51 Chapter 51: Janyce Wytch VII

Late 157 AC

Janyce had always known the kitchens would be one of her favorite places to inspect. The cooks had long kept it clean to a standard many might find unreasonable, but the work of her son had seen that there were always bins of fresh water on hand for washing food or hands, but never from the same bin. Who would want a lingering taste of soap on their meal?

That, and were she hungry, there was always a light snack she could partake in, courtesy of her loyal staff. "The buttered and stuffed rolls?"

"Jus' punched down and risin' again, ready ta be filled and put in the oven when dinner nears."

"The mixed greens?"

"Bubblin' in their sauce over low heat."

"The roasted pork?"

"Steady o'er the coals, milady," the head cook Serwyn finished, the eldest of the Wytch household staff and one of the first smallfolk to have entered their service all those years ago. He had long since proven his loyalty, and along the way, his expertise in running a kitchen. Having no sons of his own, his eldest daughter would eventually take his place, hopefully not for a few years yet. "Seasoned as Lord Wytch ordered, rosemary and garlic with a dash o' pepper n' salt, ta be glazed over with whatever grease we saved from the morning's bacon in the ice box."

"Wonderful. How are our stocks of seasonings?"

"With so few guests, milady, our stores are in good order. With Storm Hollow no longer able to supply us, we'll 'ave to look elsewhere when we run low. Fer now, barring a great feast or a greater number o' guests, we should have enough for at least a year, barrin' spoilage."

"Excellent work, Serwyn. How are your grandchildren?"

"Oh, delights milady. Always tellin' me o' their time in the sept school and the lessons they be learnin' whene'er they come to visit their old grandsire."

Janyce gave a ladylike chuckle at that. "You're not that old, Serwyn."

"Old enough ta know what life was like before you came ta Stormhall, milady," he said with a bow of his balding head. "Bless you and yer son for what you've done for us simple folk."

"Indeed, the Seven smile upon us all, Serwyn. Now, I must be off. Good day."

Exiting the kitchen, the smell of roasting pork trailing behind her, Janyce moved to her primary study, where Maester Gorman was already at work, looking over several larger sketches strewn across her desk. Many projects had been put away for winter, ready to be resumed come spring, but this one was of particular interest to Janyce. It would, after all, ensure that the changes she had encouraged her son to follow would continue once she had entered the embrace of the Seven.

Suffice to say, though she felt to be perfectly healthy, she was a touch impatient on the matter. "Well?" she asked. "How soon can it be complete?"

"Before the end of winter for sure, milady, but we mustn't rush too much," Gorman said. "A wing of the castle, designed entirely for the scribes and bureaucrats to ensure the lands of House Wytch are in good order is a rather… unique proposition. With so few smallfolk under the Wytch banner, most might not even consider attempting such an idea, but I must admit, after looking over the figures," he muttered, rubbing his tired eyes, "that the future of these lands will need a strong foundation for Casper's descendants to build upon."

"The smallfolk dwelling in Lowhill is set to rise substantially, I would wager," she replied.

"Yes, milady, but elsewhere too. Given the number of migrants from other lands, the number of children being born to each family, and the steady need for workers, the people dwelling in these lands may very well double within a generation at this pace. Having the necessary scribes and similarly skilled men and women to ensure it runs smoothly is not something I'd ever thought I'd have to oversee, and yet, here we are," he added with a chuckle.

"Indeed, but to have run out so quickly of available scribes had not quite been accounted for, it would seem. Attracting more to our lands will be risky, however, as other lords require such learned smallfolk for their own services. We cannot afford to be seen as poaching talent, even if plenty will come should they learn of the opportunities awaiting them."

"I agree, my lady. With the plans for Syrio's bank finally finished, the layouts for the Academy complete, and the hill designated for the Alchemist outpost cleared of any unsuitable features, planning this expansion will take a considerable number of days to prepare, let alone begin building. The stonework, the lumber, the supplies, and that's just for the wing itself! To say nothing of the sheer amount of parchment we'll need for our purposes."

"What of using birch bark, as Timberstone does?"

"I doubt there'll be a single birch tree in Wytch lands if we rely too heavily on that method, my lady," Gorman replied. "We'll have to think of something else before our needs exceed our ability to procure such supplies. I would prefer we use what we have in Wytch or nearby lands, but I'm afraid that won't suffice, given enough growth."

