Alys Fen first became interesting to Raymun because she corrected him.
Not loudly.
Not proudly.
She simply looked at his numbers and said, “That’s wrong.”
Raymun stopped writing.
Across the common room, Garran coughed into his cup to hide a laugh.
Raymun looked at the girl sitting opposite him.
Alys was eight, a year older than Raymun.
Her family lived closer to Briar Glen, where her father handled small amounts of grain, vegetables, and livestock for several neighboring holdings.
She had straight brown hair, a narrow face, and the irritating habit of looking at people for several seconds before answering them.
Raymun tapped the parchment.
“What’s wrong?”
“That.”
“Very specific.”
“You counted Master Hobb twice.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Alys pointed.
Raymun followed her finger.
Hobb appeared once under meals.
And again under lodging.
“He bought both.”
“He didn’t stay.”
“Yes, he did.”
“He left before sunset.”
Raymun frowned.
“I remember giving him a room key.”
“He gave it to the red-haired man because the red-haired man’s room had fleas.”
Raymun stared at her.
“What red-haired man?”
“The one who kept scratching his neck.”
Raymun searched his memory.
Nothing.
Alys pointed toward the stairs.
“Second room.”
Raymun checked with Mara.
Alys was right.
When he returned, Bran was laughing.
Raymun sat down.
“How did you remember that?”
Alys shrugged.
“I saw it.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is.”
Alys had visited the Briar Hearth before.
Many times, apparently.
Raymun simply hadn’t paid much attention to her.
That realization bothered him.
He had noticed Bran because Bran was loud.
He had noticed skilled craftsmen because Appraisal showed interesting numbers.
He noticed merchants because they carried information.
Alys had mostly sat quietly while her father conducted business.
So Raymun had categorized her as someone’s daughter.
Background.
He didn’t like what that said about him.
He used Appraisal.
The System returned limited information.
ALYS FEN
Age: 8
Observed Strengths:
Memory: Above expected range
Numeracy: Developing
Social Perception: Developing
Several categories remained unavailable.
Potential estimates were uncertain.
Raymun closed the interface.
He already knew the important part.
She had noticed something he hadn’t.
The four children spent the afternoon together.
Technically, Mara had told Raymun to entertain Alys while their parents discussed grain prices.
Raymun wasn’t sure how one entertained a quiet eight-year-old girl.
Bran solved the problem by offering her a wooden sword.
Alys looked at it.
“No.”
Bran blinked.
“You haven’t tried.”
“I don’t want to.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
Bran looked toward Raymun.
Raymun shrugged.
Perfectly reasonable.
Ellyn offered Alys a Briar Drop instead.
That worked.
Soon Ellyn was explaining the entire manufacturing process with the confidence of someone who had personally invented sugar.
“I named them.”
“You did not,” Raymun said.
“I did.”
“You suggested Briar.”
“That’s naming.”
Alys looked at Raymun.
“She named them.”
Raymun stared at her.
“You’ve been here ten minutes and already chosen sides?”
Alys ate her sweet.
“Ellyn’s right.”
Ellyn beamed.
Raymun decided he disliked Alys Fen.
An hour later, he changed his mind.
They were playing a simple memory game.
Raymun placed several small objects on a table.
A button.
A spoon.
Two coins.
A nail.
A piece of string.
A small wooden horse.
Everyone looked for ten seconds.
“Seven things,” Bran said.
“Obviously,” Raymun replied.
“Name them.”
Bran remembered four.
Ellyn remembered five, although she described the nail as “the little metal thing.”
Alys named all seven.
Then she added:
“The copper penny was heads up.”
Raymun removed the cloth.
It was.
Bran frowned.
“Lucky.”
Alys said nothing.
Raymun changed the objects.
Again.
Alys remembered them.
Again.
She missed one.
Bran celebrated as though he’d won a tournament.
“You forgot!”
“Yes.”
“I knew you weren’t magic.”
“I never said I was.”
Bran seemed disappointed by her refusal to become annoyed.
Raymun became curious.
Too curious.
He started asking questions.
“How many people were eating when you arrived?”
“Eleven.”
“What color cloak did the merchant by the window have?”
“Green.”
“What did my father carry outside?”
“A broken buckle and two straps.”
“What did Mother say when Bran knocked over the cup?”
Alys looked toward Mara.
“I don’t think I should repeat it.”
Raymun laughed.
Fair.
He continued.
“What was the first thing Ellyn said to you?”
Alys hesitated.
Then smiled slightly.
“She asked if I wanted to see where she hides.”
Raymun turned toward his sister.
Ellyn froze.
“What hiding place?”
“Nothing.”
“Ellyn.”
“Nothing!”
She ran.
Raymun chased her.
The hiding place was inside an empty barrel behind the shed.
