The Knight of the Rose:
It was yet another day of riding, and young Quentyn did not want to think on how long was until they finally reached the capital. It was following the unfortunate news of the death of the Mad… his Grace Aerys that they had immediately departed Highgarden, his cousin desperate to reach the Capital before someone proved too enthusiastic to grasp the now empty throne. And to the utter anger of Mace and the more seasoned of his advisors, the returning winter had shattered all hopes of a short journey by forcing rains of a size that the young Knight had not seen on his entire life. The fields flooded and the roads muddy, the rivers unstable and the smallfolk everywhere, Mace had kicked and screamed and in the end he had been to make the peace with the gods. Riding alone to the city was suicidal in these times, and so the entire Tyrell host had been forced into a slow but sure march. And to Quentyn’s shock, his cousin and Lord had entrusted him with full command of the host marching to King’s Landing.
-The host is yours, cousin. – It was all that Mace said, retiring back to his tent as he had accepted the inevitable delay –
The truth is that Quentyn fully understood Mace’s predicament, but found himself increasingly uneasy at the new role he had been asked to play. He was nothing but a distant cousin of the main branch of the family, and while he had received a good education and had been trained as a proper knight, he stood no chance at the hour of inheriting land to be a Lord on his own. A glorified bodyguard, perhaps, but never the man to give commands. Alas, his luck showed in the need to keep the Tyrell uncles searching for the Mad Prince or guarding Highgarden until Mace’s return, and with Ser Igon kept busy with those tasks better left unmentioned, it was left to Quentyn to command something very much resembling an army for the first time on his life. He would miss his wife, aye, and little Olymer too, but this was a chance that he could seize, the uneasiness aside. Not for nothing he was now under the orders of the Hand of the King.
-The Hand commands it.-
-The Hand wills it.-
-You will not address the Hand in such a way.-
-The Hand here…
-…and the Hand there.-
It had to be said that Mace had assumed the role with enthusiasm and the other young knights of the summer had also been thrilled to second his displays of authority, but perhaps it was too much open enthusiasm for Quentyn. After all, cousin Mace’s tenure could be boiled down to a never ending trip to King’s Landing and all those letters he wrote, at times with a look of despair and at times with a mischievous grin. Not exactly a Tywin Lannister… But he had to push those thoughts away, knowing them to be at least unfair in some sense. For all the japes and comments made by the august Lady Olenna, Quentyn could tell Mace not to be the oaf his mother thought he was. He was not the smartest of the High Lords by any measure, but people often forgot that the late Lord Luthor, Mace’s own father, had been a true oaf. Gods, the sheer ridicule of his death, vanquished from the land because he had not seen a cliff… Aye, the bards would jest that it was the thought of Lady Olenna that had clouded his mind – or cleared it –, but anyone from the family who had truly known Luthor could attest to the monumental lack of… sense, for lack of a kinder word.
Mace had been but a boy of six and ten when his father had met his untimely end, and it had been a long rule over Highgarden for a Lord who was, even at the present point, young. It was strange when he thought about it, that most of the Lords about to hack themselves to pieces were so young, leading to situations like young Mace being Hand of the King and master of the Reach despite not even being over thirty namedays. But brilliant or not, he had been a decent enough Lord, and despite his rage against the Gods Quentyn could not counter the fact that he would have been a lot less confident than Mace looked in the present times. Reach bannermen siding with the Mad Prince, half the royal family dead after Princess Elia had somehow believed she could have seized the throne, and now the Stags proclaiming royalty out of nowhere… other men would have perhaps considering not bothering to show up on King’s Landing to pick up the collar and the pin, other men would have returned to the safety and warmth of Highgarden and waited things to calm down. And here was Mace, the Gods bless him, riding to King’s Landing with a smile and a horde of ravens carrying his endless letters, almost happy to ride to a place which did not inspire much confidence on Quentyn. What if, gods forbid, what if Mace…?
-Cousin! What are you thinking about? – Mace had showed out of nowhere along with a couple of his knights, startling Quentyn -
-Apologies, my Lord. – Quentyn lowered his head –
-Enough with the formalities. Is the host ready to march? –
-It is, my Lord.-
-Good. Do give the order, and then entrust Ser Igor with leading the march through the morning.-
-Aye… But, I do not understand. – Quentyn put on a puzzled expression –
-I would wish to ride with you, cousin Quentyn. – Mace smiled – Plenty to talk about.-
It did not took long to put the host in order, and to his merit, Quentyn had to admit Ser Igor was better than him at getting the men and even the morose knights to ride by virtue of the storm of a voice he had. So he had left the host in good hands, and retreated to join Mace in one of the flanks of the formation. The Rose Road was getting less and less familiar to Quentyn, so he could well assume they were very near to the Crownlands… and close to King’s Landing. To the young rose knight’s bafflement, Mace had insisted they went hunting one they had reached a small lake at the middle of the day, leaving the host to rest for a more forced march through the evening. Mace and Quentyn left, bow and arrows in hand, escorted by a few knights sent by Randyll Tarly himself. It did not took long for them to find the first stags, and Mace was swift in striking one through the side with one of the first arrows.
-We're close. – Mace commented, dismounting to see the corpse – Very close.-
-My Lord Hand? –
-I said enough with the formalities, Quentyn. You can leave those for King’s Landing.-
-Very well… uh… cousin Mace. –-
-That's better. Mind you, this is an exception I do just for your person, the rest still have to call me Lord Hand.-
-But of course. – Quentyn lowered his head, suppressing some laugh –
-There will be much to be done from now on. – Mace crouched and took a good look at the dead stag’s expression – I would not dare to bring all the good men of the family with me, Quentyn. I hope you understand just how much I will be relying on you, if we are to emerge alive out of this.-
-My Lord? –
The mood had turned somber within an instant, just as the sun hid behind the trees of the forest and casted shadows right and left. The guards were far enough not to hear their precise words, and as Mace turned Quentyn could see his eyes were fixed on him. He looked… he looked serious, a sight the young knight was not truly used to. Mace called him with a gesture and Quentyn dismounted, walking towards him. When he was close enough, his cousin took a small letter out of his clothes, and then he extended it to his hand. Quentyn took it immediately.
-I have sent many ravens, as you are aware.- He started – Many issues are to be dealt with, but there is much more that we do not know yet. If anything happens to me, Quentyn, send that letter to Highgarden, it has some words for Willas, for Garlan, and… for mother.-
-What in the seven hells are you talking about? –
-If I succeed, Quentyn, I dare think it will be for the better for all of us, and for the realm. – Mace explained – But I might as well fail.-
Quentyn understood then just what was at stake, and remember the horrible tale of what had ensued on King’s Landing before and after King Aerys’s death. If Mace was worried… then it was clear that he had to do his part to ensure everything would go along.
-Best to return now. The scouts say we are getting close.-
To the young knight’s surprise Mace did not gave any looks of concern or even of being worried over the next few days, leading Quentyn to wonder whether he had exaggerated the mood at that forest and assumed his lord to have been much more serious than he really had been. And with the previously endless road reaching its end at last, the knight wrote as fast as he could to his wife and son, and then pushed away any thoughts he might have had at the current state of the Realm.