"Very well. I shall enquire with my cousins if other lords and lands have greater access to such necessary supplies. On another matter, what of the young Megette and her brood? What of little Alysanne, Lily and Willow?" Casper had not yet told them who the father was of the young smallfolk's daughters, but given their looks, Janyce found the guess to be an easy one. That, and the girl, for that was what she truly was, had told her in private while Gorman had looked them over for any signs of illness from the long journey. That such a woman had been seduced by a prince of the realm and birthed three daughters, only to be nearly sent to a sept, was nothing short of disheartening. That a prince would be so callous to allow it, and his father the one to send them away, his own grandchildren, the gall! Thank the Seven for Princess Naerys' kind letter vouching for the little dears and their mother.

"As of this morning they are on the road to Ironvein, under the escort of a patrol of course, where she will enter the protection of Ser Gerold. After haggling for expanded mining operations on nearby hills, he has pledged to raise the girls as if they were his own. When they left, all were of perfect health my lady, and barring some unfortunate circumstance along the road, they will lead quiet and peaceful lives in those lands."

"Good, I shudder to think of girls so young being forced into the Silent Sisters," Janyce said. "Do you think she and Ser Gerold will marry?"

"Hard to say, my lady. The knight is a chaste man by all accounts, but Megette is a fair beauty, even after birthing three children. I do not think he would engage in what might be deemed unseemly behavior with her under his roof, but given enough time together, who can really say? Stranger marriages have occurred in the past, after all, and they are both yet young, Megette especially."

"Septon Coren told me he had the authority to annul her previous marriages and mentioned that he had done so shortly before they departed Lowhill. Does he?"

"I am not well-versed in matters of the Faith, Lady Janyce, but I believe so," Gorman replied, scratching his chin in thought. "Though the High Septon has the greatest voice in Kings Landing, this far south, I do believe Coren is of greater import to the community and these lands. Given his correspondence with a great number of other septs in the Stormlands, along with many locals deferring to his wisdom on similar matters, I do believe that short of a kingly order, Megette need not fear any reprisals for her annulments."

"What of the girls? They will be bastards with such an annulment in place."

"Perhaps, but not for long. Ser Gerold is a kind and just man, and would no doubt be the father they need to wash such a stain from their lives. If any locals raise a fuss over their births, I doubt he will face any trouble for it. Ironvein respects him far too much to make a problem over three little girls and their mother, after all."

"We can only hope it remains so. Ironvein is secluded enough that even if someone were to try and look for them, it would be difficult. Many would not be willing to put in the work, I wager."

"I agree. Now then, unless there is anything else, I must get back to this project for making water wheels for the dam. The smallfolk settlement there has grown somewhat since it first sprung into place, and our efforts to stock the growing reservoir will hopefully begin to bear fruit come springtime."

With a nod, Janyce left the older man to his own devices, satisfied with the progress they had made. With everything that had happened so far since her husband's death, they were truly blessed by the Seven for all the good that had come after that horrible day. Even with a distant war ensuring that supply wagons and lords alike passed through their lands with increasing frequency, Janyce was gladdened that despite the chill of a light winter's afternoon, life was finally returning to a normalcy within Stormhall's keep. Since her son's return, a great deal of her advice had finally started to take root in that brilliant but stubborn head of his, and that included more and more delegation on tasks that truly did not always need his oversight. While he rested and recovered, she had expanded their network of skilled men and women, from gardeners to cooks to scribes and whatever skilled artisans they could draw to Stormhall itself. Now, while not as grand or opulent as the more major houses, their castle had blossomed from its humble roots, and within its walls lay the luxuries few would find in other comparable Stormlands castles, all in part thanks to the skills of the many smallfolk that now dwelt in its walls. Spices and herbs, fine woolen beds and rugs, warm showers and an array of other goods fit for true lords and ladies alike. Short of the most major of needs, their keep was now entirely self-sufficient in its staffing, and she aimed to keep it that way.

A large well had been dug that brought deep groundwater into the keep through a large pipe, and although her son spoke of 'plumbing' within the walls to be a future project, to have access to so much clean water was nothing to take for granted. Her old collection of flowers had blossomed into a garden fit for a true highborn lady, and the outermost walls, though the lowest, now encompassed the orchards and small cottages the vineyard workers resided in. With a newer, stronger vault to hold more of their coin, two more stout towers to house the guards and their supplies, additional storehouses, three new iceboxes beneath the ground, and a new wing of the castle designed with guests in mind, Stormhall had truly grow by leaps and bounds from the comparative hovel her husband and her had originally called home. If only Morden could see it now, Seven rest his soul.

