our group than with her own.
As Sandor remained on high alert and Tristifer continued to gaze at Callie, who seemed oblivious to the tension in the air, Callie pleaded, “Taytay, do you have time right now to help me with the houses for Pippi’s Westerlands adventures?”
“Sorry, boo, we just came to grab more chairs for the brunch! But you know what? Why don't we have the boys do the heavy lifting while me and my BFF hang out with you and your BFF for a few ticks? Wouldn't that be fun, girls?” Taytay proposed, giving me a look that rivaled Cersei’s commanding presence.
Reluctantly, after Sandor, Tristifer, and the others had moved the chairs, benches, and stools for the farmhouse, Taytay locked eyes with me, her intentions were clear, to warn me off Callie.
Sandor:
After leaving the Cliff House, Sandor easily hefted two wooden chairs onto his broad shoulders, carrying them by himself while the other boys looked on in admiration. Tee’s eyes widened as Sandor walked past, and he couldn’t help but let out an impressed whistle.
“Oi, Sandor,” Tee called, catching up to him, “when we’re done with this whole ‘brunch’ thing, you wanna hang in the training yard with us? We could use someone like you to show us how it’s done. It’ll give us an advantage over our uncle Bass!”
Sandor raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Your uncle, huh? What kind of ‘advantage’ are you looking for?”
Tee grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. “He’s been besting us in sparring for ages. You show us a few of your moves, and we might just finally take him down a peg.”
Sandor snorted, but there was a flicker of amusement in his expression. “We’ll see,” he said gruffly. “If your uncle’s half-decent, you’ll need more than a few moves to take him down.”
Tee just laughed. “Maybe, but with you on our side, we might stand a chance.”
As Sandor and the others made their way toward the farmhouse, Amarei approached him, holding a strange-looking sandwich wrapped in a cloth. “Sandor, would you mind tasting this?” she asked, her voice friendly but curious. “It’s a fried chicken sandwich. I’d like to know if you like it.”
Sandor glanced at the sandwich skeptically. It didn’t look like anything he’d eaten before, and he wasn’t sure how something that odd could taste any good. But he wasn’t one to turn down food, so he shrugged, took the sandwich, and gave it a bite.
The flavor hit him immediately—a perfect blend of crispy, savory chicken with a hint of spice and something rich and satisfying in the bread. He blinked in surprise, then without hesitation, tried to shove the entire sandwich into his mouth.
Amarei, Melinda, Ruma, and G-ma, who had been watching, gasped and then burst into laughter. Ruma shook her head, grinning. “Yeah, the first time I had one of her deep-fried chicken sandwiches, I tried to do the same thing!”
With his mouth still full, Sandor mumbled, “It’s really good,” not caring how ungraceful he sounded.
Before he could continue his feast, Janelle’s voice cut through the moment. “Sandor Clegane, that is not how a member of a knightly house behaves.” She crossed her arms, giving him a disapproving look. “Finish that and go fetch Tyrion.”
Sandor swallowed the last bite, looking sheepishly at Janelle, but as he turned to leave, Amarei quickly slipped another chicken sandwich into his hand with a wink. “For the walk back. Don’t worry, I’ll set some aside for you later.”
Sandor gave a nod of appreciation, taking the extra sandwich with him as he made his way to find Tyrion, already thinking about the training yard challenge that awaited him.
Janelle:
The women were too clean, too lovely, and too clever to be considered simple smallfolk. I could not look at them the same way anymore. They were merchants, living by standards far higher than I had ever expected from smallfolk. From the quality of the food to the elegance of their large home and the beautifully painted structures around it, everything about this place shattered the assumptions I had always held.
As the day went on, I found myself surrounded by Tysha, the farm’s strange but kind daughter, along with her little friends Cirella and Hope, and the women of the farm—Ruma, Melinda, and Amarei. They insisted on giving me a makeover, and before long, I was laughing through the tears and mild pain as they waxed my legs, shaped my eyebrows, and polished my nails to perfection.
My skin felt baby-soft, and although I had never been one for extravagant looks, Tysha was relentless. She insisted that today would be different. With Cirella and Hope already gathered, the three of them hovered around me like well-meaning conspirators, each holding a mysterious item from their new “Beauty by Tae” collection.
"Trust me, Janelle. This is going to be fun," Tysha said with a grin, holding a sponge in one hand and a small clay pot in the other.
I leaned back slightly, unsure but curious. "You three really think this will suit me?" I asked, watching as Tysha prepared to apply something that looked like a powdered mix.
"Absolutely," Tysha replied, dabbing the sponge into the pot. "This is Winterfell Ivory, our lightest foundation. It is made from seashells and pale clay—just enough to give your skin a smooth, cool-toned finish. Perfect for your fair complexion. We apply it with this sponge so it blends evenly."
The sponge felt soft as she pressed it gently onto my skin, and as she worked, I could see the powder even out my complexion. Tysha smiled with approval. "See? Airbrushed perfection without all the fuss."
Cirella stepped in next, holding a small jar filled with a vibrant red powder. "Now, for the cheeks," she said, almost as if she were wielding some sort of magical elixir. "This is Dragonfire Red, made from wild berries and beetroot. It gives a fierce flush. Just a touch will brighten your face, but we apply it with this brush to keep it soft."
The brush danced lightly over my cheeks, the vibrant color melting into my skin. "I feel... warmer," I admitted, touching my face. Cirella beamed at that.
Hope was next, holding a small lip brush and a tiny jar filled with a deep red stain. "Your lips are going to look regal with Queen’s Blood. Crushed cherries and rose petals. It is one of our richer lip colors, but we use the brush for precision—no mess, no fuss."
As she carefully applied the lip color, I felt the richness of the pigment. It was bold but not overpowering. The lip brush made it easy to define my lips without going overboard.
"Now, the eyes," Tysha continued, stepping back in with an assortment of powders and brushes. "We will start with Shadow of Braavos—a smoky gray that will make your eyes pop. It is made from crushed slate and charcoal, and we blend it with this fluffy brush for a smooth, smoky look."
I felt her lightly dusting the eyeshadow over my lids, the color building gradually with each stroke. "It is subtle but striking," Tysha said. "Like the fog rolling over the Narrow Sea."
Cirella added a touch of shimmer to the inner corners of my eyes. "This is Golden Dawn, made from golden mica. We apply it with a flat brush or even your fingers if you want more shimmer."
When she was done, I glanced into a small hand mirror they handed me. The effect was mesmerizing—my eyes looked brighter, more defined, but it still felt like me.
Hope had already grabbed a small spoolie brush and brow gel. "This is Direwolf Brow Gel, made from ash and oil. It gives your brows a strong, structured look without making them feel too heavy. We just brush it on like this, easy and natural."
I could not believe how much more defined my brows looked with just a quick swipe. "You are transforming me," I joked, though I could not deny the excitement bubbling up as they continued.
Cirella was working on my lashes next, holding a small wand. "And for the lashes, we are using Raven’s Wing Lash Tint. It is made from kohl and charcoal, super dark and rich. We apply it with this fine mascara wand for length and drama without any clumping."
The mascara made my lashes look long and thick without feeling weighed down. I blinked a few times, admiring the effect. "It is subtle but... powerful," I said.
Tysha was not done yet. She held up a small vial of hair mist. "Last touch, the hair. We are using Essence of the North—lavender and pine oils. It is a light scent, clean and crisp, just like the winds of Winterfell. A couple of sprays, and it will stay with you all day."
I tilted my head as Tysha spritzed the mist into my hair, the scent enveloping me in a refreshing wave. It was like I had just stepped out of a Northern forest.
Cirella smiled at me, satisfied with their work. "And just to complete the look, we have got this Ironborn Blue nail color. It is bold and powerful, made from crushed lapis lazuli. We apply it with this fine brush for an even, glossy finish."
Hope grabbed my hand and began applying the polish with precision. The stormy blue hue stood out against my skin, commanding attention.
By the time they were done, I barely recognized myself—but in the best way possible. I felt confident, strong, and somehow... empowered. The combination of natural ingredients and modern techniques had done more than just change my appearance. It made me feel as though I could step into a hall full of lords and ladies with my head held high.
"I never thought makeup could feel like armor," I admitted with a laugh, running my fingers through my now lightly scented hair.
Tysha grinned. "That is the beauty of Beauty by Tae. A little old-world charm, with the best of what we have now. You look like you belong in the Red Keep, Janelle."
And for a moment, I believed her.
Alden:
I sat there, feeling more anxious than I had in years. Rogar and Jacks were already at work, their razors slicing through my beard as if it were some wild creature in need of taming. With each stroke, I felt as though a piece of my identity was falling to the floor. By the time they finished, the man staring back at me in the mirror was unfamiliar. My own reflection—years of wear and age, gone with that beard—mocked me. I barely recognized myself.
Tysha and Cirella hovered over me like crows, fussing over my hands, trimming my nails with the precision of a jeweler cutting gemstones. I might have found it amusing if not for the looming presence of Hope. She stood off to the side, her smirk as sharp as the wax strips she held, eyeing me as if I were her next victim.
"Are you certain this is necessary?" I asked, doing my best to sound composed. But I could feel the creeping dread rising as she approached.
Her smile only widened, a devilish glint in her eye. "Oh, it is necessary," she replied far too cheerfully. "And yes, it will hurt. But trust me, you’ll be grateful afterward. You’ll look like a new man."
I groaned inwardly. It was clear there was no escape. When she pressed the first wax strip to my chest, I held my breath. The warmth of the wax was misleading—almost comforting. That comfort was short-lived. In one swift motion, she ripped the strip away, and I let out a sound that could only be described as undignified.
"Gods!" I exclaimed, clutching at my now bare chest. "Is this some form of torture?"
Hope simply smiled, patting another strip down as if she hadn’t just peeled away half my skin. "That was just the first one. It gets easier."
I seriously doubted that.
The next few strips came off with just as much fury, leaving me wincing and cursing the Seven for my fate. By the end of it, I felt raw—physically and emotionally. I had faced battles with less discomfort than this.
When they finally finished, I glanced down at myself, shaven, waxed, and groomed within an inch of my life. I looked down at Janelle, who had undergone a similar transformation earlier in the day. At least we were suffering together. It felt as though we had shed more than just hair and skin—we had somehow left behind the weight of all our burdens.
Hope handed me a mirror, and I stared at the smooth face reflected back at me. I could scarcely believe it was my own. "I look like a blasted boy again," I muttered, running my hand over my bare chin.
Tysha grinned, clearly pleased with herself. "You’ll thank me later," she said, and I could not tell if that was a promise or a threat.
As I stood, stretching the stiffness from my muscles, I caught Janelle’s eye. She smiled at me from across the room, her face glowing beneath her freshly polished appearance. "You look different, Alden," she said softly, "lighter."
"Feels that way too," I admitted, though I wasn’t entirely sure if it was the lack of hair or the realization that this strange place had worked its magic on us.
As we prepared to leave, Janelle came to stand beside me, brushing her hand across my arm. "You truly do look different," she remarked, her voice softer than usual. "Like a new man."
I glanced down at her, my hand instinctively touching my smooth jaw. "I suppose I do," I replied, though the new face in the mirror still felt foreign.
The cold wind hit us as we stepped outside, a sharp reminder that we were returning to the world we had come from. But something had changed. This place, with its warmth and laughter, had stripped away more than just our outer layers. It had given us a glimpse of something else—a life that was simpler, yes, but perhaps richer in ways we had never considered.
I turned to Janelle, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Ready to return to the Rock?" I asked, though part of me wasn’t sure I was.
She nodded, her own smile playing on her lips. "Let us go home."
The rock:
The journey back to Casterly Rock was long and steady, as it always was when traveling from the Ocean Road farm. Tyrion, Sandor, Tristifer, Alden, and Janelle rode in a cart, escorted by Ser Melvinor and Ser Belvidere—guards specifically hired to ensure Tyrion’s safety on his visits to the farm and back. The knights rode on either side of the cart, their watchful eyes scanning the horizon as their horses matched the pace of the slow-moving convoy.
Following close behind them was the bus cart, driven by Colin, with Garrick, the merchant representing the farm, sitting beside him. The cart was filled to the brim with one of each item listed in the Lords and Ladies Sales Catalog, destined for Genna and her husband. Every inch of the bus cart was packed carefully, ensuring the goods would arrive in pristine condition after the long journey.
When the group finally arrived at the mouth of the Rock, Janelle took quick action. She left the group momentarily, returning with the steward of Casterly Rock. Together, they organized the delivery, calling for the servants to unload the bus cart and carry the multitude of items directly to Genna’s chambers, along with the detailed catalog. Janelle followed the procession, ready to meet with Genna personally.
Upon reaching Genna’s chambers, the unloading began in earnest. Servants filed in and out, setting down box after box, jar after jar, each item more finely crafted than the last. The scents of sweet confections, perfumes, and oils soon filled the room, creating a sensory overload that did not go unnoticed by Genna. She stood by her desk, watching the seemingly endless parade of goods with widening eyes.
As the last of the items were carefully placed, Janelle approached Genna and handed her back the pouch of silver stags. "Genna," she began with a soft smile, "the farm has gifted these items to you and your family. No payment is required."
Genna raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "A gift?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.
Janelle nodded. "Yes. They wish to show their appreciation. In addition, they’ve sent Garrick, the merchant who exclusively sells these goods in the Westerlands. He requests a moment of your time to explain the details of each item, if you would allow it. Furthermore, they’d like to add you to their new sales notification list so that you will receive word of any future products before anyone else."
Before Janelle could leave, Genna’s gaze shifted to Janelle’s face, noticing the elegant painting that enhanced her features. Genna gave a slight nod of approval. "When did you get your face painted, Janelle? You look beautiful."
Janelle smiled warmly. "Thank you, Genna. The young girls on the farm did it for me. They are quite talented."
Genna gave a small nod of approval. "I’ll keep that in mind."
Janelle bowed her head. "I’ll inform Garrick at once, Genna. He will be most grateful for your time."
As Janelle left to fetch the merchant, Genna remained in her chambers, eyes drifting over the array of goods now spread before her. The farm had certainly captured her attention, and with each visit and new product, it seemed to solidify its potential further.
Notes:
Chapter song – Good life by Kanye West
https://youtu.be/U-N8gJ4HdYc?si=p8J39_c45Uween4V
Chapter 31: The cowboy themed party - “It's a real life boogie and a real life hoedown.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
3rd day of Januarion, 283 AC –
Hour of the Doe, Tysha:
I was seriously rethinking Rolder’s cowboy-themed name day celebration. The snow had melted last moon, but it hardly mattered—it was still as cold as a white walker outside the pavilion this morning. Silently, I prayed for the sun to gather strength before our friends arrived at the Hour of the Rabbit. My gaze drifted to the quarter-acre on the right side of the pavilion, where most of the competitions would take place after our late lunch of sub sandwiches.
Guests would choose between Oat Sourdough Bread with Salami, Honey Oat Bread with Honey-Glazed Ham, or Multigrain Oat Bread with Roasted Pork Loin, accompanied by four different types of salads. Us kids will be happy with the veggie pizzas and salads.
After the competitions, we’d gather for a small feast, centered—predictably—on oats: more oat breads and two oat risottos. But the real star of the meal was the fresh produce from our winter garden. We had an impressive harvest: kale, spinach, collard greens, lettuce, carrots, beets, turnips, radishes, parsnips, cabbage, Brussels sprouts, broccoli, cauliflower, leeks, peas, and rutabagas. We even cleaned ten rabbits, making the feast a veritable bounty, and a welcome change after moons of soups and stews.
The first event was the Lasso Competition, taking place in a roped-off ring where participants would try to snare moving wooden cutouts shaped like wild hogs. Hermitage had set up a high wooden beam platform for this, and I imagined the excitement as each competitor had three chances to rope the hogs from a set distance. Whoever lassoed the most would claim victory. First place would get to choose one of our one-groat items from the sales catalog, along with a golden-painted trophy mug filled with sweet treats. Second place would get a half-groat item and a silver-painted trophy mug. Third place would get a copper item and a black-painted mug—still filled with sweet treats, of course.
Next, we’d head to the left side of the pavilion for the Barrel Racing competition. Each competitor would attempt a figure-eight around two sets of barrels placed fifty feet apart. The goal was simple: don’t knock over or touch the barrels and do it in the least amount of time. First place would win a steel farming tool or a large basket of foodstuffs, along with another golden-painted trophy mug. Second place would get an iron farming tool or a medium basket of foodstuffs and a silver mug. And third? A wooden tool or a smaller basket of foodstuffs and a black-painted mug. Only a few people had signed up, so it was going to be an intimate contest.
After that, we’d return to the right side of the pavilion for the Catch If Ya Can chicken catching competition. This event would be a riot—competitors would scramble to catch as many chickens as they could in two minutes, bringing them back to their marked pens. The fastest competitor over three rounds would win. I could already hear the roars of laughter as friends struggled to wrangle the squawking birds. The ultimate winner would receive a large wooden trophy painted gold and could choose between a family board game with a basket of treats or an item from the tradesmen catalog.
Then, we’d move to the left side again for the Tug of War. It would be men against boys, and women against girls—a true battle of strength and teamwork. Each team would tug at opposite ends of a thick rope, trying to drag the other across a line drawn in the dirt. The victors would earn a snack bag and a gold-painted iron medal on a neck ribbon. A simple prize, but the glory was in the victory itself.
The final competition which is my personal favorite—the Hoe-Down Dance Off. Participants would follow the commands of Foley, who’d be calling out the steps to a special song. The better you followed his calls, the longer you stayed in the game. The last person standing, still dancing the correct steps, would be crowned champion and win a pair of handmade rabbit-lined fur and leather boots, with a felt cowboy hat to match. I had no doubts about who would win—hehehe!
But the best part of the night was a surprise I’d been keeping under wraps—something Rolder would never see coming. The anticipation was already bubbling inside me, and I knew this night would be one to remember.
Our usual guests would be there: Filner and Abby with their boys, Fin and Flement; Criston and Kristina with Cirella; Benedict and Joanna with their boys, Benford and Benic; Herrock and Perriane with their lot—Helly, Hubard, Hamon, Harald, Helen, lil’ Hermitage, Harker, and Helia. Jerren and Darlessa with their two oldest sons, Joseth and his wife, the older Clarice, along with their kids Jerren, Joseth, Josiah, and baby James. Joffrey and Evelyn would bring their twins, Darlessa and lil’ Jeffryn. Hendry and Gladys would arrive with their sons, Herros, Heward, and Hewel. Hope and her mother, Heather, Paul, Garrick who made it back from Dorne, Alden, Janelle, Tyrion, Sandor, and Tristifer, the farm’s whole crew, and even a few new faces would join us too.
The R-7 Ocean Road Farm family would also be there—Caspor (17), his mother, Genavene (29), his younger brothers, Carrl (15) and Clifford (11), and his sister Cassandra (13). Genavene’s husband had been killed by bandits, leaving her sons to run the farm. She sold crops and livestock to scrape together extra coin for food and taxes at the mill market. Genavene wasn’t exactly fond of us selling our wares there, and she barely interacted with us. But when Rolder found out they were struggling, he took them a basket of food when the snow fell last moon.
