Chương 46

The servants Galad passed in the hallways pressed themselves against the walls. They bowed low as he walked by, lower than he'd seen them bow to many a lord. He had spotted several who had been spooked by his echoing boots coming down the corridors and run back from peering through windows or off balconies, afraid of being caught still looking at the spectacle below.

If they had been too far away to recognize him by his face and armor, then Nightfall hanging at his side left no doubt that he was the one responsible for what had just happened in the courtyard. He had already left Arys's sword with Garlan to see it returned to its owner. He had been extra careful not to notch it during the fighting—a borrowed blade was a borrowed blade, and it deserved respect. Perhaps he might have been able to end the trial faster had it been his own sword in his hand.

But that had been the point, after all. The realm needed to see that he did not need Nightfall to protect himself. He kept going down the hall, and he could hear the murmurs rising behind him as turned corners. No matter the time and age and world, people and gossip were as inseparable as always. Things grew quieter as he moved further away from the courtyard toward the wing of the mountain castle where the Tyrell apartments—and his own modest chambers—were located.

He had not even had time to return to his room since everything happened, and if he planned to leave today, then he needed to gather the last of his things now while the rest of the nobles were still gathering their dropped jaws from the benches. Now that the void no longer consumed his mind, Galad allowed himself an amused smile at the memory of the stunned faces he had seen in the stands.

He could only imagine how they would look if they ever got to witness a blademaster like the last of the Malkieri kings, Al'Lan Mandragoran, wielding his power-wrought sword. There were men in his old world who had made Galad himself look like a regular swordsman by comparison. The men of Westeros would do well to remember that the world was larger than they knew. Then he was turning a corner and very nearly running into someone.

He pulled up short at the last instant, his armor clinking as he stopped just in time to avoid trampling what at first appeared to be a young boy. But looking closer, he realized it was not a boy at all, but a young man with a man's face beneath a head of fine, pale hair. A young man with stunted, bowed legs and shoulders that did not quite match the rest of his frame. A dwarf. The young man's eyes—Galad noted they were mismatched, one green and one black, brightened up when he looked up at Galad.

He showed no fear at all of having nearly been bowled over by an armored knight in full plate fresh from killing seven men.

"Ah, there you are!" the young man said.

"I hoped to run into you before you made it back to your side of the Rock." Surprised, Galad considered him for a moment. He had never met the man around the castle before, but his clothes were finely made in crimson and gold, with a small lion brooch at the collar, and he carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to fine things despite his circumstances. A noble, then. Galad nodded in greeting.

"How can I help you, my lord?" The dwarf cracked a smile at that.

"Oh, not much, Ser Galad. I just wanted to look upon the man who has so thoroughly embarrassed my father and my sweet sister all in a single morning. Perhaps you can give me some tips as to how I might achieve the same success." It took a second for things to slot together in Galad's mind. My father. My sweet sister. The lion brooch. The fine clothes.

"Forgive me," Galad said.

"I did not know Lord Tywin had another child other than the queen and Ser Jaime." The boy laughed, the sound surprisingly pleasant.

"I assure you, you are not the only one. I am quite easy to overlook, especially in crowds." He raised a hand up to his head to demonstrate his height—or lack thereof.

"Ah, my apologies. I never introduced myself properly. My name is Tyrion. Tyrion Lannister, at your service." He gave a small, formal bow.

"How old are you, Tyrion Lannister?" Galad asked, genuinely curious.

"I turn sixteen a moon hence. Not a knight or a squire, as you can imagine." Tyrion opened his hands wide in a self-deprecating gesture, as if to say look at me, who would have such a thing?

"Sixteen?" Galad frowned slightly. Certainly not a child, then.

"You were not at any of the feasts I attended. I would have remembered."

"I can be quite striking, can I not?" The smile Tyrion gave did not quite reach his eyes. He shrugged with practiced casualness.

"Figured it was best for everybody if I stayed out of the way. My father got to hide his shame, and I could do without all the stares." Galad's eyes narrowed.

