Forum of Thrones - An Interactive Story

LiquidChicagoTed · Apr 16, 2024

Welcome to Forum of Thrones!

I am LiquidChicagoTed and I am the writer of this story. I have been writing it for almost a decade now, though I only hosted it on a smaller forum where it reached only a small, but very lovely and active audience. With FoT's tenth anniversary approaching, I decided it'd be a good time to revisit and remaster the old parts and to upload my work onto the larger forums out there, to hopefully introduce a story that I write with passion to more people. That's why I am here today and I am excited to have finally made this step.

Forum of Thrones gets its odd name from its gimmick. As the title already spoiled, Forum of Thrones is an interactive story. Back when I first posted it, there used to be a choice with two or more options at the end of each part, where the readers could vote on how the respective character from whose PoV the part is written would react. Of course, in the version I am uploading here I will first repost about five hundred parts that I have already written over the years, where such choices have already been made. As soon as the story here has caught up to the current parts, I want to introduce choices as well, giving you the ability to influence the outcome of a situation. But we'll talk about that when we get there! Just be assured that in time this story is very much going to be interactive once it has all caught up with the parts I have written before, with your choices having major influences on the story that will unfold.

The second gimmick is that 95% of the characters have been submitted by my readers, from Point-of-View characters to antagonists to secondary characters. With the exception of canon ASOIAF characters almost every character you will meet in this story has been submitted by one of my readers, leaving it to me to somehow work them into the story. Seriously, the list of characters in my notes is bafflingly long and I am most definitely ready for more. That is something I want to offer to you! I am still not halfway done with the planned story, so if you want to see your characters appear in the later parts there should be plenty of opportunity and you are cordially invited to submit them to me starting now. Once we reach the current parts of the story, I can work them in. A link to the character submission can be found right here:

Forum of Thrones: Character Submission

Now for the premise: Forum of Thrones is set in 2 BC, a few months before Aegon Targaryen launches his War of Conquest. The initial premise revolves around House Raylan of Raylansfair, a once-proud and wealthy noble house ruling over the city of Raylansfair on the western coast of the Reach. Dating back to the Age of Heroes, House Raylan always had a special relationship to history and within the walls of the city lies the largest and most extensive historical archive in all Westeros. At the beginning of the story, however, House Raylan has fallen onto dire times. Its current lord and only living member is the old and ailing Lord Robert Raylan whose death in the foreseeable future will end the legitimate line of House Raylan. Soon scheming courtiers, enemies from within and without, a larger conspiracy and even foreign dignitaries cast their gaze onto the legacy of House Raylan. There are also rumours on the horizon about the ambitious last Dragonlord of Valyria who prepares for a war that will change the face of Westeros forever...

Forum of Thrones is divided into three books. I'll start at the very beginning here, but the entirety of Book 1 and the first couple chapters of Book 2 are already written, so this thread needs to do some catching up. As such, I will try to release a new (or rather remastered) part every single day. They are all pre-written, but need to be polished first, so depending on the amount of work and the amount of life stuff I need to juggle at the same time, there may be certain days where I will skip new parts. Regardless, I intend to be very active here, replying to comments, taking criticism both positive and negative, I am just very excited to introduce you to a story that has kept me engaged for almost a decade now. For now, take this chapter list for the first two books! In the next post, I will immediately share the prologue with you. I hope you enjoy!

Book 1: The Book and the Butterfly [Ongoing]

Prologue: Below him, the City [Finished]

Act 1: A Fate Uncertain [Ongoing]

Chapter 1: Dark Wings, Dark Words [Finished]
Read it on Google Docs here!

Chapter 2: Broken Vows [Ongoing]

Chapter 3: We Write History

Act 2: Shattered and Broken

Chapter 4: Butterfly

Chapter 5: The Iron Price

Chapter 6: Masquerade

Act 3: Wildfire

Chapter 7: Valar Morghulis

Chapter 8: What Is Dead May Never Die

Chapter 9: Valar Dohaeris

Epilogue: The King's Landing

Interlude: Seven Letters

Book 2: The Lion and the Lamb

Prologue: The Black Dread

Act 1: The Calm Before

Chapter 1: Fires Far

Chapter 2: Thorns

Chapter 3: Ours is the Fury

Act 2: With Chains of Iron

Chapter 4: The Lamb

Chapter 5: Song of the Warrior

Chapter 6: River Crossing

Chapter 7: Riptide

Act 3: Rainfall

Chapter 8: From Ashes

Chapter 9: The Fangs of Winter

Chapter 10: All for our Pride

Character list: Characters in bold are Point-of-View characters

Introduced characters:

In Raylansfair: Ser Harris Flowers, Septon Corbin, Halla Peddle, Jenna Harking, Lyria Mettel, Wolfius Woodbark, Rosalie Mettel, Richard Harking, Carma Strad, Ilish Granver, Urid Strad, Philip Loren, Clayton Teryl, Alysanne Waters, Kersea Catelins, Arthur Nathamer, Hackor Nathamer, Jarow

In Oldtown: Ser Jaron the Bastard, Himani Sand, Harpy, Bakr al-Astapor, Abbas al-Yunkari, The Burned Man, Ellena Terys, Terroma, Talea, Moreo, Dairon, Ser Lucas Flowers, Ser Leonard Constantine, Lunett Kawl

In the Reach: Temari Keys, John Gutten, Janae, Behara Keys, Samantha Ducard, Cass, Aylard Kawl, Gunel, Sawyer Kawl, Kyette, Marak, Noelle Mield, Ser Darren Tallwood

In Harrenhal: Torvin Breaker, King Harren Hoare, Lord Edmyn Tully, Garthon Breaker, George, Gabin Strad

In Castamere: Ser Willfred Reyne, Alanna Reyne, Lord Darren Reyne, Lady Mileena Reyne, Two-Face, Lea Paladin, King Loren Lannister, Prince Lucion Lannister, Tinnet Reyne, Vashord Tallian, Lord Stevron Marbrand, Lord Quentyn Crakehall

In the Stormlands: -

In the Vale of Arryn: Lord Orson Royce

In Crackclaw Point: May Iresons, Gregar Balvind, Irving Todd, Ser Aldrik Wolver

Deceased Characters: Lord Robert Raylan, Maester Eaton, Ser Ilhan Lagoon

Waiting to be introduced*: Raekar Argaris, Daryl, Brandon Snow

*For the sake of clarity and brevity, I will only list waiting characters submitted in the remastered parts until we are a few chapters in, but for those familiar with my work, all of the previously submitted characters will still appear in time.

That's all from me for now! If you want to join, don't be shy, leave a comment or shoot me a message or just submit a character, that's all fair. I always look forward to hear from you.

Valar Morghulis!

LiquidChicagoTed · Apr 16, 2024

Forum of Thrones, Book I

Prologue: Below him, the city

Eaton

Maester Eaton awoke a few hours before sunrise, startled by the sound of someone banging at the doors of his chamber. He shivered. Winter was still far in warm Raylansfair and yet it was a cold night and somehow the Maesters blanket had slipped onto the floor during his sleep. Eaton sat up, as quick as his old bones allowed and winced. It was his ninth autumn. His ninth winter approached. And Eaton remembered.

Back in his youth, a lifetime ago, Eaton had used to make fun of an old man, who had always been sitting at the same spot at the stairs of the sept in his village of Stonebridge. Gisburn had been his name. Gisburn Mills. But Eaton and his friends, being the cruel kids they always have been, they called him Geezburn. Geezburn... Gisburn had been blind, half-deaf and from what Eaton could tell, never even noticed the childrens' mockery. Still, it was an old shame and Eaton did not even know why he remembered it now. Making fun of Geezburn had been his favourite part of the day and, at least until he got to feel old age himself, one of the few fond memories from his childhood. For five years Eaton and his friends had tormented the poor man. Then, one day, Gisburn did not appear on his usual spot. The stairs of the Sept had been empty. Gisburn had been seventy and five years old when he died, seven years younger than Eaton was now, twenty years younger than he felt today. He had left no family to bury him and no friends to mourn him, but still he could have never felt so alone as Eaton did right now.

He shuffled to the door and with every step he felt the weight of his age pulling him down. He knew what happened, even before he opened that door. He knew it and sorrow befell him. There was only one person in Raylansfair who had a knock like this. And there was only one reason why this person would ever wake him up in the middle of the night.

Eaton arrived at the door as a man in his early eighties, but when he opened them he felt way over a hundred years old. The man who had knocked on his door held a torch in his hand and Eaton had to narrow his eyes for a moment before examining the nightly visitor. Harris Flowers, Lord Raylans castellan stood before him, a giant of a man, built like a warrior but with the keen eyes of a scholar, green as the meadows of Reach in the summer. His long brown beard showed signs of grey and fine wrinkles could be seen around Harris' eyes. Still, the man looked like a boy compared to Eaton, who was a hunched figure, almost two feet shorter than him. Eaton was completely bald, had been for two decades now, and there were days where he envied Harris' full hair. Still, the other man was pleasant company and Eaton held him in high regards. Usually, his eyes were full of laughter, but today Harris was dead serious, his glance as sharp as Valyrian steel. He didn't even need words. Eaton understood.

"Is anyone with him?", he asked and for a moment he was shocked over how old his voice sounded. Rough, brittle, almost like paper. Not for the first time during the last weeks, Eaton asked himself how long he had left. There were days where he almost felt the Strangers' cold breath on his neck. Harris nodded.

"The boy looks after him. But he's getting weaker" Harris paused a moment as his voice cracked. Eaton knew how hard this had to be for the castellan. "He... Septon Corbin already gave him the last rites..." Harris sighed and for a moment looked away. Eaton saw tears in the other man's eyes.

"He asked for you, Maester. Only you", the castellan answered. Eaton had to gulp. "Did he say anything about... you know?" Harris shook his head. "Not one word. But he will tell you. He has to tell you" Eaton nodded in agreement and stepped out of his chamber. In that moment, Harris grabbed his arm, his voice sounded sharp as a blade, just for one moment. "One more thing Eaton... Remember that you are the only one in the room... The only one who will hear his final words"

Eaton frowned as he heard this. He already suspected that Harris would make such an offer. Never before had he thought that he could ever feel repulsed by a man whom he had known for fifty years. Harris had been raised in this keep, Eaton had taught him how to read, how to speak with eloquence and all matters of statesmanship. It did not surprise him, but it pained him that Harris would speak these words out aloud.

"I won't do that, Harris", he said, trying to break loose from the stronger man's grip. For a moment Harris' hand around his brittle arm felt like iron as he pulled Eaton closer. "I trust that you'll do what is best for the House", the castellan growled. "Don't let loyalty and friendship towards a single person blind you to what is at stake here"

For a moment it seemed as if Harris wanted to say something else, but then his sharp glare disappeared, replaced by one of shame. His grip got weaker and Eaton finally broke free. "Eaton... I am sorry. It was not my intention to imply..." Harris' words were merely a whisper. Eaton could tell that the man was filled with sorrow. Just like himself. But deep inside of him, Eaton felt something else. Fury. With an anger he hadn't felt for decades he looked into Harris' eyes. "I always do what is best for this house!", he hissed. With these words he turned around, leaving the castellan alone in the hallway.

As fast as his brittle bones allowed, Eaton walked through the hallway, then stepped through the third door on his left, out onto the wall and into the cold night. For a moment he paused, recovering his breath. As he looked down the wall he saw the lights of Raylansfair at night. Below him, the city. He had always loved those lights. Even though Raylansfair was nowhere close to Oldtown or Highgarden in terms of size, it was still a large city and for Eaton, it would always be the most beautiful city in the Reach. He looked over to the port and to the old lighthouse on the cliffs above.

Next to the port was the oldest building of the city, the great archive of Raylansfair, with its countless books and scrolls, detailing the history of Westeros. According to some rumours, the archive contained hidden rooms, filled with ancient scrolls, written by Garth the Greenhand, supposedly even Bran the Builder and Durran Godsgrief, detailing the history of the Age of Heroes, including the Long Night. According to other rumours, ancient spells were hidden in the archive, the same spells that protected Storms End from the wrath of the gods, the same spells that built the Wall. According to some rumours, there were hidden tombs in this archive, tombs that were built by the gods themselves, tombs that whisper at night, telling secrets from the dawn of life itself.

Eaton smiled at that thought. As a young man, he had spent months in the archives' basement, searching for ancient scrolls. Once he had even found a scroll written in the strange language of the Asshai'i. When he had finally managed to translate it, he found out that it had been nothing more than a mere trade contract, over nine hundred years old, signed by an ancient Lord Raylan and an Asshai'i merchant with an unpronounceable name. Ancient, but its age made it no more valuable. Eaton smirked, as he realized that he and that dusty, long-forgotten slip of paper had that much in common.

He had never found ancient secrets or tombs of the gods or scrolls from the Age of Heroes. But it was a pretty thought, always had been. The Citadel in Oldtown was envious of these rumours. They gave Raylansfair a right to exist. House Raylan had written and recorded history for thousands of years. And history was everywhere in the city, everywhere in the kingdom, everywhere in the continent. History written by the Raylans. Countless times the Citadel had tried to buy the archive, for it had long eclipsed even those of Oldtown with how extensive it had become. Countless times, Lord Raylan had denied, for it had been the one thing giving Raylansfair a reason to exist. In one particular case the Gardener King had to settle a near-armed conflict between the two parties. All had been written down, contained in the archives. Eaton had studied these books and scrolls and decades ago he understood the power House Raylan wielded. Whatever might happen, decades from now when people wanted to learn more about it, even the Citadel's very own, they'd read through history written by House Raylan.

There was an account written by Maester Rendon of Raylansfair over four hundred years ago. It told the tale of a noble house, the Bennicks of Bennicksford, who got into a fight with the Raylans over territory. Maester Rendon wrote about this fight completely neutral. His successor, Maester Ker, on the other hand wrote a different account on the Bennicks. His tale made them responsible for countless atrocities, for the rape of children, cannibalism, even dark magic. His version had survived in better condition, a copy even found its way into the Citadel. Eaton had made the effort to decipher Rendon's scribbled notes, but all of his contemporaries were more familiar with Ker's tale. Who then had the power to decide the truth? Who, if not the one who writes history?

Today Bennicksford was an irrelevant coastal village. No one remembered the Bennicks. No one, but the ones familiar with the works of Maester Ker. The Raylans had always written history to their favour, they were still writing it to this day. This was their privilege. And a very clever Lord Raylan had always been able to lead this house to glory. Eaton knew that Harris was right when he said that only he would ever hear the last words of his friend. Only he would know the name. It was up to him to name the future Lord of Raylansfair, the one who could lead the house to glory.

Eaton shivered, not only because of the cold. He paid a last look to the beautiful city and continued his way over the walls to the great tower. When he had been younger, far younger, the tower had been full of life. The old Lord Esrick Raylan and his family lived there. Two sons, Robert and Trystane, and one daughter, Morna. Eaton still remembered the feasts Lord Esrick had hosted. As a young man he had once danced with Morna and lost his heart to her. Eaton remembered when she had gotten engaged to Lord Buckley, remembered her tears of joy on that day and how her happy smile had felt like a dagger in his heart. He still felt that injury. And Eaton remembered when she had died, crushed by a horse on her wedding day, having barely reached her nineteenth nameday. Lady Raylan died shortly after her, followed by the grieving Lord Esrick. Eaton remembered how Robert became Lord. A proud man, a strong man, ready to lead his dwindling family through all hardships. Then, just a few years later Trystane Raylan got captured by the Ironborn during one of their many raids. Eaton remembered when Harren Hoare, then prince and now the King of the Isles and the Rivers had sent Trystane's severed head back to Robert. Eaton remembered how that had changed the young Lord, the last of his house.

The Maester entered the tower. For the past forty years the tower had been silent, almost lifeless. Lord Robert never married, never had any children, refused any match the maester had sought to make, never showed any interest in the maidens at court, not even the loose women in the streets. He rarely spent his days in the tower, instead he had always been brooding over maps, planning his vengeance on the Ironborn who killed his brother. The only thing he had left. He never went through with any of these plans. And now Robert Raylan, the last of his line, was about to die, almost as old as his maester and not even the kindest historian would remember it as a life well-lived. Eaton sighed and entered the tower.

Two guards greeted him with silent nods. With shaky feet Eaton climbed the last few stairs up to Lord Robert's chamber. The door was open and Eaton could see the young Dairon, his assistant and eventual successor as Maester, a boy of barely eighteen years, thin, almost fragile, with short red hair, green eyes and too many freckles to count. Behind him, in the large bed laid Lord Robert, a gaunt man with pale skin, covered in sweat. His brittle, white hair and the blind eyes were enough for Eaton to see that this man was in his final hours. The chamber reeked of Lord Robert's excrements ever since he got too weak to leave his bed. Even though the door to the balcony was open, it was oppressively hot and Eaton noticed the small stove burning day and night.

"Maester Eaton!", Dairon exclaimed. The boy's face lit up when he saw Eaton and even Lord Robert managed to smile as he heard the familiar name. Eaton grabbed the boy by the arm. "Have you done everything I told you, boy?", he asked with a stern tone. Dairon nodded "Yes Maester! I gave him everything you said and I did not give him the Milk of the Poppy even when he demanded"

A cough followed and they both turned around as they heard Lord Robert's croaky voice, almost too quiet for Eaton's old ears. "That boy has been very rude to an old man, dear friend. He refused to ease my pain, said I need to stay awake... I would punish him myself, but alas, I can already hear the Stranger approaching. Make sure to chastise him on my behalf, Eaton..."

Eaton gave Dairon an approving look. The boy had only followed his orders. He was intelligent enough to understand the importance of the situation, what was at stake here and what orders he should follow. He would make a good Maester, one day. Probably soon. "Leave us alone, Dairon. Make sure none can disturb us!", he ordered. The boy nodded and left the room, closing the heavy door behind him.

Robert gave his old friend a kind smile. "All these years, Eaton. I wasted all these years with the Ironborn scum. And for what? Halleck Hoare died in his bed an old man and his rotten son still prospers, his line black of heart" Eaton stepped forwards and grabbed Robert's hand, gently holding it and feeling tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm afraid, Eaton", Robert gasped and his blind eyes widened. "When Harren Hoare attacks the Reach, he will do so by the sea. He will attack Raylansfair first. I must prepare… we must be ready!"

Eaton sighed. "Mylord, you are going to die...", he said, simply so that he could say something. So that he could fill the silence. In all his life he had never felt so powerless before, not even when Morna Raylan had been lying on his table, her bones crushed by a horse, begging him to end her life. Between the whispers, she had told him a truth that made his heart bitter even now. That she would have said yes if only he had asked her. That for him, she would have never even gotten onto that horse. That was the last she had said before the screaming began, as he tried, with blurry eyes, to save the life of the only woman he ever loved. A better maester, someone older and wiser could have saved her, one more concerned with those he loved than with memories of past glory, one with more links in silver than copper. Now his friend, his oldest and best friend, was about to die and Eaton was once more too weak to prevent it and now too old as well.

Robert laughed, a terrible sound that soon became a cough. "I know, you old fool. I can feel the illness. When I woke up yesterday, I was blind. Today I can hardly raise my hand... It is over, Eaton. At least for me..." He closed his eyes and panic overcame Eaton. As loud as his old voice allowed, he began to scream "Mylord! Mylord! Robert! You can't sleep now. You need to tell me..."

Robert opened his eyes again and gave him a weak smile. "And what does that matter to me? The new Lord Raylan will not be from my blood. This family is finished. Trystane should have been lord, with his fondness for merriment, instead of the dour fool that I was..." Eaton let out a frustrated groan. He knew Robert was stubborn as a mule, but he was also a good man and his best friend. He loved this house, he loved this city, he loved the lights at night and he would never let this house die…

"Robert, you know that you must name your successor! Tell me and I will give you the Milk" This lightened up Lord Robert's face. "Ah yes, sweet milk. Milk of the Poppy" He paused and his smile grew thinner, but entirely honest. "Fine, if you need to know, then I will tell you what I had been thinking of, but do not complain to me afterwards. I am going to dictate you something. Write it word for word. Then put my seal on it..."

Relief overcame Eaton. He grabbed a scroll and a quill and began to write. Robert started to dictate, at first in a hushed voice, but soon stronger as if these words forced their way out of him. And Eaton wrote. He wrote it word for word. Soon he realised what he was writing.
"Mylord are you sure about this?" Robert nodded. "I told you not to complain!", he hissed in return. "Never before, in all my life I was more certain about something... Write, old friend. Write history..." He murmured and closed his eyes. Eaton looked at the document in his hands. Harris' words came to mind. And his own.

"I always do what is best for this house...", he mumbled.

For a short moment he glanced at the oven, but then, in complete silence he grabbed Lord Robert's seal and put it onto the document. This was it. What should he do now? In his hands, he held the doom of House Raylan. Loyalty. His next step would decide where his loyalty lied. Was he loyal to Robert Raylan, his friend? Or was he loyal to House Raylan, the house that he loved, to Morna's house? He took a step towards the oven, still holding the document with one pale, shaky hand. It would be easy. No one would ever know. No one except for himself. He would be the only one that had to live with this.

The sound of Robert coughing made him turn around. His friend opened his eyes "I think I don't need... the milk... old friend", he murmured, raising his hand, waving Eaton closer. He opened his mouth and Eaton almost had to put his ear on his friend's mouth to be able to understand his last words.

"You are my brother... now and forever... but we both know you it should have been your name on that list instead of that leech…", he rasped. "Morna... she had always been fond of you, you know that? You and her… that would have been the future of my house, the one I always longed for. Now…" Robert opened his eyes widely. "I am afraid, Eaton..." Then, only silence. Eaton waited for a good minute before moving, as soon as his hands were no longer trembling. He closed his friend's eyes and finally, for the first time in many decades, he was able to cry.

Hours must have passed, it almost sunrise and Eaton was still sobbing next to Robert's dead body. He cried over his old friends death, he cried over his own helplessness, he cried over the shame of what he had almost done and more than that, he cried over a life never lived, a life that could have been. Then, he became painfully aware of one more thing, but before he could do anything about it, a knock on the door startled him.

"Come on in, whoever it is...", he said, praying for Harris, or for Leonard or Lucas maybe, for any knight still as loyal to this dead house as he would always be. Instead, Dairon walked in, almost too shy to glance at Lord Roberts body. Eaton looked at him, his eyes reddened from crying. "Maester... I... I am sorry", Dairon stuttered, but Eaton cut him off.

"I know, boy. Listen..." A quick glance to the doors of the balcony. It was almost dawn. And this glance confirmed his suspicions.There was only one moment for him to make a bold plan. He handed Dairon the scroll. "This is not safe here. You have to bring it to Oldtown. Give it to Archmaester Quent and to nobody else!"

Dairon looked at him, slightly confused. "Maester, do you feel alright?" Eaton shook his head. "No... but that is not the matter. We are both in grave danger, boy. This needs to reach Oldtown and Quent and swiftly so. Fetch a horse from the stables. You will be gone before news of our lord's death breach this room"

The boy looked confused, slightly overwhelmed and Eaton could not blame him. But he took the scroll, ever loyal. "I will bring this to Oldtown, you can trust me Maester. I... I give you my word" In that moment he almost seemed like a man, not the boy he was. Eaton gave him a soft pat on the shoulder and a big smile.

"Good boy. Now leave. Leave as soon as possible" Dairon gulped. "May the gods be with you, old and new, Dairon. Should you succeed, you will fulfil an old mans dying wish..." Two old men's dying wishes, he corrected himself in his head. Two old men's dying wishes and the doom of a noble house.

Dairon nodded and took the scroll. "I will come back, Maester, I promise!", he exclaimed. Eaton simply looked at him. He wanted to say so much. Words he had only ever spoken out aloud in his mind. Words that had defined him, words he had lived by and which he had to tell someone before he... He wanted to say so much, but he was running out of time. And it mattered less than his loyalty. "Close the door on your way out, boy. And don't tell anyone!", he merely muttered

The boy left the room and Eaton stood up. With stiff limbs he walked to the balcony, out into the night, leaning onto the solid railing. Below him were the lights of Raylansfair. So beautiful. Above him, the morning sky, where black became blue. It was his favourite time of the day. "For how long have you been standing there?", he asked the figure he had spotted moments ago, the one that had listened at least to his conversation with Eaton. "Not long" The voice was soft, but undoubtedly male. Eaton turned around. Slowly.
The man was tall and well-built. He wore a cloak and a hood and beneath, Eaton could see only a hint of his face. Plain, clean-shaven, but with brutish features and a messy scar that had claimed one eye. The Maester noticed the dagger in the man's left hand and winced. He knew what this man was here for, but not why, nor why he had been waiting for so long.