She hadn’t been home at the time—off at the market for the free soup and goods we’d offered for her children—but Rolder had spoken with Caspor. Since then, Caspor had become Rolder’s first crop farmer apprentice. Rolder spent four days every sennight teaching him new farming methods, and in return, Caspor helped on our farm two days a week. This new approach would yield four times more crops than the old ways. Grateful for the help, Genavene had signed up for Amarei’s next cooking class, and Ruma’s first baking class, which started at the end of the moon!
Foley had also invited Chance, Maggie, their son Carter, his wife Tosha, and their nephew Leonard from the inn. Ser Melvinor and Ser Belvidere were here as well, though they hadn’t left the farm in damn near a moon. After escorting the nobles to the rock that first time, they had returned to the guard shacks, where we’d brought them cots, blankets, purified water, and Rolder’s sweet sleep, along with oil heaters to keep out the cold. Tyrion had asked them to meet at the rock again the next morn to escort the nobles back here.
When they didn’t leave for a sennight, I tried to explain that sleeping in those brick shacks with oil heaters was dangerous. They insisted it was warmer and cleaner than the inn, not to mention that Chance was charging too much coin. Plus, they argued, we’d built the shacks for them—so why pay to sleep elsewhere! So, I turned around and minded my own damn business! You want to stay and guard the farm for just board and food - fine by me. Still, it didn’t sit well with me for long, so now they were talking to Hymeth and G-ma about becoming full-time guards.
Hour of the Rabbit – Tristifer:
Tristifer stood in awe as he surveyed the spread laid out for lunch. The variety of sandwiches, salads, and pizzas seemed almost extravagant compared to what he was used to at Lannett Hall. There, every expense was carefully considered, but here, the abundance made him feel welcome in a way he had not expected.
He reached for a slice of veggie pizza, the warmth of the crust and the fresh vegetables surprising him. The simplicity of the meal was part of its charm, and he found himself appreciating the flavors more than he had anticipated.
As he ate, Callie approached, her usual cheerful demeanor brightening the atmosphere around her. Tristifer smiled and took the opportunity to engage her in conversation.
"This is my first name day celebration," he said, keeping his tone casual but unable to hide the wonder in his voice.
Callie blinked in surprise. "Really? We have one almost every moon. They are a regular thing here."
Tristifer nearly stopped mid-bite, taken aback by the casualness with which she mentioned it. "Every moon?" He repeated, astonished. "I have never heard of such a thing."
Callie laughed softly, her expression amused by his reaction. "Yes, it is a way for us to bring everyone together, to celebrate, and to enjoy each other's company. It is quite common."
He nodded slowly, still processing the idea. At Lannett Hall, gatherings like this were rare, reserved only for the most important occasions, if they happened at all. The idea that this farm held such celebrations every moon was something he found both shocking and admirable.
As the conversation wound down, Tristifer reached for one last slice of pizza, savoring the simple pleasure of it. There was something about the moment that felt different from anything he had experienced before. It was not just the food, though that was excellent, but the sense of community, of ease. It left a mark on him.
Once he finished, Tristifer made his way over to the seats by the pavilion, where the first competition was about to begin. He sat down beside Tyrion, his excitement rising as he prepared to watch the day unfold. Callie took her seat on Tyrion’s other side, and Sandor, ever the quiet shadow, settled in on Tyrion’s left. The arrangement made Tristifer feel a certain sense of belonging, being part of this small circle.
His heart raced with anticipation as he glanced at Tyrion, whose usual sharp gaze seemed relaxed for once. To his left, Sandor, though as imposing as ever, appeared at ease in his own way. And Callie—always the bright, lively presence—sat chatting lightly with Tyrion. The energy in the air was infectious, and Tristifer found himself filled with excitement at what was to come.
The first competition was about to begin, and although he had no idea what to expect, he was eager to witness it. He sat forward, ready to take it all in, enjoying the rare feeling of being part of something grand, surrounded by people who, in this moment, felt like more than just new acquaintances. They felt like friends.
Tyrion:
I wasn’t Lord Tyrion Lannister here. Not today. Today, I was just Ty. And by the gods, it felt like a relief. No one cared that I was a dwarf, or that I came from one of the most powerful families in Westeros. To everyone here, I was simply Callie’s best friend—and that was a title I liked more than most.
Jani, squirming on my lap, kicked her little legs as we waited for the first competition to start. I looked down at her. She has the same dwarfism as me, but right now, all she cared about was chewing on her candy ring, oblivious to the world around her. A part of me wanted her to stay like that forever—innocent, not yet weighed down by the world’s expectations. Today, I could pretend that everything was as simple as the way she saw it. No judgments, no whispers. Just a fun day with friends, and that was something rare for me.
I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable with Jani on my lap, as the Lasso Competition was about to begin. I’d never seen anything like this before, and honestly, I had no idea what to expect. People throwing ropes at wooden pigs? How hard could it be?
The answer, it turned out, was very hard.
Filner was up first, a thick, grizzled man with hands that looked like they could crush a rock. He swung the lasso over his head and flung it toward the wooden hog, which swung mockingly from the beam. The rope landed about two feet wide. He tried again. And again. Each time, the hog might as well have been invisible. I watched, half in awe, half in confusion. Was this supposed to be impressive?
“Do they usually miss this much?” I whispered to Callie, who giggled and nudged me.
“Just wait, it gets funnier.”
Next up were his two boys, Fin and Flement, and I quickly saw what she meant. The two of them seemed to be in competition with each other, but not in the way the lasso event was intended. Fin went first, managing to entangle himself in his own rope within seconds. He flailed around, hopping on one foot as he tried to shake it off, while Flement laughed so hard he nearly fell over. When it was Flement’s turn, he was determined not to meet the same fate as his brother. Instead, he managed to loop the rope neatly around the post… where no hog was. The boys were red-faced from both effort and embarrassment, and I was already laughing so hard I had to hold Jani tighter on my lap.
“Careful, they’ll think you’re next,” Sandor growled from my left, his lips twitching in what I swore was the closest thing to a smile I’d ever seen on him.
Criston was next, but he fared no better, flinging his rope wide. Then came Benedict and his boys, Benford and Benic. Benedict gave it a good try, but his second throw sent the lasso spiraling off in the opposite direction of the hog, like he was aiming for some invisible enemy. Benford actually came close, but that only seemed to make things worse when he couldn’t repeat the feat. And Benic—oh, Benic. The poor lad threw the rope so hard it caught around his own legs, sending him sprawling in the dirt.
“Ha! That’s one way to catch a hog,” I said, barely able to contain my amusement. Even Sandor let out a deep chuckle at that one, though I knew he'd deny it if asked.
The farmhand Jeffyrn stepped up next, looking confident. He swung the rope, eyes narrowed in focus, but his results were no better. Lomont, the farm’s assistant manager, took his turn after that, and while his throws were closer, the hog still danced out of reach.
Then came Rolder, Taytay’s pa, and you could tell the man had done this before. His first throw? Missed by an inch. His second? Dead on. The crowd cheered as his rope cinched tight around the hog, and I found myself clapping along. But it wasn’t over yet.
Mikell and Colin, Taytay’s brothers, gave it their best, and I was impressed. Mikell’s second throw was perfect, and Colin followed with one just as good. They were definitely contenders, but they had nothing on Al, Callie’s elusive cousin.
Al stepped up last, and the crowd fell silent. You could see it in the way he moved—he wasn’t here to participate; He was here to win. His first throw? Perfect. The second? Even better. By the third throw, the crowd was already cheering. Al was the clear winner, and the golden-painted trophy mug was handed to him with applause.
“He might as well be the wooden hog himself with how well he caught them,” I said, laughing.
Callie smirked. “He does practice… a lot.”
The next event was Barrel Racing, something I’d heard of but never witnessed. The competitors had to weave their horses around two barrels placed fifty feet apart, making a figure-eight pattern. The trick was to do it fast without knocking over the barrels. Sounds simple, right? Well, not exactly.
Filner and his boys were up again, but after seeing them with the lassos, I wasn’t expecting much. Filner did better this time, managing to weave through the barrels without touching them, but his time was slow. His boys, though? A disaster. Fin’s horse knocked the first barrel over completely, and Flement, not to be outdone, tipped the second one with his knee as they made the turn.
Rolder, though, was something else. His horse moved like it was part of the wind, gliding through the course with precision. No barrels tipped. No time wasted. By the time he finished, I was clapping again, impressed by the sheer skill.
Mikell and Colin followed, both doing well but not quite matching their father’s finesse. Then Al stepped up. By now, I was expecting greatness, and he didn’t disappoint. His horse made the figure-eight so smoothly it almost looked easy, which, judging by the struggles of everyone else, it clearly wasn’t.
Benedict and his boys tried their luck after that, with Benford giving a particularly fast ride, but by the end of it, Rolder and Al were clearly the top contenders.
I glanced at Tristifer. “I think I’ll leave the horseback riding to them, what do you think?”
Tristifer laughed. “Wise choice.”
Then came what I could only describe as the most chaotic, hilarious thing I’d ever seen: Catch If Ya Can, also known as the chicken-catching contest. The goal? Simple—catch as many chickens as you can in two minutes. The execution? Complete madness.
The men were up first: Paul, Lomont, Rolder, Hermitage, Benedict, Jeffyrn, and the boys—Haymeth, Al, Mikell, and Colin. As soon as the signal was given, chickens were everywhere. Feathers flew, men stumbled, and I think at one point, Paul tripped over a chicken only to have it run right past him again.
“Do you think they even know how to catch a chicken?” I asked, trying not to laugh too loudly.
“Clearly not,” Callie giggled.
But Al—oh, Al. He had a way with chickens, it seemed. He darted around the ring, scooping up chickens like it was the easiest thing in the world. By the time the whistle blew, he had the most chickens by far, winning the first round without much of a challenge.
The second round, though, was even more fun. The women took their turn, and I could tell from the look in their eyes they were going to be just as competitive, if not more. Kristina, Amarei, Perriane, Joanna, Darlessa, and the girls—Tysha, Cirella, Hope, Helen, and Thala—stepped into the ring, determined to outdo the men.
If I thought the men were chaotic, the women took it to another level. Kristina almost caught a chicken, only for it to squirm out of her grasp at the last second. Amarei, though, was a force of nature. She darted after the chickens with speed and precision, making it look almost too easy. The crowd cheered her on as she caught one after another, securing her win for the second round.
Then came the final round, a battle of the sexes—Al versus Amarei. If Al thought he was going to win again, he was sorely mistaken. The chickens were released, and the two of them went head-to-head, but Amarei was unstoppable. With a fierce determination that had the crowd roaring, she outpaced Al, catching chickens left and right until it was clear she was the strong winner.
I was laughing so hard by this point that I had to wipe tears from my eyes. Jani, still on my lap, kicked her legs and babbled happily, clearly enjoying the excitement around her.
Finally, the Tug of War began, and the crowd split into two factions. First up were the women versus the girls. Both teams grabbed the thick rope, planting their feet firmly in the dirt, ready for battle. The whistle blew, and the tugging began.
The girls gave it their all, but the women were relentless. Slowly but surely, the rope inched forward, and the girls’ feet began to slide. The crowd roared as the women pulled them across the line, victorious.
Next, it was the men versus the boys, and this time, the stakes were even higher. The boys grabbed the rope, faces set in determination. They were smaller, yes, but they had something the men didn’t—sheer, stubborn willpower.
The whistle blew, and the men pulled, but the boys held their ground. Inch by inch, the rope inched toward the boys' side. The men, growing desperate, pulled harder, but the boys dug in their heels, refusing to give up. With one final, mighty heave, they dragged the men across the line. The boys had won, and the roar from the crowd was deafening.
I couldn’t stop clapping, laughing, and grinning from ear to ear. Today, I wasn’t the forgotten son of Tywin Lannister. I wasn’t the dwarf people whispered about behind their hands. Today, I was just Ty, sitting with friends, watching these wonderful, ridiculous competitions.
And I wouldn’t have traded that for anything.
As the crowd settled in, Tyrion shifted in his seat, flanked by Sandor and Tristifer. The air was thick with the hum of anticipation, and inside the pavilion, the energy was palpable. The smallfolk had worked up quite the appetite for fun, and it seemed the upcoming competition would not disappoint.
“Think this will be as messy as the tug of war?” Tristifer asked, glancing at Tyrion.
“With these smallfolk?” Tyrion smirked, raising his cup. “No doubt.”
Foley stood tall before the gathered crowd, a sharp whistle cutting through the chatter and drawing all eyes toward him. His family stood at the ready, instruments in hand, and a wide grin spread across Foley’s face as he addressed the room.
"Alright, everyone! It’s time for the Hoe-Down Dance-Off!" Foley's voice boomed with enthusiasm, met with a wave of cheers from the crowd. "You know the rules! I’ll be callin’ the steps. Keep up or sit down. The last ones standin’ win the game!"
Tyrion straightened up, his eyes gleaming with anticipation as nearly the entire group stepped onto the makeshift dance floor.
The rhythmic tapping of Foley’s foot set the tempo, followed by the strumming of a lute and the beat of a drum. The melody was upbeat and spirited, the kind that could rouse even the sleepiest of smallfolk. Foley shot a wink at the crowd and began to call out the steps:
“Step to the right, and stomp your feet,
Turn in a circle, light and fleet,
Hands to your partner, swing ‘em wide,
Step back once, now side by side,
Spin around and tap your toe,
Dance it fast, or dance it slow,
Raise your arms and take a bow,
If you’re still standin', take a vow!”
With each call, the smallfolk spun, stomped, and swung their arms, their movements becoming more frenzied as the pace quickened. Laughter bubbled through the crowd as dancers struggled to keep up with the fast pace and intricate steps. Some fell behind, laughing as they staggered off the floor, but the competition raged on.
Tyrion leaned forward, watching intently as the last two dancers, Lomont and Paul, faced off in a final flourish. With a few more spins and taps, only Lomont remained standing, breathless but triumphant.
Tyrion raised his cup with a sly smile. "It seems our champion is Lomont."
Sandor grunted in agreement. "He’s earned his supper."
"Indeed," Tyrion said, chuckling. "If not our laughter, he's certainly earned our respect."
The crowd erupted into applause as Lomont was crowned the champion of the dance-off. Tyrion, still nursing his cup, raised it in a gesture of approval, clearly entertained by the spectacle.
"Well, that was something," Tristifer said, still chuckling.
"Indeed," Tyrion agreed. "Westeros may have its battles, but nothing quite compares to the sight of smallfolk dancing for glory."
As the night continued, the pavilion hummed with lively chatter, laughter, and the lingering echoes of the dance-off, the smallfolk celebrating their champions.
Rolder POV:
Rolder leaned back in his chair, feeling content as the warmth of the feast settled in his belly. The name day celebration had turned out even better than he’d imagined. All around him, friends and family were finishing their meals, their laughter and conversation filling the air. The soft glow of the evening sun lingered, while a cool breeze from the nearby ocean carried the last traces of the day’s warmth. For Rolder, this was peace.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin, but something on the stage caught his eye. Mikell, Colin, Tysha, and Amarei were making their way toward it, huddled together, whispering. Rolder frowned, curiosity bubbling up as Foley and his family moved to the back of the stage, tuning their instruments again.
Rolder’s brow furrowed in confusion. No one had mentioned another performance, and surely his family would’ve told him about something like this. He leaned forward, intrigued, as the instruments began a slow, rhythmic beat. Mikell stepped up first, a wide grin on his face, and his voice rang out over the gathering.
“There are times,
We might not see eye to eye,
And there are times when we’ll have differences.”
A chuckle escaped Rolder, surprise giving way to a broad smile. The guests began to smile too, already swept up by the moment. Then Tysha stepped forward, her voice clear and strong as she took over the next verse.
“We can't be around too long before we fight,
But it’s okay,
‘Cause I love you anyway.”
As her voice carried through the crowd, Rolder’s chest swelled with pride. His children—Mikell, Colin, Tysha, and now even Amarei—had put this together without him knowing. They always had a way of surprising him, especially Tysha. The cheers from the crowd grew louder as Colin’s enthusiasm spread like wildfire when he stepped up next.
“There are times,
When you don’t know,
How you’re gonna make it through.
I know, I’ve been there too.”
Then, Amarei stepped up and began to sing—a voice he hadn’t heard since Tysha was a baby.
“You can always rest assured,
Don’t be ashamed to share with me.
See, I am your family,
Yeah.”
The three siblings—Mikell, Colin, and Tysha—joined in harmony, their voices blending perfectly.
“Every day should be a family reunion,
We should speak from the heart,
And let love be the solution.
Let us forgive,
Put the past out of the way.
No time to wait,
The time has come to give love every day.”
By now, Rolder was fighting back tears, shaking his head in disbelief. This wasn’t just a performance—it was a gift. Something special, made just for him. His gaze shifted to Amarei, who stood off to the side, beaming as she watched their children shine. She caught his eye, her gaze sparkling with the shared secret.
The crowd clapped along with the music as Mikell stepped forward for his solo, his voice filled with pride for the simple life they had in the Westerlands.
Mikell’s voice carried a deep emotion that tugged at Rolder’s heart. As he listened, Rolder saw his life reflected in the lyrics—the love he had for his family, the simple joys they shared. A smile spread across his face, and a warmth blossomed in his chest.
As the final chorus echoed out, Amarei stepped forward to finish with a melodic touch. The crowd erupted into cheers, applause ringing out around the stage. Overwhelmed, Rolder stood, clapping along with the rest of them, his heart full.
Watching his family take their bows, Rolder felt an overwhelming surge of love and gratitude. The day had been perfect—filled with laughter, competition, and now this unexpected gift. His eyes met Amarei’s across the crowd, and she gave him a playful wink, as if to say, “We got you.”
Rolder grinned back, knowing this was a memory he’d carry with him forever.
*
4th Day of Februarion, 283 AC –
Tysha:
As the arrow flew straight and hit the red bullseye, I couldn’t help but yell out, "I told you! You can’t beat me, playa’. I’m the best here on this farm!" The rush of victory surged through me, and I relished the moment. Sandor stood there, clearly regretting the challenge. After catching my breath, I turned to him, a smirk playing on my lips. “Now, do you want to start today, or when you come back?”
Sandor, the stubborn fool, had been stupid enough to take me up on the challenge. Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled he did, but I knew he didn’t actually want us messing with his face. Still, I had plans for him, and I knew me and Hope could help.
Sandor was huge for his two and ten name days—muscles bigger than any of the boys on the farm. He had this hooked nose that I swear, every time I saw it, I wanted to break and reset it properly. But I had to pick my battles carefully with him. He wasn’t far from being that mean-ass Hound people whispered about. Push him too hard, and you might end up on the wrong end of his temper.
Hope and I had cornered him last time he was here, asking if we could use him for our burn study. Of course, Sandor wasn't thrilled about it. We explained it carefully, telling him he’d need to take antibiotics for a full sennight, both pills and ointments. His skin was a mess—infected and ulcerated in places—and I was sure these treatments would help clear it up. Once the infection was gone, we’d start the steroid injections. The idea was to soften the thick scar tissue, ease the tightness, and give him more range of movement in his face. I figured he’d appreciate that, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
He already knew about the steroid pills because we’d used them on Tyrion. And that worked like a charm, making Tyrion think he could do things he really had no business doing around here. But Sandor, being the stubborn ass he was, wasn’t easy to convince.