Of course it was.
Raymun stared into it.
Ellyn crossed her arms.
“You’re not allowed.”
“Not allowed where?”
“My secret place.”
“It’s our barrel.”
“My barrel.”
“You don’t own it.”
“I found it.”
“That isn’t how property works.”
Ellyn looked toward Alys.
“He talks like this all the time.”
Alys nodded.
“I noticed.”
Raymun felt surrounded.
Later, when the Fens prepared to leave, Alys’s father mentioned that his daughter had been asking to learn more numbers.
Mara glanced toward Raymun.
Raymun recognized that look.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Mara replied.
“You’re going to.”
“Alys could join your lessons sometimes.”
Raymun looked at Alys.
She looked back.
He imagined losing every memory game for the foreseeable future.
Then he remembered the mistaken account.
“She can come.”
Alys’s father smiled.
“Good.”
Bran groaned.
“More letters?”
“You don’t have to come,” Raymun said.
Bran looked offended.
“And let you all get smarter than me?”
Raymun didn’t answer.
Bran pointed at him.
“I saw that.”
Alys quietly laughed.
The arrangement became regular.
Not daily.
Sometimes weeks passed between visits.
But whenever the Fen family had business near the inn, Alys joined Raymun’s lessons.
She learned quickly.
Not impossibly quickly.
Raymun remained better with numbers.
Alys remembered spoken details better.
Ellyn learned through stories.
Bran required threats, competition, or food.
Mara adapted accordingly.
Raymun found that fascinating.
Four children could hear the same lesson and absorb entirely different parts of it.
The System quantified skills.
One afternoon, Raymun made a mistake.
A merchant had stayed at the Briar Hearth for two nights.
Raymun knew the man had complained about the price of hay, asked questions about the road to King’s Landing, and spoken privately with another traveler.
Alys remembered much of the conversation.
Raymun started writing it into his Journal.
Then he paused.
Why?
The man wasn’t important.
At least, Raymun had no reason to believe he was.
He had simply become accustomed to recording information.
He looked toward Alys.
“What do you think those two men were talking about?”
She shrugged.
“Business.”
“Could’ve been something else.”
“Yes.”
“Did you notice anything strange?”
“No.”
Raymun frowned.
“What about—”
“Why?”
The question stopped him.
“What?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Raymun opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because information was useful.
Because someday the realm would descend into war.
Because knowing things before other people could save lives.
Because information created advantages.
All true.
None answered her question.
Why did he need to know what two harmless guests discussed privately?
He didn’t.
Raymun deleted the unfinished entry.
“No reason.”
Alys nodded.
Then returned to her writing.
No lecture.
No accusation.
Somehow that made the lesson sharper.
That night Raymun created another Journal note.
INFORMATION IS NOT THE SAME AS ENTITLEMENT.
He considered the sentence.
Then added:
Just because I can learn something does not mean I have the right—or need—to know it.
The System accepted the entry without comment.
Raymun leaned back.
His future knowledge frightened him.
The wars he remembered would reward information.
Spies.
Messages.
Supply routes.
Political intentions.
Rumors.
Secrets.
Someday, perhaps, gathering information would become necessary.
But if he started treating every person around him as a source before necessity existed, what exactly was he protecting?
He thought of Alys.
Excellent memory.
Quiet.
Observant.
The sort of person a strategy game would immediately suggest for intrigue.
For a moment, Raymun imagined what she might become.
Then he stopped.
Alys was eight.
She liked sweets.
She disliked wooden swords.
She laughed quietly when Bran embarrassed himself.
She was not a resource waiting to be assigned.
Tomorrow she might decide she wanted to raise horses.
Or become a merchant.
Or marry a farmer.
Or leave the Crownlands entirely.
That choice belonged to her.
Raymun closed the System.
Downstairs, Alys and her father were staying the night because heavy rain had returned.
Raymun entered the common room.
Bran had apparently convinced Alys to try the wooden sword after all.
She held it incorrectly.
Bran was demonstrating a stance.
“No, feet apart.”
“Like this?”
“More.”
Alys adjusted.
Bran nodded seriously.
“Now hit Raymun.”
Raymun stopped.
“Why me?”
Alys looked at Bran.
“Why him?”
“Because it’s funny.”
Alys considered this.
Then swung.
Raymun barely stepped away.
“Absolutely not.”
Ellyn appeared from beneath a table.
“Get him!”
“Why is everyone against me?”
Bran charged.
Raymun grabbed another wooden sword.
Alys laughed.
Ellyn screamed encouragement to whichever person seemed most likely to hurt her brother.
Mara shouted from the kitchen that anyone who broke another cup would pay for it.
For the next several minutes, nobody learned anything useful.
Raymun decided that was probably good for them.