Lord Roboute Tyrell

- 254 AC -

(Baelor Hightower POV)

I walked through the halls of Macragge in thought. What a bother this was. If only Father hadn't forced me to come here. What do I care about House Tyrell, really? We are the secret rulers of the Reach anyway, so why hide it? I reached the dining hall and looked around. So many children, both of noble and normal birth. Seeing the smallfolk offspring and even females sitting together and talking while they ate made me nauseous. Why would you give them more power than they had? Why bother with them? What a ridiculous notion... 

I looked around and spotted the boy in question: Roboute Tyrell. The reason why I had to be here, according to Father. To gather intelligence on him and report it back. Always the same face, never showing his emotions, always in control, looking down on the others. And why? Because he is the heir to Highgarden and has talent in... all things. I give him that; he is talented in most aspects. 

My attention was pulled away from the Tyrell when Randyll Tarly walked by. The heir to Horn Hill was the second one who seemed to lack the most common emotions. Apart from stern disapproval and harshness, he didn't know much else. That seemed to be why he got along well with Roboute. 

"Hey, Randyll Tarly, care to join me for lunch?" I ask him. 

"Do as you like," he answers and grabs a tray to get his food. 

"So, what do you think about the place so far? Macragge, quite ridiculous, wouldn't you agree?"

"In what sense?"

"In the sense that Lord Luthor Tyrell allows his son to build such a place to appeal to the rest of the realm and smallfolk, throwing away so many resources."

"I don't see your point."

"This is a ruse. We are forced to learn things we could learn at our own paces. The Tyrells are trying to appear as good-hearted and friendly, but it's all a trick. They don't care about the smallfolk, but now we have to deal with them."

"House Tyrell isn't losing any money over this. Lord Luthor paid for this using the increase in revenue. You can read about it," he says and loads food on his plate. 

"So they waste gold for nothing?" I snort. "What do you think House Tyrell will ask of the other noble houses in a few years? They are playing a game."

"If you believe that anything is free in this world, you are naive and an idiot," he tells me plainly. 

"And you are still not bothered by this, despite knowing all of this?" I ask. 

"My gut tells me that it is worth it."

...

"Your gut?"

"Indeed. I was given average intelligence, but my gut hasn't failed me yet."

"So what does your gut tell you then?" I ask in mockery. 

"That Roboute Tyrell is going to be a man worth my loyalty."

After saying that, he took his tray and walked to Roboute's table. I snapped out of it and called out to him. 

"Wait! Wouldn't you want to eat with me and my brother?" I ask. 

"I'll eat with the Tyrell."

"But... there are smallfolk there," I say. 

"So?"

"You wouldn't want to spend time with them, would you?"

"I'll eat where I please."

I watched him walk to the table where Roboute was conversing with others. I couldn't understand what made him so special. I have seen two more name days than he has, and I show more decorum fitting my station, yet they flock to him. Some of them look at him as if he were crowned. He says little, but commands respect. Why?

Roboute

That name has begun to fill rooms before the boy even stepped into them. His victories in sparing and martial arts, his control and mastery of the curriculum, the way instructors deferred to him without realising it... It was maddening. He didn't shout, didn't boast, didn't charm. He simply was, and the sheep fell in line. It galled me to my core. 

Without thinking about it further, I walked forward and approached the table.

"Roboute," I called out to him with a strong voice. 

The name hung in the air. I felt my heart race as Roboute turned slowly, his expression unreadable as always. I kept walking. Not rushed, trying to keep my cool. This was important.

"You speak of war as if you've seen it. You speak of command as if it were a birthright. But we all know what this is: a game. And I'm tired of watching you win it without being challenged."

Murmurs rippled around the table and the entire hall. Randyll Tarly narrowed his eyes, looking at me with eagle eyes. Mathis smirked and crossed his arms, most likely interested in how this would go. Paxter Redwyne arched a brow, silently delighted by the drama.

Roboute said nothing. I stopped five paces from him.

"So I challenge you, Roboute Tyrell. A proper trial. Field simulation. Our peers as our witnesses. No instructors. No theories. You and me. Ash and Bloom."

