Willas

Willas walked through the winding corridors of the Red Keep. Over the years he had gone from being utterly lost to being able to find his own chambers. This visit to King's Landing was special for him. For the first time he had not arrived with his family, but with Vortimer—the steward had even requested him personally. The royal couple had invited him to dinner tomorrow, but he would spend most of his time with the other stewards and the master of coin. Two ladies were walking toward him. Willas nodded to them. "Good morning, ladies."

Willas emerged into the courtyard. He sat down on a bench tucked away in the shade. He set his crutch down beside him and stretched out his limbs. Just then an object right next to him caught his attention. What was a little harp doing here? He reached for it. He tried a few notes. Reasonably in tune. He ought to save it for later, but could he resist? From beneath his fingers a melody began to flow.

Usually the music was enough for him, but sometimes, as he played, words would surface in his mind. He had not expected this to be one of those moments. He parted his lips and raised his voice. "Far off in the distance it glimmers, only grey and its shades, creeping coldly across the world, turning all things into shadow."

He heard footsteps. He stopped playing at once. On the other side of the courtyard stood Queen Cersei, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting and an expression he could not place. He grasped his crutch. Laboriously he rose to his feet and made the best bow he could manage. "Your Grace."

Incognito walks through Oldtown afforded Willas a certain measure of ease. In a grey tunic without embroidery and with a plain walking stick, people did not recognize him, which pleased him. Of course, from a discreet distance his escorts had to follow, dressed in ordinary clothes. He was able to pretend they weren't there.

This time Willas made for the harbor. He liked to watch the setting sun upon the surface of the sea. The smell of fish was bearable. At the nearest dock a sun-browned man was playing a small guitar. Surely he was not from the Seven Kingdoms — perhaps a sailor from Pentos. Willas paused and listened. He was no virtuoso, but he put a certain joy into the music, and the young lord could not resist it. When the piece ended, Willas applauded. "Bravo." He tossed a silver stag into the kerchief lying on the ground and walked on.

Willas stepped out onto a pier where no ship was moored. He went all the way to the very end. He drew a deep breath of the salty sea air and broke into a cough. For a while he admired the golden disc vanishing into the ocean. A pity he could not draw — he might have immortalized the sight. He turned. Slowly he limped back.

Willas meant to make his way back at his own pace when, somewhere behind him, a commotion broke out. His companions would surely not praise him for it, but he decided he would go and see what was happening. He limped over to a small knot of people who were watching two sailors. It was coming to blows. Willas glanced about for any city watchmen he might alert. He found none. A spray of curses from close by tore him from his concentration.

Willas braced himself against his cane. The climb up the spiral staircase always took its toll on him. He hobbled all the way to the top. He bent at the waist and breathed deeply. He stretched out a hand, palm open, to reassure the two servants who were following him. "I-it's all right. I just need a moment." He straightened to his full height and continued toward the smaller hall to the left.

Willas arrived first. The servants spread scrolls across the round table in the middle of the room. The young lord walked the whole space. He stopped by the window. He gazed intently at the white-plastered towers on which the green-and-gold Tyrell standards fluttered. The second to arrive after Willas was Lady Olenna. He greeted her with a nod of his head. "Grandmother." He drew out a chair for her, even though he knew she would scorch him with a look right afterward. He was not mistaken.

Lord Mace and Lady Alerie came next. Last to arrive were Maester Lomys and the steward Vortimer. Willas was the last to sit down. "Thank you all for coming. This is the first time I will be speaking about the taxation of markets before so many people." He knew it would not be easy. Vortimer would surely stress that the new approach would not sit well with the vassals. But what other choice did they have? Never to modernize?

Willas's eyes met Alerie's. He gave her a smile. "I believe we can begin. Markets are currently taxed by a fixed sum, collected on an annual basis. There was an effort to account for the volume of the markets, and in theory we have several tariffs for different sizes, but in practice they are almost never applied. My proposal is to replace the fixed sum with a percentage of the market's profit. The volume of trade would be accounted for automatically. Large markets would pay the most, and small ones would be burdened less, which would allow them to expand." He looked at Mace. "Lord Tyrell, I would like to hear your opinion."

Willas pressed his fingers to the corner of his lips. He drew them away and at once saw they were bloodied. He still could not believe he had ended up in a street brawl. He had only meant to walk the old town incognito, in his favourite grey tunic. He took a step back.

At first the walk had been like the ones before it. He had stopped at the market, where he could not resist the roasted meat. When the sun set, Willas started back through a side alley. He had gone about halfway when he spotted them — a tall, gaunt woman with short black hair, and a man who looked more like a youth. The young man swung at the woman; she ducked the fist, but the stranger seized her forearm hard. Before Willas realised what he was doing, he had stepped closer and shouted at the attacker. The man reacted at once and struck Willas across the face.

Willas leveled his cane at the man. "In one thing you are right. Beating a cripple would give you no trouble at all. But in one thing you are mistaken." Willas drew himself up to his full height. "I am not alone." Willas's four escorts closed around them and drew their swords.