After a moon of injections, Hope would sew up the little hole in his jaw. Then we'd put him on another round of antibiotics and finally, start on his hair replacement. The minute I suggested that part, Sandor flat-out refused. So I went over his head and laid it all out for Tristifer, Callie, and Tee. Of course, they backed me up. That’s how the competition was born—everyone knew I’d win, so we’d get the chance to do what needed doing. And just like every other Westerosi man, Sandor thought I’d lose. But this 4’11” wench isn’t like the other Westerosi women. I came to win because Hope needed this research for our Westeros Book of Medicine. She’s determined to be the first woman to publish a healing guide for the smallfolk, and I’m right there with her.
“Let’s get this shiat over with,” Sandor growled, his tone filled with reluctant acceptance.
I couldn’t help but break into my happy dance, a little jig of victory. “Come on, then,” I said, leading him toward the SCC shed. We had to get started now, especially since the wedding rehearsal was happening in a few hours. I needed to make sure everything went exactly as I envisioned. Plus, I still had to meet up with Callie and Cirella at the Hour of the Bee to practice the songs I’d rewritten for the Faith of the Seven. G-ma’s septon friend would be arriving in a moon for the wedding, and everything had to be perfect.
But first things first. Sandor might not know it yet, but this was just the beginning. We weren’t done with him by a long shot.
Notes:
Chapter song – Texas Hold ‘Em by Beyonce.
https://youtu.be/238Z4YaAr1g?si=_HjcsovJ17Sr77u9Everyday (Family Reunion) by Chaka Khan, Gerald Levert, Yolanda Adams, Carl Thomas.
https://youtu.be/vphXQoiJC2s?si=cKPhfAnnYtrtwF5J
Chapter 32: The Little Fires Everywhere – “I just wanna be, I just wanna be successful.”
Notes:
Author's - hehehe Note:
The next five chapters are going to be quite long—sorry for the madness! We're coming up on the first big time skip in the story, and I needed to get a lot of worldbuilding details in place. Think of this as The New Tysha: Late Childhood to Early Westerosi Teenage Years.
The time skip will cover one year, followed by a second skip of two years. Thanks for sticking with me through all the details!
P.S. I've been writing non-stop for two weeks and playing fast and loose with sleep, so if you spot any mistakes, call them out and I'll fix them. Peace and love, peeps!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
11th Day of Februarion, 283 AC
Tysha POV:
Hope and I stood over Sandor, both of us silently studying his face like two artists examining a half-finished canvas. A sennight had passed since we started him on the antibiotic pills, and I could already see the difference as I checked his skin under the bright spotlight candle lantern of the shed.
“Well,” I said, leaning in for a closer look, “I’ll be damned. No more redness. And all the pus bumps are almost gone.”
Hope, who was inspecting the middle and other side of Sandor’s face with the same precision she applied to everything, gave a small nod. “The infection’s clearing up nicely. But it’s not completely healed yet. We’ll need to put you on another round of antibiotics, just to be safe.”
Sandor grunted, shifting his large frame slightly on the stool. For him, that was about as patient as he got. The first time we’d suggested the treatment, he’d snarled and stormed off, but now here he was, sitting still while we poked and prodded his face like it was some experiment. That meant something, even if he'd never admit it.
“I hate taking those damn pills,” Sandor muttered, scratching at the baby stubble on his chin.
I chuckled, reaching for a clean rag. “I know, big guy, but it’s helping. You’ve come this far, and it’s looking better than it has in years, as you said yourself. Just give it another week. I promise you’ll notice a big difference.”
Hope added, her calm voice always the balm to any situation, “We’ll check again in another seventh day, but you’re on the right track. We just need to keep it clean and avoid any more infections.”
There was a slight twitch in Sandor’s jaw, but he gave a nod. I could see the grudging respect in his eyes, even though he’d probably chew off his own hand before admitting it out loud.
I grabbed the basin of warm water, soaking the rag and wringing it out before pressing it to Sandor’s face. His skin, rough and scarred in places where the infection had done the most damage, was already showing improvement. The angry red patches had faded, and the texture of his skin was less swollen, softer, even.
“Alright, I’m going to deep clean your face,” I said, carefully wiping down every crease and line. “We can’t have any dirt getting in there and messing up the good work we’ve done. So, sit tight.”
Sandor huffed, his clenched jaw loosening just a little as I worked. It wasn’t often you saw him this relaxed—not that “relaxed” would ever be the right word for him—but in this moment, he wasn’t resisting.
Once his face was clean, I reached for the jar of ointment, unscrewing the lid and letting the familiar smell of herbs and healing oils fill the shed. It was a scent I associated with recovery, with the hope that even the most stubborn of infections could be healed.
I dipped two fingers into the jar and gently rubbed a thin layer of ointment into Sandor’s skin. Though I knew most of the nerves in the damaged areas were long burned away, I still took care to be as gentle as possible. This antibiotic and steroid ointment would not only help prevent infection but also soften the thick, tough scar tissue that had plagued him for far too long.
“Feels smoother already, doesn’t it?” I teased, knowing full well Sandor wouldn’t admit it if his life depended on it.
“I didn’t say that” he grumbled, though I could hear the faintest hint of relief in his voice. If I wasn’t paying attention, I might have missed it.
Hope handled the unburnt side of his face, her movements quick and precise as always. She focused more on covering his jaw and cheek, her hands steady as she worked. “Apply the ointment twice a day,” she instructed, “keep it clean, avoid any rough fights for now, and we’ll check again on the seventh day.”
Sandor didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. A grunt was as good as a “yes” from him.
I washed my hands and packing up the supplies, before giving Sandor one last look-over. “You’re good to go, big guy. We’ll see you then. But don’t slack off on the treatment, or I’ll hunt you down and start all over again.”
He muttered something under his breath—something that sounded suspiciously like “cunt”—but I just grinned. He’d come around eventually, especially when he didn’t look like two-face's son anymore.
After we put away the equipment, I shrugged into my coat, turning to Hope with a playful smirk. “Come on, Hope. Let’s head up to the Cliff House and see what the others are up to.”
We left the shed, stepping out into the cold, late afternoon air. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the farm. The breeze carried a faint salty tang from the nearby sea, brushing against my skin as we made our way along the winding path that led toward the cliffs. I could already hear faint voices up ahead, probably practicing their songs for the wedding.
"You think Sandor will stick with the treatment?” Hope asked, her voice thoughtful.
“He’ll stick with it,” I replied with confidence. “He’s stubborn as hell, but he’s not an idiot. He knows we’re right. Besides, I think he’s starting to trust us, even if he’d never admit it.”
Hope smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re right. And once we get through this round, we can start the next phase.”
Yep,” I said, a mock groan escaping me. “And then he’ll be stuck with us for a sennight —oh, the horror.”
We laughed as we continued our walk from the back of the farmhouse, but as soon as we reached the farm’s main dirt road, we could see Bass had returned, and he was hot as a firecracker on the Fourth of July. So, me and Hope moseyed our asses over to see what had happened. I knew he’d gone to see Lidi to give her the official date for the wedding and confirm she could come the day before. I wondered what she’d said to piss him off this much.
“Looks like Bass is in a mood,” Hope murmured, raising an eyebrow. I nodded in agreement, my curiosity piqued.
“Let’s go see what’s up,” I said, veering off the path. If Bass was this worked up, it had to be something worth hearing about. He didn’t usually get this riled up unless someone had truly gotten under his skin.
As we got closer, I caught sight of Rolder stepping into the forge, his hand resting casually on the doorframe as he waited for Bass. By the time we reached the entrance, I could already hear their voices—low and heated—coming from inside.
“She wants me to pay her to sleep here the night before the wedding!” Bass’s voice was laced with frustration. “When I explained she’d be staying in the cottage with our daughter, not me, she didn’t care!”
“Did she not see Heather in your cart?” Rolder asked, sounding just as perplexed as Bass. “Ruma told her you two were courting.”
“Oh, she saw her, and it didn’t matter, she still tried to use her old antics on me. I near pushed her down. She’s just as spiteful now as she was when we were growing up. Thank the seven, Heather ignored her, remembering her ways,” Bass was saying when Hope nudged me toward the door and whispered goodbye before heading toward the bunkhouse and tiny home village, likely to check on Melinda and her mom, whom he must have dropped off there before returning the cart. I watched her walk away, curiosity gnawing at me. This was definitely something I wanted to hear more about.
“Hey, Uncle,” I greeted Bass with a grin, trying to keep things light. “What’s wrong?”
Bass, true to form, brushed me off with a generic “nothing, sweetling, did you need something?”—the same line he used on all of us kids whenever he didn’t want us prying into his business.
“No, do you need anything?” I asked, a little more sweetly than usual, causing him to narrow his eyes at me in suspicion.
Rolder, catching on to my antics, turned to me with a knowing look. “Go on, girl, get. Mind ya business. Ain't that what ya young ones say?”
Damn, caught, and he hit me with my own saying! I smiled sheepishly before making a quick exit, my curiosity still burning in the back of my mind. I’d just have to cuddle up with Amarei later and get the whole story out of her. She never could resist spilling the details, especially when I played innocent.
As I headed back toward the big house to wait on Hope, I spotted Alfred walking toward me with an unmistakable grin plastered on his face.
“Guess,” he said, his voice bubbling with excitement.
“Guess what?” I asked, already preparing myself for whatever ridiculous news he had.
“Guess who asked Ruma if she could attend her wedding?” Alfred was practically bouncing on his heels now, a goofy ass grin stretching ear to ear.
“The suspense is killing me, dude. Who?” I asked, turning to face him fully.
“Katalin. What did you call her? The crazy bitch?”
Without a word, I took off running toward the house, praying to every god out there but the seven, that Ruma hadn’t actually said yes. There was no way in hell I was letting that heifer show up at the wedding without a fight.
Alfred’s laughter trailed behind me as I sprinted, the familiar sound echoing in the air. I burst into the house just as Ruma was slipping into her room, probably to change out of her market clothes and into her favorite farm bib dress—the one she practically lived in when she wasn’t trying on her wedding gown these days.
“You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t!” I hissed at her, skidding to a stop in the hallway.
Ruma blinked at me, clearly confused. “Did what? What happened?”
“Did you invite the devil’s spawn to your wedding?” I asked, my voice pitched low in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Katalin? Oh, yeah, I invited her and her family. Mikell asked me to—well, only if they asked to come,” she explained, raising her hands in a defensive gesture. She knew damn well how I felt about Mr. Pissman and his crew.
My hatred for that piece of shit ran deep. The rumors he’d been spreading about us for the past two years had gotten so out of hand that even the tax collector, Katrina, and Maggie had brought it up to Amarei and Rolder. He’d even tried to claim Colin wanted to court his fugly-ass daughter. If she dared show up at the wedding, I’d be seating her all the way in the back—with the rest of the strangers.
Ruma raised her hands as if she thought I might lunge at her. "Mikell wants to rub the farm’s success in Mr. Pissman’s face. He thinks it’s time we show him not to mess with us. You know, like the farm’s motto— 'Each one, teach one'!"
"That’s not what our motto means, but I get it," I said, shaking my head. Ugh, he took it way too literally.
I couldn’t help but laugh. The thought of Mr. Pissman seeing how far we’d come—watching his smug face curdle as he realized what we’d accomplished—was almost too sweet to pass up.
“I get it,” I said between chuckles. “That’ll light a fire under his ass for sure, but it’ll just stir up more rumors. Did Mikell think of that, or is this just him doing that Mikell thing he always does?”
Ruma smiled slyly. “Oh, he’s definitely doing the Mikell thing. But don’t worry—I’ve got a plan. Kennon, Mr. Pissman’s son, will see our farm and realize what’s possible. He’s been doing most of the work over there anyway. Once he sees Rolder and hears all about ‘a cropper’s way,’ it’s only a matter of time before he starts questioning his father. You, meanwhile, can hang out with Kendon during the feast, and I’ll talk to Kristyne about joining my next baking class. By the time I’m done, his children will be just like us. That’ll force Mr. Pissman to stop his gossiping or risk being called out as a hypocrite.”
“You really want to see him squirm, don’t you?” I grinned, leaning against the doorframe as Ruma pulled off her market dress and slipped into her farm dress.
“Absolutely,” she replied with a wink. “It’ll be worth it just to watch him choke on his own words. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure Ser Melvinor and Ser Belvidere know to keep him in check during the wedding. One day only, I swear.”
I shook my head, chuckling as we left the house together. The sea breeze brushed against us, carrying the salty scent of the ocean as we made our way down the path toward the Cliff House, where Leyla and Foley were holding choir practice.
“You know Foley’s going to have Elmar and Rogar sing lead for ‘They Still Love Me,’ right?” Ruma asked.
“Yeah, I know. They’ve got the strongest male voices out of everyone. G-ma said Septon Marvin loves the Faith of the Seven and tries to live by their code, so it’s important the boy’s lead. I’ve been working with them to make sure the routine is tight. With so many of us on stage at once, we’ve got to be careful not to knock anyone off this time.”
Ruma laughed at the memory. “Yeah, last time it was like a free-for-all. Poor Elmar nearly got trampled.”
As we walked, I glanced at Ruma, who seemed more relaxed than she had in a while. “What do you think of the tuns and song list?” I asked, curious about her thoughts.
“I love it,” she replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s different, but that’s what makes it so perfect. My wedding’s not going to be the usual, so why should the music be? As you said it should be flawless!”
I gave her a one-armed hug, laughing. “You’re right. It’s going to be flawless!”
When we arrived at the Cliff House, the sound of angelic voices greeted us as Leyla led the younger children through their rehearsal. We slipped in quietly, watching as she guided them with a patient smile.
The basement of the Cliff House was cozy, the wooden beams overhead and the colorful mural of a sunny sky with fluffy clouds and kites painted on the walls giving it a warm, welcoming feel. Leyla, ever the gentle instructor, stood at the front, her youngest, Selmond and the newest member of my crew, helping listen for the ones struggling with their parts.
“She’s really good with them,” Ruma whispered.
“Yeah, she is,” I agreed, watching as the little ones sang, their voices blending together in a perfect harmony.
When Leyla caught sight of us, she gave a quick nod before turning back to the children. “Alright, my little songbirds. You’ve done enough for today. Take a break, and then it’s time for the older ones to practice.”
They scattered, giggling and running off upstairs toward the living room or the kitchen’s snack basket. Foley, already tuning his guitar at the side of the room, looked over at us with a smile. Elmar and Rogar stood nearby, their expressions a mix of excitement and nerves as they prepared for their lead vocal practice.
“Hey, Elmar,” I called out, walking over to him before stopping next to Rogar. “Hey, cousin, y'all ready to sing lead vocal together?”
Elmar flashed me a nervous smile. “I think so. My G-pa’s been drilling us non-stop.”
“You’ll do great,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder.
Foley motioned for everyone to gather round. “Alright, let’s get started. Tysha, you’re up with the leads. Elmar and Rogar, ya take the main parts. Callie, you’re on half-soprano, and Cirella, hit those high notes.”
We all took our places, with Ruma slipping to the back to watch. Callie shot me a thumbs-up from across the room, while Cirella was already warming up, mentally running through her part.
“Let’s run through it once,” Foley said, strumming the opening chords. “But be mindful of your spacing. We don’t need anyone falling off the stage again.”
The room erupted in laughter at the memory of our last chaotic rehearsal, and we all promised to be more careful this time.
As the first chords filled the air, Elmar, Callie, Rogar, Cirella, and I took deep breaths and began singing the lead parts of Walter Williams, Eddie Levert, Angie Stone, Beyonce, and Melba Moore. Elmar and Callie voices, rich and deep, blended beautifully with the melody. When it was my turn, I stepped forward, letting the lyrics flow, feeling the emotion in every word.
Callie’s soulful voice in that half-soprano added a layer of warmth, while Cirella hit the higher notes with precision, her voice soaring above the rest of us. Together, we moved through the routine, keeping an eye on each other to make sure we stayed in sync.
By the time the song ended, the energy in the room was electric. Foley nodded in approval, a rare smile spreading across his face. “Much better, everyone. You’re getting the hang of it.”
Leyla clapped her hands, beaming with pride. “That was fantastic! Let’s run through it one more time. Just a few small adjustments, and it’ll be perfect.”
Elmar’s nervousness had all but disappeared, his face lit up with confidence as we prepared to go again. The song was coming together, and with every rehearsal, we were one step closer to nailing the performance.
After our final run-through, Foley set his guitar down and motioned for us to gather around. His voice, always calm but commanding, cut through the lingering hum of the last notes. "Good job, everyone. Let’s break for now. We’ll pick it up again tomorrow. Starting with the fiddle, lute, and piano solos."
I stretched my arms above my head, feeling the satisfying pull of muscles that had worked hard, both in rehearsal and on the farm. The room hummed with the contented buzz of people proud of a job well done. Alfred sauntered over with a mischievous grin plastered across his face.
“I don’t know about y’all,” he said, clapping his hands together like a villain scheming, “but I’m ready to beat someone down in Uno.”
“You’re always ready to beat someone down in Uno,” Haymeth teased, nudging him with his elbow.
Leyla waved us off with a smile. “Go on, then. You’ve earned a break.”
I led the way out of the basement, the group following close behind. Inside the Cliff House’s classroom, the younger ones were already fiercely engaged in their own game of Uno, a look of intense focus on each of their faces. Looks like Forrest, Lorra, Merlo, and little Fay were tossing cards down as if their lives depended on it in a face off against Denny.
“Well, well, well,” Rogar said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow as we walked into the room. “Looks like the next gen’s got their game faces on. Who’s winning little sister?” he asked Lorra.
“Me!” she said with her usual confidence.
Denny, sitting with the others across from them, shook his head. “I would’ve already won if they weren’t cheating.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the spectacle. “This unnamed crew think they’re so good,” Alfred said loudly enough to catch Callie’s attention, a glint of competition flashing in his eyes.
Callie, with her misfit crew of—Tee, Egg, Don, Mond, Cliff, Tyrion, Tristifer, Sandor, and Denny who was already playing—grinned. “Think you can do better?” she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Oh, I know we can do better,” I said, stepping forward with a grin. “How about we make it official little cousin? Winner gets bragging rights for a sennight?”
Callie raised an eyebrow, her grin spreading wider. “Alright, you’re on. But let’s make it fair—coin toss?”
Thala, always ready to jump in, pulled a coin from her pocket and flipped it in the air. “Heads or tails little sister?” she asked.
“Heads,” Callie called confidently, her eyes locked on the spinning coin. When it landed in Thala’s palm, she frowned. “Heads it is,” Thala declared. “Looks like your crew is up first.”
We gathered around the table, ready for our little showdown. Haymeth, Hope, Rogar, Jacks, Cirella, Alfred, Thala, Selmond, and I formed one team. Tee, Don, Tyrion, Callie, Tristifer, Sandor, Egg, Mond, Cliff, and Denny formed the other. The energy in the room shifted, everyone’s competitive streak coming to the surface as the cards were shuffled and dealt.
“So, what’s your team’s name on this day?” Alfred asked with a grin, looking at Callie.
She shrugged. “Pride, pack, herd... we’ll figure it out once we win.”