"Will you kill the boy once you're done with me?" Eaton felt his heart beating faster as he spoke those words out aloud. His own death left him strangely calm, but the boy... It was not fair. Slowly, the stranger shook his head. Relieve overcame Eaton. "Why should I? He is not part of the contract" A paid killer! Now that was interesting.

"But I am..." the Maester stated. The stranger nodded. "My employer respects your loyalty and dedication to your city. You deserve a quick death, but we need you dead regardless. We need the chaos you'd prevent" He pointed at the bed, at the dead Robert Raylan. "He had to pass first though..."

Eaton winced. Now it made sense. All this time he tried to cure an illness. All this time he was wrong. "You poisoned him..." The stranger nodded again. "It was part of the contract. And it was inconspicuous. A natural death, or so it will seem. Just an old man passing away in his bedchamber. I never got to ask him one crucial question, but I will ask you…" He took a step forwards, playing with the dagger in his hand, a dangerous weapon with a double-edged blade, created only for one purpose. To kill, by any means necessary. "Maester Eaton, how do you want to die?".

Eaton snorted. "You are awfully civil for a paid killer" This time it almost seemed as if the cloaked stranger gave him a smile. "Why shouldn't I?", he replied "I'm going to kill you, Eaton. There is no need in being rude" The stranger took a step forwards. Eaton glanced down. Below him, the city. The stranger followed his gaze. "That is a deep fall. Not what I would choose, but the sight is amazing. There are worse deaths" The Maester looked at his dead friend. Lord Robert had been a good man, a just man and he did not deserve this fate. "Obviously", Eaton murmured. "What would you do if I try to fight you? What would you do if I cry for help?"

The stranger shrugged. "I will kill you. Slowly. Then I will kill the boy" Eaton closed his eyes for a moment. "And if I let it happen?", he asked. For a moment it seemed as if the stranger was smiling. "The boy gets to live" In speaking these words he confirmed what Eaton had hoped for. He had not been there to hear Robert's final words. He had no idea what was in that envelope.

The Maester turned around and leant as much against the railing as he could. Below him, the city. "Morna always loved this view'' His voice was little more than a hushed whisper. He felt the stranger's hand on his shoulder. "She had a good taste then...", he whispered softly, but meaninglessly. A single tear found it's way out of Eatons reddened eyes and he knew he had no more to give. "Who hired you?", he demanded to know.

The stranger approached him until his mouth was next to Eatons ear. He whispered one name, then another, then a third and the maester's eyes widened. Before he could say anything else, he felt a shove, soft but determined. He did not resist.

Eaton closed his eyes only for a second, before opening them, taking in this final view. He felt the wind on his face and he felt light, almost like a bird. The pain in his limbs was gone and there was no fear in his heart. Below him the city. Above him the blue morning sky. The city came closer...

End of Prologue: Below him, the city

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zaxmovLwPqc

LiquidChicagoTed · Apr 17, 2024

Act I: A Fate Uncertain

Chapter I: Dark, Wings, Dark Words

Lucas

It was early in the morning when Lucas Flowers entered the Great Hall. On ordinary days, the servants would have prepared breakfast by now, hard-boiled eggs, bacon, loafs of bread and more honey than a man could ever eat and sweet apricots from the Arbor. On ordinary days, the hall would be filled with laughter, filled with people, from the lowest servant to Lord Raylan himself. But today, the Great Hall was silent and bleak.

Three people sat on the table of honour, their facial expressions ranging from gloomy to stern. On ordinary days, Lucas would have avoided the company of two of them. Septon Corbin, a balding, pudgy man of about forty years, with puffy eyes and the dolorous look of a man who thought of himself as holier than the rest, sat to the right. Across the Septon sat Halla Peddle, the housekeeper, iron-fisted ruler over a few dozen servants, a stern and skinny old woman, always armed with a pinched mouth and a fearsome glare. Even though she was a common woman, few people dared not to address her as 'Lady Halla'. Between them sat Harris Flowers, castellan and now acting Lord of Raylansfair. His face was frozen, his usual gentle smile gone. He looked up as Lucas entered the Hall.

"Ser Lucas, I am glad you're here...", he said, his voice muffled by his unkempt beard. He had the pale skin of a man who hadn't slept all night, as well as deep, dark circles under his eyes. Unlike the other two, Lucas had always liked Harris. The man was a bastard, much like himself. Born as the illegitimate child of Lord Robert's trusted childhood friend, Harris had it a bit better than most bastards. He had grown up at a court, all but raised by a lord who valued his heritage instead of giving him contempt, but nonetheless he was free of any arrogance. And despite his advanced age, Harris was a strong fighter and worthy of respect. "Come closer, grab a seat. We have something to talk about", he growled.

Lucas took a step towards the table and bowed before them. "Ser Harris, Septon Corbin, Lady Halla, how may I serve you?", he intoned. Harris made a hand gesture and Lucas realised that there was another person in the room, a thin, brown-haired girl with a timid look on her face, probably around his age. One of the servants, he had seen her around but never caught her name. "Ser Lucas is hungry, girl. Go, bring him a glass of wine and something to eat", Harris demanded. The girl winced, almost as if Harris startled her, made a curtsey and scurried to the kitchen.

"I'm not...", Lucas started, but the girl was already gone. "I'm not hungry...", he added in a low tone, before grabbing a seat opposite of Harris. His stomach rumbled. Lady Halla shook her head with disdain. "She's that Harking girl m'lords. Jenna Harking. Good for nothing and far too thin for my liking"

Harris shrugged. "I'm afraid we are not here to talk about the Harking girl", he sighed, shutting her down at once. He bent forwards and looked Lucas right in the eyes. "What I'm about to tell you now will stay between the four of us, do you understand?" His eyes were dead serious and Lucas could not blame him. He had not seen the body of the old Maester Eaton, who had been discovered in the courtyard at dawn, but he heard the servants talk as they always did. It was rumoured that Eaton, himself old and sickly, had thrown himself off the tower after Lord Raylans death. It was also rumoured that young Dairon, his apprentice, was missing.

At that moment Harris looked over Lucas' shoulders. "Ah, hurry girl and then leave us alone", he growled. Lucas turned around and saw the servant, now carrying a cup of wine and a small bowl, filled with bread, honey and cold meat from the day before. Lucas' stomach rumbled again as he gazed upon the food. "Thank you, Jenna", he spoke, while giving the girl a grateful smile and her eyes widened in surprise as he addressed her by name. She hastily placed the bowl before him and made a curtsey again, before she turned around and rushed out of the hall. "What did I say? She's far too timid for a servant", Lady Halla complained. Lucas glanced after the girl, before reaching for a slice of bread.

Harris cleared his throat "Lucas, what have you heard about last night?", he asked. Septon Corbin raised his head, his puffy eyes now looking directly at Lucas, but he remained quiet. "Not much. They say Lord Raylan is dead. They say the grieving Maester Eaton took his own life. And they say Dairon is gone", Lucas answered, before drinking a sip of wine. Harris was still looking at him, almost as if he expected something else. It was a test, he realised.

"You don't believe he killed himself, do you?", Lucas added and immediately knew that this was the correct answer. Harris' expression softened ever so slightly. "Good boy. I knew you were the right man to approach. No, I do not believe Eaton jumped, not by his own volition at least. And I do not believe Lord Raylan died of a natural cause either. He had been spry until a few months ago and then he began to just... wither"

He paused for a moment, before reaching for the wine, a look of concern on his face. When he continued, his voice was low. "Eaton was a good friend and Lord Robert an even better one. I owe them everything. I owe it to them to find a good successor for his House. And I especially owe them to find their killer and bring him to justice"

"And what do you want from me, Ser Harris?", Lucas asked, even though he already suspected the answer. His heartbeat quickened and he clenched one fist over the table. Harris paused for a moment, before leaning closer, giving him a long, stern look. "I need you to find the one who did this, Ser Lucas", he revealed calmly "I admit, I ask for much. We have almost no leads and no suspects either. But if you do this, for me, for Raylansfair, know it will not be in vain"

Lucas' eyes widened. He was a knight of Raylansfair and there were only a handful of them left as is. And yet, he was but the most recent addition to the court of House Raylan, with others having served alongside Harris for years. "I must ask, Ser… why me?", he mumbled. "You could send for Ser Darren or Ser Ilhan perhaps, or…" Harris cut him off. "I called for you because this is a delicate matter and you are one of the few honourable men left in this keep and I know you would do anything to solve this case", he explained. "I trust you, but only a few of the others"

Lucas moved one hand through his blonde hair, before clutching the back of his head, overwhelmed with what Harris just asked of him. His lord has been murdered. And he, Lucas Flowers, the Bastard of Vyrwel, should find the killer. He met Harris' gaze. The castellan had just called him one of the few honourable men left in this keep. That raised the question, was Harris himself one of these honourable few? And what about Septon Corbin and Lady Halla? Lucas sighed. There was no point in asking himself such a question now. Harris was the acting lord of Raylansfair until a proper successor would be found. His superior. More importantly, out of all the knights at court, he was by far the most devoted to Raylansfair. "Do you have any idea where I should start, Ser Harris?"

Finally Harris' usual gentle smile appeared on his face. "Good lad. We knew we could trust you with this. As I said, we have no real lead, except for Dairon. He was the last person to see both men alive. Lady Halla found out that a horse in the stables is missing, together with some supplies from the kitchen. The gatekeeper saw him leaving shortly before dawn. He moved south. Right now, Dairon is the only one who may know more about this"

Lady Halla cleared her throat "He is a suspect. We expect you to bring him back, so Harris can question him", she said, without a hint of empathy in her voice. "As it stands, I do not believe he left by coincidence the very same night our lord and the good maester were killed!" Lucas let out a sigh. Dairon was a gentle soul, not a killer by any means. Lady Halla spoke harshly, but at the same time, he agreed that the boy was their only real lead. At least the only lead they had right now. But perhaps there was something they had missed so far. "Ser Harris, I will need to have a look at Lord Raylans chamber first", he brought up. "Maybe the killer made a mistake. Maybe I can find a lead"

Harris narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure about this, boy? Dairon is our best lead and every moment we waste is a moment he gets farther away. Besides, I already had a look through the chamber myself" His voice changed subtly and Lucas took note of it. Harris was usually a man of integrity, but right now much was at stake. He could not afford ignoring his growing concerns.

"My decision stands, Ser Harris. You gave me the order to find whoever murdered Lord Raylan and Maester Eaton and I intend to do everything to fulfil your expectations", he explained as calmly as possible, though his free hand was trembling ever so slightly. "I need to take another look. Besides, two heads are better than one, right?"

The look Harris gave him could best be described as frosty and the sudden shift in the knight's tone surprised him. Septon Corbin however nodded. "I agree. I don't want to question your competence Harris, but he is right", he stated and his support came as a surprise to Lucas. "Besides, for all I know that Dairon boy is not an experienced rider. He won't come far until he has to make a break. A knight such as Ser Lucas can catch up to him in no time"

Harris nodded slowly and reluctantly. "So be it. I have a guard positioned in front of the chamber. Tell him I sent you. But… be swift, Lucas. Every minute you waste will be another minute Dairon has to get away and with him the last person to see both men alive"

Lucas saluted. "I won't disappoint you, Ser Harris" With these words, he turned around, walking out of the hall and starting to make his way to the great tower. Harris' frosty reaction to a reasonable request struck him as odd. It was almost as if the castellan had something to hide. But what? Was Harris behind the murder of Maester Eaton? No, Lucas was certain this couldn't be it. Harris had been good friends with Eaton. He had served Lord Robert for his entire life and he was fiercely loyal to House Raylan. But why did he react the way he did?

As he reached the courtyard, his gaze fell upon the spot where Maester Eaton had been found. Servants had removed his body, but a horrid stain remained, sending shivers down the young knight's spine. Eaton had always been kind to him. To everyone. And despite his age, there had been life left within him.

He glanced up to the keep's tower, a huge, fortified structure where Lord Robert had dwelled almost all by himself. And this time, he felt a sting in his heart as he remembered the day he arrived at Raylansfair in the middle of a storm, soaked to the bone, a disgraced exile who had already been turned away at Honey Holt and Brightwater Keep. A man whose own father, the noble Lord Leo Vyrwel, had disowned him. His own half-brother had conspired against their father, only to blame it all on Lucas once his schemes failed. And after all, who would believe the word of a bastard? Who, but the Lord of Raylansfair, who had taken him into his hall and then his household…

...a kind, almost fatherly smile, bright eyes, the hair still thick but completely white, a gentle voice, a man who wanted to hear what really happened, a man who promised help, a good man....

...until the lord got sick, only a few months after they had first met. By then, Lucas had become a trusted knight in service to House Raylan. He had started to become friends with Harris, he had often conversed with Maester Eaton, he learned to fear Ser Ilhan and Lady Halla. He had always been quick to make new friends and Raylansfair was no different. But unlike the other places he had visited in his young life, Raylansfair already felt like a home to him. And he would do whatever it took to keep it safe. With determined steps he took the stairs up to the Great Tower and entered it. The tower... He had rarely been there in the past weeks. He knew the lord's chambers were located on the second highest floor. The highest floor hadn't been used for decades and contained the chambers of Lord Roberts' parents. Opposite Robert's chamber were the similarly locked and abandoned chambers of his brother and sister. Two floors below that was Harris' chamber, the only other person who actually slept in the tower. Even before Lord Robert's death the Tower had felt more like a tomb. Now it felt like an entire graveyard. With a slightly uneasy feeling, Lucas took the steps up towards Lord Raylans floor.

"My my, look who's there! What are you doing here, Flowers?", a familiar voice called him out as he reached the top of the stairs. Seven Hells, why him? In front of Lord Raylans chamber stood Ser Leonard Constantine, one of the few people in Raylansfair whom Lucas hadn't warmed up to yet and one of the few other knights left in the keep. The smallfolk called him 'Ser Leonard the Stately', for his full brown hair and his handsome features. The man was a few years older than Lucas, an experienced knight and even more important, a well-travelled and connected envoy between House Raylan and the other noble houses of Reach, a man with a silver tongue and enough wit to hide it when necessary. It came as a surprise that Harris would send someone like Leonard to guard a dead men's room when any ordinary guard would have sufficed.

"Ser Harris sent me. I am allowed to have a look through Lord Raylan's chambers", Lucas said. He knew that Leonard would not be standing there if Harris didn't trust him. The question remained though, could he trust Harris? Right now, the castellan was the most powerful man in the keep and if his past had taught him anything, it was that those with power often had the most to hide.

"And what do you hope to find here, digging through a dead man's belongings, Flowers?", Leonard scoffed. "Perhaps you need a bedpan or a fresh set of sheets?" Lucas rolled his eyes. That biting sarcasm was one of the many reasons why he rather avoided Leonard's presence. But now wasn't the time to get into an argument with him.

"Listen, Lenny... I'm not here to start a fight with you. I have to go into that room now, or do you want to make another witty line?", Lucas said and for a moment he saw Leonards face drop. It was an open secret that he hated being called like that. Usually, Lucas would be above pettiness, but with this man, it was well-earned. Leonard mustered him calmly and coldly for a second, before he took a step sideways.

"Sure Flowers, have a look... Do whatever you fucking want. I'm here to keep the rabble out, not a fellow knight", he mumbled. Lucas finally stepped inside the room. And was greeted by a terrible stench. Of course, they had moved Lord Raylans body to the Sept, but it has been rumoured that the dying lord barely had any control over his bladder in his final days. On top of that, it smelled like death. Lucas looked around. For a Reachlord, Robert Raylan lived with few luxuries. The bed was huge and it surely had been very expensive once, but now it was worn and old. The small oven was still warm from the fire that had been kept burning day and night during the lord's illness. The doors to the balcony were open.

The balcony.... The place where Maester Eaton had died. Lucas and Eaton had talked a lot during the past months. The Maester had been a wise man, a selfless man, but sometimes there had been this look in his eyes that made him seem to be the saddest man Lucas ever knew. He sighed. The good Maester was gone. Robert Raylan was gone too. "Robert the Revered", he had been called by the smallfolk, a quite fitting name for him. A war hero, someone who cared for his people. Lucas had only heard stories, but six years ago he personally led a charge against Ironborn raiders despite his age. Thanks to the lord's bravery, the Ironborn had inflicted only minor casualties amongst the townsfolk, but suffered heavy losses themselves. He had even slain the Ironborn captain in single combat and sent his head back to Harrenhal. And yet, this proud, unbroken man had wasted away from an illness mere years later.

Lucas' gaze fell onto the small desk, where ink and paper lay scattered. The inkpot was still open and had obviously been used recently. Lucas took a step closer and looked at the paper. Yes, something has been written here, very recently. Stains of ink could be seen on the quill. Maybe Maester Eaton had written something on this day, something he should not have. Maybe that was the reason he had to die. And maybe Lucas could be able to trace this last writing. Now all he needed was a pen and the sheet of paper on top to trace the imprints of Maester Eatons final message. The pen was easily found under the writing desk. Lucas smirked. Usually he preferred to meet his enemies in single combat. But this... The killer had made a mistake and using this mistake felt like the right thing to do here..

As soon as he started to trace, his joy turned into disappointment and he let out a frustrated groan. There were no imprints on the topmost sheet of paper. Of course somebody had taken it. Just then, a loud knock startled Lucas and he turned around, facing the door. Leonard Constantine entered the room.

"A word, Flowers?", he said and seemed to hesitate until Lucas gave him a reluctant nod. "I know we're not the best of friends. Might be my fault for all I know, but who cares? Sometimes shit like that just comes out of my mouth" He sighed. "But that's not the point now. I must tell you something" Lucas narrowed his eyes. Was that an apology? Why now? "What do you want, Leonard?", he asked.

Leonard shrugged. "Trying to aid you, I guess. I know you were fond of Lord Robert. So was I. He was a good man and he did not deserve that fate... and Maester Eaton too. They say the Maester killed himself, but I'm not stupid and neither are you. We both know Eaton would never do that. So, I want to bring the killer to justice just as much as you want. And I might have a lead, if you're willing to work with me" Lucas snorted. "Are you proposing an alliance between us, Leonard?", he asked. "Thought you didn't like me"

Leonard shrugged again. "I don't, but does it matter, Flowers? But you are devoted to this house and that's something I can at least respect. I know you want to find the truth", he clarified and Lucas could at least understand this sentiment. "All I can tell you is that Harris was in here. Earlier this morning, before he placed me here. Thought I wouldn't find out, but one of the servants saw him. He took some things from Lord Raylans chamber. Now, I know that guy is a fierce knight and a good castellan, but I don't trust him. Never did. And you shouldn't trust him either"

Lucas took a deep breath. So, Leonard was distrustful of Harris too. But for all he had heard of him, that was nothing unusual. "What do you suggest, Leonard?", he asked. "That I spy on the castellan?" Despite his own suspicions, that would be a big step to take and he was not sure if Leonard, of all people, was the one whose aid he wanted to accept. And yet, as much an arse as he was, he was an honest arse. He let out a sigh. "I… do share your sentiment. Harris might be a lead"

The other knight gave Lucas a small grin. "Harris took that stuff into his own chamber. I bet he had a good reason for that. Probably tries to cover something up", he explained. "Right now we're the only people in this tower. My plan would be that one of us goes into that chamber, while the other remains on lookout. What do you say?"

Lucas looked the other man straight in the eye. As an envoy, Leonard was a smooth talker. Was he honest this time, or was that just part of a scheme? And could Lucas just ignore him after what he had just learned? Harris had been here, he had taken something from the chamber and he did not mention it before. Clearly he was hiding something. If working with Leonard was the only way to uncover the truth, then it was a price he found himself willing to pay.

He reluctantly extended a hand and Leonard raised an eyebrow. "I don't like you", he spoke. "But I can't afford not to trust you. Let's uncover the truth, together" A smirk flashed across Leonard's face and he shook his hand briefly, but earnestly. "Maybe you're not a dead loss after all", he replied. "Together, Flowers"

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · Apr 18, 2024

Torvin

They called it 'The Hall of the Hundred Hearths'. Torvin had counted them and found out there were not more than thirty-five. Right now almost a thousand men had gathered around them and still the hall wasn't even remotely crowded. Two dozen Riverlords, their entourage, over fifty captains of the Iron Fleet and their crew. And Harren Hoare. The King himself sat on his massive throne made of solid stone, far bigger than his ancestral throne in Orkmont, above him, carved in the solid stone, the sigil of House Hoare. Torvin had always found that this sigil was fitting for Harren Hoare. It was arrogance personified, still depicting lands that had been lost to other Houses several hundred years ago. The grape clusters of Arbor, the green pines of Bear Island, the black ravens of Oldtown and finally the longships of the Iron Islands. All bound… with chains of iron, as the Hoare words said. An elaborate sigil, meant to instil awe. For Torvin it showed everything House Hoare had lost in the past thousand years. Building Harrenhal had bled the Riverlands dry, a monument to Harren's hubris. The King wasn't loved, not even by his captains. He instilled fear in most people who saw him. He was a monster. But every time Torvin looked at the scars in Harrens face, he was reminded that monsters could be killed. Right now, Harren was a small figure, hundreds of feet away. Torvin wasn't afraid of him. There were few things he had ever been afraid of and no mere man could ever compare to them.

Typically, a gathering of such a size in the largest hall this side of the Narrow Sea would have been a lively place.Torvin preferred smaller gatherings and open skies to this packed hall of stone, but there were days when even he could not deny the allure of a crowd, of merriment and good company. Today, he'd find no merriment here though and the company was as grim as he himself, for today was the king's court day.

"NO! Please your grace, I beg of you! Mercy!"

The gaunt man fell onto his knees, tears running down his face, his eyes wide with fear. Murmurs from the attending Riverlanders, the lords and their entourages, confirmed some sympathy for his plight. Among the Ironborn, he saw different reactions. Some seemed to be indifferent, some even seemed to enjoy what would follow. Torvin was not among that crowd. He shook his head and sighed. It had been an ordinary case. The man was one of the workers, one of the men who had been forced to work on Harrenhal, the grandest keep in the world. He had stolen a loaf of bread and as per custom, he now had the choice between losing a hand or being sent to the wall. It had been an ordinary case, at least until the man had started to protest against what he saw as injustice. And that was the biggest mistake he could have ever made. Nobody called Harren Hoare unjust.

Slowly, the king rose from his throne, glaring down at his prisoner with the pitch black eyes that had become characteristic for his line. Harren wasn't the tallest man in the kingdom, nor the strongest, even if his girth gave him an impressive presence. But he was with certainty the most iron-willed man in the kingdom, and a cruel and bloodthirsty bastard as well. Torvin thought that without any remorse. He knew some people who were afraid of Harren the Black, up to the point where they wouldn't even dare to have bad thoughts about him. But Torvin saw him for what he truly was. A short man, muscular, but also starting to become fat, with black hair, but balding, a raider long past his prime. He was wearing blackened armour and atop his head his crown, a thick golden circlet with four long, pointy spikes.Two deep, old scars over his left cheek and mouth showed that he was not invincible. He was not immortal. Of course, the peasants were well-advised in being afraid of him. Harren Hoare was a man ordinary people should be afraid of. But they should be able to think about him however they wanted to.

"Mercy? Now you dare ask me for mercy?" The King of the Isles and Rivers had a harsh and hoarse voice. He grabbed the poor man by the throat and delivered a hard blow with his armoured glove into his face. "Come on, ask me again, this time without your fucking teeth!", Harren growled and lessened his grip around the man's throat, who immediately sank onto all fours, spitting out a mixture of blood and shattered teeth. "For your insolence, you will be flayed", he simply stated, before turning around, walking back to his throne and leaving the bleeding and weeping man on his floor.

