~ Lytton Beesbury
It had been a busy week for the patriarch of House Beesbury.
First, Alan had taken the news of his mandatory attendance in the progress poorly. He hadn’t blown up like he did in Lytton’s solar, but barely even bothered hiding the disgust and anger on his face. Even the lure of a tournament on his nameday did nothing for his foul mood, and Lytton had left his son to stew.
Then, he had to make sure everything would be okay while most of House Beesbury was away from Honeyholt. He did an inspection of House Beesbury’s prized holdings; the castle, the hives on the hill, the hiveworks, and Honeytown. Checking in with servants and workers, resolving any disputes, and making sure the supervisors were good and wholesome. The whole runaround made him reconsider his choice to never rely upon a steward, a vow he made after watching his father’s rob their house blind.
Lytton also called another meeting with Honeytown’s artisans to discuss an idea. Apparently, during one of Robert’s lessons with Barret’s smallfolk friends, one of them had mentioned they had tried to make candles that smelt nice. House Beesbury had been trying to make scented candles for as long as House Waxley had been making theirs, but whatever was added to the beeswax always made the candles burn poorly and filled the air with smoke and soot.
Now, Barret and his friends hadn’t managed to solve that problem. From what Robert had told Lytton, they had just stuck flower petals into small beeswax candles and called it a day. But what was interesting was how Barret had apparently described a method by which to extract the scent from a flower through steam. When questioned, he had drawn a crude diagram of a boiled pot of water, atop which sat a container with the flowers which had a tube going out of it to another pot. Maester Robert had looked at it and Barret’s explanation of and said it should work.
So, Lytton placed another bounty on this machine. The metalworkers seemed intrigued enough to try turning the rough description into reality, and the promise of gold dragons as reward for success got them buzzing like bees who had just found a particularly delicious flower.
Now, why was Lytton willing to spend gold dragons on this idea? Well, besides the fact that Barret’s new beehive box had gone spectacularly, it was also because the potential upside was enormous. House Beesbury was known for two things. Their bees, and their flowers. Honeyholt was surrounded by seeds of flowers. Flowers that, if this steam distillation thing worked, could be turned into perfume.
That’s right, perfume. That liquid which noble men and women bought from far off Lys for high prices. Being able to make their own, out of their own abundant flowers, would both give House Beesbury another source of income besides beekeeping, and form connections to other houses that money would not be able to buy. After all, most people appreciate a personalized gift.
Besides, Adrianna had always liked perfumes. She never bought any, probably out of guilt at spending so much on frivolity, but in her dowry was a single vial of spiceflower and cinnamon perfume, and she had worn it very sparingly to make it last years. She would probably be overjoyed at being able to wear it as often as she wanted.
Finally, Lytton found himself in the Honeyport watching burly sailors load goods onto merchant ships. The Sweetsail, identifiable as House Beesbury’s personal merchant barge by its single square yellow and black sail and the extended wings of its painted bee figurehead, was loaded down with beeswax-sealed jars of honey, casks of mead, and crates of candles. It wasn’t the largest ship in the harbor, and wouldn’t stand a chance in the open ocean, but since it was used almost exclusively for shipping honey and wax products down to Oldtown, it was plenty good.
There was time for Lytton to have a quick discussion with the Sweetsail’s captain, a grizzled old man by the name of Eaton who had been working the Honeywine route ever since he married the daughter of one of Lytton’s knights. He had given Lytton the goods and bads.
The good; they were making about twice as many trips down to Oldtown as they had been before.
The bad; they were making about twice as many trips down to Oldtown as they had been before.
Apparently, the increased pace had brought on some problems of its own. The Sweetsail was an old girl, and captain Eaton didn’t like how much they were pushing her without sufficient time to check for wear and do repairs. They were making weekly trips to Oldtown, and for most of that time her small crew was occupied with loading, unloading, and the various rigours of sailing.
That was another thing, the crew were getting restless. Before, they would have one week working on the Sweetsail and one week off. Now, it was constant work, and captain Eaton warned that even with the increased pay, dissatisfaction at the lack of time to relax and spend time with family and friends would eventually bubble over like an unattended pot.
These problems were news to Lytton. To hear captain Eaton tell it, the crew was a few choppy waves away from a mutiny. But the Sweetsail was a large fraction of House Beesbury’s incomes. If there was a time when they needed money, it was right before throwing a tournament. So Lytton pledged to find a solution, and made a mental note to talk to Adrianna about it.
Returning to Honeyholt didn’t stop work from finding Lytton. He spent the rest of the week writing flowery letters to nearby lords, planning the tournament grounds with Adrianna, and practicing riding so that he wouldn’t embarrass himself during the progress in front of his smallfolk and family. Lytton was so busy he even missed a few meals in the dinning room, but Manrel had recently started keeping various sandwiches and hand pies ready at all times, so all Lytton had to do was ask a servant to fetch him some and he could have a meal wherever he was.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
And what a meal it was, roast beef with creamy cheese, onions, and that tangy white sauce Manrel had started making, all between two toasted slices of wholesome bread that had been soaked in the beef’s juices. It was dripping with flavor, and Lytton had to wrap it in a cloth to eat it properly. Of course, alongside it came some new type of mead, an amber liquid that smelt like flowers and bread, with an aftertaste similar to beer. And he also got a handpie, but not one filled with savory meats. Instead, this one was filled with sugary apples, and had been fried in an oiled pan like you would a fish, giving it a crispy crust and a slight saltiness that went well with the sweet filling. All in all, it was a pretty good meal. Lytton was in the debt of whatever had gotten Manrel out of that malaise he had.