Ash and Bloom were the field simulation Roboute had come up with, where a set of groups of children or young adults would play out a battle. The battle was as real as it could get, without blood and real weapons. Roboute stared at me for a long moment. When he finally spoke, it was quiet, but the words landed like hammerblows.

"Why?"

My brow furrowed.

"Why? Because I'm tired of watching them follow you like dogs after a ghost."

I gestured around at the others.

"They think you're a leader. But I think you're just a rich child using a cold stare and a library of quotes to try and impress us."

Roboute didn't flinch. He looked at the others, then back at me.

"You're angry."

"I'm right."

"No," Roboute said softly. "You're afraid."

I stepped forward, jaw tight, trying to hide my anger. 

"Do you accept or not?"

Roboute stood up, only inches in front of me. I hate that he is as tall as I am, despite being younger. His presence was intimidating, which angered me further. 

"I do."

"So be it. Let's see what you're really made of."

.

.

(3rd Person POV)

The sun broke like a golden sword over the eastern hills, casting long shadows across the valley floor outside Macragge. The wind whispered through the tall grass, carrying with it the scent of pine. The trees stood still. The ruins waited. And two armies of noble-born youths and smallfolk, clad in colored clothes and armed with wood, prepared to test themselves—and each other.

The Trial of Ash and Bloom was the first of its kind: a fully scaled war game conducted across forty acres of natural terrain. The commanders were selected, and the objectives were defined. Real injuries were forbidden, but humiliation, defeat, and glory were very much at stake. For Roboute, it was a way to find the most talented fighters and skilled strategists from among the children of the Reach and influence, as well as use them in the coming years. Baelor Hightower, his brother Garth, Garth Crane, Jon Footly, Androw Ashford, and 50 other children, ranging from 7 to 14, were ready on one side of the simulation field. 

On the other side stood the nearly 30-man-strong group of Roboute. His key officers were Randyll Tarly, who had the position of front guard, Mathis Rowan, the flank commander, and Paxter Redwyne, acting as a mobile detachment. They were outnumbered nearly 2 to 1, but that wasn't a problem. If anything, he had too many fighters at his side. 

The battlefield where the Trial of Ash and Bloom took place held a variety of natural zones. To make it as 'realistic' as possible and to see how the children and future men handled challenges effectively. There was a narrow stream, which cut the southern field in half, and a dense forest area, which dominated the eastern zone. To the west lay some ruins of collapsed towers and low, moss-covered walls. To the north was a bit of open farmland and low hills. And finally, in the centre was a gentle ridge, defensible but exposed. 

The horn blew, announcing the start of the trial. 

Baelor Hightower wasted no time. He had split his comparatively large force of 50 into three elements. The Centre Warband, which consisted of 25 boys led by Baelor himself, with Androw Ashford supporting and advancing down the middle to pin Roboute's smaller force. Baelor had women among his ranks, but he didn't include them in his plans, as he didn't respect them. And he also didn't care much about the smallfolk, but chose to use them to fill his numbers. 

Their right Flank consisted of 15 boys and a few girls under Garth Hightower, moving through the ruins. Baelor's brother didn't like it, but wasn't that much against having girls in his group. He was more concerned with the matter at hand. 

Finally, the Left Flank, which was 10 boys under Garth Crane. They threaded through the dense woods to encircle the ridge and try to outmanoeuvre Roboute and his forces. However, they would come to realise just how much they were out of their depths. 

.

"Your plans?" Randyll asks stoically. 

"Indeed. Follow through and stick to them," Roboute commanded. 

Randyll Tarly was deployed to the stream, creating makeshift barriers from logs and stakes. This would be needed. Mathis Rowan took a small elite unit into the ruins, ahead of Garth Hightower's route. Paxter Redwyne led a light detachment through the far woods—but made sure to be seen. He was bait. 

Finally, there was a special little group of girls who stood behind Roboute, waiting for their moment to act. Unlike Baelor, Roboute didn't care about gender. He didn't care about looks, heritage or origins. All he cared about was each individual's skill and what they could do to be useful. The five girls were mostly common-born, with one exception. Rowena Tarly, a cousin of Randyll, with the same steel in her spine, would lead this small group, who had one of the most important missions. 