"Please, your grace... Please, send me to the wall. I choose the wall...", the man sobbed. Harren didn't even turn around. "You choose the wall?" His voice sounded dangerously calm this time and he glanced over his shoulder, his expression as unmoving as the stone around them. "Fine then... You all heard it. This little bastard chose the wall! I can't deny him this right, mylords..." He paused for a moment and looked over the attending noblemen and his captains. Torvin winced as Harren looked him straight in the eye, before his black gaze wandered over to the next of his captains, to Durren Stallhart whose own expression was unreadable beneath his dark eyes and the thick moustache. The old Simon Vessels meanwhile caught Harren's gaze and reciprocated with a cruel smirk. "The wall it shall be..", Harren mumbled, before he raised his voice again. "Nail him to Harrenhal's northern wall, then proceed with the flaying"

This sentence caused a commotion in an instant. A few of his captains cheered loudly, Vessels, Volmark and Orkwood among them, whereas the gathered Riverlords yelled among each other in protest. For a short moment, their wild voices even managed to drown the man's panicked pleas for help, until Harren spoke again. "And bring me his annoying tongue. I can't stand this little fuck and his whining..."

With a frown on his face, Torvin looked around the crowd until he saw his brother. Garthon was clearly disgusted by what just happened and he wasn't the only one. Some of the noblemen left the room. Harren never forced anyone to attend his court sessions, which was among the best things that could be said about him.

"Your Grace!"

Torvin looked up at the man who just called. Every person in the room did the same, including Harren Hoare, who watched the man with his dark eyes. He was a tall man, lean, with short auburn hair and a well-kempt moustache. He wore a tabard striped in red and blue with a silver trout on it. Torvin sighed. This was one of the Riverlords. He wasn't the first to speak up against Harren Hoare and he wouldn't be the last.

Harren narrowed his eyes. "Lord Edmyn Tully...", he stated without raising his voice above a whisper, his expression making it clear how little he wanted to speak to one of his Riverlander vassals now. The king had always ruled through fear, with them in particular, but Torvin knew that this was a double edged sword. Fear was all he had to offer them now for the moment he showed weakness, they'd surely turn on him as some had tried in the past. "Do you have anything of value to add?"

"Your grace, this is not just! The man pleaded to be sent to the Wall and the Night's Watch needs recruits. It is his right as per ancient tradition", Tully said while maintaining eye contact with the king. Hoare took a few steps closer to Lord Tully. Torvin gulped. He had seen the look in King Harrens eyes. Rarely had he been in a mood as foul as today.

"Let me tell you one thing Tully! My brother won't get any recruits from me…", he grunted without even trying to lower his voice "And you... You dare to tell me what is right and what is wrong, you fucking fishlord?" A few Riverlords gasped audibly and Torvin could see how Tully narrowed his eyes. The Riverlord even placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the king's guards. Torvin clenched his fists. Should Harren and the mightiest of his Riverlander vassals come to blows in the Great Hall, Greyjoy and her men would have her work cut out for her tonight. "What did you say, your grace?", Tully asked, his voice calm, but stern.

Harren started to laugh. It was a terrible sound, more befitting to a roaring bear. "I called you a fucking fishlord!", he growled loudly, as he approached Tully without even an ounce of fear. "A stupid little Rivercunt, whose daughters are not even worthy enough to become my lowest captain's salt wife..." With that he looked straight at the lord, while giving him a devious grin. "Come on Tully, we both know what you want to do now. You wouldn't be the first to try it. But think about what happens if you fail.Think about what I will do to your family..." Harrens voice lowered while he looked around, from Edmyn Tully to Tytos Bracken, then the mousy Arrec Mallister, the only man not to meet his gaze in return.

Slowly, Tully moved his hand away from the hilt. King Harren grinned and grabbed the Riverlord by the shoulders "Clever little trout... You may leave this hall now", he growled and this time his voice was lower, so low that Torvin barely understood the words that followed. "But Edmyn.... Never dare such a thing again if you are not willing to go through with it...", he whispered. "And do remember… I am in control here" With that, he released the man from his grip. Tully breathed heavily, but Torvin could see the fury in his glare as he looked at Harren. Without another word, the Riverlord turned around.

"Family, Duty, Honor...", Harren scoffed at the Lord, while Tully stepped out of the hall. "It is in your words, Tully. Honor always comes last for you, you fucking trout!" Before he walked back to his throne again, he glanced at his gathered lords, the Riverlanders and his Iron Fleet captains and their entourage. "With chains of iron I have bound this land and with chains of iron I shall hold it!", he proclaimed and his men, especially the Ironborn raised a fist into the air. "With Chains of Iron!", they yelled.

A cruel grin flashed over Harren's scarred face, as he sat down on his throne. "That's right", he growled towards the eastern side of the hall, where most of his Riverlander vassals had gathered. "It is up to you, mylords of yellow mud, to decide how tight these chains shall be. Bring in the next supplicants!"

Torvin closed his eyes for a moment, unable to hold back the concern that plagued him. The king was perfectly willing to kill his underlings for any wrong word. How long would it be until he would kill one of his captains? Torvin wondered if he himself would be safe from Harren's cruelty, being one of his lower captains. He wondered if Garthon would be safe.

And he looked after Lord Tully, who had just left the great hall, accompanied by his entire entourage of knights and servants. The Riverlord was brave. Maybe too brave for his own good. But perhaps he was one of the few that could actually protect Torvin and Garthon from Harren Hoares wrath, should anything ever happen. At that moment, Harrick, the king's youngest son, presented a territorial dispute between two farmers. Torvin started to walk towards the doors. He had little interest in the cruelties the King of the Isles and Rivers could think of, had little interest in how Harren Hoare made a mockery out of court sessions. It was a show of strength that was lost on Torvin. Maybe he should talk to Lord Tully. Hear what he had to say about this.

About halfway to the door someone grabbed him by the arm. Garthon looked at him, visibly worried. His brother was a bit shorter than the hulking Torvin, with the same dark hair, but where Torvin wore a mighty beard, he was clean-shaven. Garthon had always been the charming brother, the one who cared how his manners affected others. Some considered him half a Greenlander for it, but Torvin knew his brother and how he fought at sea. There was iron in both of the Breaker brothers, but Garthon's was of a different kind.

"What are you doing brother?", Garthon demanded to know, as he dragged his brother out of the hall and down one of the more quiet hallways that led from it. He was visibly shaken by what his king had just done. Torvin sighed. "I have to talk to Lord Tully. I saw the look in his eyes. If the Riverlord is planning something, I need to know..."

Garthon shook his head "No, you don't. For once, don't get us into any trouble. Harren Hoare is no man you want against you. He looked at you, you know that? As you walked towards the door. As if he's daring you to make a mistake"

"And what should I do in your opinion, brother? Shall I just wait until Black Harren makes a move against his own men? Take a guess whom he'll off first", Torvin growled. Though he had been careful, never outright showing his disdain for the wanton cruelty of his king, he could not shake off the feeling that things would not go well for much longer. Harren was growing too desperate to control his bannermen for that. "I need to think of Clarisse as well now. She'll give birth soon. Do I want my child to grow up in Harren Hoare's realm?"

Garthon shrugged. "It might be better not to draw his attention to your woman then", he spat. "The king can do as he likes. He does not need a reason and you know that. Try to get into his favour. You want to lead our family to glory? Then stick with the king. The Lord of Riverrun might make his move, he'll fail and then he'll die. And House Tully will become another House Faron and all who aided him will rot down in the dungeons. Come on brother, you are smarter than that..."

Slowly, Torvin shook his head. "I'm sorry brother. I have to do this'', he mumbled. Garthon looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "This is madness, brother... Don't let the Riverlord drag you down with him...", he muttered with great concern. Torvin shook his head.

"Don't worry brother. The king won't hurt us, I'll make sure of that...", he said. Garthon seemed unconvinced. A short nod and then he stepped aside. "Don't tell me I didn't warn you", he hissed. "Hear him out and then no more!" With these words, they separated. The giant hallway in which Torvin stood now was completely empty. But he had an idea where Lord Tully could have gone. He turned to the right and with quick steps he walked down the hallway.

What was he doing? By the Drowned God, what was he thinking? He wasn't afraid of Harren Hoare. But he knew he should be. He knew what Harren Hoare was capable of. Being afraid would be a wise thing to do. A cowardly thing to do. And Torvin Breaker had never been a coward. He was a raider and a killer, yes, but he had never feared his enemies, nor degraded them as Harren did with his. He was a weak king, relying on Hardhand's legacy, no man worth following in his own right.

When turned left to the next corridor, he saw the man he was looking for, heading towards his quarter. "Lord Tully!", Torvin shouted. The Riverlord turned around, his face still showing barely contained anger, his fingers trembling with rage. His blue eyes looked over Torvin. "Yes Ironborn? How can I help you? Or are you just here to mock me?" Edmyn Tully's voice oozed disdain.

Torvin took a few steps closer. "I'm not here to provoke you, Lord Tully. What you did in the Hall was a very brave thing to do", he said, trying to calm the Riverlord down. Tully did not seem to be convinced. "Don't try to flatter me, Ironborn. It was a stupid thing to do. We both know my emotions got the better of me", he scoffed, before letting out a sigh. "But I guess there's no point in turning back now. You have an advantage, Ironborn. You know my name, but you haven't told me yours"

Torvin gave him a heartfelt smile "Torvin Breaker, Captain of the Behemoth", he introduced himself. Tully narrowed his eyes. "Breaker? I have heard this name. Your great-grandfather slew Peyton Mallister during the siege of Seagard, right?" Torvin gave him an approving look. For a Riverlord, Edmyn Tully knew a great deal about the Ironborn. "You're right, Mylord. And one of Walder Bracken's archers put an arrow through his eye at Fairmarket", he answered. Tully's face softened considerably. "I don't mean to speak ill of the dead, Captain Breaker. What do you want?", he asked.

Torvin closed his eyes for a moment. This was it. The moment of truth. "You did a brave thing in the Great Hall, regardless of how wise it was. Defying the king like this… few man have the guts to challenge him and live"

Tully snorted. "Bravery... I'm not a coward, Captain Breaker, but this had nothing to do with bravery. Standing for justice shouldn't be seen as an act of bravery. It should be common sense. It was the only honourable thing to do. Seeing the other Riverlords so indifferent... it made me angry, Captain Breaker. Honour is in the Tully words. It is one of the three pillars my family is founded on. I won't look away while Harren Hoare does as he likes. You can go tell him that. That's what you're here for, right?"

Torvin gave him a gruff smile. "I don't mean to rat you out", he stated. "That'd be the same as killing you myself" He shook his head and placed one closed fist on his chest. "Honor, Lord Tully. That is why I'm here", he clarified. "My family had once been powerful and respected. Harwyn Hoare listened to my great-grandfather's advice. My father, on the other hand, was a drunkard and a sycophant. He destroyed the family, took our honour and left me and my brother with nothing but a despised name and a lone old longship. Now it is up to me to restore our honour. And just like you, I refuse to look away. Harren Hoare is not only a tyrant to the Riverlords, but to his captains as well. Not all of us are like him"

He paused and clenched his fists, so hard that his palms began to ache, as he fully realised how freely he had just spoken these words from the heart. By the drowned God what was he doing?

If anything, Lord Tully looked genuinely baffled. "I did not expect to hear such words from an Ironborn. I claim to be good at seeing people's true intentions. And it seems we have something in common, Captain Breaker"

Torvin nodded. "Your words, Lord Tully. We both would do everything for our families. We both struggle with our duty. And we value honour above all other virtues. Yes, we have something in common. The only question is, are you willing to go as far as I am to protect those we love?"

Tully was silent for a moment. His face dropped. As he answered, his voice was quieter than before "Bloody Brandon Frey tried to be on good terms with the king. He made generous gifts and contributed a great deal to the building of this..." He made a disgusted face "... this monstrosity. He even invited Crown Prince Harmund to be his guest at the Twins. As a show of gratitude, Harmund raped his daughter. Out of fear for his son Adrew, who is the king's squire, Lord Frey has kept silent about this, but young Adrew told me a fortnight ago. The king's sons are every bit as monstrous as the king himself and they might grow into even worse men. How much worse can it get for good men in these wicked lands?"

He looked Torvin straight in the eye and the Ironborn noticed something in Tully's steely gaze. This trout had the heart of a lion! "You ask me how far I am willing to go, Captain Breaker? I have a daughter as well! If it keeps her safe, I will fight Harren Hoare till it snows in Dorne. The real question here is, how far are you willing to go?"

Torvin looked out of a window, down onto Harrenhals courtyard. Ten thousand men were stationed at the castle and with every day there were more coming. Harrens sons were on their way to the castle. The last of its five towers was almost finished. The largest castle in Westeros. An impregnable fortress. A monument to Harren Hoares megalomania and all his sins. A castle built on blood. Harren Hoare was a danger to the whole kingdom. But more importantly, he was a danger to everyone close to him. A danger to the Riverlords. A danger to his captains. A danger to Garthon. A danger to Torvin's beloved and their unborn child. He wasn't afraid of Harren Hoare, even though he knew he should. Not for himself at least.

"Come first snow, I will be a father", he revealed. "My rock wife dwells on Pyke, safe for now, but I cannot say for how much longer. He extended a hand and without hesitation, Edmyn Tully grabbed it firmly. Torvin looked him in the eye, this lord of trouts, the greatest among the Riverlords. And he knew, there would be no way back now. Not until the tyrant was gone.

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · Apr 19, 2024

Jaron

Ah, Oldtown… Jaron looked down at the oldest city in Reach. He had been here before, two times with his mentor Ser Matthos. Today marked the first time he entered the city completely on his own. A long line of carts moved down the hill that led to the city's northern gate, a constant flow of people entering and leaving this steaming moloch of a city. Jaron gave his horse the spurs and moved past the carts and other peasants. A knight, such as he was, did not need to wait. He remembered what Matthos once told him. Oldtown had been built by the First Men, even before the Andal Invasion, many thousand years ago. According to Matthos, Oldtown was also the largest city in Westeros, with people from all over the continent, from Essos and even the Summer Isles travelling here, to trade their goods or to find work and opportunity. As a result, Oldtown contained at least a shrine for every god man ever worshipped. During his first visit, Jaron had seen the imposing Starry Sept, seat of the High Septon himself. Only a few streets later he had seen a building dedicated to the Red God, next to it a smaller building with blackened walls, dedicated to the goat-headed god the Qohoriks worshipped, while on the streets a tanned beggar sold trinkets blessed by Mother Rhoyne. Of course there was also the Citadel, the greatest trove of knowledge in all Westeros and the famous Hightower that towered over the city, visible for many miles to all sides, lighting the way for ships from all over the world.

It took him quite a while to enter the city, even on horseback. The broad street leading to the northern gate was almost completely blocked by carts. A few men from the city watch were trying to maintain order, but still it was a chaotic mess. Jaron moved his horse towards the watchman who stood nearest to the gate. The man looked up. "Name and reason for entering the city?", he growled.

"My name is Ser Jaron the Bastard. I am a hedge knight, looking for work", Jaron answered. Yes, he was a bastard. It never bothered him, in fact it had been his nickname for years. Most used it as an insult, but for Jaron it simply stated his heritage. The son of a whore and a high lord. At least that's what his mother used to say, even if took the name of his father to her grave.

"A bastard knight, eh?", the guard chuckled, though there was no hint of amusement in his tone, more of the general contempt Jaron had expected. "Forgive me then for waylaying you. It is my duty to ask questions. Commander Mullendore's orders"

Mullendore? That was one of the Marcher houses, if Jaron was correct. That meant he was not the kind of man Jaron wanted to anger. "Wouldn't want to stand in the way of your duties then", he replied dryly. "May I enter the city?"

The watchman nodded and signalled for Jaron to enter the city. As he rode past him, the man gave him a look of disdain, which Jaron ignored. He was used to people looking down on bastards and even on hedge knights, seeing them as little more than vagabonding peons. But if worse came to worst, they were needed. A travelling knight, fighting highwaymen, helping those in need. It was a beautiful ideal. And at least his late mentor had always upheld it. Now it was up to Jaron to continue his legacy. Where he saw Oldtown, he did not only see the largest and most dangerous city in the Reach, but he saw an opportunity. An opportunity for glory and heroism, for fame and fortune. Maybe even win a princess' favour. He smiled at this thought and continued his way into the city and into the bulk of people.

During his first visit, Oldtown had overwhelmed him, during his second it had disgusted him. Now, during his third visit, he took a moment to overlook the sight in front of him. A long, straight road, wide enough for ten men to ride side by side, led past rows of four-storied brick buildings. In the far distance, the massive Hightower. Hundreds of people crossed this road, either into the same direction as him, down towards the central parts of the city, or past him and into the numerous smaller streets and alleyways that led away from the main street. A few other riders on horseback were there, also ox-wagons and even a closed carriage, all slowly making their way through a sea of people. Jaron slowed down more and more and soon found himself forced to dismount, leading his horse by the reins and towards his destination.

It did not take him long to find the tavern he was looking for. The Drunken Septon was one of the city's lesser known inns and off the main street, but a place where a man could sleep safe and sound for a reasonable price. They also had a stable. First time they had been here, Ser Matthos had found a decent job escorting a merchant to Highgarden, a task that had brought them both within spitting distance to the Gardener king himself. The second time they had found gritty but well-paid work with a small sellsword group for a few months. And now it was up to Jaron to find work, preferably the kind that brought him glory, but right now he was not adverse to coin either. His armour was worn and needed to be fixed by a capable blacksmith and with a bit of luck he would get the money for that from his next contract.

"Greetings young traveller, welcome at the Drunken Septon. How can we help you?" The innkeeper, a stout and cheerful woman in her late forties greeted him with a motherly smile and Jaron gave her a friendly nod. She did not remember him. Of course not. During his last visit, he had been a boy of fifteen years. Now, he was a man grown. In the past three years he managed to grow a stubble. He also got significantly taller. The only thing that did not change was that he still wasn't very muscular, much to his chagrin, his build leaner than that of most knights he had met.

"Pleasant day, good woman. My name is Ser Jaron the Bastard. I'm looking for a bed to sleep in and a good meal. And my horse needs a place in your stables", he answered her before sitting down at a small table. The inn was not very well-visited now at noon, only a few regulars gathered around the tables and one or two men who seemed like travellers, not the wealthy kind, more like blades for hire. He sat there, watching the inn and resting his legs after the long journey from the Marches, his first without Ser Matthos to guide him.

It took the innkeeper not more than fifteen minutes until Jaron had a warm bowl of soup standing in front of him. His horse had been accommodated in the stables and he was looking forward to sleeping in a warm bed for once. Immediately, Jaron started to dig in, his stomach rumbling with hunger. It was a decent broth, served with a slice of fresh bread and he was starved.

Just then, a commotion caught his attention, as the innkeeper rushed towards a new arrival at the door, a young, dirty boy, one of the many street kids that lived in this city. "How often have I told you thieving urchins to stay away from this tavern!", she started to rant. The urchin winced for a moment and gave her a pleading look. He was a small boy, maybe around ten years old. He had the dark skin of a sandy Dornishman, maybe a bit lighter and was incredibly dirty. Even though he had nothing against poor children, Jaron understood the woman. The boy opened his teary eyes wide and the innkeeper sighed.

"Fine... Fine, let me see if I can find some of yesterday's leftovers for you. But don't you dare steal anything! And don't bother the knight!", she said before turning around and walking into the kitchen.

The urchin looked at Jaron, while the hedge knight looked back. A friendly smile appeared on the boy's face and he came closer. "Are you really a knight?", he asked, his voice curious but confident.

Jaron snorted, amused by the excitable look on the kid's face and his utter lack of fear. "There are days where I'm not so sure about that myself, little boy... Are you really a thieving urchin?", he answered. However, he gave him a nod. "Ser Jaron the Bastard", he introduced himself and the boy's smile widened.

The boy's smile grew wider. "Then you are indeed the man I've been looking for all day", he proclaimed, before he took a slight bow. "I am a bastard too. My name is Himani Sand" He looked at Jaron and the Hedge Knight felt the sudden urge to put a hand on his purse. "I was told you deliver a message from the Burned Man. He sends his deepest condolences for the death of Ser Matthos the Kind"

Jaron looked at the urchin in astonishment, his own smile gone in an instant. Ser Matthos had been dead for almost a year now and before that he had been a hedge knight of little renown. How did an urchin in Oldtown knew about him? And who was the Burned Man? Jaron had not seen much of the world yet, but he knew that such a name spelled trouble. "Who is the Burned Man and what does he want from me?", Jaron asked, still baffled.

Himani shrugged, as he took the free chair next to Jaron without even asking. "He is a well-respected businessman in the city!", he claimed with a tone that told Jaron all he needed to know. So, they were talking about a criminal, one of Oldtown's crimelords who had been a nuisance the first time he had been here and a menace the second time.

Just then, the boy's gaze darted towards the kitchen the same moment when the innkeeper came back. "I told you not to bother the knight!", she shouted and began to approach them sternly, but she stopped when Jaron raised his hand.

"It's all fine, good woman. The boy just wants to ask me a few questions" He glanced at Himani, whose expression remained friendly and curious, but this time he saw the street-wise cunning behind the boy's dark eyes.

The innkeeper's wife nodded. "Alright then, I guess. But a word of advice! Stay away from the Oldtown urchins, good Ser. They mean nothing but trouble… this one in particular" With these words she turned around and walked back to the counter.

Jaron pulled Himani closer. "I'm asking you again. What does this Burned Man want from me?", he asked, this time slightly impatient. "And how… how does he know about Ser Matthos?" His voice nearly grew louder as he said this last sentence, only to calm himself as he realised that he was nearly shouting at a child.

Himani still had a genuinely cheerful smile on his face. "You should ask him yourself. The Burned Man wants to meet you and you should follow this invitation. It means money..." With these words, Himani raised his left hand and revealed a golden coin, which he placed in front of Jaron. As Jaron took the coin, he quickly realised that it was a Stormlands coin. Not only that, it was one of his own, his last golden coin. How did he...?

Himani seemed to notice the look on his face and bursted into laughter. "Don't worry Ser Jaron. I only took this one coin. And I gave it back. But the Burned Man won't be so kind if you let him wait. Follow me now and meet him. Or stay here and miss this chance. It's up to you..."

Jaron looked at his warm meal. Someone who called himself 'Burned Man' always meant serious business and probably trouble. On the other hand this was more than a coincidence. Quite a few of his mother's stories had started that way. They brought with them the opportunity to achieve fame and fortune and the hand of a princess, he thought.

And yet, he remained hesitant, for he knew the other stories as well, the ones he had experienced himself, full of disappointments and deprivations. He remembered Ser Matthos and he knew that these stories often ended in the death of the hero. "I don't think I have much of a choice in this, have I?", Jaron said with a sigh.

Himani gave him a bright smile. "Not if you're as clever as Ser Matthos!", he said cheerfully and without even the hint of a threatening expression on his face. If anything, this boy seemed genuinely happy about this meeting. And yet, his words spoke a different language. Just what did he just imply about Ser Matthos?

Jaron looked at the innkeeper's wife with an apologising look. "Good woman, I am afraid I won't have time to eat this meal. Please, take care of my horse, I'll be back soon", he told her. "If you leave me some leftover dinner, I'll make it worth your coin" He glanced at Himani. "And you… lead the way, I guess"

With these words he stood up. Himani was already walking to the door and Jaron hurried after the urchin. Was it really wise to follow this blasted boy? Probably not and yet here he was, quickly stepping out of the inn. Himani waited for him at a corner. It was the early afternoon by now, the sun was burning down on this afternoon and the streets were crowded.

"You don't need to worry about pickpockets, Ser Jaron", Himani said, as if he had read Jarons thoughts. "Most of them know you're with me. I will warn you about the ones who don't" With these words he continued to walk down the streets, the hedge knight followed him closely, always one hand on his purse.

