Lytton Beesbury

  Lord Beesbury was in a foul mood when the knock came on his solar door. He should have been happier on his own nameday, but the whole morning he had been reading reports about one problem after another that threatened Honeyholt. Wildfires and bandits and inconvenient marriages, nothing was moving in House Beesbury’s favor. Perhaps that was why his call of “come inside” was harsher than usual, and the sight of the young boy looking nervous as he walked in made his heart tighten.

  He had always strived to be kind to his people, the bees of hive Honeyholt They were the reason he shouldered the burden of lordship, of dealing with the horrors of the world. It would not be right to bring that harshness inside his lands, let alone his own solar.

  Sighing internally, yet maintaining a respectable demeanor, Lytton greeted his youngest son. “Hello Barret, what are you doing up here? Shouldn’t you be in your lessons?” he said as the young boy stepped politely in front of his desk.

  Before Barret could say anything in response, a huffing voice called from the hallway. “Lord Beesbury - huff - I couldn’t - huff - he kept saying he had something to show you - huff -.” The beleaguered form of Maester Robert slowly came into view, the older man obviously not able to keep up with a boy of ten and two.

  Barret spoke with excitement before he could be cut off again. “I made you a nameday gift!”

  Lytton smiled. His son’s excitement was infectious, and it was a thoughtful gesture. “Well thank you, Barret. You can present it to me at tonight’s feast.”

  Barret looked a bit sheepish at Lytton’s words. “...uuuuh, I can’t really move it. I can show you it, though! It’s just a bit down the hill.”

  Lytton frowned at Barret’s words. Something he couldn’t move? He expected the gift to be something small, a handicraft like a carved wooden figure. What was Barret talking about?

  Lytton looked at his smiling son, bubbling with excitement, and then down at the pile of papers on his desk. A break couldn’t hurt, Lytton thought, one little walk, and then I’ll be right back to finish this up before tonight’s feast.

  His mind made up, Lytton tidied up his papers and stood up. “Okay Barret, lead the way.”

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  It was an amusing sight, little Barret Beesbury leading his father and Maester Robert through Honeyholt like a knight with his squires, but the servants had gotten accustomed to the antics of Beesbury’s youngest son. With nothing more than a small smile or polite nod, they returned to their work, scrubbing and cooking and polishing and dealing with the thousand little things a castle required. They really did look like bees, with their yellow and black belts. Lytton half suspected that's why his ancestors started the tradition, with the excuse of it being useful to mark Beesbury servants. House Beesbury was nothing if not dramatic.

  The trio made their way out of Honeyholt proper and started walking down the hill. It was covered in tall grass and flowers of every shape, size, and colour. Trees dotted its landscape, and bees could be seen flitting too and fro. It was a beautiful sight, one which Lytton had not gotten tired of in all his forty years.

  About halfway before reaching the small port of Honeytown at the bottom of the hill, Barret stopped and moved off the main trail. A few minutes of walking later they reached a little grove of trees that, as they entered into, Lytton realized obscured a small cave entrance.

  This brings me back to my youth, Lytton thought, when every little nook and cranny seemed to carry the promise of adventure. He was snapped out of his nostalgia by Barret’s voice. “Okay, close your eyes!”

  Lytton chuckled softly and made a show of putting his hands over his eyes. Barret’s small hand took hold of his tunic and slowly pulled him forward a few feet. “Open your eyes!” Barret called out.

  When Lytton took his hands away, he paused. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. In front of him, in the middle of the trees, was a wooden box. It was small and unadorned, with roughly cut walls and two separate layers. On top was a wooden lid that Barret took off, out of which spilt… bees?

  As Lytton was still stunned, Barret removed a panel and showed it to his father. Lytton took it and saw it was filled with honeycomb. “Son… what is this?”

  Barret seemed apprehensive at his reaction, and started to explain himself. “Well, remember how you showed me how hard it is to raise bees? And how you have to destroy the skep to get the honey and wax? Well, I thought that if you could just take it out, it would be a lot easier! And its nicer for the bees!”

  As Barret spoke, Lytton took out his knife and cut into the comb. Honey oozed out, and as he cut more and more he realized there were no larvae either. How in the world…

  Robert was already inspecting the box, nodding and muttering to himself. Lytton walked over to his son and put a hand on his shoulder. “How did you make- nevermind. Thank you, Barret. This is a wonderful nameday gift.”

  Barret lit up at Lyton’s words, and Lytton pulled him in for a hug. The entire walk back to his solar, Lytton and Robert questioned Barret about his new hive, and the boy was more than happy to explain everything. When it was absolutely necessary, Lytton sent Barret and Robert to Honeyholt’s small library to continue the discussion, with the Maester writing down the most important parts. During his entire nameday feast, Lytton was unable to think of anything but his son, and House Beesbury’s bright new future.