I raised an eyebrow, smirking as I gathered my cards. “We’ll see about that.”
The game began with a burst of fast-paced energy, cards being slapped down with purpose as the room filled with laughter and banter.
“Don’t be so cocky, Hope,” Denny said, his brows furrowed as Hope laid down a Draw Four card with a triumphant smirk.
“Oh, I’m just getting started,” Hope replied, watching as Denny grudgingly picked up his cards.
“You’re ruthless,” Tristifer muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
“You have no idea,” Haymeth added, chuckling as he laid down a card of his own.
Hope was the first to shout, “Uno!” her last card tossed down with a flourish. Her victory smile was met with a collective groan from the other team.
Tyrion, however, was quick to follow, throwing down his own card and announcing his win with a smug grin. “Uno! Not bad for a Lannister, huh?”
“Alright, Lord Tyrion, don’t rub it in,” Rogar said with a roll of his eyes.
One by one, players began to drop out. Denny went next, tossing down his last card with dramatic flair. Selmond followed soon after. The tension in the room thickened as Cirella and Jacks managed to slip in their wins, high fiving each other as they sat back in their chairs.
By the time Sandor unoed out, muttering about this being a stupid game, it was clear the game was coming to a close.
With only Rogar left on our side, I leaned in, urging him on. “Come on, Rogar, you got this.”
“Don’t worry,” Rogar said confidently. “I’ve got it.”
He slapped down his last card, shouting, “Uno!” as the room erupted into cheers from our side.
“Game over!” I shouted, throwing my hands up in the air. Without missing a beat, I started singing loudly, “You gotta know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em!”
The whole room burst into laughter, Callie shaking her head as she lifted her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. You win this round,” she admitted, smiling. “But the next time, will not be in your favor.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I teased, the thrill of victory still buzzing through me.
After we finished cleaning up the cards, Alfred tossed the deck box back onto the shelf, his competitive spirit still burning. “Let’s play one more game before we get started on the evening chores. How about Lords and Ladies?”
I glanced at the board game on the shelf, a familiar sight that brought back memories of late-night strategy sessions. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
The others nodded in agreement, and we gathered around the table again, setting up the pieces for the game. Tyrion, ever the strategist, immediately pointed to the two brown-marked castles on the board—Castamere and Tarbeck Hall, both labeled as ruins, the lowest properties on the board.
“The only two ruined castles of the Westerlands,” Tyrion mused, his finger tracing their outlines. “Both brown. Fitting, don’t you think?”
I studied the board for a moment, Maggie the Frog’s cryptic words echoing in my mind. Two browns, one green... Castamere, Tarbeck Hall. There was something there, but I hadn’t had the time—or the nerve—to fully piece it together yet.
My gaze drifted to the green-marked castles: Clegane’s Keep, Clifton Hall, and Crakehall. Two browns, one green—Maggie’s words echoed again. These are what you need... But how? I kept my thoughts to myself, even as the pieces of the puzzle began to shift but were still out of reach. The answer was close, but I didn’t have it yet.
Tyrion, oblivious to my internal debate, continued his musings. “If I owned Castamere, I’d rebuild it. Bigger and better than before. Clear out the flooded tunnels, the mines, and bury the dead properly. I’d turn it into a fortress.”
I raised an eyebrow, impressed by the intensity of his vision. “Really? You’ve thought about it?”
He smirked, though his expression was more serious than playful. “Lannisters always have plans.”
Tristifer scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Forget rebuilding the castle. If I had Tarbeck Hall, I’d focus on the land. There’s a whole forest there, untouched. I’d tap the trees for sap, set up a trade route, and build a pier for the smallfolk. Let them fish, crab... like Aims was talking about. Do you know if your mother will serve more crab next time we visit? It was quite good.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “You’d turn Tarbeck Hall into a fishing village?”
“Why not? The land’s good for it. Use what you have, like Callie always says,” Tristifer replied with a shrug, as if it were obvious.
I leaned back, my thoughts spinning as I listened to their ideas. Castamere, Tarbeck Hall—both ruins, both filled with potential. Those are the two parts out of the three Maggie spoke of. The two brown castles seemed clear enough now, but the green one still eluded me. Clegane’s Keep can’t be it—Sandor won’t deal with the Mountain until after 300 AC, and I don’t think he ever took over as lord of the lands. Clifton Hall and Crakehall? It must be one of them, but I knew little to nothing about them.
The game continued, though my mind was only half engaged with the board. The rest of me was preoccupied with Maggie’s prophecy. Two browns, one green will form what I need against Tywin. Tyrion and Tristifer were wrapped up in their plans, debating how to reclaim the ruined castles, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they knew just how important those places might be.
Before I could dive any deeper into my thoughts, I heard Alfred’s voice rising above the others, cutting through the room’s chatter.
“Why do you always insert yourself in, Selmond?” Alfred’s sharp tone echoed off the walls, drawing everyone’s attention. “No one asked for your fucking opinion!”
Selmond, arms crossed over his chest, didn’t back down. “I am not inserting myself. You’re just mad because I’m right, and you know it.”
Thala, standing nearby, let out an exaggerated sigh and turned away from the argument, acting as though she hadn’t been the one to spark it in the first place. My eyes narrowed, following her movements. She lives in lala land, so her ass really doesn’t know what she was doing to them.
Here we go again, I thought with a silent groan. It wasn’t a surprise that Alfred and Selmond were butting heads—again. Everyone had thought for moons that Alfred and Thala were destined to end up together. The way they used to hang around each other, how Alfred’s grin always widened just a little when she was near—it had seemed inevitable.
But then Selmond showed up.
It wasn’t exactly shocking. Selmond was charming, and Thala was... well, Thala. A natural-born flirt, even if she didn’t realize it. She had this way of batting her lashes, laughing at just the right moments, and it had both boys on edge.
I rubbed my temples, letting out a slow, frustrated breath. Thala. I’d been putting off talking to her about this, hoping things would settle on their own. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.
Hope caught my eye from across the room, her gaze flicking between Alfred and Selmond. “What is a matter?” she asked when she came over, her voice low but curious.
“Alfred and Selmond are about two seconds away from ripping each other apart,” I muttered, shaking my head. “And Thala’s pretending she has nothing to do with it.”
Hope raised an eyebrow. “Again? What is it this time?”
I shrugged. “Same as always. Thala’s been flirting with both of them, and they don’t know how to deal with it. She’s walking away like she didn’t light the match.”
Hope chuckled, though there was a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes. “You going to talk to her about it?”
“I don’t have a choice anymore, do I?” I sighed. “I’ve been avoiding it, but if I don’t step in soon, someone’s going to end up throwing punches.”
Hope glanced at Shiva, the shadowcat, lounging nearby with her amber eyes lazily watching the scene unfold. “Or worse. Shiva’s just waiting for someone to give her the green light.”
I let out a louder sigh, rubbing my temples again. “Exactly. If Alfred keeps glaring at Selmond like that, Shiva won’t need much encouragement.”
“Better handle it before things get ugly,” Hope said, nodding toward the two boys.
With a resigned sigh, I pushed myself up from the table. “Alright, I’ll take care of it. But if Alfred starts mouthing off again, remind me to pull him aside later.”
Hope smirked. “Deal.”
I made my way over to Alfred and Selmond, their voices still raised, tension thickening in the air between them. Thala, meanwhile, had drifted further back, acting all innocent, as if she wasn’t the cause of their rivalry.
“Hey!” I said sharply, catching both boys’ attention. “The fuck! You two have been at each other’s throats for moons, and I’m over it.”
Alfred shot me a look of frustration. “He’s always trying to one-up me, Tay. It’s getting old.”
“And you’re always acting like you’re better than everyone else,” Selmond fired back, his arms still crossed defensively.
I held up my hand, silencing both of them. “Stop. This isn’t about who’s better or who’s right we all know this. It’s about Thala.”
Both boys glanced at her, though Alfred’s face flushed with embarrassment, while Selmond’s expression remained defiant. Thala shifted awkwardly behind as if hoping to avoid the conversation.
I turned to her, my voice firm but not unkind. “Would’ve been flirting with both of them, and it’s messing with their heads.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t mean to,” I interrupted, softening my tone even though knew she lived most of the time in the lala land in her head, “but it’s happening. They’re fighting over you, and you’re just standing back and watching. You need to talk to them. Set things straight.”
Thala looked genuinely taken aback, her one-track mind expanded for a moment. “I didn’t realize,” she murmured, her voice small.
I sighed, feeling the tension ease slightly. “I know and it’s alright, but just... do something soon, okay? These boys don’t know how to handle it, and it’s making things worse.”
Thala nodded slowly, the flush in her cheeks deepening as she glanced between Alfred and Selmond.
I turned back to the boys, my gaze stern. “And you two—cool it. You’re acting like babes, not like part of this crew, so stop treating each other like enemies.”
Selmond mumbled something under his breath but nodded. Alfred, clearly still stewing, glanced down at the floor, but I could tell he was at least trying to listen.
With the immediate crisis averted, I returned to the table, feeling a mix of relief and exhaustion. Hope raised an eyebrow as I sat back down. “Handled it?”
“For now,” I said, rubbing my temples. “But if I have to deal with one more argument, I swear I’ll let G-ma sort them out.”
Hope laughed, but I could see the understanding in her eyes. We both knew this wasn’t the last time I’d have to play mediator.
As I kept an eye on Alfred, Selmond, and Thala from the corner of my eye, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of my mind—the one about the brown and green castles. Maggie’s prophecy was still gnawing at me, and I knew I’d have to deal with it soon.
But for now, I’d take this small victory. One crisis at a time.
With the game winding down, the room began to settle, the earlier tension between Alfred and Selmond slowly dissipating. I glanced over at Shiva, who was lounging contentedly, her sharp amber eyes watching the scene with bored indifference. At least she didn’t seem ready to pounce anymore.
"Alright," I said, standing up and stretching. "Let’s go handle business before we get in trouble for all the noise we’ve been making."
The crew agreed, and we quickly cleaned up the game, returning the board pieces to their rightful places. As we tidied up, I caught sight of the Lords and Ladies board again, my mind drifting back to the conversation about Castamere and Tarbeck Hall.
For now, I’d focus on the wedding, the farm, and keeping Alfred and Selmond from killing each other. One thing at a time.
Turning, I saw Callie grabbing her notebook from the desk. I’d forgotten Tee would be calling their first crew meeting this eve before Sandor, Tristifer, and Tyrion left, and I needed to remind her to watch what she says.
“Hey Callie, you guys are having your first crew meeting when we leave, right?” I asked her.
“Yeah, Tee wanted it to be this eve so we can go over our name and other stuff. Why?” she asked.
“Nothing, just be mindful of what you share, okay?” I reminded her, knowing she’d likely disregard it, but I had to say it because I knew she had my old design book. I didn’t mind her sharing some of the items, but I’d already told her what not to share, and she needed to listen.
“I remember, and I’ll only share the ones you said I could, cousin!” she said, her small frown showing.
“Okay, and don’t forget to ask Sandor about the training course—we’re out!” I said, walking away.
First Group Meeting:
After the teen crew left the cliff house to tackle their midday chores or practice, Tee decided it was time to call their first crew meeting. The group was filled with excitement and eagerness as they gathered to start mapping out their inventions and adventures. Tee, Egg, Denny, Don, Mond, Cliff, Tyrion, Sandor, Tristifer, and Callie settled at the circle table, mirroring the teens as they prepared to dive into their plans.
"So, we need to decide on a name for our crew,” Callie said, glancing around the table. “If we don’t, the teen faces will keep talking crap. Any ideas?”
"Pack Crew?” Tee suggested, his voice bright.
“Sounds too simple,” Egg replied, scrunching his nose.
“What about ‘Pride Crew’?” Tyrion proposed, his tone hopeful.
“Or ‘Pride Pack’?” Tristifer chimed in, trying to sound enthusiastic.
Sandor smirked. “We ain't all lions, Lannister and Lannett.” He paused, looking back at Callie. “They all sound like boasting.”
Just then, Denny, always the practical one, suggested simply “The Pack.” A moment of silence fell over the table before the nods of agreement began to circulate, sealing their fate.
“Alright, then! Welcome to The Pack, everyone!” Callie declared, and the group—well, except for Sandor—erupted in cheers.
Once the excitement died down, Callie leaned forward, her expression serious. “Now, we also need to get you guys caught up on our secret inventions—though thanks to Tee, they aren't so secret anymore.”
“Wait, you have more inventions we can work on?” Tristifer asked, his interest piqued. Tee had already shown him how to make a water barrel purifier, which he was sending back home to his sister. She was the only one with the common sense to know it was something they truly needed, especially with their mother being sick from time to time. This should help a little, along with the pills Hope had given him, which he would have his sister slip into their mother’s cup of tea with the honey he had received after helping Callie and her G-ma sort the pots. He still couldn’t believe they had a shed lined with shelves full of honey pots.
“Yeah,” Tee replied. “Besides the go-kart, which still needs better wheels and the foot pedals adjusted, we’ve got the scooter. It has wheels now; we just need to add the handlebar. The fools ball table, the ball and net table, and the quill writer ruler.”
Tyrion leaned in, curious. “Where did you get the ideas for all these inventions?”
Callie grinned. “They’re from a book of fun projects. Taytay calls them her ‘throwaways’—ideas she didn’t bother building for Al’s last name day.”
“Wait, you have a whole book of inventions that the teens didn’t even want?” Tyrion asked, astonished.
“Yep,” Callie continued. “There’s a bucket-seat Ferris wheel powered by a waterwheel. Al let it slip that it would be really fun, like the water barrel dunk tank in the woodshed. We want to make the wooden roller coaster, which Taytay said would take too much time and wood to build but we think we can do it in less time than they could. We also have plans for a wooden carousel, but” she leaned in closer and lowered her voice, “we can’t tell anyone about that one because it requires building something called a steam engine, and Taytay doesn't want us doing it.”
"Why not?” Tristifer asked, intrigued.
“She said it would bring too much attention to the farm, so I think we should make a really small one first. Once we prove we can do it, I’m sure they'll help us build a bigger one—as long as we don’t tell anyone else about it.”
“Who are they, the teens?” Tyrion asked.
“No, silly, the inventor’s team,” Callie replied.
“The inventors team. I have never heard of that. Who are they?” Tyrion said, brow furrowed.
Tee, sensing his confusion, spoke up. “You know the farm's motto, ‘Each one, Teach one,’ right? It’s our family and farm words. It means that we all learn from each other and help each other grow.”
Callie nodded. “Exactly! Apprentices are part of that. We learn from the artisans or what’s known as the inventor’s team. I’ve already started learning pottery from TT Amarei and beekeeping from G-ma. Tee is Hermitage’s apprentice, so soon he will be able to make any wooden items we would need.
Don is Colin’s apprentice, so he's been learning how to build with Colin’s stone-making mix. Denny is learning from Lomont, so he now knows how to use tools, Cliff and Mond just started with Uncle Bass, so soon he will be able to make metal pieces as good as our big brothers. Egg is Hermitage’s apprentice, so he knows how to work with wood. You and Tristifer can learn how to make the gadgets we need from Alden.”
“I can learn to build a knight of the Seven kingdom clock!” Tristifer exclaimed, eyes shining with excitement.
“Yes, you can,” Callie said, turning to Sandor. “Can you help Jeffryn with the new training course they're building in the training yard? Jeffryn never trained until he got here, but he can build anything. Taytay suggested asking you so the workout course can be something she called ‘viable!’ which will help us all get stronger.”
Sandor’s brow knitted in confusion. “What kind of course is that?”
“Good question,” Callie chuckled. “Taytay said it will be a place where we can practice getting faster, think quickly on our feet, maintain our health, and learn new skills. I think it’ll be fun—better than sword fighting is to me!”
Sandor agreed and actually looked interested in something for once. With the name settled and the motto explained, the group was ready to dive into the details of their inventions, filled with a newfound sense of purpose. Tyrion and Tristifer took the seats next to Callie to look at the book of inventions.
"What is a talking can?” Tristifer asked at the same time Tyrion inquired, “What is a compass?”
The Rock:
That evening, the three boys sat in Tyrion’s chambers at Casterly Rock, the fire crackling softly, casting shadows across the stone walls. Tyrion reclined in a high-backed chair, exhaling deeply after their ride in Alden’s merchant cart. As he swirled the watered-down wine in his goblet, his thoughts drifted back to the farm and its smallfolk. A flicker of ambition sparked within him, a notion that if he could elevate the lives of the Westerland smallfolk—make them better than those of the other realms—his father might finally see him, truly see him, as something more than the shame of House Lannister.
Sandor, his large frame slouched in a nearby seat, seemed deep in thought, though his gaze occasionally drifted to the fire, his mind likely on the injections he would be receiving soon. He wondered if they would really help his face or if this was just another failed attempt to mend the damage. He remained doubtful, but he had promised to try.
Tristifer absentmindedly spun a small wooden figure Tee had gifted him between his fingers, his gaze distant.
Tyrion broke the comfortable silence, steering the conversation toward their recent visit to the farm.
“You must admit,” Tyrion began, his sharp eyes flicking toward his companions, “our group is remarkable. Especially Callie, Tee, and the others... they’re accomplishing things I never thought possible. Hells, they are more intelligent than many grown men I’ve met.”
Tristifer nodded slowly. “They are clever. Far cleverer than any smallfolk or merchants I have encountered. Can you believe the inventions in that book?” His eyes widened with excitement. “Those are not children’s playthings. Water purifiers, carts that move without horses... even a steam engine, which can set anything in motion with just water, by firing coal.” He leaned back, brow furrowed. “We could create something of real worth, given the chance.”
Tyrion’s thoughts immediately latched onto the idea. If he could bring these innovations to the forefront, prove their worth in the Westerlands, perhaps his father would finally recognize him as a vital force in their house’s success. “They certainly are clever,” Tyrion agreed, leaning forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. “Which is why we cannot ignore these inventions. With a bit of guidance from Alden, who knows what we could achieve?”
“That’s true,” Sandor grunted, “but they’re smallfolk merchants. No one will care what they build unless it becomes useful to the lords and ladies. And once that happens, someone will come sniffing around, seeking to take it.”
Tyrion’s grin widened. “That is where we come in. We can help them, quietly. Alden is already involved, and with him managing things, we can ensure no one knows where the ideas originate.”
Tristifer raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly are we to do? We cannot simply bring their inventions here without someone noticing.”
Tyrion straightened in the chair his voice more resolute. “We are not mere boys. I am a Lannister, and you are of Lannister blood as well. Sandor, a Clegane. We have resources. Alden possesses the knowledge and means. We will introduce these inventions slowly, carefully—under the guise of improving the lives of the smallfolk, which will improve our store's. A water purifier, for instance, can be presented as a tool for improving farms across the Westerlands.”
Sandor remained unimpressed. “And what is to stop someone from discovering the truth? You know how things are here. People talk.”
Tyrion smiled knowingly. “We will be cautious. Alden is capable of managing the risks. We will support the farm from the shadows, helping them build without drawing undue attention.”
Tristifer leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “And if we are caught? We put their lives in danger. The farm could be ruined as well. You know that as well as I do.”