Jaron didn't know Oldtown very well and soon he was completely lost. The only thing he could tell was, that Himani lead him closer to the sea. The Hightower, lighthouse and seat of House Hightower, visible from every point in the city, came consistently closer, until Himani finally left the smaller roads and stepped onto Oldtown's main street. From here, the Hightower could be seen directly, without any buildings partially blocking the view. Even though it wasn't the first time Jaron had seen the Tower, he was taken aback for a moment by how tall it really was. Ser Matthos had once told him that it was the tallest building in Westeros, even taller than the Wall. Its foundations had been built by ancient men or even older things, if Matthos could be believed.

Himani followed the main street for a while and for a short moment Jaron actually suspected that the boy was going to lead him to the tower himself, or at the very least to one of the fancy mansions that surrounded it. But finally the boy took another turn into a smaller side road that led down to the port. Here, the smell of the sea mingled with the stench of the city. While the main street was crowded with people, this side street was almost empty and not nearly as luxuriously built. During this time of the day, the Hightower cast a shadow over this part of the city, leaving it in a sombre and eerie twilight.

Some of the city's poorer citizens obviously came here to cool down from the hot autumn sun and they had to step over several sleeping men. Finally, Himani stopped in front of a small, two-storied building. Jaron noticed a crude drawing next to the door, looking like a woman with wings and a tail. "We're here, Ser Jaron. It's time to meet the Burned Man", Himani said, almost with awe in his voice.

Jaron gulped, his gaze fixed on the drawing of the winged woman. "One question Himani…", he stuttered, his voice a bit thinner than usual now that he came closer to their destination. "Why is he called "Burned Man"?" Seven Hells why did he ask that? He did not want to know that!

Himani smiled. "You will see, Ser Jaron", he said in an ominous tone. Right... As if that made it any better. Jaron always had a good imagination, but right now he was cursing it. The urchin stepped to the door and knocked on it.

After a few moments, Jaron could hear the door getting unlocked. A young woman stood in the doorframe, a pale girl, probably in Jaron's age with long and very dark brown hair and oddly red highlights, wearing a sleeveless purple dress. She gave Jaron a hesitant, distrustful look, but seemed to calm down as soon as she saw Himani.

"Did anyone follow you?", she asked. Jaron noticed the hint of an accent in her voice. It sounded foreign, maybe from the Free Cities, maybe even Ghiscari, though he had heard that accent only once before. The boy shook his head and the girl let out a sigh of relief. With a hand gesture she waved Jaron and Himani into the house, the Burned Man's house.

Jaron was a bit disappointed for a moment once his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The Burned Man's house looked like a completely ordinary commoner's house, maybe mildly better furnished, with the three of them finding themselves in a medium-sized square room covered in dark wood. The girl stepped next to him and grabbed him by the arm. "If you want to leave, now is your last chance", she said with a calm, but stern tone.

Jaron looked at the door and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to leave. This wasn't right. This would not end well. But Ser Matthos was involved in this. The man had raised him since he had been twelve years old and so far Jaron thought of him as the best man he had ever met. The Matthos he knew would never get involved with someone that shady. Jaron had to find out what was going on here. He owed his mentor that much. Besides, the great heroes in the stories never ran away from anything.

"Well, I won't leave... Sorry, I don't think I got your name", Jaron said, giving her a smile that was meant to be charming, though given her aloof expression it clearly lacked something. Himani, who had placed himself on a wooden chair close to the door almost too tall for him, let out a bright laugh. "That's because she hasn't told you, silly Ser Jaron. Go on, m'lady, tell him your beautiful name", he said while his little legs dangled in the air.

The girl rolled her eyes at him but followed it by a brief and gentle smile at the boy, a surprisingly delightful sight. Her smile faded the moment she looked back at Jaron. "The Wise Masters never gave me a name, so the Burned Man saw fit to correct their mistakes. He calls me Harpy, after the noble Harpy of Yunkai", she told him "I am his handmaiden and confidante", she answered with a calm voice. Harpy? Now that was a... charming name. He was in the shabbiest neighbourhood of Oldtown, together with a smartass street urchin and a Ghiscari girl who was named after a monster, waiting to meet a Burned Man. The door started to get more and more appealing.

"With your curiosity sated, Ser Jaron, please follow me. The Burned Man is in a meeting right now, but I'll show you our waiting room", Harpy said, prompting Himani to stand up from his chair and rush into her way.

"Wait! I did my part, m'lady Harpy. Where's my reward?", he asked loudly. Harpy sighed, opened a small purse on her belt and handed him a few silver coins. The boy's smile was actually almost contagious, all circumstances considered and Jaron found himself smirking briefly despite his nervousness. "Thanks m'lady Harpy. Give my regards to the Burned Man", the urchin said and turned to Jaron. "He isn't bad, the Burned Man. He is into some shadier stuff, yes, but thanks to him I have something to eat for the next week. Many of us would have been dead without his work. Give him a chance and you won't regret it!" With these words, he left the room, stepping out of the door, which Harpy closed and locked behind him.

"So you and Himani got along?", the girl asked. "Sorry we had to send him, but our regulars are busy" This time, Jaron had to suppress a grin, for he had seen the boy taking her entire purse while she had not been looking.

"Yes, I think I like him...", Jaron said with a smirk. Harpy raised an eyebrow, before her hand moved to her belt. To his surprise, her expression was not the least bit angry, bit rather mildly annoyed and she even shook her head as she glanced at the main door.

"You do? The Burned Man thinks he is annoying. But he gets the job done. He's a good kid" Jaron noticed her behaviour growing a little calmer around him now. She even made an expression that slightly resembled a smile, before turning around and moving towards one of the doors. "You can stay here. As soon as he has time for you, I'll be back", she said before turning around and walking towards another room. Jaron looked after her. By the Seven, what was he doing here?

He slowly went into the room and was instantly greeted by the smell of alcohol. The room wasn't very big, but surprisingly luxurious. It was decorated in a style that did not seem to be Westerosi. Bright tapestries in red and yellow were dominating the room. A small table stood in its centre, full of bottles. And on a large seat cushion in the corner of the room sat a mountain of a man, a mass of muscles and fat, with the dark bronze skin of the Ghiscari. He was bald, but sported a bushy black beard with a thick moustache and a unibrow. His massively muscled arms were covered in rather obscene tattoos and as soon as he saw Jaron he gave him a wide smile. "Well, hello there!", he shouted with a thick Ghiscari accent and raised a bottle of wine. "You're waiting for the Burned Man? Come over, grab a seat and drink with me!", he shouted. Jaron winced at this loud voice, but the man grinned widely and cheerfully.

Jaron came closer. Slowly. Carefully. That man was obviously a drunkard, but he seemed to be no threat. Still, Jaron instantly tensed up. His mentor had found death at the hands of a drunkard during what should have been a harmless brawl. "What is your name, boy?", the Ghiscari asked before raising his bottle again."Ah, but let me introduce myself first. I have the honour of being Bakr mo Azar al-Astapori, merchant from Astapor, the great red city in Slaver's Bay!"

Slaver's Bay... Jaron had heard only bad stories about it and about the Ghiscari that dwelled there. Was this man a slaver? Weren't slavers supposed to mean-looking brutes? A brute, yes, but beyond that this man looked more like a dolt. And his smile seemed to be genuine. Well, being polite could only help his situation. "Ser Jaron the Bastard, hedge knight", Jaron introduced himself and the other man handed him a bottle of some strong-smelling liquid.

"The Burned Man speaks with my partner Abbas right now. I don't like this kind of backroom talking, so I opted to wait here and enjoy the generosity of our host and his wine cellar. Now, if only Harpy could come again. I think she wanted to give me a massage, the Yunkish way, if you know what I mean...", Bakr said. He wiggled his thick unibrow and broke out into a joyful laughter. He seemed genuinely friendly, but Jaron remained on edge and not just because of the alcohol in his breath. Ser Matthos hated the Ghiscari of Slaver's Bay with a passion. According to him they were all greedy and lying opportunists. "Ah, it is good to drink with new blood!", Bakr exclaimed while taking a big sip from his bottle. "So, Ser Jaron, why are you here?"

Jaron shrugged. "To be honest, I have no idea. This Burned Man wants to meet me for some reason...", he answered. A question found its way into his mind again and he cursed himself for having to ask it. "Bakr... Why do they call him the "Burned Man"?", he blurted out. Seven Hells, now he asked. The last he wanted to hear about was such an undoubtedly gruesome tale, but curiosity got the better of him

"Well, it's actually a funny story, you know? He wasn't always the Burned Man. Harpy knew him before. He might have a real name, can you imagine that?", Bakr started to tell and Jaron couldn't stop himself from listening with clenched teeth.

Rescue came in the form of Harpy, who opened the door again, interrupting Bakr in his tale. "The Burned Man is ready to see you, Ser Jaron", she said with a slight smile. "He is most pleased about your swift arrival and sends me to relay his gratitude for your patience"

As Jaron was about to stand up in relief, Bakr grabbed his arm. "You haven't even drunk anything with me! Shame...", he exclaimed, sounding slightly disappointed. His face brightened up as he saw Harpy. "Lady Harpy! Came to give me that massage?", he asked with a lecherous smile. Jaron saw Harpys face and tried hard to choke his laughter. He failed, which resulted in a cold glare from the girl. After a moment, Bakr joined him with his own boisterous and jovial laughter. "See you around Jaron!", he said, giving his attention to another bottle of wine.

Harpy shivered as they left the room. "Sorry for leaving you with this... charming brute in there. He and his partner work with the Burned Man on something", she said with an apologetic look. "Not the company I'd have chosen, but Arkan trusts them for whatever reason" She led Jaron to another door, behind it a small corridor. What it lacked in luxury, this house more than made up for in size.

Just then, a man walked down the corridor and came closer. At first, Jaron thought it had to be the Burned Man. Then, he realised it was another Ghiscari, a bit smaller than Bakr, but still very tall. His head was shaved and he had a beard not less impressive than Bakrs, albeit his was better maintained. The man took a small bow before Jaron and Harpy. "Ah... another guest in the Burned Mansion", he said with a soft and calm voice, slightly chuckling over his terrible joke. His accent was far less noticeable than Bakr's and his tone more confident. "My name is Abbas zo Prezn al-Yunkari, merchant and business partner of the Burned Man"

His dark eyes looked directly at Jaron, who felt slightly uncomfortable. "Ser Jaron the Bastard...", he muttered, momentarily unsure if he should extend a hand for the Ghiscari to shake. Harpy, her fists clenched, quickly stepped past this man.

Abbas' thin mouth formed a cold smile, his dark gaze fixed on Jaron. "Glad to make your acquaintance, Ser Bastard. It has been a few years since I last saw a knight in these hallowed halls", he said before walking past them. "But don't let me stop you. I am sure we will be seeing each other around"

Then, he was gone and Jaron looked at Harpy, quite puzzled. "And who was that?", he asked. Unlike Bakr, who had something genuinely likeable about his demeanour, this man had been cold and his dark gaze remained with Jaron even after he had left.

Harpy glared after this man. "One of the Burned Man's friends from across the Narrow Sea. Bakrs partner. More of an arse", she was quick to answer, without giving any more details. Another door was opened. Another room entered.

This time, it was only scarcely illuminated. The room contained a large table, two chairs and three men. Two of them were tall and well-built men with the dark amber skin of the Dothraki. They stood behind a chair, in which a small man of about forty years sat. He looked completely and frighteningly ordinary. His short dark hair was kempt back, he was clean shaven and even paler than Harpy. His blue eyes were narrowed and he had the facial features of a man from the Free Cities. No burn scars anywhere on his face, in fact he could almost be considered handsome.

When the man put his hands on the table, Jaron winced. Now he knew without a doubt that he was speaking to the Burned Man. The left hand was crippled and twisted, completely black like charcoal, with two fingers entirely missing. His right hand wasn't in a much better shape. While it still had the colour of flesh, it was horribly scarred. Two fingers seemed to be completely immobile as he raised his hand.

"Ser Jaron. I'm glad you had the time to meet me...", the Burned Man said, while waving for Jaron to come closer. "Welcome in one of my townhouses" His voice was a deep, melodic baritone. Jaron took a step closer and noticed that Harpy stood right behind him. Even though she could probably be pleasant company, he felt rather threatened by her closeness.

"You're likely asking yourself why I have asked you to come...", the baritone voice said. "Allow me a few words" With his right index finger, the Burned Man tapped on the wood of his table, a strangely melodic sound.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"You're likely asking yourself what a man like Ser Matthos the Kind had to do with someone like me...", he began. "How would I even know your noble and kind mentor?"

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"People are so quick to confuse a kind man with a good man. I can assure you, the venerable Ser Matthos was in many ways not a good man..." With these words, the Burned Man stopped tapping and looked Jaron right in the eye. "The truth is that you, I am afraid, only ever knew half the truth about him. He was not a bad man, but he had his flaws"

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The Hedge Knight felt anger in an instant, but what stopped him from acting on it was the thought of the two Dothraki behind the Burned Man. And Harpy, right behind him. They had not disarmed him, but neither did they need to. "Ser Matthos was the best man I ever knew. He was honourable, brave and dutiful", Jaron blurted out, while looking at him with growing anger. "I will not stand for slander against him!"

The Burned Man smiled. It was a completely cold smile, without any joy in it. "Honour. The noble man's disease. Bravery. The dumb man's disease. Duty. The blind man's disease. I have little use for any of them. The fact is, that Ser Matthos was indeed a kind man, well-loved by anyone he met. Even I have been fond of him. This did not prevent him from borrowing a lot of money from me. In the good old days, before he took a squire, he even worked for me. Now he is dead without ever repaying his debts. And I know, I won't get my coin back from you, the poor hedge knight that you are"

The Burned Man leant forwards and Jaron took a step closer, Harpy still right behind him. The Dothraki didn't even move a single muscle. Only as he was looking down, Jaron noticed that he had his hand on the hilt of his sword. "You are lying...", he sputtered, as he forced himself to calm down. And yet, he had always despised men who slandered his mentor. Those were disgusting lies.

The Burned Man did not try to justify what he said. He just smiled. "I know people like you. You are infected with bravery and honour and maybe even a bit of duty. That is a dangerous combination. Nothing good ever comes out of it. I could show you proof but even then you'd rather choose to believe I forged it. But I know what people like you truly desire..."

He gave a sign with his somewhat good hand and Harpy moved past Jaron and next to the him. With expert moves, she helped him up and he gave her a soft, almost tender look, which she reciprocated with a smile. Jaron realised that the man could hardly stand alone. The Burned Man followed Jarons shocked gaze and smiled. "The Wise Masters did this to me, when I tried to do something brave. I hold no grudge against them, for I consider it a fair exchange. Besides, a grudge is a terrible thing to hold, sometimes even worse than bravery..."

With Harpy's help, the Burned Man took a few steps closer, until he was able to look Jaron right in the eye. The Hedge Knight noticed that the Burned Man would have been very tall and very handsome, if it wasn't for his injuries. "What do you want from me?", Jaron asked.

He tensed up as the Burned Man put his right hand, his good hand up and patted him on the shoulder. "You lost your mentor and I do not intend to mock him, or his memory. Ser Matthos might not have been a good man, but then again, none of us are. He was better than most, I can assure you that...", he said, with an almost fatherly voice. "He wanted something from me once and I think you are after the same. It is always the same with you lot"

With these words, he leant closer. As he spoke directly in Jarons ear, he was almost whispering."You want the world. You want to be the greatest knight that ever was. You want to win the heart of a fair princess... I can't give you anything like that. But I can bring you on a way, where you might be able to gain them on your own. All you need to do is work for me and repay your mentor's debts"

Jaron gulped. As he looked the Burned Man in the eyes he was expecting to see a sign of mockery or madness. Instead he saw the sanest, calmest man he had ever met and not even a hint of the malice he had been certain to see. "What do you want me to do? I have no coin to repay you...", Jaron said.

The Burned Man gave him a short, almost sincere smile. "No. But you have talent. During my last meeting with him, a few years ago, your mentor spoke highly of you. A true knight in the making. Though I rarely deal with men of such nobility, I might have use for you in the things to come"

Jaron noticed that he was trembling. With excitement? With fear? He could not tell. This was an opportunity, alright, not like the stories he had sought, but it was nonetheless the one he found himself in. But still, one question remained. "Why me?", he asked.

The Burned Man grinned. "Why not? You are not in any way more special than anyone else, Ser Jaron. But Matthos believed in you. And I believe in Ser Matthos' judgement. I am willing to give you a chance. Should you succeed, you will be rewarded. The Burned Man's word has great influence in this part of the world and with a letter of recommendation from me, you could find work at any court from here to Casterly Rock. Besides, you would have cleared the name of your mentor" He shrugged, or at least he tried to. A part of his shoulder was not moving at all. "Of course, you are also free to go now. I would be disappointed. And I'm sure Ser Matthos would be disappointed too. But still, I will not hold it against you..."

Jarons closed his eyes. This was it. The opportunity. But he always hoped for an opportunity a bit more... honourable. This man... He knew people like him. They were like wolves, and people like Jaron were the prey. Should he really get involved with this man? Still, this was the opportunity, perhaps the only one he'd ever get. And then there was the little thought in his head, still telling him that everyone who ever did something shady like this in his stories would wind up dead. But so did the brave, honourable and dutiful people outside of the stories.

And Jaron knew, as he looked this man into his dark eyes, that he would accept his offer. For the memory of a mentor and for the greatness ahead of him. For the chance to become more than a wandering knight for hire. But he also knew, without a doubt, that he would do this in his own way. With honour and bravery, as Matthos had taught him.

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · Apr 20, 2024

Lyria

It wasn't even noon, but the damn bells from the Sept already started to get on Lyria's nerves. From the small window in her forge's storage room, she could see the roof of the Sept of Raylansfair. It was a sunny day. No man deserved to die on a sunny day, no matter who he was. Not even Lord Robert Raylan. Lyria closed her eyes for a moment and thought back to another sunny day and to another dead man, one whose absence she felt even now, a loss greater than that of the lord

She had hardly known Lord Raylan, the man who had been her lord for all of the thirty and eight years of her life. From what others have spoken about him, he was a decent man, generous to his friends and popular with the smallfolk. A decent man, but obsessed with vengeance and a terrible lord, at least from her point of view. A man who had spent his days brooding in his castle, while the smallfolk struggled from day to day. A man who had valued the deaths of his enemies more than the lives of his people. Now that she thought about it, Lord Robert the Revered hadn't been that good a lord. For some reason most of the smallfolk loved the man, but then again, most of them haven't lost as much as Lyria did to the newly deceased's pointless decisions.

She let out a groan and turned away from the window. The day was still young and there was work to do. And without her daughter around, it would likely take the whole day to finish her commissions. Rosalie, her only child, was young and full of life, rarely taking anything seriously. Nominally her mother's apprentice, she was barely a help at the forge. For Lyria, that was her biggest regret, that she had failed to pass on her passion for blacksmithing. Her daughter had talent but she wasted it, instead she rather fooled around with her friends.

Things had been different when her husband had still been alive. It had been six years, but for Lyria it was already a lifetime. There were days where she missed him more than she could ever put into words, days where she still found tears for the man she had lost. On other days it was easier, mostly the days where Rosalie actually spent time with her. But these days were getting rarer and rarer. One day, her daughter would get married, would move out from their small house and one day the good days would be gone completely. Any mother should look forward for her daughter's joy, but Lyria felt dread at the thought of being left alone by the only family she had left.

Lyria took a deep, calm breath when she heard the doorbell ringing. Someone had just entered her forge's main room. Maybe a customer. Maybe Rosalie. Whoever it was, he or she should never see her like this. She blinked away the tears and put up her usual resolute face. Then she put down the hammer and walked into the main room. Usually it was Rosalie's job to talk to the customers. Her daughter was charming, easy on the eye and Lyria knew that at least two boys from the neighbourhood had a crush on her. But the girl was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a man had entered the forge and Lyria hoped deeply that he was but a customer. For a moment she regretted not taking the hammer with her.

The man was about her height but far thinner, had blonde bedraggled hair and a scruffy appearance, like a vagabond, with a long brown overcoat covering most of his body. His skin was pale, almost as if he had never seen the sun in all his life and though he could have looked decent with some grooming his unkempt appearance filled her with uneasiness. His eyes were downright unnerving. A cold gaze, bare of any emotion. Years ago, she had seen a similar stare in the eyes of the most dangerous man she had ever met. Strangely, this man did not seem to be dangerous. His stare was empty, dead even. And there was nothing to fear about dead things, as Lyrias grandmother had used to say.

"Can I help you?", she began, forcing her tone to be as polite as possible. Aside from his dead stare, there was nothing threatening about this man. While she felt uneasy around him, she could not deny a strange pity at his bedraggled appearance. And she wanted him gone as quickly as possible.

The man gave her a short, joyless smile. "Perhaps, good woman. I'm looking for the blacksmith Mettel. Your... husband, I assume?", he said with a raspy voice, while eyeing her left hand. Even years after his death, Lyria still wore the wedding ring, a simple iron band, completely unassuming and easily overlooked. She found it odd that the stranger took note of it.

"My husband... I'm sorry, you're wrong on that. I am the blacksmith. My husband died six years ago", Lyria answered, slightly perplexed by his perceptiveness.

The stranger gave her a smile that seemed to be slightly warmer than before. "My deepest condolences", he spoke. Lyria realised the man hadn't blinked once since the conversation began and his gaze had not faltered. Dealing with his stare proved difficult, but Lyria managed to withstand the urge to break eye contact. "You're the blacksmith", the stranger then stated, almost as if he was slightly disappointed.

Lyria nodded. "I am and I can assure you, I am even better than my late husband was", she claimed and it was no empty boast. Her husband had been a decent blacksmith, but Lyria had worked harder than ever since he died. "What did you say was your name again?"

The strangers smile disappeared. "Wolfius Woodbark", he told her. Lyria managed to suppress a confused smile that almost forced its way to her lips. "Wolfius Woodbark... What are you, a Northerner?", she said, not without a hint of amusement in her voice. Wolfius Woodbark… Seven Hells, what kind of a name was that?

Woodbark did not seem to be amused. "Do I look like a Northerner?", he asked and for a short moment his calmness faded, replaced by a certain confusion. "But maybe you can help me, Blacksmith Mettel, yes?"

"It's Lyria. Lyria Mettel", she clarified. "And I can help you if you tell me what you need. All for a price, of course" The stranger had an odd way of speaking and there was definitely something off about him, but she would not condemn him right away, nor dismiss his coin, if he had any to begin with.

Right as she said this, Wolfius opened his coat, revealing two daggers, one of them long and curved, carried in a worn leather sheath, the other one clearly in a finer sheath. He drew the fine dagger, presenting it to Lyria, while still looking directly in her eyes. It was a well-crafted weapon, double-edged and sharp, something a commoner could barely afford. How a man such as Woodbark came into the possession of such a fine weapon she did not know and she'd rather not think about it too much.

"This weapon belongs to a good friend. Unfortunately, the blacksmith who forged the weapon made a mistake with the hilt. He forgot to add the sigil of my friend's house", Wolfius explained "What I need you to do is, you need to reforge the hilt. And this time, add this seal", While he spoke, he pulled out a small sheet of paper.

Lyria looked over the sheet. The seal was complicated, as if four different sigils were put together. Two silver chains forming a cross. In the four spaces between the chains were four different things depicted: A pine, a grape cluster, a raven and a longship. "I've never seen a seal like this in all my life", Lyria mumbled, her eyes darting over the elaborate seal. "What house does this seal belong to?"

Wolfius answered with a cold smile and this time, she saw a cunning look in his eyes which she previously hadn't noticed. "My friend would like to reward you with this, if you don't ask any questions", he explained. While saying these words, he pulled out a small purse. Lyria glimpsed at a sizable amount of gold coins. "No questions and this shall belong to you"

At that moment, the doorbell rang again. Lyria looked over Wolfius' shoulder and saw that her daughter entered the forge. Rosalie came after her father in looks, thankfully, with her blonde hair contrasting her mother's black. At least for Lyria her daughter would always be the prettiest girl in Raylansfair and judging the reactions men gave Rosalie, she wasn't the only one who thought so. Woodbark also had a reaction, albeit not the one Lyria expected. He began to grin, this time even showing some sort of emotion, though he remained difficult to read.