Roboute stood before them, observing things and waiting for the signals that he had taught his men. He was not speaking as a misogynist who thought himself superior, but as a general and leader. 

"When the horns sound, you'll advance under Rowena's command. Do as told. Speak as little as possible. Then, when the moment comes… You turn."

"He'll notice," Rowena frowned. 

"He won," Roboute said. "They are blind to the potential you hold. I am not."

"As you say, my Lord."

.

Baelor's centre group met Randyll Tarly's defensive line at the stream and attempted to ford across in three places, using his superior numbers to get across. But it was a trap.

Randyll had positioned hidden pikes in shallow mud under the crossing points. As the children waded through the water, half of Baelor's vanguard "fell" immediately as they splashed into a well-timed cross charge from behind by Randyll's reserves. Randyll might not shine as brightly as he would because of Roboute's presence, but he was very much a genius strategist. 

In the ruins, Mathis Rowan ambushed Garth Hightower, leading him through crumbling corridors into a narrow 'kill' zone. Loras had loosened a stack of stones the night before. Was this allowed? No one forbade it. Was it chivalrous? Who cared. The small stones came crashing down when the signal was given, and half the flank of Garth's group was forced to retreat.

Meanwhile, Garth Crane's force in the woods chased Paxter Redwyne, whose detachment "accidentally" left supply tokens behind as they fled. Paxter would have preferred another position, preferably one where he could use a boat, but he took what was left for him. Crane took the bait and veered west, away from the true objective.

Rowena and the girls under her command were out ahead, moving in formation with Garth Crane's light company. They were told to scout, draw attention, and, if possible, 'die' with honour. This meant that they should be taken out with honour. 

"Keep your heads down and your feet moving," Garth said. "Let the boys fight."

Rowena turned her head slowly.

"Let the boys fight?"

Garth shrugged his shoulders. 

"Orders."

That was the last straw. Roboute had told them. He didn't force them, but told them this would happen. Rowena shook her head. At that moment, they stopped advancing. Leyne blew her scouting whistle, one long note. A signal. The others in her group dropped out of formation and veered into the brush.

Garth Crane turned towards them, confused.

"Where are you going?!" he shouted. 

"Where we're needed," Rowena said and vanished into the trees.

.

It happened gradually. Baelor's scouts stopped returning. His flanks lost cohesion. Then, just as he and his centre advanced toward the ridge where Roboute's forces were drawn up in false retreat, a trio of whistles echoed from the rear. Baelor narrowed his eyes in confusion. He didn't know that signal. 

Then came the shouting. And then… chaos.

Roboute's "lost girls" swept in from behind with Mathis Rowan's reserves, cutting down Baelor's supply markers, hitting them in retreat, and blocking their fallback.

"They've betrayed us!" someone shouted.

"The girls—they're with Tyrell!"

In his command zone, Baelor's face grew as red as a ripe tomato. He looked forward and clenched his jaw. 

"What—? That's impossible!"

He turned toward the ridge. And there stood Roboute, his arms behind his back. Waiting for Baelor's next move. Baelor abandoned the line in rage and marched straight toward Roboute, wooden longsword in hand.

"You tricked me. You twisted them against me!" he shouted. 

"I didn't twist them," Roboute said calmly. "Your chauvinism, pride, and traditionalist rigidity pushed them. I opened a door."

Baelor's lip curled.

"They're girls. They're not warriors!"

"If that's so, then that makes your defeat all the more pathetic."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. Baelor lunged. Wood clashed with wood. Baelor swung with fury, seeing red and using broad strokes, fast and attempting to be brutal. Roboute blocked each one without effort, letting the boy in front of him tire himself out. He was strong, truly powerful compared to others. No one knew just how strong, because Roboute hid it, but he was already stronger than most grown men. 

Baelor lunged again, but Roboute sidestepped, struck him once in the back of the knee, and dropped him. Baelor clenched his jaw and rolled to his feet. Furious at the humiliation.

"Fight me!" he barked.

Roboute suddenly moved. He slashed his wooden sword through the air horizontally, cutting through the one Baelor was holding. But he didn't stop there. He advanced before anyone realised it and grabbed the Hightower's head, bringing it down towards his rising knee.