Tyrion’s expression grew serious. “That is why we protect them. We ensure no one traces the ideas back to them. We bring back only what will not raise suspicion. And if need be, I will involve my aunt Genna—she is the acting Matriarch of the Westerlands, and this falls within her oversight.”
Sandor, silent for a moment, finally spoke, his voice gruff. “Hope and Tysha have done right by me. If they need help, I’ll give it. But if this goes wrong, we had better have a plan.”
“We will,” Tyrion said firmly, glancing between his friends. His mind was already calculating how best to present these ideas to the Westerlands without raising suspicion. “We will help them discreetly, and when the time comes, we will deal with whatever follows.”
Tristifer smirked, shaking his head slightly. “You always have a plan, don’t you, cousin?”
Tyrion’s grin returned, mischievous this time. “Always.”
After a brief pause, Tyrion chuckled softly. “I would never have thought of those inventions myself. It is disappointing, truly, considering how simple they seem after reviewing the plans. To think a farmer’s daughter conceived such extraordinary ideas and hesitated to pursue them for fear of what others might say—it is astonishing.”
“Indeed,” Tristifer said, leaning forward, enthusiasm clear in his voice.
“I am surprised Tysha allowed Callie to keep that book,” Tyrion added thoughtfully.
“Why do you say that?” Sandor asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well,” Tyrion explained, “Callie made it clear in her letters that her family—especially Taytay, her parents, their grandmother, and uncles—did not want any nobles, myself included, on the farm. They tolerate us only because of the ‘sales team’ working with Alden. At the end of my first visit, Alden warned that we might not be welcome again for informal visits. Callie later explained why.”
Tyrion leaned forward his tone more serious. “The older smallfolk feared we would take what was not ours or accuse them of misusing funds meant for taxes. They worried we would punish them for daring to step outside their expected roles. It is a shame, truly,” Tyrion added, his voice tinged with shame. “We could have missed all of these innovations simply because they feared us.”
“That is not a thought I care to dwell on,” Tristifer said quietly.
“At least I am no longer treated like a complete outsider,” Tyrion said with a faint chuckle. “Taytay once treated me like I was the Stranger himself. I swear she bolted from me at least once.”
Sandor let out a rare chuckle, leaning back in his chair. His mind briefly returned to the injections, wondering if they would really work. “Taytay is blunt—no games with her. And none of them care for noble courtesy, save perhaps Callie, and honestly,” Sandor smirked, “it’s better this way, especially since I will be stuck there for a sennight. All thanks to that cursed agreement.”
Tristifer frowned. “Why a whole sennight exactly?”
Sandor shook his head, more amused than worried. “Hope’s orders. I must stay while they give me those injections and make sure they do not make me sick. They have never done it on a person before.”
“Wait, are they different from what Tyrion takes?” Tristifer asked.
Tyrion answered for Sandor, having been told the details in case Sandor ignored them. “Not different—same hormones, as they coined it, but they are injecting them directly into his skin with an open needle. I have not figured out exactly how they will do it or what all these hormones do, but I know they are meant to strengthen his body. Since I have been taking those chalk pills, I noticed I do not need as many breaks as I normally do.
He added, “Hope said these injections will strengthen his skin enough to close the small opening in his jaw, which will stop the infection from coming back.”
Tristifer paled, staring into the fire. “It is remarkable, really. The smallfolk have their own ways of healing—things we would never think of. Hope gave me pills for my mother’s cough before we left the farm. And soon, I will send one of the water-purifying barrels to Lannett Hall for my sister's use. I hope it aides my mother like Taytay said it would."
“Do you think they truly accept us?” Sandor asked, his voice quieter, a rare note of uncertainty creeping in.
“Perhaps,” Tyrion mused. “But it will take time, especially with the older ones. Trust does not come easily when you have spent your life distrusting nobles—and for good reason.”
The boys fell into quiet contemplation, the soft crackling of the fire filling the silence. Each of them reflected on their time at the farm, on the resilience of the smallfolk, and how their own views had shifted through these visits. Their experiences there were changing not only how they saw the farm, but how they saw themselves.
“I suppose we are not so different after all,” Tyrion said quietly, breaking the silence. “Each of us has our own battles, even if they are different.”
Sandor, arms crossed, nodded. “Aye, just because they lack titles and fine clothes does not mean they are any less clever. Or brave.”
Tristifer, his usual humor replaced by a more thoughtful tone, added, “There is much we could learn from them, if we are willing.”
Tyrion’s gaze drifted back to the fire, the flickering flames reflecting his growing determination. “I think there is much they can teach us, not just in terms of inventions but in how they approach their struggles. The smallfolk have found ways to thrive, to innovate, even when they are expected to remain beneath us. And if I can help them—make them more prosperous, more advanced—then perhaps...” He trailed off, the weight of his thoughts settling in the air.
Sandor glanced at him, sensing Tyrion’s unspoken desire. “Your father?”
Tyrion’s mouth tightened for a moment before he spoke. “If I could make the Westerlands smallfolk better than those in other realms, if I could show my father that I am valuable, that I can make this house stronger... then perhaps, just once, he would see me—not the shame of House Lannister, but someone who contributes, someone who matters.”
The room fell silent again, the weight of Tyrion’s words hanging between them. Sandor shifted in his chair, thinking of his own struggles and the injections that now promised to fix his disfigured face. He knew all too well the pain of wanting to be seen differently—wanting to be more than the scars that marked him. But would these injections truly change anything? He doubted it, though part of him clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, things could improve.
“We’ll figure it out,” Tristifer said finally, breaking the silence with a quiet conviction. “The farm, the devices... all of it. We’ll make sure they succeed, and we’ll help you prove your worth, Tyrion.”
Tyrion gave a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, we will. And when we do, perhaps we will all find a place where we truly belong.”
With that, the three boys lapsed back into thoughtful silence, each lost in their own contemplation, their futures bound together by the shared desire to be more than what the world expected of them.
That evening at the farm:
It all started while I was sitting with Amarei on the cushion couch in the living room. I had been reading her my new book—ha, The Day the Earth Stood Still—a story I’d poured myself into, remembering all the details. The fire crackled softly in the fireplace, and the familiar scent of lavender incense filled the room, comforting me as I read aloud.
But then a question popped into my head—one I hadn’t planned on asking. I closed the book and blurted out, “Ma, do Lidi and Heather know each other?”
That simple question changed everything.
Amarei’s answer had cost me a night’s sleep, keeping me up, tossing and turning, unable to stop thinking about Hope. What followed that evening on the couch was far more than I expected—a mother-daughter talk that opened a door I hadn’t realized was there, a door that led to the shocking truth about one of my closest friends.
In the morn, I found myself walking toward the bunkhouse, my mind spinning, still grappling with the revelation. As I approached, I hesitated for a moment, my heart racing. Inside, Hope was tidying her things, humming softly, completely unaware of the storm that had been stirred the night before.
I stepped inside, trying to act as if everything was normal, though my nerves felt like they were pulling me apart. “Hey,” I greeted, my voice strained. “Can we talk?”
Hope turned, surprised but smiling, her usual warmth filling the space between us. “Sure, what about?”
I hesitated, the weight of the conversation pressing down on me, suffocating. “I’ve been thinking… Have you ever noticed how easily you were accepted as my friend? Like, whenever you were heading back up Ocean Road, my ma would ask Hymeth or Mikell to take you, but Bass… Bass always insisted on doing it himself?”
Her smile wavered, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. “No… I never thought much of it. I was just glad no one treated me bad here. Most places don’t take too kindly to bastards.”
The word stung, and I felt a sharp pang in my chest. “You know I hate when you call yourself that.”
Her face softened with a trace of guilt. “I am sorry, Tysha. 'Tis what I am.”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice, though the tension inside me kept building. “You don’t need to apologize for who you are, Hope. You’re not a bastard. Your parents… they’re the ones who had you out of the marriage bed. That’s on them. Why should you take the blame for something you had no control over? It’s not right.”
Hope’s smile faltered, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I’ve… made peace with it.”
But I shook my head firmly. “Hope, 'bastard' is what they call you, but it’s not who you are. What do you really know about your father?”
Her hesitation was palpable, and I saw the shadow of pain pass over her face. “All I know is he was a knight… but even if I knew more, it wouldn’t change anything. He wouldn’t care. Not after what my ma did before I was born.”
The weight of those words hung in the air. Heather—Hope’s mother—had once worked in a brothel, leaving when she found out she was pregnant. I had known the story, but now, after what Amarei had told me, I knew it was the same brothel Lidi still worked in.
And then there was Bass. Always protective. Always making sure Hope stayed close. Every time she tried to return to her aunt’s shack, Bass would stop her. ‘You have a perfectly good room here,’ he’d say. And every time, without fail, he’d go fetch Heather himself and bring her back to the farm.
My heart pounded in my chest as I ventured deeper into the questions that had haunted me all night. “Have you ever noticed that you have your own room here in the bunkhouse? In Bass’s apartment, right down the hall from his room?”
Hope blinked, clearly caught off guard. “I… I guess. I just thought… well, it’s because of him and my ma…”
“And our clothes,” I pressed on, my voice quieter now. “Have you noticed how you have everything we make here on the farm? At first, I thought it was just because my ma, Ruma, or G-ma made extra, but now... I’m starting to see things differently.”
Hope frowned, still not understanding where I was going with this. “No… I had not noticed.”
“I didn’t either,” I admitted, feeling the pieces falling into place in my mind, each one more unsettling than the last. “Not until now. My family accepted you way faster than they did Cirella—and she lives right on the next farm over. Bass includes you in everything we do, like your part of us. Don’t you remember that night when that girl had the twins, and you were stuck at that farm? Bass waited outside for hours just so you wouldn’t miss the party.”
The tension in the room thickened, pressing down on me as I took another step toward her. My voice dropped to a whisper, the words trembling on my lips.
“Do you still wonder who your knightly father is... cousin?”
The final word slipped out like a blade, cutting through the silence between us.
Hope’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. And in that moment, I knew she understood.
Notes:
Chapter song:
Successful by Drake
https://youtu.be/s_IATuze-R0?si=PPdZvyxgj0h7m7Il
Chapter 33: The Quiet Transformation – “They gon love me for my Ambition.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
18th Day of Februarion, 283 AC
Tysha POV:
The sunlight filtered through the workshop window openings, casting a soft glow over the tools and workbenches scattered about. I sat at the bench with Haymeth, watching as Alden carefully worked on the comb and pin for the music box cylinder that Rogar had cast the day before.
The metallic clinks of Alden’s tools echoed in the stillness, his hands moving with the kind of precision that only came from years of careful practice.
“This is looking good,” Alden muttered, his brow furrowed, focused entirely on his work. The comb—those delicate metal teeth—had to align perfectly with the pins of the cylinder. He was never one to rush a task that required such skill.
Rogar stood nearby, arms crossed, pride in his stance. “I told you the casting was perfect,” he said with a hint of a smirk. “Now we just need to hear the music.”
Haymeth gave a low chuckle. “We shall see.”
I leaned forward, intrigued by Alden’s work. There was something captivating about the way he worked, quiet and intent, making sure every part fit as it should. The music box may have seemed a simple creation, but I found beauty in the exactness needed to bring it to life. Once this was finished, we could attach it to the gramophone-style box that was already made and waiting for this final piece.
It wasn’t a real gramophone or phonograph, but the Westerosi didn’t need to know that. Plus, once it worked, they wouldn’t care. They would just be happy to have tunes they could play in their homes that lasted three minutes each play after only having to wind it up.
And then... it would be time to move on to the tintype photographs project that awaited us.
Alden would lead that project once it was ready to be introduced outside the farm when the general store opened. Rogar had been preparing the iron plates we would need, sanding and polishing them until they were smooth as glass.
Any imperfection would show in the photographs, and Rogar had taken great care to ensure they were flawless. The plates were nearly ready, and it would soon be time to begin the delicate process of creating the images.
We had all the materials now, and I was certain we could have everything ready by the wedding. I had managed to make the cellulose nitrate—guncotton—by treating cotton with saltpeter and sulfuric acid. It had been a trial, reminding me of lessons learned long ago, but we succeeded. The saltpeter I made by letting a board of wood sit in the chicken coop for a full moon’s turn, allowing the chickens’ piss to soak into it until the wood crumbled to dust.
The sulfuric acid had been difficult. I mixed sulfur with distilled water and heated it until the gas formed, then combined it with saltpeter and distilled the mixture once more. Thankfully, we still had enough ethanol from the corn harvest to make the ether. And we had ample rubbing alcohol and acetone stored for the task at hand.
It had been a long process, but every step brought us closer to the end result. This work filled me with pride, knowing that our hands could create something so intricate and beautiful. Soon, we would see the fruits of our labor, and it would be worth every challenge we faced.
I had shown Haymeth how to make the silver nitrate a few days ago, explaining the process of dissolving silver in nitric acid. He had picked it up quickly, and we had done it well enough.
Now, we were moving on to the next crucial steps: preparing the developer and fixer solutions. I already had everything I needed in the lab. The developer could be made from ferrous sulfate and acetic acid—both of which I could easily manage using the glassware and my three-pot distiller.
The fixer would require potassium cyanide, which I could also produce with the apple seeds we had on hand, though I’d need to be extra cautious when working with it.
With my college-level background in science and the tools I’d managed to cobble together on the farm, this was a process I could handle on my own. Over the next three sennights, I’d be distilling, mixing, and refining these chemicals until everything was ready. Each step would require patience and precision, but this was the kind of work I thrived on.
I’d already set up a darkroom in the unused mushroom shed, since the mushrooms are now grown in the small above-ground cellar at the corner of the garden acre. The space was controlled and perfect for coating the iron plates with the collodion solution. The plates would need to be coated evenly and allowed to form that sticky, thin layer, ready for the silver nitrate bath.
Once sensitized, the plates would be placed in the camera—that I had designed and sketched out myself. Then I worked with Rogar, Tee, and Jacks to build it from wood, copper, steel, and glass, making sure the lens could focus light perfectly onto the plate.
So far, polishing the lens has been the hardest part. Historically, the grinding machine, or as we call it, 'lens-grinding lathe,' was a device developed in the late 16th century, though probably only Essos had one in this world until now. This machine uses pumice and emery stone dust as abrasives to shape and smooth the glass, while jeweler’s rouge (iron oxide) is used for the final polish to achieve a clear, smooth surface.
The lens is polished with the help of a tool made from pitch, which holds the polishing compound and is moved in circular motions against the glass. This device, along with the materials and tools, was crucial for crafting the precise lenses we needed for our optical devices, like the telescopes, glasses, and microscopes we now have here on the farm.
When it was time to take the photograph, the subject would need to stay perfectly still during the long, one-minute exposure time. Afterward, I’d return to the darkroom, carefully pouring the developer over the plate, watching as the image appeared like magic. Then, the fixer would make it permanent, locking the image into place.
The last steps would be to rinse the plates, dry them, and apply a varnish for protection. I already had an idea of where to source the resin for the varnish—there were plenty of trees around L-12 farm that could provide the right material. Each piece was falling into place, and I was confident that, over the next three sennights, we would have the first tintypes ready in time for the wedding. It would be a blend of old and new—just like the farm itself.
When the music started, it pulled me from my thoughts, and we all turned to look at the box. “You did it,” I said, my voice filled with joy as I grinned at Alden. He smirked as Rogar patted him on the back, pride etched across both their faces.
“Alden, how did you learn all this? I wouldn’t think a Lannisport Lannister would be taught a trader’s craft,” I asked, curiosity creeping into my tone.
Alden set down the tool he was using, his expression calm yet thoughtful. “I learned from Leonidas, the castle’s goldsmith. He took me under his wing, and for a time, I was more his apprentice than anything else.” His voice carried a quiet confidence, the mark of a man who had earned his skills, not simply been born into them.
Alden, his expression still composed, added, “As for myself, I was born a bastard, raised within the walls of Casterly Rock. My mother was the castle seamstress, and it was only after her passing that Lord Tytos legitimized me.”
That hit me harder than I’d anticipated. A bastard, legitimized by Lord Tytos himself? I had known bastards to be treated like dirt, but Alden seemed to carry the weight of his past with an almost regal air.
I blinked in surprise. A Lannister, trained by a goldsmith? It wasn’t the kind of noble upbringing I expected. I glanced at Rogar, confused.
“Didn’t you say he was a Lannisport Lannister?” I asked, trying to piece together the story.
Rogar shook his head. “No, I said he’s married to a Lannisport Lannister.”
“And your father?” I asked cautiously, sensing there was more.
Alden’s eyes grew distant for a moment before he spoke. “Tion Lannister, second son of Gerold Lannister, the Golden. My father died when I was but a babe.”
I fell silent. The revelation settled over me like a heavy cloak. This man had noble blood running through his veins, yet his life had been far from easy. It made sense now, the way he carried himself—half noble, half humble craftsman.
Before I could ask more, the door to the workshop creaked open, and Hope stepped inside. Her expression was more serious than usual as she nodded toward me.
"Tysha, we need to get started on Sandor’s injections," Hope said, her voice calm but firm. "His scar tissue is ready for the next step, and we should get it done before he changes his mind."
I sighed, knowing the importance of the injections but not exactly thrilled about it. The process wasn’t exactly pleasant, and Sandor wasn’t known for being the most cooperative patient. "Alright," I said, standing up and brushing off my apron. I patted Haymeth on the shoulder. "Keep things steady here, alright?"
"Good luck. Sandor’s never easy," Haymeth chuckled.
I smirked. "I know, but we’ve got this."
Following Hope, I made my way toward the shed where Sandor was waiting. As much as I dreaded the task, it had to be done. Sandor needed these injections to thin out the scar tissue on the right side of his face. The antibiotics and steroid ointment were helping, and I knew that in time, the small hole near his jaw could finally be sewn shut. The trick was getting through the process without Sandor biting someone’s head off—figuratively, of course.
When we arrived, Sandor sat on a stool, his large frame hunched over, looking grumpier than usual. His fists were clenched, the tension in his body visible even in the dim light of the shed. The burns on the right side of his face had left his skintight and rigid, and though the treatments had helped, there was still a long way to go. His injuries were severe—years of untreated damage that had hardened into thick scar tissue, pulling his skin tight and leaving him with limited movement.
"Well, well, the infamous Clegane is back for more," I teased, trying to ease the tension in the room.
He grunted but didn't turn to face me, his fists still clenched. I could tell he hated this, but at least he was here, which was more than I could say for the first few times we tried to treat him.
I moved closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, don't be so serious. I’m about to poke you full of holes—at least pretend you're happy to see me."
Sandor glanced at me, and for just a moment, I saw a flicker of something—amusement, maybe? It was hard to tell with him, but I liked to think it was there. "Aye, I'm thrilled."
"You’re impossible," I shot back with a grin, then added with mock sweetness, "But don't worry, big guy. After this, you'll be around for six more days, so you’ll have plenty of time to think of better comebacks while we make sure you don't react to the steroids."
"Six days of peace," Sandor muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward just a little.
"Well, not quite," I said, keeping my tone light as I prepared the injection. "We're busy this sennight, and while you’ll only be focused on the new training course, there's a lot going on. We’ve got a round dirt path we're digging out and up—gonna call it a track. The girls and boys can run or walk around it to build up running speed."