"Shame? What can a boy your age do to shame his father?" Tyrion raised an eyebrow at that." Do?" He laughed, but it was a sharp, bitter sound.

"You think a dwarf can ever be worthy of being Tywin Lannister's son?"

"I see." Indeed, Galad did see. That was the reason he had never even heard of this third child before. Lord Tywin certainly seemed the type to ostracize his son for how he had been born. His opinion of the man might have gone down further were it not already at the bottom after this morning's farce. He looked down at the boy again, taking in the wariness behind the wit, the carefully maintained mask of indifference that did not quite hide the hurt beneath.

"Tell me then, Tyrion Lannister. What do you do?" Tyrion blinked.

"What?"

"You said you were not a squire or a knight, but you are a man already, or near enough." Galad asked again.

"What is it that you do?"

"I..." Tyrion hesitated. The boy seemed taken aback by the question, his mouth opening and closing for a second.

"I don't quite grasp your meaning, ser."

"You asked me how you could achieve the same success, did you not?" Galad continued.

"Since you are not a squire or a knight, I cannot help you with your swordwork. So I am asking what you do, that I might give you advice on it." Tyrion blew out a breath, then managed a wry expression that almost passed for amusement.

"You are a strange man, ser. I meant that only in jest. But if you must know, my father plans to put me in charge of the Rock's cisterns and drains. Seems that is the only type of work he thinks I am responsible enough for." Galad could hear the hurt buried beneath the boy's flippant tone.

"And what are your plans for it?"

"My plans?"

"Yes, Lord Tyrion. How many hours do you think it took me to become good at this?" Galad patted Nightfall at his side.

"I expect that a man soon to be put in charge of cisterns and drains has done much study in the field with the time he has." Tyrion's eyes flashed with something that might have been anger.

"He meant to mock me with this assignment, ser. Not to honor me. Why should I spend a whit of my mind studying for it?"

"Perhaps he did mean to mock you," Galad allowed.

"I imagine that even if you succeed in the work, he would not see fit to thank you for it. But why should you not feel proud of your own work? Your father's opinion is not the only one that exists in the world. The most important opinion of your work, in the end, is your own."

"I do not want to become a sewer expert, ser." He sounded petulant now.

"This is not about sewers, my lord. They are a duty of today, and so today you will work on sewers. But you are young and still have much time ahead to find what it is in this world that moves you. Perhaps it is not building sewers, but it is raising castles, or studying history, or designing ships." Galad shrugged slightly.

"Whatever it is, do it well, regardless of what your father thinks or what your sister says. That is the kind of success no one can ever take away from you." Tyrion Lannister seemed to consider his words for a long moment. Then his eyes hardened. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Easy for you to say. By all accounts, you are the greatest living knight in the land. And a tall, whole man besides." Galad nodded slowly.

"Yes. It is easier for me. But do you think your life is harder than that of any number of smallfolk out there? The crippled boy begging in the street? The miller's daughter sold into marriage at twelve? The peasant farmer whose harvest fails three years running and watches his children starve?" That seemed to make the boy pause. His mouth opened, then closed. His expression shifted into something more uncertain. Galad walked closer and laid a hand on the boy's small shoulder.

The dwarf flinched slightly, as if unused to being touched.

"That is my advice for you, Tyrion son of Tywin. Find something you can be proud of in your life, and you will never again shy away from stares at feasts. They will lose their power over you. That I can promise you." He let his hand fall and stepped back. Tyrion looked up at him with an expression that was somewhere between confusion and reluctant gratitude. His mouth worked as if he wanted to say something but could not quite find the words.

Galad nodded to him once and continued down the corridor, leaving the young Lannister standing there in the lamplight, staring after him. xxx He reached his rooms and found everything as he had left it that morning—a lifetime ago, it seemed now. The borrowed Hightower clothes from yesterday lay folded on a chair, and his travel gear sat in the corner where Garlan had placed it.

