Maester Robert

  Two men were sitting at a desk in the well-appointed solar of Honeyholt. They were pouring over papers dense with words and figures in neat columns. The man dressed in grey robes pointed out a number at the bottom of the page and spoke. “I have done the calculations. House Beesbury’s treasury is more than able to cover the costs of installing the new hives, even taking into account employing all the skepmakers who will be out of work..”

  Lytton nodded as he leaned back in his chair. “I thought so, but it is always good to make sure.”

  “To right, my lord. But you need not worry. This summer has been a pleasant one, and there haven't been any ruinous events recently. No famines, plagues, and the last war ended at Wendwater Bridge before the Reach’s banners were even called.”

  Lytton let out a small laugh. “I remember that. My father was so upset that it ended before he could ‘show that Blackfyre bastard what real chivalry looks like’. As if he wasn’t too fat to ride a horse, let alone fit in his armor.”

  Robert nodded, taking care to not let too large a smile show. The late Lord Beesbury has strict expectations for everyone but himself, and Robert still cursed him when his knees ached during the night. But it was impolite to laugh at the dead, and even if Lytton was not going to take offense, Robert still had some standards.

  After both had settled down and taken sips of their mead, Lytton asked in a leading tone. “How are Barret’s lessons going?”

  Robert set down his cup and took a second to organize his thoughts. “He is a curious student, and has a powerful mind. Houses, crests, seats, he can list them all. I even gave him a lineage book and after a week he was able to give the relations of any name I picked.”

  Lytton looked sufficiently proud, and Robert continued. “But he is still a child. We spend most of our lessons discussing and practicing how to use that knowledge.” It might have just been the mead, but Robert felt confident today. “Would you allow him to study at the Citadel? I assure you, he would do well there.”

  Lytton seemed to consider it, before shaking his head. “No, at least not yet. He needs to grow and discover what he desires from the world. There are many things a second son can be.” A smile grew on his lips. “Besides, Jeyne would never forgive me if I sent her ‘bibo’ away.”

  Robert nodded, his clasped hands hidden beneath the sleeves of his robes. “Well, it is about time for Barret’s lessons. I will go find the young lord.”

  Lytton nodded, then rang a small handbell to call the servant in from the hallway. “Take these away,” he said, waving to the cups, “and inform the cook that I will be having my evening meal in the dining room. Something with pork, I think.”

  The servant nodded, and Robert exited the room behind them. He descended the winding stairs to the main section of Honeyholt, walking past tapestries, sculptures, and pottery. All pieces either made or commissioned by past lords and ladies of Honeyholt, all depicting bees. That was one of the assumptions that held up from way back when Robert was first told he was being sent to serve House Beesbury. Turns out, when all of your wealth comes from apiculture, you tend to grow a fondness for the little guys.

  Robert found the target of his search in the cellar, one of the boy’s usual hiding places. He was telling a story to a young girl almost completely hidden in a nest of sheets. “And then the witch, annoyed at Gretel’s questions, leaned over to show her how to check if the oven was hot. But Gretel was prepared, and just as the crone leaned over, she kicked her in the butt and sent her tumbling into the hot oven!” At his declaration, Barret lunged forward to grab his sister in the sheets, eliciting a scream before they both started giggling.

  Robert stepped out from the staircase, smiling at the childish antics. “Telling another one of your grumpkin tales, Barret?”

  The boy turned to Robert with a smile, obviously embarrassed at being found but too happy from telling the story to care all that much. If Barret wasn’t a noble, he would have been a good mummer with how much he enjoyed sharing tall tales.

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  Robert didn’t know if the abundance of stories Barret shared came from his mind, or if he picked them up from the frequent trips down to Honeytown he had been making recently. Everyday, after his martial training and their lessons, Barret would wipe himself down with a wet cloth and then meet up with that group of friends he called his retinue, and they would be gone till sundown. Such were the privileges of childhood that he was allowed to galavant and play with commoners, and Lytton had started giving him a small allowance of a silver stag a week. It was only as much as a labourer down at the docks would make in a day, but that was plenty for a child. He could buy a good meal and any trinkets that caught his eye.

  Robert also knew that the Beesbury incomes were going to experience a sharp increase soon, so Lytton would probably just buy anything Barret asked for, within reason of course. A sword or book? Understandable. A gallon of arbor red and half a dozen whores? Not so much.