The rope maze is to think quick on your feet. We’re also putting in a rope climbing ladder for arm and leg strength. Oh, you'll like the stone weights and wooden bench set my brother Colin designed. And the last item I believe is the wooden cycler for leg speed."
As I spoke, I was already in work mode. Hope had brought over the oil lamps, and their soft glows illuminated Sandor’s face, giving me a better view of the scar tissue that needed to be treated. I grabbed a clean cloth, dipped it in warm water, and began gently wiping down the affected area. His skin, though scarred and rough, was healing well—better than I expected after only two weeks of treatment, which I don't think is normal.
I had read a lot of articles about reconstructive surgery, and it normally took months back home for the type of improvement I'm seeing. I wonder if this was the magic of the world doing its thing. The angry red patches had faded, leaving behind a tougher, none swollen texture.
Hope stood ready with the antiseptic, her movements careful and precise as she sterilized the area. Sandor, to his credit, stayed still. I knew it wasn’t easy for him, letting us poke and prod his face like this. Most men wouldn’t have the patience, but Sandor had come to trust us—grudgingly, of course.
"Ok, big guy," I said softly. "We’re getting started. You shouldn't feel anything, but if you do, let me know. Which is a good thing because it means not all the muscles in your face are damaged."
I could see him listening more intently now, even though his face stayed neutral. "A track, huh? Rope ladder? Sounds like something you picked up from your 'pa.'"
"Maybe," I said, a teasing smile creeping across my face as I continued to the third injection, hoping it would thin out the scar tissue, making it easier for Hope to stitch the hole near his jaw shut. I had to be gentle, but thorough—making sure these six injections covered the right areas.
"And who knows? Maybe you’ll add a few of your own ideas from all that training you've done all your life. You know, help us kids toughen up a little. You’re good at that."
He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "Don’t need me to do that. Your crew’s tougher than most."
"Flattery won’t get you out of this," I teased back, leaning in as I gave the last injection. "But I’ll take the compliment."
He only flinched once but never said it hurt, so I'm not sure if that cheek muscle is good or not. The burns had damaged most of the nerves on the right side of his face, but I knew the injections weren’t exactly fun for him either. As Hope administered the ointment, I stayed close, watching his face for any signs of discomfort. He wouldn’t admit it if he was in pain, but I knew him well enough by now to see when he was holding back.
I kept talking, hoping to distract him. "Anyway, you’re going to love the new course. We can throw in some ideas from your older training days. Think of it as helping the next generation of Westerlanders."
He let out a rough laugh, low and brief. "Aye, let’s hope they don’t turn out like me."
I smiled, enjoying the rare light moment. Getting him to laugh? That’s a rare win. Sandor had his moments, and when I could loosen him up, it felt like a victory.
"You’re not so bad," I said, finishing up my check to confirm minimal bleeding. "Besides, we need someone to show these kids what real strength looks like."
"Don’t push your luck," he grumbled, but I could see the humor in his eyes.
As I wrapped up, Hope gave me a nod, signaling that the band-aids were all in place and holding. "That’s it," I said softly. "We’ll keep an eye on things for the next few days. No rubbing dirt into it, and no training yard fights for the rest of the day."
Sandor grunted in response, getting up from the stool. "I’ll try my best."
I chuckled, watching him. "You’ll be alright, Sandor. We’ve got this."
After we cleaned up, we got Sandor settled into the room he’d be using on the top floor of the bunkhouse for the next six days while he stayed here on the farm.
Once he was comfortable, I invited him to join me at the Event Acre for the wedding rehearsal. “Come on, you’re not doing anything but heading to the training yard,” I said with a playful grin. “Might as well come watch and take your mind off things.”
With a grunt that I took as agreement, Sandor followed me out of the bunkhouse and toward the rehearsal, leaving his would-be training session for later.
Once we made it inside the pavilion, I took my place on the small stage at the back while Sandor and Hope sat on the very first pew they saw when we came into the pavilion.
The pavilion was set up with ten pews on both the left and right sides, positioned at its edges. The feasting tables were already arranged further back inside the left and right tents, ready for the pews to be repositioned for eating later. The smaller elevated area in front of the wooden stage, where I stood now, would be where the couple and G-ma’s septon friend would stand. Unfortunately, he would sit at our table after the ceremony. The wooden heart arch was already in place and looked beautiful.
We still needed to hang the polished black iron candle lanterns from the pavilion’s wooden beams, just a few above the ceremony platform and the raised band stage behind it. There would also be lanterns above the pews where the guests would sit. In the left and right tents, we’d have standing concrete candle holders to light up the feast, along with black iron standing candle holders on each table as centerpieces.
The wedding colors were eggshell white, light rose red, light grey, and black. The decorations would really come together the day before the final wedding rehearsal—which will be held the morn the day before the wedding—when we wrapped the pillars in draped tarp, re-sewn and dyed to show off the wedding colors. We will also be adding paper flower garlands all around the pavilion. They're still being made in those same colors, for an extra flair. The flower boys will be throwing them out as well along with a few real flowers to hand out.
As for the real flowers they will be using and the ones we will be using for the wedding bouquet, we wouldn’t pick those until the day of the wedding, which will be made of pansies, heather, primroses, violas, and hellebores.
The wedding party family members are already gathered, and anticipation buzzed in the air for this rehearsal. Even though the wedding was still three sennights away. This was just one of several rehearsals we’d be holding every other day to ensure everyone knew their individual parts.
Grabbing my metal speaking trumpet, made by Bass, I spoke, my voice amplified across the acre.
“All right, everyone!” I called out, my voice carrying through the space. “Here’s the order we will follow for this rehearsal:
After all the guests are seated, and you hear the band stop playing the welcome tune and start the wedding’s starting tune, Egg and Don will close the tent flaps. They’ll be the only ones allowed to operate those rope handles until the wedding is over.
Next, Tee and Denny will grab the red tarp runner and unroll it while Lomont and Jeffryn glue it down behind them.
Then we move on to the candle lighting, which will be done by Lidi and Bass, along with my ma and pa, together giving the wedding their blessings.
Lastly, the flower boys—Colin and Alfred—will do their thing.
At the next sennight rehearsals, we’ll practice the groom’s entrance, followed by our flower girl Rullia’s entrance and where my brothers will stand during the ceremony.
The rehearsal after that one will be the bride’s rehearsal, with the ring bearers, Lorra and Merlo, starting us off, followed by the bridesmaids Hope and myself, and then the bride’s entrance with Lidi and Bass walking her down the aisle.
The following sennight, we’ll rehearse the mock vows with a stand-in bride and groom, practice moving the pews into eating position with the tables, set out the charcuterie boards for the first part of the feast and the buffet carts for the meal part of the feast.
“Oh, and Foley, will all of the musical acts be ready to do a live rehearsal that sennight before the wedding?” I said, finally finished.
The jumping of the broom, father-daughter dance, Ruma and Mikell’s first dance as a married couple, opening up the floor for dancing, guest greetings, the wedding toasts, gift ceremony, the feast, bride and groom’s thanks speeches, and the bride and groom’s exit would all happen naturally so no planning needed for those parts of the wedding.
“We’re going to run through the procession, section by section. Remember, we’ll be doing this again every other day, so don’t worry if you don’t get it perfect this time,” I said, my voice amplified by the speaking trumpet.
I glanced over at Egg and Don, both standing by the front tent flaps. They had the important job of opening and closing them at key moments during the ceremony - no peeking would be allowed.
“Egg, Don, practice opening and closing the flaps now,” I instructed. “On the day of the ceremony, when I give you the signal, that’ll be your cue to open them for the next part.”
The two boys eagerly practiced their motions, smoothly opening and closing the tent flaps. They were focused, but I reminded them, “Don’t worry, we’ll practice this several more times before the wedding.”
“Nice work. On the day of the wedding, this happens right after the red tarp is laid down,” I reminded them. “We’ll keep practicing it, but for now, let’s move on.”
I turned my attention to Tee and Denny next. “Alright, you two, grab hold of the red tarp. Let’s practice unrolling it.”
Tee and Denny each took one end of the pole the tarp was wrapped around and began walking up the aisle, carefully laying out the tarp as they went. Lomont and Jeffryn followed about five feet behind them, pretending to glue the tarp down just as they would on the wedding day. For now, though, we skipped the glue and might for the wedding if Haymeth can get his rug runner tape finished by then.
“Nice and steady,” I directed. “Now, when you finish, Tee and Denny, you’ll walk back to your seats along the tent walls. Lomont and Jeffryn, you’ll head back to your seats as well, but stay along the edges. Egg and Don, you would get ready open the flaps for the next section.”
Once the boys were back in place, I turned my attention to the parents who would be participating in the mock candle lighting.
“Now, it’s time for the candle lighting,” I said, gesturing toward Bass, Rolder, and Amarei. “If Lidi were here, she would walk down the aisle first with my ma, followed by my pa and uncle. Each of you will light one of the four wicks on the glass candle placed right here on this stage.”
Amarei led the way alone for now, while Rolder and Bass followed behind. They reached the stand-in candle, and each carefully lit a wick. Once they had done their part, they stood in the positions we’d practiced, with Rolder and Amarei in the spot where Mikell would eventually stand during the real ceremony.
“Daddy, after you and ma light your candle wicks, you’ll stay in place where the groom will stand,” I explained. “Uncle, since Lidi isn’t here yet, after you light your candle, you’ll exit the pavilion on the side of the stage to go back to the cottage to fetch Ruma when it’s her time to walk down the aisle.”
Bass nodded and made his way off to the side, as planned.
I then turned to Alfred and Colin, the flower boys-hahaha. “Alright, you two, time for your part. You’ll walk down the aisle but give me a little of that swag I've been showing ya, and scatter paper petals as you go. Don’t forget to toss a few of them at a time - evenly!”
The two boys started their mock walk down the aisle, tossing imaginary petals into the air and handing out pretend flowers. The family chuckled at their antics, especially as Colin spun around with exaggerated elegance, a wide grin on his face.
“Great energy!” I called out with a smile. “On the day of the wedding, the band will be playing Foley’s love song ‘This Very Moment,’ so keep your steps to the rhythm.”
I nodded in approval as they reached the end of the aisle, then turned back to the group. “After Alfred and Colin, it’ll be Mikell’s turn to walk, but since he and Ruma will be rehearsing during the next sennight along with the flower girl, we’re done for now.”
“Great job, everyone!” I called out. “We’ll go over the rest next time, but for now, let’s head back to the farmhouse for supper.”
As we made our way toward the farmhouse, the smell of fried chicken, raviolis, and garlic bread filled the air. I let out a small sigh of satisfaction, knowing that while the wedding was still three sennights away, everyone was starting to feel more comfortable with their parts. And with more rehearsals to come, there was plenty of time to perfect every detail.
After supper:
Colin and I walked side by side through the park, the sound of birds chirping in the trees and the soft rustle of leaves underfoot giving the place a peaceful atmosphere. But I wasn’t feeling particularly peaceful. I needed answers.
I glanced at Colin, my second-oldest brother, his face calm as ever, but I could feel the weight of what I was about to ask hanging between us. We reached a bench near the playground, and I stopped, gesturing for him to sit down. He eyed me curiously but took a seat without complaint.
I took a breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "Colin, we need to talk about Cirella."
He raised an eyebrow, leaning back as if he knew exactly where this conversation was going. "What about her?"
I sat beside him, folding my arms. "I just need to know... Are you going to leave her hanging at the wedding? You know... for Katalin?"
Colin blinked, then let out a small, incredulous laugh. "Katalin? You’ve gotta be kidding me, Tay. I have no interest in Katalin. Never have."
"Good," I said, feeling a bit of relief. "But you know how things look. People are talking, and Cirella… she’s my best friend. I can’t have her getting hurt because of some stupid rumors."
Colin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I get it, little sister. But I wouldn’t do that to her. I know people are talking, but they’ve got it all wrong. Cirella’s... she’s growing on me, alright? But don’t push me. Let me handle this at my own pace."
I studied his face, reading the sincerity in his expression. "I’m not trying to push you," I said, my voice softening. "I just don’t want her hurt. She deserves better than to be left high and dry, especially at the wedding."
Colin nodded, his tone turning serious. "I know. I wouldn’t do that to her. Cirella’s special. She’s got something about her... makes people feel seen." He paused, then added, "I like her, Tay, I really do. But don’t push me to figure it all out right now. I need time."
I smiled, feeling the tension between us ease a little. "Alright. I’ll back off. Just know I’m looking out for both of you. And if you ever do get any stupid ideas about Katalin, I will personally smack some sense into you."
Colin grinned, shaking his head. "I’m not interested in Katalin. Never was. You have nothing to worry about."
"Good," I said, standing up and offering him a playful nudge. "I’d hate to have to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours."
We started walking again, the weight of the conversation lifting as we made our way toward the training yard. The sounds of practice drifted toward us—wooden swords clashing, grunts of effort, and the occasional barked instruction from Sandor.
As we approached, I saw Sandor in the thick of it, sparring with Rogar and Tee. The three of them were locked in a fierce bout, their wooden swords swinging with precise, powerful movements. Tee was holding his own surprisingly well against the two older boys, but it was clear Sandor was in control, his larger frame giving him the advantage.
Colin and I leaned against the fence, watching as the three of them traded blows. Sandor was grinning—rare for him—as he knocked Tee’s sword aside with a heavy swing, forcing the boy to backpedal.
"Come on, lad," Sandor growled. "You gotta put more muscle into it if you want to keep that sword."
Rogar darted in from the side, his sword aimed for Sandor’s midsection, but Sandor blocked it with ease, sending Rogar stumbling backward with a well-placed shove.
"See? Too easy," Sandor said, grinning as he stepped back, letting the boys catch their breath.
"Not bad," I said, stepping forward with my fencing sword in hand. "But what’s all this talk about muscle?"
Sandor glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. I’m sure because I had changed into my high-low fighting dress with the matching tights. "You? What do you want, girl? This ain’t for you. Girls do not fight with swords."
I smirked, flipping the fencing sword in my hand. "This girl does."
Sandor let out a bark of laughter, tossing his wooden sword from hand to hand as he looked me over. "With that skinny thing? You think you’re going to take me on?"
I shrugged, stepping into the yard. "I’ve taken on worse than you, Sandor."
"Is that so?" he replied, still grinning. "Alright then, let’s see what you’ve got."
I didn’t wait for him to make the first move. I darted in, quick and light on my feet, aiming for his side with a thrust. Sandor blocked it easily, of course, but I could see the surprise in his eyes. He hadn’t expected me to be fast or know anything about fighting, but boo boo, my fight or flight button from the years in the hood tells me I can do anything.
"Not bad," he muttered, swinging his sword toward me. "But you’re not moving enough. You’ve got to be quicker on your feet."
I dodged, sidestepping his swing and aiming another jab at his ribs. He blocked it again, his expression turning more focused as the playful banter faded into something more serious.
"Come on, girl, you can’t just poke at me with that thing," Sandor said, his grin widening as he swung his sword in a wide arc. "You need more power."
"Maybe if I had a big, clumsy sword like yours," I shot back, parrying his strike and taking a step back to catch my breath. Damn, I forgot he fights dirty too.
Sandor chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re all tricks and no muscle. What are you going to do against a real knight?"
I raised an eyebrow, adjusting my stance. "Maybe I don’t need muscle if I’m faster and smarter than my opponent. You ever think about that?"
He swung again, this time harder, forcing me to block with more strength than I’d anticipated. I stumbled back a step, my arms aching from the force of the impact.
"See?" he said, stepping closer, towering over me. "You need to learn how to fight when you’re up against someone bigger and stronger."
"And you need to learn how to fight someone tricky," I shot back, dodging to the side and aiming a quick jab at his knee.
Sandor grunted, blocking the strike but not before I grazed his leg. He looked down, surprised.
"Alright, alright," he said, holding up a hand. "You are quick. But you’re still not using that sword right."
I paused, catching my breath. "What do you mean?"
He stepped closer, lowering his sword. "You are too stiff. You need to move more—flow with the fight. And since ya so short," he added with a smirk, "you should be using your height to your advantage."
I scowled at the "short" comment but nodded. "Alright, show me, then."
Sandor grinned, stepping up beside me. "First, ya stance. You are standing too tall—bend your knees more. Stay low."
I adjusted my stance, bending my knees as he instructed.
"Now, when you’re facing someone bigger, you don’t want to meet them head-on," Sandor continued, moving behind me. "You want to move around them, make them chase you. Like this."
He demonstrated a quick sidestep, swinging his sword in a controlled arc. I watched carefully, then mimicked his movements, feeling the difference in how my weight shifted.
"Good," Sandor said, nodding. "Now, when you strike, don’t just poke with that skinny sword. Use your whole body—put your weight into it."
I practiced the strike, stepping forward with more force this time. Sandor blocked it easily, but I could see the approval in his eyes.
"Better," he said. "But you’ve still got a long way to go."
I rolled my eyes, grinning. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sandor."
He chuckled, stepping back. "You’ll get there. Just keep practicing. And next time, don’t be afraid to hit harder."
I smirked, raising my sword in mock salute. "I’ll keep that in mind."
As Sandor walked back to join Rogar and Tee, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Sure, he’d beaten me easily, but I’d held my own. And more importantly, I’d earned his respect—grudging as it might be.
"Not bad for a girl, eh?" I called after him.
Sandor glanced back, his grin still in place. "You’ll do, Tysha. You’ll do."
I laughed, feeling the camaraderie between us strengthen just a little.
The Rock:
Tyrion leaned back in his chair, the familiar crackle of the fire in his chambers at Casterly Rock filling the quiet between him and Tristifer. The journey back from the farm had been uneventful, but a strange feeling lingered—one that Tyrion couldn’t quite place. He stared down at the sketches he’d begun, the wooden rollercoaster plans that Callie and the Pack had somehow convinced him to draw up. The children were ambitious, no doubt about that.
"I miss Sandor already," Tristifer said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.
Tyrion glanced up from the parchment, smirking. "You and me both. The room feels different without him looming in the background, doesn’t it?"
Tristifer nodded, stretching his arms above his head. "I didn’t think I’d get used to that scowl of his, but now it’s strange without it. The brute grows on you."
Tyrion chuckled softly, setting down his metal quill. "Indeed. We’ll see him soon enough, no doubt. He’ll come back grumbling about something or other."
Tristifer grinned before his eyes flicked down to the stack of papers on the table. "Speaking of grumbling, how did the Pack manage to rope you into this?" He gestured at the rollercoaster sketches Tyrion was working on.
"Ah, the rollercoaster plans?" Tyrion shrugged. "They are persistent, I’ll give them that. Callie is especially skilled in wearing people down. I figured if I’m to spend more time with them, I might as well offer something useful." He pointed to one of the blueprints. "Look at this—a waterwheel-powered lift. I still cannot believe they thought of this."
Tristifer shook his head, amused, before picking up the book sitting on the edge of the table—Romeo and Juliet, an old gift from the Pack. He flipped through the pages, his expression one of mild curiosity. "Interesting little read they gave you."
"That it is," Tyrion said, glancing at the book. "Though I can’t help but think they were trying to tell me something. House-crossed lovers? Tragic endings? They have a flair for the dramatic."