He never managed to get his new garments with their sigil of tree and sunburst, but hopefully Ben would be able to collect them before he turned north. Without Garlan to help him, shedding his armor took a little longer than he'd wished, but he'd done so plenty of times before, the plates and mail coming off in their proper sequence.

The pieces went into a leather pack designed to carry them on the road, and he changed instead into traveling clothes of dark wool and good linen, simple but well-made, suitable for long days in the saddle. Then he gathered his few personal belongings. A leather pouch with the tools needed for tending blades. The bone-handled hunting knife Ser Garin Sand had given him before his death.

A few books he had recently acquired in Lannisport, Not much to show for eighteen years of building a life in this world, but most of his possessions had been left back at his cabin in the Reach. He was packing the last of it into a pair of saddlebags when a knock came at the door. When he opened it, it was to find the Tyrell family staring at him from the corridor. Lord Mace stood at the back, his round face flushed with what seemed to be a combination of anger, pride, and emotion.

Lady Alerie at his side, calm and composed as always. The children stood before them, with Wilas holding his siblings by the shoulder. Until he let them go, and little Margaery launched herself at him before he could react, hugging him hard around his waist with her small arms. Loras followed only a heartbeat later, the boy throwing himself into the embrace with equal force from the other side. Both children were crying.

Not sobbing, they were too well-bred for that, but tears streamed down their faces freely as they pressed themselves against him.

"You're alive!" Loras said.

"We were so scared," Margaery cried.

"They said you would have to fight all seven and we thought the worst." Loras nodded into his leg.

"It was so unfair, Ser Galad, so unfair!" Smiling, he reached down to pat both their heads, ruffling their fine brown hair.

"There now. All is well that ends well. You should have known better than to worry for me." Mace Tyrell, watching the scene from beside his wife, belted out a great laugh at that.

"Ha! That's right, my boy. We should have known not to doubt you! What a fight that was! Still—" His expression sobered.

"Still, this farce of a trial shall not go without a response from the Reach, I promise you that. I have already sent word to Highgarden to begin gathering grievances. The realm will know what the Lannisters tried this day." Galad would've preferred not to rattle the kingdoms any more than he'd already had, but in the end it was not his decision to make.

"I will trust your wisdom on this, my lord."

"Garlan told us you would be leaving today," Willas said quietly from behind his parents. The young heir's eyes were serious, taking in the saddlebags visible through the open door.

"He spoke truly," Galad confirmed.

"I will ride out before the sun is much higher." Margaery pulled back from her hug just enough to look up at him, her tear-streaked face crinkling with concern.

"But what about the jousting? Don't you want to become champion there too? You could crown a queen of love and beauty like in all the stories." Galad knelt down to her level, the better to meet her eyes properly.

"Perhaps some other time, little lady. I never cared much for jousting, truth be told. Champion's titles are not why I came to this tourney." Lady Alerie laughed softly.

"Lynesse will weep when she hears of it. The poor girl has been talking of nothing but you for two weeks now." Galad smiled at that but did not respond. Lynesse was a kind young woman, but no good would come from his pretending otherwise about his intentions. Lady Alerie continued, more gently: "Children, say your goodbyes to Ser Galad now, as you did with Garlan." She turned to Galad as the children released their grip and stepped back, sniffling.

"And we thank you, ser. For everything you have done for our family. For saving our children at your cabin when the Ironborn came. For taking Garlan as your squire and shaping him into the boy he is now. For all of it." Her eyes were warm with what looked like genuine emotion.

"You will always be welcome at Highgarden, ser. Whatever path your travels take, our gates will be open to you. Always."

"You honor me, my lady. Truly." Galad turned to the children, still kneeling. Margaery was wiping at her tears with a small embroidered handkerchief, trying to maintain her composure with all the dignity a six-year-old could muster. Loras simply sniffled and held tight to his sister's hand.

"Now then. I expect proper goodbyes from you both." Margaery threw her arms around his neck for one more hug.

"You'll come visit us, won't you, Ser Galad? Please say you will."

"I will visit when I can, my lady. That I promise. Whenever my travels bring me near Highgarden, I will stop and see you."