"Oh Blacksmith Mettel, whom do we have there?", he exclaimed before taking a gallant bow in front of Rosalie, his eyes not once looking away from her. "My name is Woodbark. Wolfius Woodbark. It's a pleasure meeting you, young lady"

Rosalie looked at the man for a moment, then she glanced at her mother in confusion before bursting out in a hearty laugh. "Wolfius Woodbark? Is that your real name?", she managed to utter, not even noticing that Wolfius' smile had vanished. For just a second, his expression seemed as dangerous as his eyes had suggested, before his usual calmness returned.

"It is… my name", the man mumbled before turning his direction at Lyria again. His expression had shifted briefly and he still had not managed to fully return to the eerie calmness he had shown before. "So, Blacksmith Mettel... I expect we have an agreement? I pay in advance"

Lyria looked at the purse filled with gold hands. That was definitely shady business and the way this man just looked at her daughter sent cold shivers down her spine. But would a man like Woodbark even accept a "No" as an answer? Maybe he would get aggressive if she declined. And the money would be enough to feed herself and Rosalie for a year. Maybe she could buy a cart, so that she could sell her goods in the surrounding villages. Yes, she could need the money…

Lyria closed her eyes. By the Seven, why was she even considering this? "Yes, Wolfius. We have an agreement...", she muttered before taking the purse Woodbark offered her. The man had started to smile again, his cold, lifeless smile. This time it was directed at Rosalie.

The way he looked at her daughter... Lyria felt anger inside of her. That was the look she'd bash a man's head in for. But she had left the hammer in the backroom. And besides that, she was no killer. She had only ever taken one life. And that could hardly count as murder, since the man she had killed had hardly been a human being to begin with. Wolfius on the other hand... She was not sure what to make of him. Was he crazy, or just eccentric? Was he dangerous?

Woodbark took a step closer. "I'm going to need the dagger next week, Blacksmith Mettel...", he said, his voice trembling in anticipation and his unnerving gaze now resting on her again. "Seven days. Can you make this?"

At least he was no longer focused on Rosie. Woodbark did not seem to look her straight in the eye. Of course, his stare was focused on her, but he seemed to look at a point between her eyes or slightly above them. She noticed again that he hadn't blinked once since he started the conversation. His cold gaze shifted from her to Rosalie, who stood in the corner, a bit confused by his demeanour.

"Seven days, Wolfius. It won't be easy, but I will make it. Come here again in seven days and I will give you the dagger", Lyria finally said. She was a bit relieved that she managed to say it, but on the other hand she was worried. This man would come to her forge again. She would have to speak to him again. And the worst part would be, he would meet Rosalie again.
Wolfius' grin was unsettling and Lyria did not manage to look at him any longer.

"Very good, Blacksmith Mettel... Seven days and then you shall receive the rest of your payment... But remember, don't tell anyone. It will be… our little secret", he said, before taking an elegant bow in front of Rosalie. "We will meet again"

With these words, he finally left the forge. Lyria felt relief overcoming her. She noticed she had almost held her breath in the last moments. Rosalie looked at her, visibly and understandably confused. "So... what was that all about?", she asked, more amused than unnerved by this encounter. AThat had always been the biggest issue with Rosalie's behaviour. She never took anything seriously. She never understood danger.

Lyria gave her daughter a soft smile. Usually she found it hard to show emotion when dealing with other people. But with Rosalie it was different. "I don't know, Rosie... I guess it was a customer", she answered. "He paid well, so I'll do as he says. If he causes any trouble, he gets the hammer"

Rosalie looked at the door, waiting for a moment, before she began to giggle. "Wolfius Woodbark... Is that really supposed to be a name? What sort of madman goes by that?", she chuckled.

Lyria remembered what Wolfius said "Might not be his real name, to be honest.", she admitted. Much as she understood her daughter's amusement, she could not share it, not after his unnerving mannerisms "And Rosie... This is no man you want to make fun about, trust me"

Rosalie stopped giggling and looked at her mother, this time a little bit more serious."Do you think he is dangerous? Is he a criminal?" Her blue eyes were filled with anticipation. Rosalie loved stories like this. She was interested in at least one of the village boys because he claimed that he once fought a highwayman to the death. But Wolfius was not like the men from her stories.

Lyria was silent for a moment. Was Wolfius dangerous? She couldn't tell. When she had looked him in the eyes, she had seen something she did not like. But he seemed to be broken. Yes, she was afraid of him. But she also felt pity. "I don't know if he is dangerous... But he has this look in his eyes. I don't think we should provoke him", she finally answered and her tone grew sterner. "Say Rosie, where have you been all morning? I could have used your help!"

Rosalie shrugged. "Spend all morning at the sept", she moaned. "Septon Corbin gave a really boring sermon about the mercy of the Seven. Do you even know that the old lord is dead? Robert Raylan, died without issue or so they say. Guess that means the keep's up for the taking"

Lyria gave her a tired nod."Richard came by earlier. He already knew it from his daughter", she explained. "Besides, nobody could have missed the damn bells all morning long"

Rosalie smiled. "Oooh, you saw Richard earlier, huh? Is he courting you?", she said with a slightly mocking voice. Lyria looked at her with a mixture of annoyance and anger. Richard Harking had been a family friend for years. He was a decent man, hard-working and strong as well as a widower and father to a daughter in Rosalie's age. At the same time, he held great respect for her late husband, likely too much to ever even entertain such an indecent idea. Besides, she wasn't interested in a new relationship. Malcolm, her husband, had been her only love, at least until Rosalie was born. For years it was only the three of them. Until the Ironborn took him. For a moment, Lyria had to close her eyes. No, she wasn't interested in a relationship. And she highly doubted that this was Richard's intention.

Rosalie, completely misreading the situation as always, let out a bright laugh."Oh, you should have seen how your face just dropped, mother. Priceless! I'm just teasing you. Harking is too nice to go after a widow", she said and immediately her smile stopped as she realised what she just said. "Shit, I… mother, I didn't…."

Lyria knew she should have been angry at what her daughter just said, but she wasn't. She took a step forward and gave Rosalie a hug. "I miss father...", Rosalie said and Lyria could see tears in her daughter's eyes. She herself did not cry. She was unable to cry with other people around. Not even with Rosalie. "Shh Rosie. I miss him too...", she mumbled.

Rosalie calmed down quickly. That girl couldn't stay sad for long. "Have you been here the whole day?", she asked. When Lyria nodded, Rosalie put up a shocked face. "Mother have mercy, you need to get out of this blasted house for once. We will go to the market square right now!"

With these words she grabbed her mothers hand and pulled her out of the forge. Lyria did not resist. She knew Rosalie was right. She had to get out sometimes.There was much work to do still, but Wolfius had left them a generous amount of coin, enough for her to justify closing shop early today. And she could use some distraction for once. Maybe it was time to meet new people. Rosalie came after her father in these regards, as she did in most things. It was easy for her to make new friends, whereas Lyria struggled with such connections. Aside from an old widow who lived down the street and occasionally Richard Harking there were no friends in her life to speak of. And Richard had his farm to tend to, so he was rarely around in the city.

They walked down the small road from the forge, down to the market square, a central point in the city. From there it was only a short walk to the sept and an even shorter one to the docks. Raylansfairs largest tavern, 'The Tapping Pony' was located there, as well as several stores. A cobbled street led up to the hill upon which the castle of Raylansfair was located, the keep and last line of defence against the Ironborn incursions that sometimes got past the Shield Islands. It had been a small blessing to the people here that Harren Hoare spent more and more resources in his war against the Rock, for ever since the Ironborn incursions had gotten less. The last of them happened six years ago…

Before long, they reached the market square of Raylansfair, one of the finer parts of the city. It was always well-populated, especially during these hours, but today it was downright crowded, perhaps a result of the ill news that had spread from the keep. It did not take long until Rosalie saw familiar faces in the crowd, a group of her friends. With a benign smile, Lyria allowed her to let go of her arm and the girl vanished in the crowd, leaving her alone once again. But while few of these people were friends of hers, Lyria knew many. She was their blacksmith after all. As such, she looked around for a familiar face…

Briefly, in the crowd, she spotted dirty blonde hair, pallid skin, dead eyes, staring at her, vanishing into the crowd just as she had seen him. Or at least thought she had seen him. Lyria tensed up, realising that her encounter with this odd little man had shaken her more than expected.

In this moment, she felt a hand on her shoulder and nearly flinched. As she turned around, her surprise quickly gave way to relief as she noticed one of the few people she was actually happy to spend time with, Richard Harking in the flesh. He was a somewhat ragged man with unkempt brown hair and plain, practical clothes. In contrast, his beard was always neatly combed. He had a friendly smile on his face and though she knew him stern and determined, he smiled often when in company. "Seven Hells, Richard, you want to scare me to death?", she scolded him, but a smile found its way onto her face.

"I almost did not recognize you outside of your forge, Lyria! It is good for you to get some sunlight for once", Richard replied, his voice deep and firm. "Must have been one hell of a day for you to take a break before noon"

"Guess you can say so…", Lyria sighed. "Rosie convinced me, but she didn't have to try hard" She shook her head, but before she could tell him anything else, Wolfius' warning rang through her head. She should not tell anyone. For now, much as this odd encounter had shaken her, this was what she would do. Wolfius had not actually harmed anyone, so she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now.

"Did anything happen?", Richard asked. "You do seem a bit shaken" He had always been a good listener, a friend to herself and to her late husband, even to Rosalie in his own way. And yet, she had seen him angry once, only once, had seen how viciously he protected those he cared for. Wolfius had not done anything, not yet. She did not want to worry Richard with such nonsense.

"It's nothing", she replied and her smile returned, albeit by force. "It is good to get out of the forge for once and today's as good a day as any. Care for a stroll, friend?" She offered him one arm and he took it gallantly. "Besides, how is Jenna doing? The recent events must have been hard on her, the poor thing", she added, casually moving away the conversation from the unpleasantness that had brought her here to begin with.

And yet, as she and Richard began to stroll over the square, Lyria could not shake off the feeling that someone kept watching her….

To be continued

Lucas

Accompanied by Leonard, Lucas descended down the stairs. It was an odd alliance he found himself in, side by side with a man he never got along with. Leonard was not the worst company he ever had, but the knight's sharp tongue did him no favours. From the moment they had met, there had been a certain animosity and Lucas suspected that his half-brother's lies had something to do with it. Until today, he never would have thought that they'd ever work together and yet here they were.

The two knights stopped when they arrived on the second floor. Decades ago, this floor contained the chambers for the maester, the master-at-arms and the castellan. But for many years, Harris had been the only one who preferred to have his chambers in this tomb of a tower, with even the ailing Maester Eaton having moved to a smaller chamber in the main keep. His door was closed, but as one swift check of the handle proved, unlocked. Leonard positioned himself next to the door, his expression stern. "Good luck in there, Flowers", he growled. "If you need to stay in the chamber, I'm going to knock on the door once. If it is safe to come out, I'm going to knock again, you got that?"

"Got it. And Leonard... don't make me regret this!", Lucas answered before entering the chamber. He had never been to Harris' chamber before and had been unsure what to expect. The castellan was obviously a very orderly person and his chamber was surprisingly modest. Immediately to his right, there was a small fireplace, while to his left stood Harris' small bed, behind it a large shelf full of books and scrolls. Besides that, the room contained a wardrobe, a small table and a chest. Lucas immediately started to have a look around. The fireplace was dark and cold and the bed was oddly untidy, which made sense, given that Harris had likely found no sleep last night.

At first he took a closer look at the table. An empty glass was located there, next to a bottle of wine, half empty. A map of the larger area around Raylansfair was spread across the rest of the table. Several locations had been marked. Lucas had put in some effort into getting to know the area and as such he recognized a couple of spots, There was the old mill east of Raylansfair, a building that had been abandoned about fifty years ago, and Tomard's Tower, a ruined guard tower located at the western coast, that had been destroyed by the Ironborn about a hundred years ago. Why would Harris mark these on a map?

The chest attracted Lucas' attention next. He reached down to open it, only to find it locked. Of course it was locked. And Lucas would definitely not waste any time in searching for the key. Harris was not the type of man to leave his keys lying around for everyone to find.

Instead, Lucas started to look at the bookshelf. Truly important documents were likely to be located inside the chest, but maybe the shelf contained at least something of value for his investigation. He quickly looked over the titles. Maester Tygett's complete history of Reach. Maester Hollens' description of Valyrian war strategies. A short essay about the religions of Volantis. A travelogue about a journey to a place called Qarth written by a Pentoshi scholar. On a good day, Lucas would have asked the castellan to borrow one or two of those books, but right now one were of interest to him.

Lucas looked down in frustration, his fists clenched as he realised the problems this could cause. He just burgled his way into a knights chamber, on Leonard's word alone. He should have followed Dairon hours ago. Now the boy could be anywhere in the South... Except... Lucas remembered that Dairon once mentioned that he had family in Oldtown. Maybe he was seeking refuge with them. Or maybe he was fleeing back to the Citadel. Even if he just wanted to go into hiding, the winding streets of Oldtown would be his best bet.

Just as he was about to leave, he turned around again. This time, he spotted something. A small, crumpled sheet of paper, lying under the bed, as if somebody had read it, before tossing it away with no time to properly dispose of it yet. He walked towards the bed, reached down and grabbed it. Yes, this was definitely a sheet of parchment from Lord Robert's chambers, he recognized the material from the scattered papers in the lord's chamber. Obviously, Harris had a similar idea. The paper was already traced. It was a letter from Lord Raylan, written by Maester Eaton. Lucas recognized the small, tidy handwriting. Addressed to Manfred Hightower, Lord of Oldtown.

Lucas started to read... His eyes widened as he realized what he was reading. "No... No this can not be...", he mumbled in shock. This was impossible! Why would his lord ever write this? Now it made sense to him that Harris would hide this. But did that mean that he was behind the assassination of Lord Raylan and Maester Eaton? Harris was a man who would do anything to keep the house safe. This last wish was a danger to Raylansfair unlike anything he had ever imagined. But would the castellan stoop so low as to kill to protect the city? Lucas sighed. This actually raised more questions than it answered. He had to show this to someone. Someone with influence in the castle. Someone who was not Harris, because with this he had just gained a motive. As far as Lucas was concerned, Harris was now a suspect. Most importantly, he needed to show this to someone who could stop the lord's last wish and there was only one man left in the keep whom he was willing to trust with this.

With trembling hands Lucas stepped out of the chamber, only to be greeted by Leonard Constantine. "What have you found, Flowers? You look... distraught...", the other knight remarked as soon as Lucas stepped out of the chamber.

"I'll tell you later, Leonard…", Lucas mumbled, his tone betraying how nervous he felt right now. By the gods, in the wrong hands this could be the end of the house he had grown to love. "I need to show this to Ser Ilhan..."

Leonard shot him a brief, amused smirk. "You actually want to speak with the Impaler? That bad, huh?", he remarked, but his smirk faded the moment he saw how dead serious Lucas was. "Well, I'm not stopping you. In fact, I'm going to accompany you to Ser Ilhan. And then you can tell us both what you have found there. I think you owe me that much!"

Lucas shrugged. "Do I? I don't think I owe you, but you can accompany me. I am not in the mood to fight you now...", he said and for a moment he was surprised how bleak his voice sounded. Leonard seemed to notice that too and thankfully remained quiet, simply following Lucas out of the tower.

Ser Ilhan. He had to show this to Ser Ilhan. House Raylan never had many knights sworn to its name. Currently there were about five knights in service to House Raylan and about a hundred permanent men-at-arms. In times of war, House Raylan could raise an army of almost a thousand men from the smallfolk. Training them and keeping the men-at-arms in shape was the duty of Ser Ilhan Lagoon, a Dornishman and veteran of countless battles, who had somehow found his calling at the court of a Reachlord. He was a brave man and even more important, he was fiercely loyal and no friend to Harris Flowers. Unfortunately, he was also deeply unpleasant company. His cruel and merciless drill had turned away many promising recruits and Lucas himself wore bruises from his sparring matches against the brutal master-at-arms. Countless slain foes in past wars have earned him the moniker 'The Impaler' and he wore it with pride. And yet, he was loyal and Lucas would trust him with his life. After the departure of Ser Darren Tallwood, who had left the court with Lord Robert's approval just a few months ago, Ilhan was the only other knight left in Raylansfair and the only one Lucas could trust with this.

Finding Ser Ilhan was not difficult. As always around noon, he stood on the courtyard, supervising a group of new guards, half a dozen of them having gathered in front of him. He was about forty years old and an impressive sight, one of the tallest men Lucas knew, with the olive skin of a salty dornishman and a completely hairless head. Though the spear was his favoured weapon, he was armed with a wooden training sword right now and shouting orders at a hapless young guard. "Not like this, you filthy maggot!", he roared. "You call that a strike? Do you know what happens if you try to strike an enemy like this?"

Right after these he attacked the boy with a swift and fierce strike to the head, which knocked his opponent to the ground. The boy was wincing in pain and clearly bleeding, but Ilhan delivered two more strong blows to his back. "Try this in actual combat and you'll die if your enemy is even a little bit smarter than you! And I can assure you, there are a lot of people smarter than you!", Ilhan shouted, before looking at his group of intimidated recruits. "Next one! Come on, attack me! Land one blow on me, I dare you! Show me that you're worth more than this boy!"

"Ser Ilhan!", Lucas called the Master-at-arms, putting an end to this display before one of his poor recruits could even think of attacking the Impale. Ilhan turned around, his hard gaze softening only slightly as he spotted the two knights. "Ser Lucas, Ser Leonard! I am quite busy with these worthless new recruits! Make it quick!", he shouted over the courtyard.

Lucas and Leonard quickly came closer and Ilhan lowered his sword, his gaze briefly falling onto the injured recruit. "Alright maggots, you get a short break. Somebody should get this one to the mae.... Ah shit, just get him some water, clean his wound, that has to be suffice" He then turned his attention to Lucas and Leonard. "I hope you interrupt my training session for good reason", he said with a grunt.

"We are sorry for that, Ser Ilhan. I can assure you, this is something you want to know!", Lucas spoke. "I… have found something. Something of great importance. You must…" Before he could continue, with his hand still clenched around the paper in the pocket of his coat, he heard another voice calling out for them.

"Lucas! There you are, boy. I thought you wanted to investigate the lord's chambers!", Harris shouted from the distance. Seven Hells! Leonard grabbed Lucas by the shoulder. "You should have seen how your face just dropped, Flowers. If he takes note of it, we're in trouble", he whispered "So leave the talking to me… Both turned to Harris, who approached them from the great hall.

Ilhan muttered something unintelligible and gave the boys a glare, but took a short, stiff bow in front of Harris. "Your acting Lordship...", he said, his voice as venomous as the blades of his people. "This training session is becoming decidedly too crowded for me" He and Harris were bitter rivals, stemming from the time where Harris managed to defeat and humiliate Ilhan in front of a group of recruits during a training session.

In return, Harris gave him only the faintest of nods. "Impaler", he growled. "Still torturing our finest, aren't you? I told you to go easy on them. We need men who want to fight for this city because they love it, not because they fear you"

Ilhan crossed his arms, ready to reply with sharpness, but this time, Leonard interjected. "Greetings, Ser Harris", the other knight bega, before taking a graceful bow. "It is good that you are here, for I must tell you something of great importance" Lucas took a sharp breath as he realised how easy it would be for Leonard to turn on him right now, to ingratiate himself with the acting lord.

Harris gave him a slightly surprised look, thankfully not noticing Lucas' uncomfortable expression. "I am surprised to see you here, Ser Leonard?", he greeted him. "Your orders were to guard the lord's chambers"

Leonard nodded. "I did just that until Ser Lucas arrived to have a look through them… with your approval, as I have heard", he began and Lucas tensed up. Briefly, the other knight caught his gaze and an amused smirk flashed over his face. "I have come to a decision. I see it as my duty to do whatever I can in uncovering the truth behind the deaths of Lord Raylan and Maester Eaton. As such, once Flowers followers after Dairon I want to accompany him"

Lucas gave him a short, surprised look, but his uneasiness left him in an instant as he realised that Leonard just ignored an opportunity to turn on him. But why would he want to come with him? It would undoubtedly be a long journey and neither considered the other pleasant company. If it were up to him alone, Lucas would have left on his own.

Ser Ilhan scoffed. "If you'll excuse me, I really need to get back to turning maggots into men", he hissed. "You boys interrupted me, told me there's something bloody important you need to tell me. So, what was it?" He looked at the two knights and so did Harris, who crossed his arms, one eyebrow raised. Lucas hesitated. Usually he considered himself quick of wit, but he was a man of honour, not a born liar. Coming up with something on the spot to avoid revealing his suspicions towards Harris in front of the man himself proved harder than it first seemed.

Again it was Leonard who came to the rescue. "We wanted to get in on the sparring", he spoke and his tone was positively disarming, enough for Harris' expression to soften immediately. "Ser Lucas was hoping you could show him a few new tricks with the sword, maybe a quick duel. It could be dangerous on the road south and we wanted to make sure that we're ready"

For the first time in what seemed to be ages, Ilhans face lit up. "A sparring? Lucas, you little shit, why didn't you tell me immediately? Those tricks you learned in Essos, they could be valuable for my recruits!", he said while patting Lucas on the back. Lucas barely suppressed a baffled expression, but he shot Leonard a grim glare. The other man met his stare and smirked with infuriating smugness.

For what it was worth, Harris calmed down and even got a good chuckle out of this. "Now that could be quite educational. I think I'll be watching you. But after that, you really need to get going!", he stated. "And I mean it, no more wasting time" He gave Leonard a nod. "Ser Leonard, I approve of your request. Saddle the horses, I'll have a servant pack your belongings, enough for two weeks on the road"

Leonard took another bow in front of the knight. "As you command, mylord", he confirmed. With these words, he reached down and picked up a wooden training sword, the one Ilhan's recruit had dropped earlier. With a shit-eating grin on his face, he handed it over to Lucas, hilt first. "And here's one for you, Flowers. Good luck. A few more rounds with Ser Ilhan will surely do you well"

As he left, Lucas took a deep breath to calm his anger. While Leonard was obviously getting a twisted glee from having pitted him against the Impaler, he had to compliment his sharpness. Now, uncomfortable as this sparring session would be, he had an opportunity to tell the master-at-arms, if not for Harris who had remained nearby. But the moment the acting lord could excuse himself, Lucas would share his suspicions with the dornishman.

Ser Ilhan flashed him a blood-thirsty grin. "Good lad, Flowers. You're brave, I like that", he growled as he pointed the wooden sword at the knight. "Now, shall we begin?"

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · Apr 21, 2024

Marak

With a boisterous grin, Marak slammed his mug on the table, while eyeing the barmaid. "More ale, wench!", he yelled, his voice easily carrying over the noise of several dozen drunken men. The barmaid, a voluptuous blonde, probably one or two years younger than him, looked over and gave him a wink, before turning to the innkeeper. Marak leant back and began to count. That was his seventh, no eighth mug of ale. Together with the room he had rented for the night... Seven Hells! Much to his dismay, Marak just realised he could only afford two more mugs, maybe three if he got lucky with the dice. At least he was certain that today was his lucky day. He looked over and eyed his opponent, one of the local farmers, a short man with a nasty look on his face.

"Your move", his opponent stated. Marak gave him a devious grin. The stupid farmer hadn't even noticed that the dice were biased. He threw them again. The dice showed a five and a six and Marak's grin widened. The farmer muttered a curse and took the dice. They had been quite expensive in Storm's End, appearing completely ordinary until thrown in a certain way. The craftsman, a slimy man from Myr, even called them fool-proof. And Marak knew he was no fool.

"Mother's saggy tits", his opponent cussed. The dice showed a four and a two. The farmer looked at Marak and his glare alone could have been enough to make Maraks evening. But he intended to end it several pennies richer and with the barmaid in his bed. "Six", the farmer exclaimed, quite unnecessarily. At that moment, the barmaid came back, a full mug of ale in her hand.

Marak's grin grew more lecherous as he alternated between ogling her and the ale she carried with her. "He's paying, honey", he said and the barmaid gave him a bright and beautiful smile in return.