Yet not all was well. Despite her calm exterior thus far, Janyce was in a rush, the last preparations needing one final checkup before their guest was to arrive. After all, fostering someone in Stormhall's walls was unheard of. Most, if not all their men at arms had come from smallfolk families in Lowhill and the surrounding villages, many of them reaching their majority within its barracks and training yard. Even the inclusion of the occasional yeomen or former sellsword were still of the lower classes, and save for Luthor's son Willas, a squire now to one of their own knights, none of noble blood had been fostered here since the Wytch name had come to rule this keep.

Until now. One of their captains had returned from patrolling the roads that morning, detailing the approach of a party of men bearing the banner of Stark. Jonnel Stark was here to foster with her son, and the thought of the son of such an ancient house dwelling in her home filled Janyce with a heady excitement. The sheer prestige that would bathe their house would see them truly respected among many of their fellow Stormlords, the likes of which they would have had to tirelessly work generations to earn. With luck, rather than little more than wealthy landed knights, they would be seen as genuine lords, despite her deceased goodfather's… unclear lineage.

Yet for all her preparations, she was mildly annoyed that Mylenda was not the one doing this work. Oh, she was no slacker by any means, and she loved her gooddaughter, but their first pregnancy was subtly scaring her son and his lady wife. After all, pregnancy was a risky proposition for a woman, especially when the babe was ready for birth. There were less complications when she was of proper age, and her family had a history of good births, but that did not stop the worry. Janyce remembered that her own pregnancies, despite some difficulties in conception due to exhaustive work, had proceeded well enough. Yet while her three children were her life, Janyce would not have wished for another, even if Morden yet lived. No matter their age, the risk of an accident malforming or killing the child within was always a niggling thought at the back of her mind while carrying, and now Mylenda had learned of those same fears.

Hence, now that she was near five months along, her duties were to be restricted further than before. No riding a horse, Maester Gorman had said, and to avoid any untended surfaces where ice may form. A simple slip was all it could take to lose a babe, and though the rains had yet to prove icy, time would only tell if this winter grew cold enough for it. She rarely left the castle anyway, content to attend to as much work as possible, and offering stories or lessons to Arenna and Shyra when possible. That, and discuss plans with Casper, the two of them thick as thieves at times with whatever wild ideas crossed their minds. Septs in other lord's holdings, roads throughout the Stormlands, and were it not for their constant chuckles, she'd have thought their ideas of canals across Westeros to be serious!

As it stood, after ensuring everything was in order once more, she dismissed their newest steward with a sigh of relief. By her and Maester Gorman's sums, even with the addition of young Jonnel and the food needed for a feast welcoming the boy and his escort, their food stores, barring some catastrophic infestation, would last well beyond three years of a harsher winter than they already were experiencing. Whatever cold crops could be grow had been sown in the fields, and though they would grow slow, harvesting would be something to celebrate as a success, rather than a necessity. To think they could dwell on what they could choose to grow these days, rather than just what was available.

Finding her son afterwards was not difficult, as he had taken to one of the more secluded rooms in the keep these days. After all, moving around out in the cold was not an option for him, as the maester so forcefully enforced. With his strength finally returning to him, her son had taken to lifting increasingly large blocks of stone with an iron rod running through them for some reason, among other, rather odd movements and exercise on a mat of thick but coarse wool. Given just how frail he had become in his time in bed, that he regained his vim and vigor was paramount to the appearances of their young house. A lord as young as her son could not be seen as weak, especially in body, not with the honor of hosting such an illustrious house's son.

He had just finished as she entered, sweat clinging to his body as the looser flaps of skin were beginning to tighten once more across his frame. By springtime, surely, he would be as strong as he had been before the war. "My son," she said, a waiting manservant offering him a towel and flask of chilled fruit juice.

"Yes, mother? How close is our guest?"

"He should be here by suppertime, as the messenger stated he had no interest to stop in Lowhill and mentioned he was 'hungry enough to devour a boar' I believe."

Casper chuckled between sips. "I can imagine, though I'm afraid we have no roasted boar for him. Pork, yes, but nothing from the wilds he knows as home. He'll have to soon find that much of what he knew in the north will not be as readily available here in the south, or not to be found at all. Northmen are a different breed than us in many ways, mother, but fear not. I am sure we'll find much common ground in the years to come."

"The boy does not hold to the Seven. It will fall to us to have him see the error of his ways, and-,"

"Mother," Casper said, his jovial tone vanishing in an instant. It was not harsh, but the sudden look in his eyes brooked no argument. "If Jonnel wishes to convert after his time under our roof, then that will be by his own choice. I will not coerce a boy to abandon the faith of his ancestors just because his father and I have agreed to foster him in Stormhall. I doubt Lord Stark would appreciate such a blatant attempt to further spread the Seven in the North through a second son. I'd even wager his vassals would not like it much either.