"And me too!" Loras insisted, hugging him from the other side.

"And you too, young lord," Galad said as he stood.

"Remember what we discussed about footwork. The most important part of any fight is your feet, not your sword."

"I will, ser! I will!" Willas stepped forward then, and bowed to him lower than was appropriate for someone his station, especially right in front of his parents.

"Thank you, ser," he said, head low.

"For the lessons and your friendship. I shall never forget it."

"You will make a fine knight, my lord," Galad told him.

"I have seen the seeds of it in you these past months." Willas smiled, his expression sober but pleased.

"I will continue the training you set up for me, ser. I will not let it lapse just because my teacher is gone." Lord Mace, his expression more serious now, came up around his son and clapped Galad on the shoulder with one of his thick hands.

"Garlan is already waiting with your horses at the stables, ser. I have prepared the best animals we had for the two of you. Sturdy beasts, all four of them. They will see you across any terrain. I have also sent additional horses ahead with Ben, as you requested."

"My thanks, my lord. You are too generous."

"Bah, nonsense. After what you have done for this family?" Lord Tyrell waved his hand dismissively.

"It is nothing. Truly nothing. Now, what of your gold? With your winnings in the archery tourney and the grand melee, you have nearly thirteen thousand gold dragons coming to you, all told. Do you wish to take it all with you? That much coin can buy many comforts on the road." Taking all that gold with him would be foolish in the extreme, it would only attract bandits and worse. A man traveling with that much coin in saddlebags was a man with a target painted on his back.

"I will take five hundred dragons with me, my lord," he decided.

"Enough for travel expenses and good rooms when we want them. Could the rest be held for me at Highgarden?"

"Of course, of course! Whatever you wish." Lord Mace nodded eagerly.

"I will keep it safe in your name, and we can arrange to send portions to you wherever you happen to be in the realm. A letter from you, properly sealed, and I will see to it that you receive it wherever you find yourself. Easy enough."

"That would suit me well," Galad said, then thought of something else.

"One more thing, my lord."

"Anything, my boy."

"From that gold—I would ask that a part of it be used to help Lorne's widow." He could see in the lord's eyes that he did not remember"Ser Lorne gained his knighthood along with Ser Galad, father," Wilas cut in, "back in the Flower Hearth." Recognition dawned on Mace Tyrell then.

"Ah, yes, of course, of course. Lorne was a good man, to be sure."

"Indeed he was," Galad said.

"He fought bravely in Harlaw and died a hero in my eyes." He nodded gravely.

"I will see it done, ser. Lorne's widow will want for nothing." Something of a weight finally left Galad's shoulder at that. Lorne deserved no less.

"One more thing, ser," Lord Tyrell said, his voice lowering slightly.

"About Garlan."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Take care of him. He is..." Mace's voice caught for just a moment before he recovered.

"He is a good boy. A fine boy. And he wants nothing in this world more than to follow you. To learn from you. To become like you."

"I will care for him as if he were my own brother, my lord." Galad tried to convey all his sincerity with a look.

"You have my word on it."

"I know. I know you will." Lord Mace gripped his shoulder again, harder this time.

"And if you can make him into half the knight you are, ser, then I will die a happy man. Half. That would be more than enough." Galad met the older man's eyes, seeing the love a father had for his son, the worry of letting that son go off into the wide and dangerous world.

"I will do my best, my lord. He has the makings of greatness in him already. I will simply help him find it." Mace nodded, unable to say more without breaking down. He stepped back, gathering his composure. Lady Alerie took his arm, and together they began to usher the children out into the corridor. Margaery turned back at the doorway, her small face determined despite her tears.

"Be safe, Ser Galad," she whispered.

"Promise me you will be safe."

"I promise I will try, little lady." She studied him for a moment with big brown eyes shimmering with tears. Then she nodded once, satisfied, and let her mother lead her away. Galad watched them go down the corridor until they turned the corner and disappeared from view. Then he closed the door, returned to his saddlebags, and finished packing for his journey.