His opponent threw his hands in the air. "Seven Hells, what is your secret, Ironborn?", he asked, with barely constrained frustration. Nonetheless, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper coin, which he pushed into the barmaid's hand.

"It's the scars. And the beard... Face it mate, I'm more handsome than you", Marak said, while giving the barmaid a light smack on the butt. She let out a surprised squeal, but he was certain she enjoyed it. No woman could resist Marak's charm in the end!

"What? What are you... Damn you Ironborn, that was not what I meant", the farmer exclaimed, his tone angrier than before, not that his opinion mattered. "Nobody can be that lucky!"

Marak shrugged and drank a deep gulp from his jug before answering. "Today is just my lucky day I guess", he chuckled in a merry tone. Too late did he notice that his opponent's face had turned slightly red.

"Bullshit! Fuck this game, fuck your lucky day and fuck you, you cheating son of a whore!", the farmer exclaimed and before Marak could react, the man had grabbed the dice off the table.

Marak put his beer down and felt the anger growing inside of him "What did you call me?", he asked, calmer than usual, his fists already itching for a good fight. He had been drinking this entire evening and he was ready for proper entertainment.

The farmer met his gaze with equal fury. "Oh, you understood me very well the first time. I called you a cheating son of an Ironborn whore!" He almost screamed the last words and the men on the surrounding tables got silent.

Marak gently stroked his red beard. "You have three seconds to give me back my dice and leave this tavern", he growled. "Or else I'm going to split your skull and piss on your brain, you Stormlander scum!"

As he looked to his left, he realised that he just said something very, very stupid. "You just called him Stormlander scum?", one of the other men said, a hulking giant of a man. A hulking giant of a Stormlander scum in a Stormlander tavern.

The farmer grinned as he saw unexpected allies. "You want your dice back, you fucking cheat? First you better give me my copper back!", he exclaimed while throwing the dice across the room and, according to the startled shouts, right into someone's beer.

"Who was that!", someone screamed. The farmer grinned as Marak stood up. The giant on the table next to him stood up too and the Ironborn realised that the other man was almost as tall as he himself was. Few people were, but they bred them differently here in the Marches.

Just then, the door got pushed open and for a second, the sound of rainfall outside drowned out all hostilities, as Marak and his would-be opponents glanced at the newcomer. It was a figure clad in a thin red dress, too thin for this chilly night. When she removed the hood, Marak realised she was a woman, beautiful and exotic, with olive skin and long hair of an oddly dark red colour. Immediately, his grin returned. Screw the tavern wench! The lady in red was his new goal for the night. And what a goal she was! The Ironborn licked his lips while the woman looked over the tavern guests, her gaze briefly finding his. He had to impress her somehow. Maybe if he…

The punch caught him off-guard while he was drooling over the woman and almost sent him to the ground. His opponent, the huge Stormlander scum, had made the first move and was preparing for another. This time, Marak saw it coming and hit first. He managed to hit his opponent in the stomach, followed by another hit to the chin that sent the man to the ground.

A quick glance to the door showed him that the lady in red now had her attention directly on him. Surely she was impressed by what a fine specimen he was! Then, three men stood up two tables over, glaring at him in anger. The farmer he played dice against also got up from his chair. "The Ironborn cheated. He stole my money!", he screamed. And then seven hells broke loose.

Marak kicked the first of his opponents in the groin but received a nasty blow to the chin for his troubles. Another man got a little bit too cocky and grabbed a chair, only for Marak to effortlessly pull it out of his hands and deliver a quick punch to the face. Just as he was about to beat another man, he took a heavy kick in the back enough for him to stumble forwards. The farmer was there and while Marak still struggled to regain his footing, the small man delivered a brutal kick right between Marak's legs. Tears welled up in the Ironborn's eyes. Cursing the drowned god, he went down, clutching his groin in agony.

"Stop it!, an odd, melodic voice intoned, as the four men around him began kicking him. "I told you to stop it!" But they did not stop as over and over again, the men stomped at him, until finally one of them got his head and darkness overcame the Ironborn.

Marak awoke with a thumping headache. The taste of blood lingered on his tongue and he felt sore all over. He blinked, letting out a groan as he reached for his face, feeling the swollen bruise on his cheek. But the street he found himself in seemed familiar. He was alive, it was still night and he was still in Blackhaven, the stinkiest village in the Stormlands. He was lying on the street, his back hurt like hell, he was covered in bruises. Nothing out of the ordinary. But he could move his feet, which was a good thing. With a loud moan he got onto all fours, then onto his knees. No, nothing broken, nothing sprained. He had lost his dice and his coin, but at least he still got his... "Shit!", he screamed. His axe was gone. He bought the axe the last time he was in Pyke. It was a piece of home. The last piece of home he still had.

A sudden move in the corner of his eye startled him. The lady in red stepped out of the darkness and into the moonlight. In her hands, she held his axe, a weapon way too large for her delicate frame. It looked quite ridiculous. And undeniably hot. With relief Marak noticed that the kick in his crotch hadn't caused permanent damage.

"It appears you lost something, tough guy", the woman said, while examining his axe. Her voice was sweet as honey and strangely melodic. "This is a fine weapon, one tried and tested in combat"

Marak struggled back onto his feet, towering over her as he took one step towards her. "And it appears you found it for me, sweet lady", he grinned. The moment he reached for the axe, the woman took a step backwards.

She perked her eyebrows. "Found it? For you? No, you're mistaken in both cases" Her voice had a slightly mocking tone and Marak noticed an accent. That lady was clearly from one of the free cities. Pentosh? Qohor? By the drowned God, he hoped not. Qohorik girls were all crazy and not in a good way. Braavos. Yes, that accent sounded faintly Braavosi.

"Are you a Braavosi girl? Can't quite place that accent", he spoke, trying to get her to lower her guard. He grinned as he thought about the last Braavosi girl he had. Braavosi girls were great, albeit that one girl from Lys had been even better, more flexible where it mattered.

The lady in red caught him staring at her body and gave him a sharp glare. "Eyes up here...", she ordered and to his own surprise, Marak found himself following this order. There was something about her tone that made it clear to him he should better obey. "My name is Noelle of Braavos", she introduced herself and raised an eyebrow "Originally from Asshai, to satisfy your curiosity"

Marak took a step backward and held his breath, cursing the moment he laid eyes upon this woman. Asshai. That was not good. "You're a witch!", he exclaimed. He had heard all kinds of stories from Asshai-by-the-shadow, even spoke to some men who had claimed that they had visited it once. All of the tales had painted it as a place he never wanted to visit and its people as those he never wanted to meet, no matter how hot they were.

The lady in red seemed slightly disappointed by his reaction. "I am as much a witch as you are not a savage drunkard", she explained. "Behold, brute, for I serve the one true god!" While she spoke these words, she had a delighted expression in her green eyes

Marak looked at her, now visibly confused. "You serve the Drowned God?", he uttered. The drowned priests he knew were all zealous, older men, quite mad as well. Though he gave lip service to the Drowned God, he was no praying man and he did not like the direction this conversation was heading.

Noelle snorted with frustration, but he spotted a hint of amusement in her voice as well. "I'm talking about the Lord of Light, you oaf", she explained. He gave her a confused look and she sighed. "His name is R'hllor. The one true god. He who gave us life. He who gave us warmth. He who gave us fire" She raised the axe. "And he who owns your axe...", she added with a slight smile.

Marak sighed, as he took another step towards her. He was tired, injured and broke and he would not entertain a madwoman, no matter how good she looked in this moonlight. "Listen lady, I don't know of any gods named Roller...", he began

"R'hllor!", Noelle corrected him with a slight hiss. His words seemed to have hit a sore spot, for she was genuinely displeased for a second, but Marak did not care in the slightest.

The Ironborn rolled his eyes. "Whatever his name is... Listen lady, could you just give me my property back?", he asked, now slightly irritated. Whoever this Lord of Light was, this Noelle lady was definitely a maniac. The last person he had seen with a look like this had indeed been a Drowned Priest.

Noelle let out a mocking laugh. "Your property?", she exclaimed. "These peasants from the tavern, the ones that beat you senseless, they took it as payment. I bought it from them, so it is mine by right. And everything that is mine belongs to Him"

As Marak took a step forward to simply take the axe, Noelle did something he did not expect. She handed him the axe. He grabbed it, but she still kept her hands around the hilt
"If you take this weapon, you will work for me. You had ten men against you and managed to send four of them to the ground before you got overpowered. The Lord of Light has a need for men like you", she said.

"Has he? Well tell your lord he has an excellent taste, but unless he's a buxom wench, he's really not my type", Marak scoffed, before he had to gulp under her intense glare. The look this priestess had just given him… something about it scared him.

"You are a mercenary, aren't you? Then I am hiring you. You will get your axe back, a chance to repay your debts to me and you will get an additional reward", she said with a voice as cold as ice. "Remember, I could have left you here in the gutter. I stayed, because I want to give you a chance"

Marak let out a sigh, but this time he knew he had no real choice. He would work for this woman, but for a reward and not just because she was still just barely his kind of crazy. "Fine, mylady... I will work for you and your Rollmop", he confirmed. " What do you want me to do?"

Noelle's expression was stony, for some reason, but then she forced herself to give him a slight smile. "Have you ever heard of a city named Raylansfair?", she asked. "Because that's where we're needed"

Marak thought hard about it. Raylansfair… no, that did not ring a bell with him. "Can't say so. Is that a Vale city? I never had a girl from the Vale, so I don't know much about…", he began.

Noelle interrupted him with a wide smile on her face. "It is in the Reach. We live in great times, brute. The lord has shown me a vision in the flames", she began and just by her tone, he knew she was about to preach. "His Chosen One will soon arrive in this heathen kingdom and he will take what is rightfully his, with Fire and Blood. And I shall be..."

This time, Marak interrupted her. "Whatever... Listen, I don't need all the details. I don't need to know about chosen ones, albeit the part with the fire and blood sounded cosy", he was quick to say. "Just tell me what I need to do..." He spoke the last part a bit slower, to make sure this crazy lady understood.

Noelle stopped, quite baffled at his rudeness. "I need to get to Raylansfair. It can be dangerous to go alone, for the night is dark and full of terrors…", she explained to him. "I also need muscle to help me with my duty. That's where you'll come in"

Marak thought about that for a moment. Working for an insane lady who worshipped a Rollmop... eh, he had done worse. She did give him his axe back. And Seven Hells, she was hot! "Lady Noelle, I accept your offer! I will do what you command... anything you command, if you get what I mean", he intoned "But you mentioned... a certain reward. Well, rest assured, dear priestess, I already have something in mind..." With this last words he gave her a suggestive smile.

She did not smile back. "I am not a whore and I will not sleep with you", she clarified, to his unending disappointment. "You can choose between two rewards. One would be money, the reward of a thug, the kind you've fought for all our life. But I could also give you the wise man's reward. I could show you the truth..." With these last words, the strange look in her eyes returned.

Marak gulped. Gold or the truth? He liked gold. But the way the priestess said this, it sounded like she would be disappointed in this choice. Maybe he still had a chance if only he took the less lucrative option for once. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. "This truth... what would it be?", he asked.

Noelle gave him an approving look. "The Lord of Light has given us many gifts, but the most valuable is fire, the essence of R'hllor", she explained. "You will look into the fire under my guidance and the fire will look into you. And if the Lord of Light deems you worthy, you will see something"

Marak looked at her, quite confused. This was not a real explanation. "So my payment for being your bodyguard from here to Reach is that I get to look into a little campfire?" That was not impressive, not at all. Maybe he should have just taken the gold, or even better, maybe he should have minded his own business and not gotten involved in any way with this priestess and her rollmop. But it was a bit too late for that. By now, Marak had given her his word and it would be bad for his reputation if he were to go back on it now.

Noelle seemed to be indignant by these words. "You make it seem like everyone could do this. I assure you, it is an art which even among my people few ever truly master", she said, her voice sounding slightly offended. "Do you want to see the truth or not?"

Marak shrugged. Now, if she was offering he wouldn't decline. On the other hand, the small possibility that she could try to curse him was still slightly repelling him. He took a deep breath. He had iron in his blood and blood on his hands. He would not back out of this. He was definitely not scared by a single woman. "Show me the truth, Lady Noelle!", he exclaimed.

The Red Priestess gave him a pleased smile. "This will be interesting, for both of us. I'm not sure what you will see. If you even see something. The Red God favours only a few. There are days where even I don't see his ways", she explained. Now that was certainly encouraging!

She turned around."Come with me, tough guy!", she commanded him and Marak followed her, like a trained dog. Blackhaven wasn't a large village, even though the marcher lords of House Dondarrion had their seat there, in the dark keep atop the hill. But she led him deeper into the village instead.

It did not take long until Noelle reached a small house, a dark and abandoned building with a leaky roof and a half-open door. "This is where I stay for the night", she explained.

Marak let out a small chuckle. "You sleep in that house all on your own? Aren't you afraid of bandits or worse?", he asked. "Seriously, what if I am the most dangerous man you have ever met?"

Noelle raised an eyebrow and looked at him, slightly surprised. "I always forget that I am not in Braavos anymore. It is true that the night is dark and full of terror, but they who walk with the Lord of Light shall fear no darkness", she explained. "Besides... dealing with these things is part of your job now, isn't it?", she added with a slight smile. "I trust that you won't try anything indecent"

Without another word, she entered the house, Marak right behind her. The Ironborn was slightly surprised that the abandoned house was actually neatly illuminated once he stepped inside. The windows were darkened, but Noelle had put many candles inside. A small brazier was located on a table in the centre of the room, warming this run-down building quite pleasantly.

"I need you to sit in front of the brazier. Just relax. You don't have to fear the fire. Only ever fear the cold", Noelle said before grabbing a bottle from the table. She poured its content, an oily fluid, into the brazier. Marak gulped. He had never experienced witchcraft before, but that surely felt like it. Nonetheless, he did as he was told and sat down in front of the brazier. The flames were warm and gentle, almost inviting and the light they cast upon the room was oddly comforting.

Noelle walked behind him and when he felt something on his back, he noticed that she had knelt down directly behind him and grabbed him by the shoulder. He could feel her warmth. By the drowned god, it was a cold night and she was only wearing this thin dress. She shouldn't be warmer than him, but somehow she was hot to the touch! The whole situation was a bit uncomfortable for Marak, who hadn't ever been that close to a woman without trying to kill her or fuck her or the former after the latter.

"I told you to relax...", she softly whispered in his ear. And in this moment, Marak wanted to do nothing more than to relax. It should have been easy. The candle light was nice. It was warm. And Noelle could have certainly been pleasant company, if it weren't for her crazy talks and the fact that something was very off-putting about her.

She began to whisper something, strange words he did not recognize. Was that the language of the Asshai'i? It sounded oddly relaxing. He saw one of her hands moving into his field of sight, throwing something into the brazier.

A darting flame shot up to the ceiling, almost scorching Maraks beard and in this moment he understood what Noelle was saying. "Look into the flames, Marak", she whispered. And he looked. At first he saw nothing, but bright flames, brighter and sharper than before, all warmth gone from them. Noelle began to speak in Asshai'i again, a melodic, almost singing sound.

Marak looked deeper into the flames, until his eyes hurt and until he saw black shadows dancing in the corner of his eyes. And then he saw…

...Fire...

...a field of flowers, some bright and beautiful, some black and twisted, a swarm of black and orange butterflies flying over them, destroying them, leaving only the rotten ones behind...
...a red lion fighting a serpent at rainfall, the lion wounding the serpent, the serpent wounding the lion "Your line ends today!", screams the serpent and plungs its teeth into the lion...
...a winged woman on a yellow mountain, holding a golden whip, screaming for vengeance...
...lions and stags and squids and falcons fighting over a golden book, tearing it asunder, burning it to the ground...
...a man wearing a bloody black crown, crying over four dead bodies, watching the sunrise...
...a silver-haired man standing next to a winged shadow, the shadow spitting fire and burning, burning, burning everything...
...an endless wasteland, two armies fighting, a silver sun moving across the sky burning everything in its path, one of the seven hells itself, until the silver sun falls from the sky and leaves only ruins and dead bodies, everything fallen...
...everything falls, everything breaks, castles breaking, smallfolk breaking, dragons breaking, crowned men breaking, a broken man on a throne of swords, everything consumed by the fire, an old king with a mad gaze, burning them all, mauled by a lion, but still everything burns, consumed by fire, red fire, green fire
...and finally he saw himself, standing aboard of his ship, only days after he had drowned his father. He had felt good in these days. He was a captain, a feared raider and finally free from the man who had tormented him all his life. And he was boozy like he had never been before. Yes, he had murdered his father for a ship. And he felt no regret, at least not in this moment, not in this stormy night, for that man had it coming. Life was simple, life was good. Except... His brother... he knew the truth...
...Marak saw himself getting pushed overboard, in his drunken rage he grabbed his brother and dragged him off with him. Marak saw himself, how he pushed his brother under the water, to keep afloat himself, but also in a murdering fit of rage…

...Rage…

...and he flipped around, grabbing the Red Priestess by the neck with his left hand and starting to choke her. "What have you done to me?", he screamed at the top of his lungs, tears of rage flowing down his face. He did not want to think about that, about the terrible things he had seen, he did not want to relive these memories. He wasn't ashamed of what he had done and he did not want to be ashamed. But she… she had made him remember!

Noelle gasped and wheezed and winced, while Marak was choking her, choking the life out of her sorry throat. Yes, now he was in his element. Killing was something he was good at. Breaking her, killing her, that was all he had ever been good at, that was all he would ever be, a brutal, merciless killer. This was his life and she would curse the moment she had stepped into it!

"What have you done!", he screamed again. She had bewitched him, she had cursed him, she made him see all this, these dreams of fire, these things he did not want to regret! He saw tears in her eyes, tears and an expression that surprised him so much that he loosened his grip on her neck. It was only a moment of hesitation, but it was enough for him to realise what he was doing. "Fuck!", he exclaimed, as he let go of her.

The priestess sank onto the ground, clutching her throat, as she coughed and wheezed and gasped for air, tears of exhaustion streaming down her face, her green gaze never once leaving his as he towered above her. And yet, for some reason she was not afraid. If anything, he had seen understanding in her eyes and pity. "I know you are confused, tough guy...", she started, but Marak interrupted her.

"It's Marak! Call me 'tough guy' one more time and I will break your fucking neck!", he roared and it was no empty threat. He looked at the brazier, still burning, but with ordinary flames now. It was over. The witch's curse was broken.

Noelle coughed. "What have you seen, Marak?", she asked. Her voice was hoarse and her face was almost as red as her robe. Still, Marak felt compassion and curiosity in her words. By all that was good in this world, why wasn't she afraid of him? Everybody was, they always had been afraid of him, the brute of Pyke.

"You know what I have seen. What you have made me see!", he said, but he did not have the strength to scream again. Instead he felt tears flowing down his face as he dropped to his knees in front of her, exhausted and tired. What had this woman done to him?

Noelle shook her head. "The Lord of Light showed you these things. I only helped you in recognizing them…", she explained to him. "And I have not been privy to the same vision. Tell me, what have you seen?"

Marak took a deep breath. "Dying people. Dead people. Flowers and Lions and Serpents. Dying kings. A broken king. And I saw fire. Fire, burning everything, destroying and breaking... I saw my past...", he said weakly.

To his surprise, Noelle gave him a weak, but sincere smile. "The Lord of Light has given you a gift, Marak", she spoke and her expression grew bewildered, but at the same time overjoyed despite her situation. "He has shown you the future. I was not expecting this, to be honest. Not from you. You need to tell me everything. It could be important"

Marak closed his eyes. He was confused. And he was angry. Never before had he felt such a need to break something, to destroy something, to kill something. To burn something.

He opened his eyes again. And started to tell her everything.

Lucas

"Come on Flowers, you haven't spoken in hours. Still mad about that?", Leonard said while looking at Lucas. Lucas sighed and rubbed his bruises. He had taken a good beating from Ser Ilhan after Leonard had tricked him into a sparring match. And even though they had only been fighting with training swords, Lucas was cluttered with bruises. Ser Ilhan had shown no restraint and he had enjoyed every moment of it. At least Lucas had managed to deliver a fierce blow to Ser Ilhans left arm. The master-at-arms' riposte had almost knocked him out though. The worst part however was that there had been no time to inform Ser Ilhan of what he had just found out. Harris had always watched them. And after the fight the acting lord had insisted that Lucas and Leonard would leave immediately and go after Dairon, with Ilhan himself excusing himself after thanking Lucas for a decent sparring match.

Somehow Lucas understood why Harris would hide the sheet of paper. Should Ser Ilhan or any other good and true man learn about this, they would try everything to fulfil Lord Robert's last wish. Ser Ilhan was loyal to the House, but always to the old lord first. Septon Corbin and Lady Halla did not care for the well-being of the house as long as they could keep their posts. Only Harris would put his personal feelings below his loyalty to House Raylan. A small part inside of Lucas understood him, even agreed with this particular decision.

But what about Maester Eaton? The old Maester had known their late lord the longest, even longer than Harris. Would he betray his friend like this? And would Harris be able to kill Eaton and Lord Robert? Lucas had always felt respect for Harris, but if the castellan was behind this, he could never forgive him. And the fact remained that he had the most to lose. He had motive and opportunity.

But first they had to find Dairon. Harris had given them the two fastest horses in Raylansfair and had urged them to move immediately. They had been riding the whole day, until nightfall, when they made a camp near the road. Leonard took care of the fire, while Lucas was resting his maltreated bones. He was torn. Harris had never been anything but a decent and respectable man. On top of that, Lucas was loyal to House Raylan and until a new Lord of Raylansfair would be chosen, likely by King Mern himself, Harris was the acting Lord of Raylansfair. But still... he had to find out what Harris did. How he was involved in all this.

"Hey Flowers! You hear me? Or are we into ignoring each other again?", Leonard exclaimed, leading Lucas to look up. Leonard gave him a slight smile "You know I had to do it, don't you? It seemed to be the right thing at that moment, to get Harris off our backs", he said.

Lucas shook his head. "I know. You did right. Still doesn't mean I'm not mad at you... Lenny", he sighed. He was not mad at Leonard, more annoyed and perhaps a tiny bit angry, but he could understand him.

Leonard gave him a short glare, but then let out a short laugh. "Ah, come on Flowers. And I was starting to think you might not be that bad after all", he spoke. "I gave you a good excuse when you needed one. Next time, you can speak for yourself"

"That's not it... I mean, yes I am pretty mad about that. The Impaler is a mean teacher", he said, while clutching a particularly bad bruise on his right shoulder. "And he enjoyed it as well, the chance to beat a knight instead of his green recruits"

Leonard gave him a really wicked smile. What a bastard! "If it's not that, then why are you so silent?", he asked and his smile faded ever so slightly. "Is everything alright, Flowers? Come on, we're in this together!"

Lucas closed his eyes. Now or never. Could he really trust Leonard? The other knight had proven himself to be a valuable ally. Without his help, he wouldn't have found the sheet. But could he trust him enough for such knowledge? What he had found wasn't meant to fall into the wrong hands. But whose hands were the wrong? Ser Harris would ignore the sheet, ignore Lord Raylans last will, perhaps even destroy it. Lord Hightower would gladly oblige. But what was the best cause of action here?

Then there was Dairon. The boy was a suspect in a murder case he most certainly had no hand in. He was on the run, they had found out that much. A farmer had seen him in the early morning hours, riding south like there was no tomorrow. A patrol had spoken to him and noticed the boy was suspiciously nervous. He had said that he needed to get to Oldtown. And it was very likely he had the sheet of paper with him, containing Lord Robert Raylans last wish. Lucas highly doubted that Dairon killed Maester Eaton. But what if Eaton told him something, something that cost him his life? Something that prompted Harris to call for a hunt on the poor boy? Or what if it was even worse? What if there was more than one person involved? Harris, maybe Lord Hightower, maybe even more…

And yet, telling nobody was beyond risky. Should anything happen to him, his knowledge would be lost and it would only be Dairon and Harris who knew the truth. He had to tell someone. And right now, Leonard was the only one available. He took a deep breath. If he was wrong about trusting Leonard, then was about to doom himself and doom Raylansfair with it. "It is about what I found in Harris' chambers...", he said.