  Not that Robert thought wine or women were anywhere near the twelve year old’s mind. He just had some bad experiences with noble sons during his time at the citadel. But Robert didn’t think Barret would turn out like those wastrels. The boy’s desires didn’t seem to be hedonistic in nature. He seemed to always be thinking, always making plans. Sometimes, during their discussions, he would predict what Robert was saying and show his own understanding of the topics. It forced Robert to come to each lesson prepared, with points and counter points and stacks of books to use as evidence. If his rivals at the citadel could see him now, debating with a twelve year old, they would laugh him out of the room, but Robert felt like he was learning something again! Books just didn’t have that same feeling, with how they dictated to you.

  Barret had even mentioned something about that, how a book written like a conversation could get the reader to think deeper about the various sides of an argument. Robert had been playing around with writing one of those dialogs, as Barret had called them, on the causes of disease. Robert had been taught to balance the four humors, but there had been some rigorous debate during his time as an acolyte about the new theory of miasma. He also threw in a Septon talking about disease as divine punishment, mainly to show the flaws in such logic.

  But those thoughts were for later. Right now, he had the young lord's studies to attend too. “Come now, Barret, it’s time for your lessons.”

  The boy released his sister and stood up. “What are we doing today?”

  “You will be learning your sums and letters, the history and houses of the kingdoms, and one subject of your choice.” That was something Robert introduced, after Barret had shown himself to be a fast learner with the normal areas of a lord’s education. Every lesson, Robert would allow Barret to choose one subject taught at the citadel to explore.

  Barret looked to his sister with a thoughtful stare. “Can Jeyne join us?”

  Robert looked at the little girl, with her braided hair and gap in her teeth. It was unusual for a child so young to sit with a Maester, and a lady’s education was wholly different from a lords.

  Barret seemed to sense Robert’s hesitation, and spoke again. “I understand things better after I explain them to her.”

  That made sense to Robert. He certainly had to have a deep understanding of something to teach it properly. And Barret always did seem to be able to keep Jeyne behaved. “Okay, she can come along. But she must be on her best behaviour. At least then I can say she was practicing her courtly etiquette, Robert thought. It was always good to have an excuse on hand.

  The three of them, Jeyne holding Barrett's hand and trying to keep pace, arrived at Honeyholt’s impressive library. It didn’t hold a candle to the great library at the citadel, but being close trading partners with Oldtown came with some benefits. The Beesbury’s had amassed a sizable collection, and Robert had the funds to make new acquisitions semi-regularly.

  On one side of the room were the tall bookshelves, stretching to the ceiling and requiring the use of a ladder to reach the top. On the other was a table and chairs next to a small window, from which hung pots of sweet scented flowers. Barret helped Jeyne up into one of the chairs as Robert prepared his notes.

  It was a fairly typical lesson, with Barret barely needing any time before grasping what Robert was trying to teach him. They worked through calculations on an abacus, grammatical rules for spelling, and were just finishing with the Great Council of 233 when Jeyne started acting up. She was making noises and pointing out the window, and when Barret looked he became incredulous.

  “Wha- Hey, they started without me!?”

  Robert looked out the window and saw something flying in the sky. It looked to be a kite, green cloth with stitched flowers and four trailing tails of painted bees fluttering after them. He slowly turned to Barret, who was trying to hold Jeyne back from climbing onto the windowsill, a task made harder by the fact that the girl was large for her age like most Beesbury women.

  “Who is they?” Robert asked, although he was fairly sure he knew the answer.

  “My retinue,” Barret said, still staring at the kite soaring on the wind, “we were making that all week!”

  Was that what Barret had been spending his allowance on, cloth and wood and string? It showed a certain amount of dedication, to abstain from quick pleasures and engage in a wholesome craft. House Beebury encouraged their scions to learn a courtly art, singing or painting or embroidery, with Lytton having remarked it was so they could relate to the hardworking bee. Robert thought it just gave them something to do, what with how uneventful Honeyholt was usually.

  Robert decided such efforts deserve a little reward. “Perhaps you wish to explore weather and the wind today? I’m sure that kite would make a fine example of such phenomena.”

  Barret looked up to Robert with surprise, before his face morphed into a smile. “Yes, I think that sounds very interesting.”

  As Robert started collecting his papers, he heard Barret muttering to himself. “And maybe if a storm picks up, one of those traitors will get hit by lightning…”

  Robert chuckled to himself. By the time they left Honeyholt the boy would be nothing but excited to play with his friends and show off their new toy to his sister.

  But what was that about lightning?