Tristifer chuckled, but his face grew more thoughtful. "You know, on the morrow, I was thinking about riding over to Lannett Hall. It’s been a sennight since I sent those gifts to my family, and all I’ve gotten back is a raven from Melody. Want to come along?"
Tyrion leaned back, considering the offer. "Why not? The Rock has been dreary as ever since our return. A visit might be a welcome distraction."
Tristifer nodded. "Good. It’ll give you a chance to meet my family properly." He paused, eyes scanning the room before adding, "Though do not expect too much from my mother. She can be... indifferent."
Tyrion gave him a knowing look. "I’ve had plenty of practice with indifferent parents. And besides, it’s not the mothers I’m concerned about."
"Well, you will not have to worry about the Lord of Lannett Hall, he is rarely in attendance," Tristifer said quietly, but smirked, shaking his head. "Just try not to charm my sister too much, alright? I’m still getting used to her even looking at someone without wanting to scare them off."
Tyrion grinned. "No worries, my friend. One look at me will scare her off. Also, though I do not think becoming a septon is my only choice anymore, my father would not allow me to marry without him choosing the lady."
Tristifer leaned back, laughing softly. "Oh, Tyrion, you underestimate yourself. She’s a tough one, but I’d wager she wouldn’t scare off as easily as you think. Besides, anyone with half a brain would know you're more than meets the eye."
"But don’t worry," he added with a smile, "I’ll make sure she doesn’t set her sights on you. Though with your wit, I’d say it’s only a matter of time before someone sees past the surface."
The next day, at Lannett Hall Manse
When they arrived at Lannett Hall, Tyrion’s first impression was one of quiet disappointment. The manse had seen better days. Its stone walls were weathered, and the gardens looked like they had been left untended for some time. The manse was not the grand estate that Tyrion had imagined for a family like the Lannetts.
"Your home has... charm," Tyrion commented diplomatically, glancing at Tristifer.
Tristifer chuckled dryly. "It’s seen better days, I’ll admit. But it has its comforts." He led Tyrion through the front entrance, where a few servants hurried about, giving Tyrion brief, curious glances before quickly returning to their tasks.
They entered a small receiving room, sparsely decorated but functional. A woman with dark, graying hair stood near the hearth, her posture stiff and proper. This, Tyrion presumed, was Tristifer’s mother.
"Mother," Tristifer said, his tone polite but distant. "This is Tyrion Lannister, the one I’ve been telling you about."
Lady Cybil Lannett turned to face Tyrion, her expression unreadable, though her eyes flickered with the briefest hint of gratitude. "A pleasure, Lord Tyrion," she said, her voice smooth but without warmth. "And thank you for the mirror. It was a thoughtful gift."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow at Tristifer, who avoided his gaze, clearly not wanting to admit that the gift had come from Callie. Tyrion bowed slightly, offering Lady Cybil his most charming smile. "The pleasure is mine, my lady. I’m glad it was to your liking."
Without waiting for more pleasantries, Tristifer gestured for Tyrion to follow him through the hall. They soon came upon Tristifer’s brother, Tarion Lannett, who was lounging in a chair, lazily flipping through a book. He looked up when they entered, his gaze falling on Tyrion with a barely disguised look of disdain.
"Tristifer," Tarion said, acknowledging his brother with a nod before turning his attention back to the book. "I didn’t realize we were expecting guests."
"Just a brief visit," Tristifer replied, his tone neutral. "Tyrion, this is my brother, Tarion."
Tyrion inclined his head. "A pleasure to meet you."
Tarion merely grunted in response, offering Tyrion little more than a flicker of disdain. Tyrion knew that look well—the silent judgment for his dwarfism.
As they moved further into the manse, a young woman entered the room, her presence immediately commanding more warmth and light than anyone else in the manse so far.
"Melody," Tristifer said, his voice softening slightly. "This is Tyrion Lannister."
Melody Lannett was strikingly beautiful, with soft golden hair that framed her kind, open face. Her eyes, gentle and full of life, met Tyrion’s without hesitation, and she smiled—a smile that didn’t waver or change when she looked at him. It was refreshing.
"Lord Tyrion," Melody said warmly, extending her hand. "It’s wonderful to finally meet you. Tristifer’s spoken highly of you."
Tyrion took her hand, returning her smile. "The honor is mine, Lady Melody."
She blushed slightly, her smile never faltering, and Tyrion found himself thinking that she was even more beautiful than Cersei—though he’d never say it out loud.
Midday Meal:
After the brief introductions, they gathered for a humble midday meal in the garden. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meats filled the air, and the simple setting made Tyrion feel at ease. Melody kept the conversation light, asking Tyrion about his travels while gently teasing Tristifer. Their brother Tarion excused himself early, offering little more than disinterested grunts during the meal. Lady Cybil stayed for the duration, but as the meal came to an end, she excused herself with a slight cough.
As their mother left, Melody turned to Tristifer, her voice low. "I received the water purifier barrel, the honey, and that little ceramic bottle with the white round chalk things. And I read the letter."
Tristifer nodded. "Were you able to use it yet?"
Melody smiled. "I managed to slip the medicine into her tea twice—yesterday and just now. She was able to enjoy the whole meal before that cough started again."
Tristifer smiled at the news, and Tyrion watched the quiet exchange with curiosity. There was a clear sense of relief between the siblings, and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope for them.
As the tour continued, they passed through more of the worn hallways of the manse, until they came across an old maester shuffling aimlessly, his brow furrowed.
"Maester Wilum," Tristifer said gently, pointing him in the right direction. "The library is that way."
The maester blinked a few times, clearly disoriented, before nodding and slowly making his way toward the library. Tristifer shook his head slightly as they watched him go. "He’s getting old. Doesn’t always know where he’s going these days."
Tyrion said nothing but gave a sympathetic nod. It seemed the Lannetts had their share of troubles, but there was a warmth among them that Casterly Rock rarely afforded. As they finished the tour and prepared to leave, Tyrion felt oddly comforted by the simplicity of the day.
As they mounted their horses to head back to the Rock, Tyrion glanced over at Tristifer. "Your sister... she’s quite something."
Tristifer grinned, shaking his head. "Don’t go getting any ideas, Lannister."
Tyrion smirked, nudging his horse forward. "No promises."
Sandor POV:
Sandor approached the back of the farmhouse, eyes narrowing at the odd contraption Tysha was fussing over. A large steel pot sat atop the mud stove, and smoke curled from the briquettes beneath it. She was always up to something, always had her hands in some strange business. He could hear the distant clang of hammers and the usual farm bustle, but his focus stayed on her and that pot.
“What in the Seven are you doing now?” Sandor grumbled, his voice thick with suspicion as he eyed the setup.
Tysha looked up, wiping her hands on her apron, a grin already forming on her lips. “I’m canning broth—chicken broth. No noodles though, those’ll spoil in the jars. It’s just the liquid, for storing.”
“Canning?” Sandor echoed, frowning. He took a step closer, his eyes flicking over the steel pot, the glass jars beside it, and that odd gauge attached to the side. “What’s that?”
Tysha seemed almost eager to explain, her eyes lighting up. “Well,” she started, motioning to the pot, “I take these glass jars, fill them with the broth, and seal them up. Then I use this steel pot—my uncle made it special for me. See this gauge? It shows the pressure. I heat it until the pressure’s high enough to make sure nothing bad stays inside. That way, I can store the broth for moons, and it won’t spoil.”
Sandor stared at the contraption for a moment, his face blank, processing her words. He had no idea what half of what she said meant, but it sounded like another one of her mad inventions. “Strange,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed off toward the training yard.
He could feel her eyes on him, and soon enough, he heard her laugh—a light, teasing sound that followed him as he walked away. He hadn’t meant to call her strange. Hell, he barely knew what he meant half the time around her. Shaking his head, Sandor kept walking, the weight of the day pulling him back to the familiar, while her laughter lingered like an echo in his mind.
Later in the day...
Sandor wiped the sweat from his brow as he left the new training yard, his muscles aching but his spirits surprisingly high. Jeffryn, Tee, Denny, Don, Egg, Cliff, and Mond had all been there, working beside him. Together, they'd hammered stakes into the ground for the rope maze walk and flattened out the area for some contraption they called the "cycler device"—something he hadn't seen yet, but from the excitement in the kids' voices, it sounded like another one of Tysha's creations. But it wasn't that mysterious device that had him grinning.
It was the stone weight set. The bench. The way his arms had screamed for relief, burning with the fire of effort, but he hadn’t wanted to stop. He had pushed through, lifting the press bar—what they called the "100-pound press." When he hit that mark, it was like a victory, something he hadn't felt in a long time. The ache in his muscles now was a good ache, one that spurred him on rather than drained him.
As he passed the farmhouse, Sandor noticed Tysha heading into a shed near the back porch. Curiosity tugged at him, and he made his way over. She was always up to something, after all.
“What’re you doing now?” he asked, his voice low but laced with interest.
Tysha glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “Decorating Bonnie's shed.”
Sandor stepped closer, peering inside. It looked... almost familiar. A floor bed was laid out neatly, not completely unlike the one in his room. He stepped in, narrowing his eyes. “What is this?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.
Tysha leaned against the doorframe, hands on her hips. “Bonnie’s going into her first heat soon. When she can’t be watched while doing chores or other stuff, she’ll be locked in here. But she only stays here during those times—at night, she sleeps in my room on the floor bed next to mine.”
Sandor frowned. “Why don’t you just let her get bred? That’s what you do with a bitch, isn’t it?”
Tysha’s expression softened, but there was a hint of defensiveness in her tone. “Bonnie’s not just a dog, Sandor. She’s my protector. My best friend. And she’s too young. You should wait until their third heat before breeding, so they have healthy pups and survive with no issues.”
Sandor chewed on that for a moment. His uncle’s dogs often died after giving birth, and the pups rarely lasted long. He wondered if waiting like Tysha said would have made a difference.
He glanced around the shed again, his gaze landing on the bed. “Why’s your dog got a bed?” he asked, genuinely confused.
Tysha tilted her head. “Have you ever slept on the floor? It doesn’t feel good.”
Sandor blinked, taken aback. “Never thought about it that way.”
His eyes then caught sight of a smooth, flat board next to the bed, covered in small lumps. He pointed at it. “What’s that?”
“That’s a heat scratch,” Tysha explained. “Bonnie can rub up against it to relieve the itch she gets when she’s in heat.”
Sandor shook his head in disbelief. “You’re just... fucking strange,” he muttered before turning and walking away, Tysha’s laughter echoing behind him.
Later that night, at supper:
Sandor sat at the table, the warmth from the day still lingering in his tired muscles. Rolder had called it a "farm-style meal"—roasted chicken, pan-fried cabbage, onions, and carrots. But what caught Sandor’s attention was something Tee called "mac and cheese." The noodles were the best he’d ever tasted. And the bread—cornbread, they said—was drizzled with honey, sweet and soft, making his mouth water even after he was stuffed full. He couldn’t remember the last time a meal had left him so satisfied.
As they ate, Tysha leaned over, whispering with a playful grin, “Meet us in the park later. We’ll hang out.”
Sandor nodded, though his belly was so full he wasn’t sure he could move. Still, after the meal, he found himself heading toward the park, where he spent the evening with the farm’s children. They laughed, told stories, and for the first time in a long while, Sandor felt like he was part of the pack. It was strange but not unpleasant. By the time he walked back to the bunkhouse, he realized how full his day had been—filled with work, food, and fun. Nothing like his normal days when his only fun is who he was able to beat in the training yard and watching Tristifer and Tyrion drop things from the top of the Rock into the sea.
Just as he approached the bunkhouse, Colin, Tysha’s older brother, intercepted him as he was coming out.
“Hey, Sandor, I got a few more chores to handle before heading to bed so you can take your bath first. Warm water is in the copper barrel next to the tub. Bass warmed it up for you after his bath.”
Sandor blinked, shocked. “A bath? I just had one last night.”
Colin chuckled. “Yeah, no, we take baths daily. All the work we do around here—you’d be rank by the end of the sennight, and my ma will not let you sit at her table.”
Sandor just stared for a moment, amazed. A bath every day? He hadn’t thought such a thing was necessary. But then again, this place did run on its own strange rhythm. Shaking his head, he made his way to the tub. And for once, the thought of warm water and clean skin didn’t sound so bad.
24th day of Februarion, 283AC
Sandor woke up with the thought of the name day supper they’d had for Amarei lingering in his mind. He lay there for a moment, remembering her warmth, her kindness, and that fried chicken sandwich he’d devoured. It was unlike anything he’d ever tasted before, and he couldn’t help but grin at the memory. There was something about Amarei that made the farm feel more like home than he’d care to admit.
He could still hear her laughter from the night before. They had played pall mall—what Tysha called a game but what felt more like a war zone. The way those kids fought for victory made him shake his head, but it was all in good fun. Tysha had nearly buried Hymeth in the dirt when he missed a shot, and the others had taken it just as seriously. It was ruthless, but it was also the most alive he’d seen anyone in a long time.
Sandor stretched, wincing at the familiar ache in his muscles. He reached for the toothbrush Callie had given him, remembering Tysha calling him "cow shit breath" after the first time they’d met. He’d never let that happen again. Now, brushing his teeth was part of his daily routine—something he actually looked forward to, though he’d never admit it.
After getting ready, Sandor made his way to the training yard, where the morning sun cast long shadows over the neatly arranged equipment. He grabbed the press bar, feeling the familiar burn in his arms as he pushed through his reps. The yard had turned out better than he’d expected, and the weight training had become one of his favorite parts of the day.
The rest of the day flew by in a blur of work and training. Sandor spent time with the boys at the cliff house, listening to their band practice. He secretly enjoyed their music, though he’d never tell them that. The band was good, and the lessons were interesting—far better than anything the maesters had ever taught him back at Clegane’s Keep.
By the time the sun had set, Sandor was exhausted, but in a good way. As he made his way back to the bunkhouse, he spotted Tysha heading toward her blackout shed. Curious, he knocked on the door.
Tysha answered with a grin. “Hey, big guy, what’s up?”
Sandor shifted his curiosity piqued. “What are you doing in there?”
“Come on in, I’ll show you,” she said, stepping aside.
Inside the shed, Tysha led him to a table where a small iron plate rested. She picked it up, turning it toward him. “It’s our first tintype photograph. Didn’t turn out great, though. I’m probably not going to keep it.”
Sandor took the plate from her hands, frowning as he turned it slowly in his grip. At first, he couldn’t quite make sense of it. The piece of flat iron—smooth and the size of his hand—had somehow captured Tysha’s likeness on it. His eyes narrowed as he studied it, his mind trying to understand how something like this could even be possible.
“This... this is you?” Sandor asked, his voice rougher than usual.
“Aye,” Tysha said with a small smile. “It’s me, though it didn’t turn out as clear as I’d hoped.”
Sandor stared at the tintype, barely hearing her words. He had seen paintings of lords and ladies, fine tapestries hung on noble walls, but this—this was different. This wasn’t something an artist made by hand. It was as though a shadow of Tysha herself had been caught on the metal, like some kind of sorcery. He could see her face, her expression, the curve of her mouth—so clear, yet impossible.
“How in the Seven Hells does this work?” he muttered, turning the plate over in his hands again. “How do you catch a person like this? It’s like... you’re in there.”
He took a step back, still holding the plate, his mind racing. The farm had made some strange things before, but this was unlike anything he'd ever imagined. The more he looked at the image, the more it unsettled him. Westeros knew nothing of such devices—images without paint, faces without hands to craft them. It was like seeing the world itself break its own rules.
Tysha glanced up at him, sensing his unease. “It’s just the start, Sandor. We’ll get better at it. But aye, it’s strange.”
“Strange?” Sandor muttered, shaking his head. “This isn’t just strange. This is... beyond me.”
For a moment, he just stood there, the weight of the 'tintype' heavy in his hand. He thought of his life, of lords and castles, of steel and fire—things he could understand. This, though? This was something entirely different. It didn’t belong in the world he knew.
After a long silence, he set the plate down, his hand lingering over it for just a second before he finally spoke. “How do you even come up with something like this?”
Tysha gave a small chuckle, brushing her hair back. “A lot of trial and error. But it’s part of what we do here.”
Sandor stayed quiet his eyes still fixed on the plate. The idea of a face, a person, being captured like that... it felt almost too real. He shook his head slightly, trying to push the thought away.
Especially since something else had been gnawing at him. After his talk with Denny days ago he’d noticed what he meant.
“Why don’t you ever talk about Tyrion?” he asked, the question coming out rough, almost without him meaning to.
Tysha froze for a moment, then turned slowly to look at him. Her eyes studied his face, surprised that he had noticed. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.
“I noticed,” Sandor replied, his voice low. “You avoid talking about him. Every time his name comes up, you change the subject.”
She leaned back against the table, folding her arms. “He’s a high-born noble,” she finally said, her tone flat.
Sandor frowned. “So? Why does that matter?”
Tysha let out a small sigh, shaking her head as she looked down. “Nobles aren’t like us, Sandor. They live in a different world, a world where they don’t need to know how to do real things. They’re unreal. It’s like... no matter what we do, they win, and we lose. I call it ‘lala land,’ because that’s what it feels like. They go through life acting like none of it touches them.”
Sandor didn’t respond at first, just watching her. He had always known high borns were different but hearing her say it like this... it was something he hadn’t considered. The divide wasn’t just about titles or gold—it was deeper than that.
Before he could say more, Tysha turned back to her work, clearly not wanting to dwell on the subject.
“You’re leaving on the morrow,” she said, changing the topic with a grin. “How about sneaking off with me and Haymeth after supper? Foley’s band is playing at the Ocean Road tavern Inn. We can be back before it gets too dark.”
Sandor raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Sneak off?”
Tysha chuckled. “Aye. We’ll take my horse, not yours. Your fancy horse would give us away. People would know right off something wasn’t right.”
He thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Aye, I’ll go. But you better signal me when we’re leaving.”
Tysha winked. “You got it.”
Later that night, they met by the stables. Sandor climbed onto Tysha’s horse, with her settling behind him, and Haymeth mounted his own. They rode through the night, the cool air biting at their faces as they joked about the last time they had gone to listen to the Foley band. The songs were a mix of ones they had heard around the farm, like "Hoist the Colors" and "Sweet Home Westerlands" Sandor had to admit, the tunes were catchy, and they always had a way of sticking in his head.
When they arrived at the inn, the place was packed with more people than Sandor expected. Old soldiers left behind from the war crowded the small space, and the three of them slipped to the back, keeping their hoods up to avoid attention. The band started playing "Man in the Mirror," and Sandor found himself tapping his foot along to the beat. When they finished, Leyla took the stage, singing "If I Ain’t Got You," her voice filling the room. The crowd swayed with the music, and Sandor was surprised at how much he enjoyed the show.
By the time they returned to the farm, the moon was high in the sky. Sandor laid in his bunk, thinking about the night. The Foley band had put on a great show, and he realized this would be his last night sleeping in this room. On the morrow, he’d head back to the Rock, and he wondered what Tyrion and Tristifer had been doing while he spent his sennight at the farm.