Overall, Lytton had been so busy that when the day of their departure came, it was more of a relief than celebration for him. The party gathered in Honeyholt’s courtyard in the early morning right after breakfast, with the servants already having finished loading their supplies.
The group had grown beyond what Lytton had expected, like how a single hive can suddenly release a swarm of bees that seem to blot out the sky. Alongside him and the four Beesbury children, they had an entourage of Ser dack, Barret's four friends, septa Margaret, Maester Robert, and a chore boy from the kitchen who Manrel had sworn was able to cook and clean sufficiently.
It was more than Lytton had envisioned, but not too much to ruin the purpose of the trip. The only servants they had were children, which would force Alan to actually carry his weight if he wanted to return on time for the tournament.
Ser Dack was there out of caution and to continue Barret's training, septa Margaret was to continue the girls' lessons, and Maester Robert had convinced Lytton that the people traveling into the wilderness were going to be in more danger than those staying behind in Honeyholt (although Lytton had a suspicion he also wanted to continue those lessons he had started giving to Barret's friends).
Their baggage train was two covered wagons with the top of their canopies shaped like skeps pulled by draft horses with caparasons, horse cloaks, of yellow and black, upon which was sewn and dyed the three skeps of House Beesbury's heraldry. The riding mounts got the same caparisons, although Ser Dack had his own crest to drape over Tulip as befitting a proper knight of the Reach.
Lytton was taking one last trot around their party to make sure everything and everyone was where they should be, his trusty palfrey Sweethoof happy to oblige. He found Alan milling about next to the horses, Ser Dack and Maester Robert discussing something, Septa Margaret with Jeyne and Rylene, and Barret with his four friends. They were all huddled in a circle, and Barret was sharing something with the others.
“What have you there?” Lytton asked as
Barret hesitated, then turned his head to Lytton and stuck out his hand. “Honey.” Barret said, and indeed in his hand was a piece of golden honeycomb, dripping with honey. Lytton’s brow furrowed as he noticed how thick and creamy it looked, the sign of honey that was good enough to eat out of the comb. But there was something about the comb Barret was holding that made Lytton want to take a closer look.
“Where did you get-” Lytton was cut off by a horse’s whinnying coming from the front of the column. Looking ahead, he saw Alan trying to mount Tulip, Ser Dack’s black warhorse, instead of the brown palfrey that Lytton had assigned to him.
Lytton saw the moment Tulip decided Alan needed to be persuaded to leave him alone, and his heart started to beat in his chest when he saw him preparing to kick. As Lytton yelled out, Ser Dack appeared next to Alan and tackled him, knocking him just below the hoof that had been sent at his head.
Lytton swore and rode up to where the two were on the ground. Alan was already ranting and raving about Ser Dack attacking him, while the knight had simply gotten up and started soothing Tulip by keeping the horse’s head low, speaking softly, and leading him in small circles to work out his adrenaline.
Alan eventually stopped yelling at Ser Dack when he noticed Lytton looming over him. From his position atop his old palfrey, Lytton proceeded to tear into Alan. “What did you think you were doing? Stealing a warhorse?
“I wouldn’t have to if you gave me a horse to ride!”
“I did! She is right over there!” Lytton pointed to Riverbank, Alan’s palfrey for the progression.
“No, a proper horse! Palfreys are for women, children and the elderly. Those too weak to fight!” Alan spoke with a grin, and Lytton got the feeling Alan was trying to mock him for riding a palfrey.
“You look here, son. Palfreys are excellent mounts. They have a smooth gait, which is important when you are riding as far as we are. Besides, are we going to war? Are we going to charge valiantly at farmers and woodsmen, carpenters and blacksmiths? No!” Lytton leaned over to better look into Alan’s eyes. “We are checking on our people, and if we were to appear in full plate and warhorses, then that might scare them a tad.”
“Good.” Alan said.
Lytton narrowed his eyes. “What did you say?”
Alan met Lytton’s stare. “I said it would be good if we scared them. We are their lords. They should be scared of us. Maybe then they would know their place.”
“We have the right of pits and gallows over them,” Lytton said with a stern tone, “they need no other reason to be scared of us. But you cannot rule out of fear alone, lest you be a tyrant and exercise that right too loosely. Like the Father tells us, when leading a horse, hold a carrot in one hand in the other a stick. So too should we lead our people.”
Alan grumbled and turned his head to the ground. Lytton could tell he wasn’t truely sorry, but they had to leave and he didn’t have time to talk to Alan in a private environment. He sighed and turned to Ser Dack. “Are you going to be okay to ride?”
Ser Dack nodded, continuing to calm Tulip down. Lytton trotted back to his position in the procession and, once everyone was on their horses, or ponies in the children’s case, he gave a nod to the servants near the gatehouse and Honeyholt’s gates slowly swung open. Outside, people lined the path down the hill sparsely, mostly the beekeepers that lived on the hill itself. Even with the small crowd, the cheers as they rode out were loud.
What a sight they must have been, riding out to the cheers of the gathered crowd. Lytton came first, long dormant instincts kicking back in, and he almost subconsciously raised up higher and rode a slow trot down the dirt path. Behind him rode his children and Ser Dack, who was holding high House Beesbury's banner, and following them were Maester Robert, Septa Margarat, and the five servant children in the wagons.
The crowd only got larger as they went further down the hill, until they reached Honeytown and each side of the road was stuffed full. The cheering just got louder and louder, reaching a point where Lytton was worried one of their mounts might get spooked. But Adrianna had chosen them specifically for their calm temperament, and they reached the edge of town without incident.
As the group took a second to catch their bearings, Lytton stared out at the hills and forests that stretched out in front of them and smiled. The open sky above him, packed dirt below, and his family at his back. This was going to be a good trip.