"Then what of prayer time, or visits to the Sept?"

"He will be afforded his own means of prayer, should he request them, but I will not have any I foster face discrimination for it."

"I… understand," Janyce said with a small nod. Her son was rather peculiar about faith and worship, despite his holding quite tightly to many aspects of the Seven. His defense of the rights of others to their own worship would not have won him many friends in the upper echelons of the Faith, but the septas and septons in Lowhill made no issue of it. Their own septon Coren simply said her son was not a proselytizer through words, but by deeds, and that was just fine in the eyes of their god. "I shall ready your sisters for Jonnel's arrival then?"

"Yes, please," he replied, his smile returning. "I will join you when I am ready."

It took far more willpower than Janyce was willing to admit to not audibly gasp at young Jonnel's appearance. Entering the courtyard on horseback, among his escorts, was the second son of the Lord Paramount of an entire kingdom, and though Janyce had only briefly met Cregan Stark during his previous visit, the similarities were rather striking. However, that the lad was already missing an eye brought an ill feeling to her stomach. Not that she would be so gauche as to ask him how it occurred, that was just not done in polite company of a lady.

Her son, bless his generous heart, made no mention of it as the bread and salt were offered. According to Gorman it was not required, but with the Stark guards also under his roof for a few days, it would be unbecoming to not do so. "Welcome, Jonnel of House Stark, to my home and lands. As per the agreement with your lordly father, you will be afforded the best I have to offer, be it food, training, or whatever else you wish to learn from me."

"Good," the younger boy said after a few moments of silence, looking around the yard in an unimpressed manner. Janyce could practically hear him thinking about how small it all was, but he remained silent on that matter. "What of supper?"

"Nearly finished, foster son. We shall see to your quarters, to ensure you settle in well, and then eat."

Janyce clenched a fist at the face the boy made at 'foster son', but her son either did not notice or did not care. It was hard to tell with him sometimes, but perhaps that was a good thing. If she, his own mother, could not so easily gleam his thoughts, then potential foes could not as well.

"My escort?"

"They too shall spend their time in our walls until they are bound to leave. My manservants shall show them to their quarters. Now, Jonnel, do you prefer Jonnel, or may I call you Jon for convenience?"

"Jonnel… please," the younger boy replied, his jaw set and looking a tad annoyed.

"Very well. Let us be off."

Departing her son and his new foster son, Janyce bid the manservants to their duties before returning to the main hall. Already, her daughters were waiting, the maids finishing the last touches to their hair and dining dresses. Some ladies might try and take this opportunity to encourage a friendship between an unbetrothed daughter and such a prestigious boy, but not Janyce. Her Shyra was near Jonnel's age, yes, but they would never be considered as a suitable house to marry into the Starks. That, and she wished for Shyra to be wed somewhere in the Stormlands, to strengthen their bonds with other lords and secure the future of their house.

Not long after they had departed, Casper returned with Jonnel to the main hall. Supper was a somewhat terse affair, one in which she was glad she kept up the appearance of a dutiful mother and dowager lady. The frustration though, it wormed its way through her belly like a slug, oozing anger and more than a bit of petulant indignity at the young Jonnel. She knew in her heart he was just a boy far from home, in a strange land with stranger customs, but still, every time her son told the boy of one thing or another, Jonnel was either silent or made some comment that, to the unwise, would come off as a compliment.

'Oh, these quarters look new. I hope they were not terribly expensive to make for such a young house.'

'The roads are indeed nicer than having to travel along trails. Truly a feat worthy of great houses.'

'I have heard you rule over near twenty thousand. A good number of smallfolk for a house so recently elevated.'

Yet Janyce had not gotten to where she was today by being stupid, nor had she aided in the rise of her house by being entirely placating. Her wit caught every hidden meaning, every sly remark, and knew her son had as well, and as such they gave polite but terse replies, ones the boy could not have mistaken for idle chatter. When the young wolf was silent, however, it was more difficult to determine what he was thinking. Did he not want to be here? She knew that some lordlings never wanted to venture from home, and perhaps this was only the early period for the lad, when he had not accepted the path his elders had chosen for him.

After supper, Jonnel Stark had asked to be dismissed to his rooms, citing fatigue from the long journey. Acquiescing, Casper instead joined Janyce for a music lesson with her daughters, as Mylenda was too tired to join in his stead.

"He's a rude boy, your new foster son," she said once they were away from potential listeners. Their house was secure, as was their keep, but it didn't take much for the smallfolk rumor mill to start grinding away at whatever they might overhear. Besides, the boy's escorts were still in the keep, to leave come morning with suitable departing gifts for themselves and their lord.