Notes:
Chapter song:
Ambition By Wale -
https://youtu.be/co3xJRIuc6o?si=qWxewdWvAdvGxI0z
Chapter 34: The Tangled Threads – “Snap back to reality, ope, there goes gravity"
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
9th Day of Marth, 283 AC
Genna Interlude:
Lady Genna Lannister stood in the doorway of her chambers, watching with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation as her husband, Emmon Frey, sat slumped in a chair near the hearth. Tears streamed down his reddened cheeks, his eyes puffy and his chest heaving with each sob. In his hand, he clutched a worn book, its pages dog-eared from his frantic reading.
“Oh, Genna,” he gasped, wiping at his face with the back of his hand, though more tears followed. “You will not believe it! That miracle worker—she taught the little blind, deaf girl to speak with her hands! Genna, using her hands! It is... it is so beautiful. I never thought... by the gods, the strength of these smallfolk!”
Genna raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "Emmon, it is a mummers tale," she said, though she knew her words would fall on deaf ears. Her husband was far too absorbed in the tales Tyrion had loaned him—those damn books. She should have known the day would come when she’d regret letting that mischievous nephew of hers anywhere near Emmon's impressionable mind.
But the worst part was, Emmon wasn’t finished.
“And Genna,” he continued between sobs, his voice wavering, “we must... we must build a ship as grand as the Titanic! Something that could sail across the seas, stronger than any vessel Westeros has ever known. With it, we could show the world the strength of our houses, the pride of House Frey and Lannister combined!”
Genna blinked, her patience wearing thin. “The Titanic sank, Emmon,” she said flatly. “That is the point of the book.”
But Emmon wasn’t listening. He was too far gone in the world of stories and impossible dreams. His voice grew more animated, and to Genna’s horror, he grabbed another book from the stack beside him—the one about the feuding houses.
“Oh! And the musketeers! Genna, the bravery of those men—d’Artagnan and his comrades—they did their duty, even when the odds were against them. Their loyalty, their honor... we should learn from them, my dear! We must have our own musketeers! Imagine it—House Frey, protected by our own band of loyal knights, all for one, and one for all!”
Genna’s hand went to her temple, rubbing the spot where a headache was surely brewing. She was going to kill Tyrion for this. Loaning these ridiculous books to Emmon had been a mistake of epic proportions, and now her husband was babbling on about musketeers, sinking ships, and miracle workers like a lovestruck bard.
Her mind raced with thoughts of revenge. She could already imagine the scene—Tyrion, sitting smugly with that knowing grin of his, enjoying the chaos he had wrought. He’d probably done it on purpose, knowing full well how Emmon would react. Oh, she would get him back for this, somehow.
But first, she had to deal with the matter at hand. Emmon’s emotional outbursts were growing louder by the minute, and she couldn’t take another night of hearing about musketeers or some doomed ship.
“Emmon,” she said firmly, striding into the room and snatching the book from his hands, “enough with the books. I will be confiscating these.”
Emmon’s eyes widened in alarm. “But Genna—”
“No buts.” She shot him a pointed look, gathering up the rest of the books from the table and heading for the door. “You’re done with these. The last thing I need is you running off to build a ship or start a band of musketeers.”
Emmon slumped back in his chair, clearly defeated, though a sniffle escaped him. “But... the girl. She learned to...”
Genna rolled her eyes, fighting back the urge to throttle her husband then and there. “I swear, Tyrion will pay for this,” she muttered under her breath as she left the room, books in hand. "Pay dearly."
As she made her way down the hall, Genna couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of how she might exact her revenge. Tyrion might be clever, but even the cleverest of Lannisters weren’t safe from a woman scorned—especially one with as much patience as she had for nonsense. I would enlist that smallfolk merchant…Garlick, I believe he is named.
And Emmon, well, he would just have to settle for less exciting tales.
Or none at all.
The farm - Tysha POV:
The day started quietly enough, just me and Hope in the SCC shed, inspecting Sandor’s face after his fourth round of steroid injections. I leaned in, studying the skin carefully. The rough, scarred tissue was softening—better than I'd hoped. Hope and I exchanged a look, both of us satisfied with the progress.
“If this keeps up,” I said, thinking aloud, “we might be able to sew up that small hole in a fortnight.”
Hope’s eyes lit up. “It’s healing faster than I thought. Just a few more treatments, and it could be closed for good.”
Sandor, sitting there like he was doing us a favor, grunted. Typical. Never a word, even when we’re practically saving his face.
I decided to shift gears. Hope needed a little lightness after the last few days. “By the way,” I said, catching her eye, “did you see the cart Bass had commissioned for your ma?”
That got her. Hope’s face brightened immediately. “Oh, Sandor!” she said, her excitement spilling over. “You should see it! Ma’s new midwife cart is perfect—just the right size, even though Haymeth keeps saying it’s too small. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
She dove right into the details, her words pouring out fast. “The best part is the metal box with a lock right in the middle of the bench! We can store everything in there—clean bandages, ointments, everything! And the wheels—oh, they used the same ones as the bus cart, so it rides smooth on the road. And we got a new mule—Ma let me name her Sunshine!”
Sandor chuckled, and I could feel his mood shift a bit. “Sunshine? Not as silly as Boo—what Tysha named her horse,” he teased.
Hope giggled, and I couldn’t help but smirk at their banter. But even with the laughter, I noticed Hope still wouldn’t meet my eyes.
As the moment passed, I grew more serious. I knew this couldn’t wait much longer. “Hope,” I said, my voice steady, “you should think about thanking Bass too. He’s the one who rushed to get the cart ready for your ma. He just wants to hear your voice again.”
Sandor raised a brow, clearly interested now. “What’s all this about?”
I gave him a quick glance before turning back to Hope. “Hope hasn’t spoken to Bass in over a fortnight,” I explained gently. “He asked me to speak with her. If I can’t get through, he’s planning to ask G-ma to step in.”
The mention of G-ma made Hope tense, but she still wouldn’t look at me.
I pressed on, trying to keep my voice soft but firm. “Hope, it’s not fair to him or to you. Bass shouldn’t have to rely on Ruma or Alfred to talk to you. They shouldn’t be the go-betweens.”
Her face darkened, and she shook her head. “I know. But I don’t care right now. Besides, Ruma told me she didn’t mind. She’s been so good to me. It’s been nice having a sister who gets it. Al said he has my back too, so he’ll follow my lead.”
I sighed softly. I got it—more than she knew. “I understand, Hope. You have every right to feel hurt. But Bass was honest when he said he didn’t know how to tell you. He doesn’t have the words. All he knew was how to show it. Doesn’t that mean something?”
Her eyes flickered with frustration, and I could see the pain there. “I’m glad I know the truth now, but he stayed silent for so long. That’s what hurts.”
Sandor, who had been quiet this whole time, finally spoke up. “She’s got a point.”
I rolled my eyes, giving him a playful smack on the back of his head. “You’re not helping,” I teased.
He just grinned, standing up from the stool. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave you two to it,” he said, making his exit.
Once Sandor was gone, I turned back to Hope, my voice softer but still firm. “Hope, you’re going to have to make peace with this sooner or later. He’s your father. I know it’s painful, but holding onto this hurt is only going to drag you down.”
Hope let out a long sigh, her shoulders slumping. “I know... I just... I need time.”
I gave her a small, understanding smile. “I’ll be in the blackout shed when you’re ready to start making the apple seed poison.”
She nodded, her voice quieter now. “I’ll clean up here first, then head to the lab to open the roof board. I’ll come get you when everything’s ready.”
I gave her a gentle pat on the arm before stepping out. Some wounds needed time to heal, and I couldn’t push her faster than she was ready to go. All I could do was give her the space she needed and hope she'd find her way through it soon.
The Pack meeting POV:
The Pack gathered in their private place behind the farmhouse (the boys' clubhouse) once Sandor arrived. This was their third official meeting, and it felt like it would be the longest one yet. They had a lot to cover, now that they were starting to move from ideas into action. Tee, Tyrion, Don, Callie, Tristifer, Sandor, Denny, Egg, and Cliff sat in a circle, their young minds racing with thoughts of invention, strategy, and—of course—the next big challenges.
Tee, taking charge this time, opened the meeting with a list of completed inventions. "We have finished the talking can, the small wooden roller-coaster design model, and the scooter," he said. "And now we’re working on the coin-a-play, the compass, the go-kart, and the dart bullseye board."
He paused and added, "For materials, we need wood, copper, iron, and paper."
Tyrion leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. "And are those items already accounted for?"
Tee nodded, but with a hint of hesitation. "I have added them to the list, but we will need to wait until the hemp, jute, and cotton are harvested. It could be another three moons yet, given that the crops were planted so late in the season due to the heavy snow."
Don was next, reporting quickly on his current project. "The advanced water purification system is progressing well. It should be ready for both Lannett Hall and the Rock soon."
Tristifer leaned forward, suddenly remembering the note Melody had brought to him. "Speaking of Lannett Hall," he said, "I have news from my sister. She has implemented my request regarding the water barrel. It is now used solely for drinking and food preparation. And..." His voice softened slightly. "My mother has not had a coughing fit in a sennight."
There was a quiet murmur of approval from the group, but Tristifer was not finished. "Melody also mentioned that the servants have noticed the difference. They are using the purified water for all the food, and there is a noticeable change in both taste and quality."
"That is an encouraging start," Tyrion said with a thoughtful nod. "If we can get more of those barrels to Lannett Hall and the Rock, we will have a solid foothold for the next phase."
The conversation shifted when Denny suddenly spoke up, his eyes flicking to Sandor. "We’ve been talking about inventions and books, but we’re forgetting something important. We must be ready for anything. If each of us knew a trick—a fighting trick or something—that would make us stronger."
Sandor gave Denny a small nod of approval. "He is right. The new training yard is complete, and we should be training more than just your bodies. If each of you had a few tricks up your sleeves, you could handle yourselves far better."
Callie, always eager to dive into new challenges, leaned forward with a determined look. "I am willing to learn. I will not be left behind just because I am not as strong as the rest of you."
Tyrion chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Good luck with that, Callie. I have seen Sandor train, and trust me, you will need it."
Sandor shot Tyrion a look, his voice gruff but amused. "Do not think you are exempt from this, Lannister. You will be trained as well. All of you will learn, one way or another."
Tyrion’s eyes widened in mock horror, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It seems I have no choice in the matter, as usual."
Denny chimed in again, this time with more seriousness. "If we are all going to do this, we must take it seriously. One day, we may need to protect more than just our inventions outside the farm. If we can all fight, we will be able to defend ourselves—and each other."
The weight of Denny’s words settled over the group. There was a moment of silence as they processed the seriousness of what he said. This was not just about inventions and ideas anymore—it was about being prepared for the challenges ahead.
Callie, always quick to bring back the spark of excitement, took her turn to speak. "Alright, everyone, I have some exciting news! We’ve got our first book project as a group."
Tyrion leaned forward his curiosity piqued. "What sort of book?"
Callie grinned, clearly savoring the moment. "It is a book of words. Cirella had begun working on it before, but she has given me all her notes, and now we can finish it ourselves."
"A book of words?" Tristifer frowned, trying to understand. "Like a story?"
"Not exactly," Callie explained, waving her hand. "It is more like... every word that exists, written down and explained. If you do not know what a word means, you could look it up in this book and find out."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow, catching on to her idea. "A book that explains the meaning of every word? That is ambitious."
Callie shrugged, her enthusiasm undimmed. "Cirella started it, and now it is our turn to finish it. Before she leaves the farm, she is going to ask Tysha, Haymeth, and Hope for their notes as well. She will pass them on to us. Then, it is up to us to put it all together."
A murmur of approval rippled through the group, but Tyrion’s mind was already moving toward the next topic. "Speaking of projects, I have been thinking about the invention book." He glanced around to make sure everyone was paying attention. "We cannot think small. We must aim higher. One day, the things we create here will become the Westerland way—items for both smallfolk and nobles."
Sandor nodded thoughtfully his arms crossed. "That is a bold plan, but how do we get there?"
"That is the challenge," Tyrion said, leaning back slightly. "For one, we must keep everything secret while we work. As Callie said, if certain people—especially my father—were to learn of this, we could be in quite a bit of trouble."
Sandor, ever practical, grunted in agreement. "You believe Lord Tywin Lannister would allow his son to begin creating things for smallfolk? You had better have an excellent plan to keep all of this hidden."
Tyrion smirked. "I do. The key will be transporting these inventions without anyone realizing. We will need to hide the smaller items in supply wagons or disguise them as something else. We cannot risk being too open with our work."
Tristifer’s face brightened with an idea. "We could use the same wagons that deliver food and supplies. No one would suspect a few extra crates being sent to the Rock or Lannett Hall."
Tyrion nodded in agreement. "Precisely. We must be smart. And once we have enough items in place, we will begin introducing them to the smallfolk and minor nobles quietly. Once they start using our inventions, my fellow high lords will follow in time. They will not be able to resist."
The group buzzed with the weight of the challenge. This was no longer just about building things—it was about keeping their work hidden, waiting for the right moment to reveal their brilliance.
New medical lab shed:
Hope, Haymeth, and I worked quietly in the shed, distilling the crushed apple seeds we’d gathered earlier to concentrate the cyanide poison so it could reach a lethal potency. The bitter smell hung in the air as we carefully monitored the process with our gas masks on. I knew that if this mixture was ever needed, it had to be as strong as possible.
Once we finished distilling the cyanide, Hope carefully poured it into a set of glass vials and set them aside. Since that one was done and we were already set up, I then reached for the small glass jar that contained crystallized chloral hydrate. “Now, this is the poison I was telling you guys about that will be used on the Mountain,” I told them, pulling on a clean set of our special medical gloves before opening the jar. Hope and Haymeth watched me closely, knowing this was no ordinary poison used here in Westeros. “This is chloral hydrate that I’ve already distilled with ethanol, then I let the solution evaporate to crystallize over the last few days.”
I explained the process in simple terms as they watched. “It took time, but once I had the chloral solution, I reduced it by slowly boiling off the water and alcohol. The crystals that formed are what we need to make the lethal, fast-dissolving pills.”
With measured precision, I carefully placed the crystals into a mortar and began crushing them into a fine powder. “Once this is powdered, I’ll use the pill molder to press them into pills,” I told them as I worked, the soft scraping sound of the pestle filling the quiet room. “These pills will be strong enough to overdose him—first causing a coma, then his cardiovascular system will collapse, which will lead to heart failure and, finally, death. There won’t be any way to trace what it is because it hasn’t been invented here, well, until now.”
Hope’s hands paused mid-motion as she glanced up from her work, her face tense with worry. “And you’re sure Sandor will do it? He hates Gregor, but this... it’s different.”
I wiped my gloved hands on the cloth beside me and set the tools aside. I considered Hope's words, then spoke firmly. “He will. I’ll make him understand this is the only way to stop his brother before he kills their father. By the time anyone even suspects poison, it’ll be too late—no one will trace it.”
The mixture was complete—deadly, precise. I pressed the powder into small pills with the molder, sealing each one with care. Carefully placing the bottle of pills into the hollow compartment of a small wooden box, I walked over to the copper container hidden in the floor of the lab. With the poison safely stored, I closed the compartment and stood straight. “I’ll give it to Sandor when the time is right,” my mind already shifting to the next step. “His brother won’t live long after the war.”
With the poison now safely stored, I glanced at the others. The hardest part was yet to come—convincing Sandor to take that final step. I’d been getting to know him well enough to understand the inner battle this would stir within him. But I also knew his hatred for Gregor ran deep, and once I made him see this was the only way, he would come around.
As Haymeth and Hope began cleaning the tools, I turned to leave heading back to the blackout shed before Cirella arrived for our tea date.
Cirella POV:
The cool, crisp air brushed against Cirella’s cheeks as she sat beside Tysha on the farmhouse porch, her hands wrapped around a wooden cup of warm cider. The porch swing rocked gently beneath her, and despite the chill in the air, she felt a bubbling excitement. She couldn’t wait to tell Tysha about her new position as Amarei’s assistant, but they had been talking about other things, and the moment to share hadn’t come up yet.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, Don appeared from the stables, moving swiftly across the yard. “The septon’s here,” he called out as he passed, heading toward the cliffs.
Tysha blinked, frowning. “The septon? He’s here already? He’s a whole sennight early!” she muttered, pulling her thick wool sweater tighter around her shoulders. “Doesn’t he have smallfolk to judge wherever he’s come from?”
Cirella smiled to herself, watching as Tysha stood up, stretching slightly.
“I’ll be back,” Tysha said with a sigh. “I need to find G-ma before the septon catches her off guard.” She shook her head as she walked away, grumbling, “Holier-than-thou priest... couldn’t even wait until the right time.”
Cirella chuckled as Tysha disappeared toward the garden path. She was about to stand up to take her cup inside when her foot caught on the edge of the porch step, and she stumbled forward.
Before she could catch herself, a hand steadied her. She looked up to find Colin standing in front of her with his easy grin.
“Careful there, pretty girl,” Colin said warmly, holding her arm steady.
Cirella’s heart skipped as she met his gaze for a brief second before quickly looking away. “Apologies, I didn’t see you,” she muttered. “I was just going to return this cup to the cooking area.”
Colin chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You mean the kitchen,” he corrected gently, holding the door open for her.
Cirella nodded, her excitement momentarily flustered as she stepped past him into the warm kitchen. The scent of fresh bread and stew greeted her, and Melinda was at the stove made completely of metal, feeding the babes in their high chairs.
“Good morrow, Melinda,” Cirella greeted, giving the little ones a wave.
“Good morrow, Cirella,” Melinda responded with a smile.
Cirella lifted her cup to set it down, but Colin took it from her, placing it in the soaking barrel by the kitchen sink.
“Are you heading out?” Colin asked, returning to her side. “I’ve got a bit of time before my art class at the cliff house. We could take a walk to the park if you’d like.”
Caught off guard, Cirella hesitated for a second before politely declining. “No, I’m waiting for Tysha. She went to find your grandmother since the septon’s arrived early.”
At this, both Colin and Melinda exchanged knowing glances, sighing in unison.
“Great,” Colin muttered with a smirk. “Now Tysha’s going to rant about the Faith until the septon leaves.”
Melinda stifled a laugh, trying to stay composed.
Colin grinned at her before turning back to Cirella. “I’ll walk you back to the porch.”
As they stepped out of living room, the cold nipped at Cirella’s face. Colin walked alongside her quietly, but when they reached the part of the porch where the swing seat was, he gave her a long look.
“Until we meet again, Cirella,” he said, his eyes lingering before he headed toward the gate.
Cirella watched him go, her heart racing, her excitement about her new position still bubbling up inside her as she sat back down on the swing, waiting for Tysha to return so she could finally share her news.
Colin POV:
As Colin walked away from the porch, his thoughts lingered on Cirella. He had noticed her for a while now, the way her laugh was infectious, the way her cheeks flushed when she got flustered. It was hard not to be drawn to her—she was sweet, kind, and undeniably pretty. But it wasn’t just that. There was something about her that made him feel... different.
Lately, though, he’d been more aware of her, the way she looked at him, the way they spoke. And as much as he liked being around her, something in his gut told him to wait. He’d listened to Ruma and Tysha talk about how important it was for girls to grow into their own before getting serious with anyone. And he respected that. Cirella was still young, still finding her place, and as much as he admired her, he wanted to give her the time she