Leonard looked up, visibly interested in this. "So now you're telling me? Why the sudden change of heart?", he asked. "Are we partners after all?"

Lucas shook his head. "I had no change of heart. I wanted to tell Ser Ilhan. But I won't speak to him for days, if not weeks. And should anything happen to me, he has to know. Someone else has to tell him", he answered and gave Leonard a stern look. "That someone will be you, if all goes wrong"

The other knight nodded in agreement. "You can trust me, Lucas. I swear it, to all of the gods, should something happen to you, I'll be the one to give your message to Ser Ilhan", he answered. Lucas thought about that for a moment. Leonard wasn't a man who gave promises like that easily. He was a skilled talker, but not a liar. In fact, Leonard had never once lied to him.

"I have found a traced sheet of paper in Harris' chamber. It was written by Maester Eaton, the night he and Lord Raylan had died", he finally started to explain and took out the sheet of paper from his pockets. "I'm going to read it to you, okay?" Leonard gave him a short nod. Lucas cleared his throat.

"To Lord Manfred Hightower, Lord of Oldtown,
So many years have passed since we last talked, my former friend. You wanted to buy the archive on behalf of your citadel. Once again. I rebuffed you. Once again. You got angry. I got angry. We both said things we shouldn't have. Once again. Let me make one thing clear: I will never forgive the things you said about Morna and Trystane. Our bond is broken. But I am dying, Manfred, and I am weak. Too weak to even write my own last will. The Faith told us to forgive our enemies before we die. So, that's what I will do. I will forgive what you said about me. And I hope that you can forgive what I said about you. I apologise on behalf of Trystane for humiliating you on Tarly's Tournament. I apologise on behalf of Morna, for mocking you on King Gardeners summer ball. I apologise, for my stupidity and my pride poisoned my heart. And in turn I wish that you will help me. My house has few friends, but many enemies. And not all of them have been civil such as you, more a rival than a true enemy. No, we have enemies, Manfred, ruthless and wicked beasts. I'm not just talking about the Ironborn here. I'm talking about the other Lords of the Reach. I'm talking about forces in your own city. People seeking to destroy not only my house, but the whole kingdom. I am not powerful enough to stop them. And House Raylan isn't powerful enough to defend itself against them. But you would be, Lord Hightower. And this is why I want to name you Lord of Raylansfair. I am the last Raylan, my line ends with me. I want you to take the blasted archive. Take it to the Citadel and keep it safe. Or even better, burn it to the ground. I should have done that years ago. There won't be a new Lord Raylan. I wish for my town nothing more but to stay beneath notice. I want House Raylan to be gone. My line has been dying for the last forty years. It is time it comes to an end. I am not asking for anything more, Manfred. Destroy House Raylan if you must, but keep my people safe"

Lucas looked at Leonard, who just sat there, in complete shock. "Manfred Hightower… would have ruined this city and our lord knew it", the other knight finally managed to stutter. "Why in all the Seven Hells did he want to destroy his own house?"

End of Chapter I: Dark Wings, Dark Words

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nz6gGewT9uE

Next time on Forum of Thrones:

"This is my choice, brother. This won't affect you, so stay out of it!", Torvin growled.

Garthon looked at him with cold rage and disappointment. "You say it won't affect me? Have you forgotten all the things I already had to do for you? In the end it is always me! It is always me, fixing the broken mess you caused with your damned pride! And you... you don't even care. You will kill the both of us and your girl and it won't even matter to you as long as you can restore our fucking honor!"

The Lion of Lannister looked at him with a stony face. "We need to hold Lord Raylan to the promise he gave us. We need his troops in the war to come!", he said with a stern face.

Willfred looked at the king in confusion. They were the knights of the Rock after all, proud and fearless and they would never bow to the Ironborn beasts. "Your grace, I don't understand. Is the war really so bad that we need the troops of such a small house?", he asked.

Loren sighed. "I'm afraid it is even worse...", he mumbled with a sorrowful expression on his face. "Let me tell you the truth, red lion"

"I'm glad you are here to help me, Ser Jaron. I must admit, I am in no way a good man. But there are people fighting over this city, fighting over this kingdom, who are far worse than anything you can imagine. My enemies and, if you consider yourself a true knight, yours as well'', the Burned Man whispered, still shivering from the pain. "For these people, no sacrifice is too much, no depravity too far to reach their goals. I despise bravery. It is the root of mankind's greatest griefs. But even I can't let my enemies win. I'm afraid it takes a brave man to stop them. Brave… such as the man you always wanted to be"

Richard looked over at the other table. The man was pallid, with bedraggled blonde hair and dead grey eyes. Richard had never seen him before. And he did not like the way this man was looking at the barmaid. Right at that moment, the stranger turned his head and looked at Richard, with a cold smile, a smile so bare of any emotion that the farmer shivered.

"Mylord Royce, this Raylansfair lies at the other end of Westeros. Is it really that important?", Maya asked, looking at her lord in disbelief.

Lord Royce let out a loud laugh, not a jovial one, but one full of mockery. "Sweet child, we couldn't care less for Raylansfair...", he said, while giving her his wicked smile. "Not for the city at least. But the Queen Regent has a need for its greatest treasure. For that which lies buried beneath in the archives, for that which will protect our borders and keep us safe for generations to come"

"Jaron the Bastard?", the tall man asked with a crude smile, while he was drawing his sword. Jaron turned around and saw two other men blocking the alleyway. "There has been some talk on the streets. People say you work for that burned cripple now... That was the wrong choice, bastard..."

Jenna stopped dead in her tracks. This was wrong. It would get her into trouble. But curiosity always got the better of her. She heard the two men arguing. Ser Ilhans voice was distinctive, too loud even in this secluded room. And... was that Ser Harris? Lord Harris, she corrected herself. He called himself a lord now, if only because no one was left to challenge him. "Who gave you the right to decide this on your own, Harris Flowers?", Ilhan shouted.

For a short moment there was silence, but then Jenna heard Harris speaking. "I am the acting lord, Ser Ilhan, so I alone decide", he growled. You will never speak to me like that again, do you understand? I am the Lord of Raylansfair, and this city is mine!"

Forum of Thrones, Act I, Chapter II: Broken Vows; Coming Soon!

LiquidChicagoTed · Apr 21, 2024

And with this, we have reached the end of Chapter 1 of Forum of Thrones! I hope you enjoyed the read so far, I greatly enjoyed the opportunity to revisit the oldest parts of my writing and improve them to the point where they are more up to date with my current writing and to share them with you all. Buckle up, because we are only getting started. Chapter 1 was by far the shortest chapter and even though my rewrite increased the length the others are still longer, some even far longer. Some of the main players of Book 1 have been introduced, some of the main storylines set up, but there is so much more to come and I can't wait to share it with you.

This chapter was originally structured a lot differently. In my rework I have not only added a handful of lines in each part that haven't been there in the original, I also rearranged the parts. You see, originally each PoV in this chapter had two parts and Lucas had four, each posted separately and with a choice at the end that allowed my readers to change the outcome of the story. Worry not, we'll be getting to that point as well, once the old and remastered parts have all been posted. For this remastered version I combined each PoV's parts where fitting, resulting in longer but less numerous parts.

Usually, I would use this opportunity to ask my readers a few questions. I don't know if I have the audience for these questions yet, I hope to build it up over time, but I will ask these questions regardless. If you enjoyed the story so far, let me know, because I am always interested in hearing your opinions, about the following questions:

Who were your favourite characters in Chapter 1?
Who were your least favourite characters in Chapter 1?
What has been your favourite moment in Chapter 1?
What are you looking forward for in Chapter 2 and beyond?
Was there anything you disliked?

As I said, answering those is completely optional. I always enjoy feedback but do not feel pressured into answering them if you don't have an opinion yet, I understand the story is just getting started. If you wish to let me know how you feel about certain aspects, scenes or characters, you can do so at any time. Or don't, the most important part here is that you enjoy what you're reading.

Now, let me tell you a little bit about the choices themselves! In the original version, posted in late 2014/early2015, I gave my readers choices to influence the story at the end of each part. For this remastered version, I slightly rewrote the parts so that the winning choice would organically be incorporated into the story itself. Let me give you an overview of the choices each PoV could have made:

Lucas had the most parts and the most choices, offering a very modular storyline where the readers could shape his investigation in great detail. At the end of his first part, originally including just the scene in the great hall, he could have decided where to investigate first, potentially missing his encounter with Leonard entirely. At the end of his second part, in Lord Robert's chambers, he could have decided to team up with Leonard and search through Harris' chambers or not. At the end of his third part, the one with Ser Ilhan, he could have decided to allow Leonard to come with him or not. As you can imagine, each of these choices would have resulted in a drastically different experience in Chapter 1 and especially beyond.

Torvin, our Ironborn PoV, had two choices regarding his alliance with Edmyn Tully, namely if he really wanted to go through with it after all. The readers overwhelmingly chose yes, so he decided to ally with Tully against his king, a crucial decision with far-reaching consequences in the chapters to come.

Jaron the Bastard had two choices regarding his approach to the Burned Man. First, he could have chosen simply not to follow Himani when meeting the urchin in the tavern, which would have delayed his meeting with the crimelord. Then, he could have also flat out refused to ally with the Burned Man, resulting in drastic changes for his storyline down the road.

Lyria had two choices to approach the mysterious Wolfius Woodbark, first at the end of her first part, regarding if she wants to accept his offer at all. Later, at the end of her second part, she could have chosen to tell Richard more about him. She once more chose to remain silent. Ah, I am sure this won't have any negative consequences whatsoever...

Finally, Marak only had one choice in this part, since his second choice is part of the chapter finale and I almost never offered choices for a chapter finale. He could have chosen his reward when working for Noelle, either gold or the truth. Expectedly, the readers back in 2015 chose the truth, so that's the part you got as well.

As you see, the choices had some pretty big consequences. Once I have reposted all of the old parts in their remastered form here, your choices can shape the outcome of the story as well. Until then, I hope you enjoy my writing.

Chapter 2 of Book 1 will begin very soon!

LiquidChicagoTed · Apr 24, 2024

Welcome, everyone, to the second chapter of Forum of Thrones, kicking off with two new PoV characters. I hope you enjoy the parts ahead!

Act I: A Fate Uncertain

Chapter 2: Broken Vows

Ellena

The waves crashed against the hull of the Pale Princess and the breeze picked up as the ship made its way towards the coast. Ellena sat at the railing, watching the waves and letting the wind play with her black hair. In the distance, the lush, green shore of the Reach was visible, had been for hours now. And for even longer, Ellena had been able to spot the silhouette of the tallest building she had ever seen. At first she had thought that it had to be some sort of mountain, because what else could it be with such a size? But the closer they came, the more she realized, much to her bewilderment, that it had to be an actual building, a tower most likely. It was by far the tallest building she had ever seen in her whole life, even taller than the Titan, who guarded the lagoon of Braavos. And it got only more impressive the closer the small merchant cog got.

Now it was afternoon and if Talea's estimation was correct, they'd reach Oldtown within the next half hour. By now, there was no other word to describe the tower but immense. The entire city was immense, but not even nearly as beautiful as Braavos. It looked rather worn, old in every sense of the word, overflowing with too many people. Now that she thought about it, Ellena found it quite strange that she actually missed Braavos. She had spent all of her twelve years in the city of the Hundred Isles and had ever taken its beauty for granted, at least until she had to leave. Still, she would not go back. She could never go back. Not after… The girl tensed up, blinking away the brief tears that threatened to stain her cheeks. No, she would find a new home.

"An inspiring sight, isn't it?", she heard a familiar voice behind her. "I always loved that view when I was younger. The Hightower and the port, the mighty Citadel and, more than anything else, opportunity in the streets between them"

As she turned around, a smile formed on her face. "Terroma!", she exclaimed, as the older man climbed the stairs up to the prow. He was short and a bit on the pudgy side, in his fifties or older, which made him positively ancient in Ellena's eyes. His hair was fully grey already and he was half-bald, though what remained was tied into a short ponytail. His smile was there, a kind expression full of warmth and a fatherly understanding, but thankfully he kept his mouth closed this time. He was one of the kindest people she had ever met, but his smile could only be described as hideous, his mouth filled with yellow, half-broken teeth.

Back when Ellena had snuck aboard the Pale Princess in the port of Braavos, she had hidden in his cabin, having believed it to be empty. That had been a mistake, but a good one for a chance. When Terroma had entered his cabin that evening, she had tried to hide under his bed, only for him to find her immediately. In the first moment, she had been afraid of him and who wouldn't have? But Terroma had surprised her by proving himself a different man, with kindness and an almost unsettling patience. He had listened to her story and after she was finished, he had given her a hug and a kind smile and his bed for the night, while he himself had slept on the floor.

He had kept her hidden until the Pale Princess was too far away from Braavos to return, before he revealed her presence to the rest of the crew. The captain had been angry of course, but his daughter had been rather amused by the whole incident and Terroma had vowed for her. In the end she had been allowed to stay aboard the Pale Princess. Soon, Ellena had learned that she had snuck aboard a merchant cog, travelling between Braavos and the cities of Reach. That had been two weeks ago and she had spent this entire time aboard the ship, while it passed the Stepstone Islands and sailed along the arid shore of Dorne, only briefly stopping at Salt Shore for provisions.

"Have you been to Oldtown before, Terroma?, she asked the older man. She remembered what he himself had told her, that he used to work as a merchant himself, before retiring at an early age, now investing his sizeable fortune in establishing trading routes, much as… much as her father had done.

Terroma's eyes barely left the Hightower and the ever closer shore. "A few times in my youth", he sighed while his constant smile slightly faded. "Back when I had still been active in my chosen profession"

A brief look of concern flashed across Ellena's face. "Is everything alright?", she asked. Terroma was a friend, a protector and seeing him unhappy worried her. She had not met a man like him since that dreadful night. One year she had spent in a dark orphanage near the House of Black and White and even the memory sent shivers down her spine. It had been a horrid place.

Terroma still looked in the distance. "Not all memories are good", he finally mumbled as if he had read her thoughts, before looking back at her. "But I don't want to worry you, little Ellena. Soon we will arrive in Oldtown. It is a beautiful city, even though it's true beauty is often overlooked, sometimes overshadowed by the more hideous parts of it…"

Ellena smiled. "So Oldtown is like you and your teeth...", she said with a slight chuckle. When Terroma raised an eyebrow she added "That's a meta… metaphor, I think. My old teacher taught me all about those!"

Terroma let out a short laugh and gave her a yellow, horrid smile. "For such a young girl you know a great deal of odd things", he smirked. "Yes, that was a metaphor. Albeit not a very good one, since I am by no means attractive, even when I have my mouth closed" They both started to laugh. It was easy to laugh with Terroma and somehow he always knew how to make her smile. In more than one way, he reminded her of her father. Her father…

As quick as it came, Ellena's smile faded. Her father was dead, murdered almost a year ago. Murder wasn't uncommon in Braavos, but the assassination of her father had still caused a commotion. It was nothing unusual that a few bodies would be fished out of the canals every morning. Braavos attracted shady folk like every other big city, perhaps even a bit more. But usually, the poor would fall victim to this. But Ellena's father had been rich. They had been living in a big mansion. They had protection, guards, connections. Rich people were not for the common thugs to kill, for they were the domain of the Faceless Men…

… a soft voice, deceptively gentle, a knife in hand, mockingly asking her father how he wished to die…

No! She refused to think of that night! Ellena turned around, away from the soaring tower, away from Terroma, so that he could not see the tears she felt welling up in her eyes. "Is everything alright Ellena?", the older man asked and his tone was warm.

Ellena nodded. "I... think I'll go to the lower deck, see if I can help Talea a bit", she answered and for a moment she was afraid her voice might crack. Terroma had been kind enough not to speak another word, as Ellena walked away from him and down to the lower deck. Not for the first time she realised that he could understand her pain well.

The lower deck was the realm of Talea, the captain's daughter and indisputable bookkeeper of the Pale Princess. She was a few years older than Ellena and a bit taller, a plain-faced woman with fair skin and dark brown hair. When Ellena found her, she was about to give one of the sailors his payment, a middle-aged Tyroshi with a forked green beard and sunburnt skin… Moreo was his name, or something like that. Though she had no issues with the crew, there were some men she stayed clear of, such as this one in particular, for his sour disposition. Even before she reached them, she could see that he was not in a good mood and neither was the captain's daughter. Both were standing straight, glaring daggers at each other. "Twenty irons for your monthly service aboard the Pale Princess", Talea listed.

The Tyroshi nodded. "Twenty irons, yes m'lady!", he said with a slow growl, slamming his purse onto the table with prejudice. "Then tell me why I only have fifteen in this purse..."

Even though she could not see her face, Ellena was certain that Talea was smiling. This seemed to be her favourite spare-time activity, juggling numbers and pissing off mouthy sailors. "Three coins subtracted two weeks ago, for breaking a bottle of wine from Norvos. One coin subtracted for being shit-faced on duty. The last coin subtracted for the accidental displacement of my father's silver spoon. And I am merciful with that last one, Moreo!", she listed.

The Tyroshi, Moreo, stomped with his feet. "Ah, go fuck yourself Talea...", he grumbled and attempted to turn around. The captain's daughter quickly grabbed his arm. "One more coin for insulting your superior. And another one for behaving like a petulant child!", she said, while holding out her hand. Moreo muttered something in his green beard, but nonetheless handed her two more coins from his purse, before leaving the lower deck as quickly as possible.

"Bloody fuckwit...", Talea mumbled before turning around and noticing Ellena standing only a few steps behind her. Ellena couldn't refrain a grin when the accountant's face dropped. "Ellena... You were not supposed to hear that last one..."

Ellena shrugged. "Don't worry, I already know that word", she claimed. She did, for she was twelve years old already, almost a woman grown and ready to have her own adventures!

This time Talea gave her a sly smile. "Not in the way I meant it, trust me", she claimed. "What are you doing here anyway? I thought you wanted to see how we enter the bay of Oldtown. The Hightower's truly impressive up close!"

"Already did. Already saw the tower and I think I even saw the Citadel. Then I talked to Terroma and decided that I had enough of watching towers and citadels. Do you have anything to do?", Ellena explained. Her mood brightened almost immediately, as her banter with the captain's daughter already drove away the darker memories that had haunted her, at least for a moment.

Talea shook her head. "Afraid not, sweetie. We're going to berth every moment", she explained. "I got the inventory ready, gave each of our men their tasks once we dock and I even planned dinner for father. After dealing with Moreo..."

Ellena interrupted her. "The bloody fuckwit, right?", she said and her smile widened. Talea's cheeks turned slightly red and after a moment, they both began to laugh and laugh, until her sides began to hurt.

"You really weren't supposed to hear that!", Talea barked, but she smiled as she spoke these words and her eyes were warm and full of laughter. "Please, not a single word to Terroma..."

"I doubt Terroma would disapprove. He never disapproves!", Ellena answered with all her certainty. She had snuck into his quarters and yet the man was still kind to her. He was perhaps the only man she could still fully trust in this world.

Talea shook her head. "He does disapprove of some things. He is just more subtle about it than the rest of us", she clarified. "Anyway, don't tell him, okay. He is like a fu... caring mother hen for you. After dealing with Moreo… the bloody fuckwit, I wanted to go upstairs either way, watching Oldtown from the safety of our Pale Princess. One of us can't get enough of that view!"

A call from the upper deck signalled that the Pale Princess was about to berth in the harbour of Oldtown. Talea and Ellena quickly made their way up and Ellena finally saw the city as a whole and finally up close. It was huge, quite possibly the largest city she had ever seen. The harbour lacked the elegance of the Purple Harbor of Braavos, but was far bigger. Ships from all over the world were docked there. Ellena saw a swan ship from the Summer Islands, several trading ships from the Free Cities, countless Westerosi ships, even a ship that seemed to be of Ghiscari origin. Her mouth fell wide open as she saw the sheer number of people ashore, this blend of noise and scent and sights.

"It's good to be back", a voice mumbled behind her. Terroma had once again managed to approach them in complete and uncanny silence. The short man looked at the city with what seemed to be anticipation. "Say, dearest Talea, how long will the ship stay in Oldtown?", he asked.

"We plan to stay for six days, before travelling further to Raylansfair", the accountant answered quickly. She had already told Ellena about Raylansfair, a cosy town in the northern Reach that she took a special liking for. Once a year the Pale Princess took the journey through the Redwyne Straits, along the western shore to Raylansfair. Talea seemed to anticipate this part of the journey the most and Ellena was quite curious about it as well.

"Do you plan to leave us in Oldtown, Terroma?", Talea asked. Unlike her or Moreo or any of the others, Terroma wasn't part of the crew, instead he was simply a regular passenger on the Pale Princess who had handsomely paid for his stay here.

The retired merchant shook his head. "I do not intend to do so, dearest Talea. I'm going to meet a friend in the city and hopefully return soon. For today, I only intend to take a walk through the city, see how it changed since last I've been here", he explained. A walk through the city? Ellena looked up. She had never been to a city other than Braavos. And Oldtown seemed to be remarkably different to her beautiful home.

Maybe she could accompany Terroma for today. The thought was fascinating. "Terroma... could I come with you today? I'd like to see this city", she asked with a high-pitched voice and big eyes. That trick had always worked in her earlier life. And even though she was quite tall for her age, she still knew how to seem like a cute, innocent little girl. It had always worked with her father. It would work with Terroma.

Terroma seemed to be uncertain only for a moment. "Of course you can, little Ellena", he said with a soft voice. "Stay close to me and I shall show you a few of my favourite spots in this city"

"Excuse me?", Talea spoke, her voice showing slight irritation. "She is twelve years old Terroma! And you know that Oldtown is dangerous. Too dangerous for a girl. What if you get attacked, or if she get's lost? Stay with me at the ship, Ellena. It won't be boring. Maybe I can show you the harbour"

That… sounded remarkably boring, all things considered. Talea was pleasant company, but Ellena would not want to be around her an entire day. "Worry not, sweet Talea", Terroma interjected, having caught Ellena's gaze. "This city holds no danger for me. By my side, little Ellena will be safe and sound" He took a slight bow in front of the captain's daughter, who clenched her fists, but remained silent. She exchanged one look with Ellena and after realising what her decision would be, she gave her a nod.

Playfully, Ellena offered her arm to the old man who took it with the gentle care of a father. "Alrighty then!", she chirped, as she gazed down the lavish docks, excited for what she would find down there. "Shall we?"

To be continued

Jenna

"Come on! Give me more, you filthy maggots!", Ser Ilhan shouted, while effortlessly parrying a strike. His riposte was a swift, quick and severe blow to the recruits lower leg. The young man fell on the ground, clutching his leg and howling in pain. Ser Ilhan showed him no mercy and started to deliver heavy strikes to the recruits ribs, even one deliberately slamming the wooden sword against the young man's injured leg, before finally letting go of him. The recruit immediately began to crawl away.

"And that is how you don't fight! Have you seen how he completely failed to defend himself?", he continued to instruct the cowering recruits in front of him. "You don't need to deliver the strongest hits on the battlefield, you need to stay alive. You understand that?" Obediently, the recruits nodded, but even from afar Jenna could see a familiar fear in their eyes. A few days ago there had been seven of them, young boys from the surrounding farmlands who had dreamt of becoming new guards for the keep in these changing times. Jenna had known some of them for most of her life. Today, only four recruits had appeared for the training. One had left House Raylan's service, another found a job in the kitchen and a third was still barely conscious after the Impaler had hit him on the head. Watching the downed boy crawling away. She presumed that now there were only three recruits left.