"I'm not surprised," Casper replied. "He's from a far more storied and ancient house, and has been raised as such on stories and songs we could only dream of. Given the meticulous nature of the North always trying to prepare for the worst, given their history of harsher winters than us, it's reasonable to assume their records are made of things that aren't as liable to rot away when stored. So, with all this history on his shoulders as a Stark, a second son of a Lord Paramount and Warden of the North, and a great deal of family to compare and compete with, it's no wonder he's not taking it well. That, and the agreement I have with his father."

"Which one?"

"The one where Jonnel will learn everything he can from me on our farming first and foremost. He likely thinks it beneath him," her son sighed, gazing out a passing window at the dark winter sky. The faint starlight shone softly, a quiet calm after such a perilously stormy autumn. "After all, what son of a lord, especially one so powerful and famous, wants to learn how to rotate crops or ensure plows are up to standards?"

"not many, I should think," Janyce replied. "How will you handle his behavior?"

He grumbled. "For now? Ease into it. Unless he's a little shit about something, I'll have to try and win his confidence. Were I respectably older, mayhap he'd not see me in such a negative light, but I'll do what I must to fulfill the roles Lord Stark asked of this fosterage. Just as I will the others once they arrive."

"Others?"

"Nothing yet set in stone, but in my time abed I have received offers of fosterage from other houses, all yet in the Stormlands. Third sons, cousins, nephews and the like, none so important as Jonnel is to his own family, but more are starting to take notice of us, mother." They arrived at the sequestered practice room, normally reserved for spare stools for the great hall, but with the expansions, it had become the primary room in which her daughters learned their lessons. "I need to be careful who else I accept or do not, as other lords might take acceptance or refusal of one or another as a slight, and that is something we cannot afford, not after all the goodwill and support we have won."

"That you have won, son."

"Well, I didn't do it all on my own, mother," he chuckled as he opened the door, only for Janyce to step through and find herself appalled by the sight before her. Shyra and Arenna had, in their time away from supper, somehow propped the larger harp over three chairs and were drumming on the long strings with their small mallets, creating an ungodly cacophony of sound. Harsh and soft noises intermingled, like different stones being dropped upon one another, and frankly, she was surprised she'd not heard it from outside the door!

"Girls!" she said, causing the two to look up in shock and drop their 'instruments' to the floor, where the kettledrums and smaller harp lay discarded. "I came here to oversee your instruments, but this… this is not the practice I had envisioned! Explain yourselves."

"We're sorry mama, we didn't mean to do it. We were just waiting for you, and you were taking so long," Shyra said, looking at her feet. She'd progressed well from that fateful day under the deceased Craggner lord, but Janyce knew there would always be a shyness to her that would never go away.

"It was my idea, mother," Arenna said, stepping in front of her younger sister, filling their mother's heart with pride. A fine little lady in the making, protective of her sister and more than brave enough to stand up for others. "While we were waiting, I saw Shyra's drums and thought, why not hit strings with them? My fingers hurt when I play the harp too much, and it still made the right sounds…"

Janyce, half exasperated from the sight before her, and half tired from the long day, turned to their brother, seeking support, only to find her son not upset, or even laughing, but… intrigued.

"Casper," she said, which seemed to knock him from his all-too-often musing.

"Yes?"

"I know that look." Since he'd turned seven namedays, she'd come to realize that look of his, ever since that first kite took to the air. It was dangerous, not in a manner to be afraid of, but one that would no doubt see to changes she had never expected, and thus could not anticipate.

He at least had the decency to look slightly sheepish. "What look, mother?"

"You're thinking of something to do with this mess Arenna came up with, aren't you?"

"You… might say that, yes. Arenna, when you strike the smaller harp with your mallets, is the sound pleasant? With both of you playing, I couldn't quite tell."

"Yes, but it's not like the big harp. The little one is easy to hold on my lap if I sit, but the big one is easier to reach from a higher chair since the mallets are long."

"Would smaller mallets work for the smaller one?"

"I think so," Arenna said. "But the big one is more fun! With so many strings, there's so much more music I can make!"

"Noise, Arenna, not music," Janyce gently interjected. If a bard was here, he'd no doubt be having a fit over how they were hammering away at that harp. At least they hadn't broken it.

"Any noise can be music, depending on one's tastes, mother," Casper said, gesturing to the two girls as he looked over the greater harp. "Arenna, Shyra, show me how you were making your music, please. I believe I have an idea or two of how we can make this work."