Jenna was watching the training from her safe and comfortable place atop the gatehouse. In the evenings the guards came here to play cards, but in the afternoon, this was her place. Lady Halla had no need of her services during these hours, so she often spent them in this small room, sitting on a chair, watching the recruits train. It was a comforting sight, strangely enough. Sometimes she gazed out of the other window, the one that faced the city. She had always loved this view. But Ser Ilhans fighting lessons were definitely more entertaining to watch than the coming and going of the city below. Once, she had considered him a terrible teacher, not unlike Lady Halla, a man who was only able to induce fear in his recruits. Just like Lady Halla, he had the nasty habit of bloodily beating any of his lessers who failed him. On the other hand, Jenna could not deny that the castle guards were exceptionally trained, at least from what little expertise she had on the topic. It was hard to imagine better drilled troops in all of the Reach. As such, for all his flaws she presumed Ser Ilhan at least genuinely understood something about his profession. In that case he'd differ starkly from Lady Halla.

"Lady my ass, she's a slave-driver", she mumbled, before putting her hands on her mouth in sudden shock. Did she just say that aloud? Oh, by the mercy of the Seven, hopefully no one heard that! But who should? Jenna Harking glanced around with wide eyes, before calming down again. She was alone. And she liked it that way. Nobody could harm her in this room. Here, she felt safe.

"Come on! Next! Are you maggots? Or are you piles of shit?", the Impaler shouted. "Come on, show me that you are maggots at the least! Maybe two of you this time?" Jenna looked down at them and smiled. Yes, she was safe here. She never understood how anyone could ever want to become a fighter. Her grandfather had a soldier, but he died in battle. And it did the family no good. Jenna still remembered her mother, her soft smile, her brown eyes. But nothing more. When she thought of her mother, she only saw the smile and the eyes. The rest had vanished over the past ten years. But she vividly remembered the despair and helplessness she had felt as her mother had died. Starved to death, as Maester Eaton had said. Maester Eaton... For a short moment she closed her eyes. And was horrified by that. She was able to think about her mother without feeling sadder than usual. But the thought of Maester Eaton made her almost teary-eyed. She had barely known the man! Yet, his death was fresh. It had been less than a week. It would get easier, yes, it always would. She just had to stay calm, like always. She just had to smile. It was easier when she smiled, lest the tears would return.

Of course, Ser Ilhan defeated both of his opponents without even breaking a sweat. The first recruit, a fat boy from the village, didn't even manage to launch an attack in return. The second managed to deliver a weak blow to Ser Ilhans chest. The following strike to his shoulder was enough to knock him to the ground. Jenna shook her head. What a bunch of idiots, spending all day playing a war, while in the Dornish Marches a real war took place. Her brothers were there side by side in an uneasy alliance with the Storm King's host, fighting against the Dornishmen. Ever since they had left, there had been no word from them. Jenna tried her best not to think about it too much. "Just smile, Jenna, just smile", she mumbled to herself.

"What was that?", a voice called out to her. Startled, Jenna spun around, only to calm down as she recognized the figure standing the doorframe of her little safe haven. Carma Strad, a fellow servant and no danger to her. She was the wife of the local tailor and a mother of three young children. Beautiful even after three pregnancies, with bright golden blonde hair, far more radiant than Jenna's mousy brown, with bright blue eyes and a smile that always looked kind and genuine, where Jenna's smile ever had something forced to it. She had always considered herself decent looking, but next to Carma anyone would feel like an ugly duckling "You're talking to yourself, Jenna?", the other woman asked in a friendly tone.

"You startled me!", Jenna gasped, but her tone was more playful than accusatory "What are you doing here?" She placed her hands in her hips and tilted her head slightly, as he smile grew wider.

Carma reciprocated the gesture with a smile of her own, but hers quickly lost its brightness. "Lady Halla told me to look for you", she answered. "It's almost time. You should go down and bring Ser Ilhan a refreshment", she answered and held up a small carafe. "Sorry for that, Jenna. I tried, but she wouldn't lay off of you"

Immediately, Jenna's eyes widened. "Me? But... why me?", she stuttered. Much as she enjoyed watching his display, she hated talking to Ser Ilhan. Something about him always frightened her. Then again, she somehow managed to be afraid of Leonard Constantine too and he was arguably one of the nicer people in this castle, at least to the common servants.

Carma shrugged. "I haven't asked her. The lady is in a particularly bad mood today", she said, before handing Jenna the carafe. "How about you do that and I'll try to humour Halla" It was a generous offer and for all the sympathies between them Jenna would not have done the same in return. Though only five years older than her, Carma acted like a mother, sweet and caring to all of the other servants. Because of that, Jenna admired her. She wanted to be like her.

With a weak nod she took the carafe. "You've got yourself a deal", she sighed. Hells, why did it have to be the Impaler? She worked here for two years now and in all this time, she had only ever talked to him once, but that had been enough to scare her for a lifetime! In the right light his eyes almost appeared to be red and his always disgruntled face with the fine wrinkles on his bald head was enough to give her nightmares.

"I know it's not easy, but give him a chance", Carma argued. "He's no Constantine, but he ain't too bad to the servants. Gruff, but I never saw him mistreat one of us" Her expression hardened. "Else he wouldn't be standing so firmly anymore, that much I can guarantee" It was no empty threat, but she followed it up with the sweetest smile Jenna had ever seen on her. Still, it did little to calm the girl. She grabbed the carafe with two trembling hands and tried her best not to spill anything as she made her way down to the courtyard.

She was trying not to be afraid.

Ser Ilhan was just finished beating up the last recruit. One of his recruits could hardly walk anymore and had to be supported by his companions, who dragged him off the field. "Get a hold of yourself, maggots, and stop whining for fucks sake!", Ser Ilhan shouted. He had his back turned to Jenna, but somehow sensed her coming, glancing over his shoulder long before she reached him. His expression shifted slightly and the look in his eyes got colder than "And do you want, little lamb?", he asked with his snarling voice. Jenna almost dropped the carafe in sheer terror as the Impaler pointed his sword on her. It was only a wooden weapon and blunt from overuse, but in his hands almost anything could be a deadly weapon.

"M...M'lord....", she began to stutter. She stopped and with a silent plea, she raised the carafe towards him, hoping he'd understand what she wanted and hoping he'd leave her alone in return.

Ser Ilhan took a few steps towards her and grabbed the carafe. "Are you afraid of me, Jenna Harking?", he asked and she could not stop herself from flinching as he addressed her by name. Seven have mercy, he knew her name! How and why? Jenna gave him the thinnest of nods. This obviously amused the Impaler. "And why are you afraid of me, girl?" This time his voice softened up a bit. His intense eyes stared at her, but for just a second, he seemed less of a monster.

Jenna took a deep breath. Why indeed? Because she had been watching him train for years now. She had seen how he acted towards those who looked up to him. "Because... m'lord you always shout and you always beat the recruits and you always look so angry...", she stuttered.

She almost fainted as Ser Ilhan grabbed her shoulders. His grip was soft, but determined. "You really need a backbone, girl!", he barked. "Walk with me and I'll tell you a thing or two. Who knows, maybe you'll learn something!"

Jenna felt immediate fear rising inside of her. "Oh... No... No... please m'lord I have work to do. Lady Halla will be angry at me...", she stuttered. Much as she preferred even his company to that of the housekeeper, she knew that Halla had a bad day. A bad week even, now that Lord Robert was dead. If she'd keep her waiting, she would be on the receiving end of her feared beatings. Many a servant in the castle bore scars from Halla's worst tantrums and Jenna wouldn't want to join their ranks.

Ilhan the Impaler laughed his raspy laugh."Bullshit. Lady Halla isn't worth the shit she produces", he exclaimed, bold and fearless and yet, Jenna instinctively glanced around, half expecting the housekeeper to listen to them. "You little kitchen maggots learn nothing from her. She is just there to scare you. Come on girl. Walk. With. Me" Those last words were spoken with emphasis. Jenna couldn't do anything, her legs moved on their own. Gods, for years she hadn't been that afraid.

Together with the Impaler, she walked towards the walls and climbed the stairs, him a few steps in front of her and her trying to keep up with him. Once up there, gazing down the walls, Ser Ilhan made a handwave, pointing at the city. "What do you see there, Jenna?", he asked. "When you look down the walls, what does this mean to you?"

"M'lord I don't understand. I see Raylansfair...", she said, before she paused and actually took a moment to think about his questions. The city below her… houses upon houses, distant walls, the port… "I see home", she added.

"Exactly!", the Impaler shouted so suddenly that it made her wince. "That's what I talk about, girl! You see Raylansfair. Home. A place to live in. A place where you belong", he growled. "The people there, the ones you belong to, are just like you. They are weak, they are soft, they are maggots without any backbone. All it takes is one mean-looking Dornishman like me and you all piss your pants. Girl, you wouldn't recognize real danger if it kicked you in the face" He made another handwave, this time towards the ocean. "And what do you see there?", he asked, his voice now dangerously low.

Jenna looked at him, in a mix of curiosity, confusion and utter terror. What did he want her to say? What did he want to hear? Only one thing was clear, he wanted an answer. "I see... I see the ocean...", she whispered. Even before she saw his face, she knew he was displeased by her reply.

"The ocean...", he mumbled, before throwing his hands in the air. "The motherfucking ocean! How typical for you people! You look at the Sunset Sea and only see an ocean. Well, I see danger!" He glared at her and now, he seemed more like the monster she had expected. And yet, there was something else. Something that urged her to stay and reconsider. "Tell me, are you afraid of me?", he asked.

Jenna gave him a weak nod. Oh yes, she was afraid of him. In all her life she had never been so afraid, not even of Lady Halla at her worst. "You don't need to be", he answered and to Jennas surprise, his face softened, making his entire expression shift and the look changing from monstrous to merely stern. "I am no danger to you", he claimed and there was something in his tone that made her believe him. "I shout, I scream, I cuss like a sailor and I beat my recruits bloody. But real danger lies across this ocean. Have you ever seen an Ironborn, girl?"

Jenna shook her head. "I… no, m'lord. Only ever heard the stories", she stuttered. "Enough to keep me awake at night" Six years ago, they had last attacked. But they had attacked the city, not the surrounding farms. She had never seen an Ironborn before, but she had heard stories about them and they were quite enough for her liking.

"Well, the Ironborn, they are actual monsters. They are the danger", the master-at-arms stated. "I shout and look angry to show my recruits what a charging Ironborn raider will look like. I beat them bloody to show them how an Ironborn fights" Jenna took a deep breath. Ser Ilhan did not seem to be angry or terrifying right now, but rather she spotted genuine concern in his voice.

Still, she was afraid.

"But m'lord, your recruits hate you...", she mumbled. Ilhan gave her a toothy expression that she only recognized as an honest smile at second glance.

"I don't need to be loved by these maggots if they only survive in battle", he growled. "I am the master-at-arms. Nobody will ever tell me that he loves my work. Nobody will ever thank me for knocking out his front teeth. Not even when he manages to parry such a strike on the battlefield, a strike that would knock out more than his teeth. But that's alright. I don't need their love. I need them still alive tomorrow, day by day"

Jenna looked at him in a different light now, unable to fully wrap her head around the fact that there seemed to be such an oddly human side to this man. "Why are you telling me that?", she asked and noticed too late that she failed to adress him as 'm'lord'. "M'lord Lagoon, Ser" His grimace was perhaps the closest thing he could get to actual amusement.

Ilhan shook his head. "Take a guess, girl! You are weak, probably one of the weakest little maggots I have ever seen! You are so afraid of the world, it is almost comical", he snarled. "I cannot even begin teaching you some backbone unless you overcome that fear!" Jenna noticed that she shivered. "Are you still afraid, girl?", Ser Ilhan asked. Jenna nodded. Yes, she was still afraid. And there was little that Ilhan could say that would make it different. "Then do me a favour…", the master-at-arms began "I want you to imagine a monster. The most terrible one that fits into your little brain"

Jenna obliged, though she knew she would fail this task. The most terrible monster she could think about could not be pictured. Even the statue of the Stranger in the Sept managed to give fear a face. And that was better than nothing. Sheer and utter horror, that was something Jenna could not depict. How should she imagine famine? How should she imagine death? Her dying mother, maybe. But that was not the embodiment of death and famine. Dead or not, that was her mother. Only smiles and eyes remaining. True death was something so much more terrifying that she couldn't even dare to imagine it. That was a monster one could not comprehend.

"I... I can't, m'lord", she finally said. To her surprise, Ilhan patted her on the back. "That's right, Jenna. You can't", he confirmed, visibly pleased with her reply for the first time "Neither can I" His confession brought a surprised look to her face and this time, he shot her a crooked smirk. "Don't look so surprised, I have fears too, only mine are a soldier's fears", he added. "My greatest fear is death, not mine but that of all the people I care for. I can't imagine what such a death would look like. I have seen dead people. I have seen dying people. But death, the pure embodiment of death…"

This time, the master-at-arms paused and she noticed how clenched his fists were. "For a while I imagined it as a giant, winged shadow, raining fire down on us, one of the dragons of old that drove my people over the Narrow Sea", he continued. "But true death can't be depicted. And in that moment I understood that there are horrors far bigger than anything we can ever imagine. Death being the worst of them"

He leant against the railing, looking from her down the courtyard, where the last of his beaten recruits had finally managed to retreat. "What I try to teach my recruits is not to be afraid of what they can grasp. They shouldn't be afraid of me. If it can be seen, it can be killed", he continued and Jenna could only listen carefully at the master-at-arm*s surprising wisdom. "If I frighten them, they should not piss themselves like children. They should attack me.They should be furiously angry"

"You harden them", Jenna realised, much to the older man's visible relief. He took a gulp from the wine bottle, but she shook her head as he offered it to her. She was a light drinker and today was not the day where she'd test her limits. Ilhan shrugged, taking another gulp before he continued to speak.

"That's why I am here. To teach them that monsters exist. Ironborn being the worst of them. But also bandits. A drunkard with a broken bottle. Anything that can hurt the people we love", he sighed. "But more importantly, I also teach them that swords exist and that they can be used against monsters. I teach them that there is a sword for every monster. The good ones, they listen and they find the right one for me. And the moment they land their first proper blow on me, the first real blow and not this shitty caress they managed today, then, Jenna Harking, you should see the proud look on their eyes. I take maggots and turn them into men. I teach them how to survive. Does that make me a monster in your eyes?"

Jenna looked at him in confusion. Was Ser Ilhan really trying to help her? Why? But she shook her head. "You are no monster m'lord... if you tell the truth...", she told him. "I… may have misjudged you"

His laugh was a terrible sound and made her wince. "That's a good first step!", he barked. "I have seen you around here a few times, Jenna Harking and until now even your presence made me angry" His admission was not surprising, but still, to think that one of the high men of the keep had an opinion on her at all made her uncomfortable. Jenna was much more comfortable with just staying out of sight and out of mind. And yet, something about Ilhan's words made her reconsider. "You are scared of Lady Halla, you are scared of me, you are scared of Ser Harris. That is pathetic!", Ilhan continued with a growl. "But you are not beyond hope. I shall make you a stronger person, if you want it or not. That is an order!"

Jenna gulped. "What do you want me to do, Ser Ilhan?", she asked. She noticed how weak her voice sounded. She noticed it and for the first time in years she wanted to sound different. Her voice was a wonderful and fitting for her. She was unassuming and no threat with it. She was overlooked and overheard. That was all she had ever wanted until now. But something had changed. She wanted to sound strong. She wanted to wipe that judging look from Ser Ilhans face. Wanted him to look at her with something other than pity or contempt.

"What I want you to do is to become stronger. To face your fears. You are afraid of Lady Halla, right?", he asked. Jenna nodded. "Lady Halla is a weak person. Do you know why she never screams when she talks to me? She is frightened of me. That's why she hates me, because I know what sword to use for the monster that she is" He leant closer and his grip around her shoulders tightened, as he gave her an intense glare. "She can deliver strong blows, but once someone retaliates, she will go down. In all my time here, there have been only three servants who had managed to shut the Lady up. Do me a favour, girl. The next time she says something nasty to you, make it four. Find your backbone"

There was something in the way he spoke that made Jenna feel... braver than before. Was that his job? Making people feel brave? All these years in which she had been afraid of him, all for nothing. He was no monster. And maybe he could make her stronger. Did she really want to be stronger? Jenna looked down onto the Sunset Sea, to the horizon, where real monsters lurked.

She tried to be brave.

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · Apr 26, 2024

Torvin

For a moment, the captain and the lord looked each other in the eye with newfound understanding, their hands clasped. It was settled then. They were allies now, Riverlander and Ironborn against the king that bled both of their people dry. Then, Edmyn Tully broke the silence. "You are a fearless man, Captain Breaker", Tully remarked. "Most men, even among those I consider trusted allies, would fear the death that awaits us should we fail"

Torvin shook his head at once. He had never feared death. And neither did he fear the black-hearted king. "When I was a child, I had to undertake the Drowning on behalf of my grandfather. The Drowned Priest held me under the water on the rocky shores of Pyke", he growled. "He did it for a moment too long and I stopped breathing for a moment. I left every fear and every doubt in the water on that day" He clenched the lord's hand once again, before they separated. "There is a common saying among the worshippers of the Drowned God, Lord Tully. What is dead may never die"

"But rises again, harder and stronger", Tully finished the saying. "I am familiar with the words, I just never understood them, not until now" A small smile formed beneath his mustache. "Captain Breaker, your support comes highly appreciated and unexpected both. I need to think on our next moves and I suppose you shall as well"

With these words, he turned around and looked down the empty hallway. "I will gather my most loyal men, the few I trust with this secret", he revealed. "One of them owns property near Harrenhal. Follow the street on the eastern shore of the God's Eye for five miles, then turn left onto a small trail. You'll find a cottage in the woods, where we can speak freely. We will meet there two hours after midnight. Bring only those you trust with your life"

"I will", Torvin confirmed, though he was unsure whom to even bring. Garthon was the only one of his men at Harrenhal and his brother had never been one to take such risks. "And fear not, Lord Tully. The tyrant has reaped the fruits of his grandfather's conquest for long enough. I say it is time he pays the iron price"

The two men nodded at each other from a few feet away, the smile beneath the Riverlord's beard growing thinner, but more genuine as well. "What is dead may never die", he mumbled. A brief, firm grin flashed across Torvin's stern face. "Family, Duty, Honor", he answered. Then, they went their separate ways. Torvin noticed that the Lord of Riverrun seemed taller than before, no longer resembling a humiliated fish, but more a lion about to attack. The captain went the other way, to his chamber. There was a lot he had to consider now, but one thing was for certain. He would not go back. Never again would he yield.

In the meantime of his talk with Lord Tully, the court session had ended, as several of the numerous attendees crossed his path. Petyr Blackwood, conversing with Arrec Mallister walked past him, the former briefly meeting Torvin's gaze, the latter avoiding it entirely. Behind them hobbled the runtish Reymand Orkwood, the weakest and most wicked of Harren's captains, trying to initiate a talk with Durren Stallhart, who easily reached Torvin in height.

While Stallhart greeted Torvin with a calm nod, Orkwood and Captain Vessels behind him each shot glares at him, Orkwood even giving him a brief scowl. There was little love for Torvin's family among the other captains. Originating from the offspring of thralls and salt wifes, his family had continually worked to gain more power, but remained loathed by many for their humble beginnings. During his great-grandfather's days, his bravery during the siege of Seagard had earned them a spot in Hardhand's council. And then, his father destroyed this respect with cowardice and dishonour. Now it was up to Torvin not to let his family fall into obscurity again. He would bring honour to the Breaker name once more.

Torvin reached the doors to his chamber and when he pushed it open, he saw Garthons standing there as expected. His younger brother shot a furious glare in his direction. "Do you want to tell me what you just did?", he asked, his voice barely concealing his anger. In all his life Torvin had rarely seen his mild-mannered brother like this. "Half the court took note of your absence and of Tully's as well. The king is no fool and neither is Prince Harrick. You could have just as well announced to them that you seek to ally yourself with Harren's enemy"

The captain sternly shook his head. "I never announced that, brother", he growled. "Don't be ridiculous" He knew that this answer would only make things worse. But he had no intentions to justify his actions, not towards Garthon. His brother was a fine man in his own right, but he was fond of the Greenlander ways, fond of these gentle lands and their gentle people. And he was his own man, with none back home waiting for his return. He would understand nothing of family, duty and honour.

"Are you serious right now, Torvin? Have you thought this through at all or is this another one of your hare-brained attempts to restore our legacy?", Garthon exclaimed, now almost screaming and Torvin narrowed his eyes. "Even Lord Orkwood took note of it, he told me as much just minutes ago!" He took a step closer towards his brother and the two men glared at each other. This came as no surprise to Torvin, but neither was it any of his concern. Reymand Orkwood had never liked him and he was far from the only one, with only a handful of captains truly on his side. But it was enough. The king would not move without evidence and Torvin would never make the mistake of giving him any. "This is my choice, brother", Torvin growled. "This won't affect you, so stay out of it"

Garthon looked at him with cold rage and disappointment. "You say it won't affect me? You really think your mistakes won't affect anyone but you?", he barked. "Have you forgotten all the things I already had to do for you? In the end it is always me! It is always me, fixing the things you have broken with your damnable pride! And you... you don't even care. You will kill us both and it doesn't even matter for you, as long as you can restore our fucking honor!"

This had been building up inside of Garthon for a long while now, Torvin noticed. It did not matter. He had made his decision and he felt it in his heart that it was the right one. "And even if you don't care that he will target me... Do you think it will stop with you and me?", Garthin then added. "How long until he targets Clarisse? You gamble with the life of your unborn child!"

Torvin narrowed his eyes and took a step closer, shooting a fierce glare at his brother. Instead of evading his gaze, Garthon took another step closer until they were only inches apart, both men trembling now. "You heard me, Torvin Breaker. He will have her raped by Harmund and Harlan and then he will skin her alive. All of your kin will share your blood guilt once this gets out!"

Torvin tensed up and briefly he was willing to throw a punch at his own brother for those words, even if he had to admit that there was a point to them. But then, he shook his head. "I cannot back out", he claimed. "I will see this through. You think I care for my honour alone? I am doing this for our family, I am doing this for my offspring and yours!"

His brother's expression was one of rage, but also resignation. "Fine, brother. Do what you want. Let yourself be killed...", the younger man spoke with a cold voice. "I will go down with you and you don't even care. You're so confident, so full of yourself. Work with the Riverlord, kill the tyrant, be a hero to your people and his, it all sounds so fucking easy, doesn't it?" He shook his head and this time, the rage was gone "Harren Hoare won't be disposed of so easily, or else someone better would have done it a long time ago", he sighed. "On your own, you will die and you'll take all you ever cared for with you. I hate the man at least as much as you. I probably hate him even more, since I care for more than just our honour. What he's doing to this land, to these people… someone should have put an end to him decades ago"

"What do you want to say, Garthon?", Torvin asked, his eyes narrowed. He knew Garthon had a point. But this was the only honourable thing to do. The only course of action Torvin Breaker would ever entertain. He had followed the tyrant for long enough. Now, he would do better, for his family, for his child.

"You're going to drag us both down and I can't do anything against it... I might as well go down fighting and spitting Hoare in his face", Garthon stated. "Nothing I say is going to change what you're going to do. And what I have to do because of that" Something in his expression changed, the rage and disappointment giving way to a desperate plea. "When you talk to Lord Tully the next time... I want to accompany you", his brother added. "We should fight together, not against each other! Let me come with you, brother. Maybe together we can finish what you on your own will ruin"

Torvin sighed. Deep inside of him, he knew that Garthon was right. This whole defiance could kill him. Harren Hoare had killed men for far less. But Torvin wouldn't be the man he was today if he would fear death, or things worse than death. He would never be afraid of Harren Hoare. And he would never let him harm his family.

Yet, Garthon was a grown man and even though he was no warrior, Torvin had witnessed first hand how ferocious he was when family was in danger. A few years ago, it had been Garthon who had saved him from a frenzied shark. Stabbed the beast right in the snout with a knife and drove it off. A number of scars on Garthons left hand were a constant reminder of that every day. As such, Torvin forced himself to stay calm as he looked his brother in the eyes. "You can accompany me, brother...", he mumbled.

Garthon looked honestly surprised. "Wait... that's it? No objections? You're just going to trust me like that?", he asked. "I thought… I didn't think you'd involve me in that. Trust me not to fuck this up for you?"

Torvin gave him a weak smile. "You're family. Why should I even fight if I can't trust you? All I do is for you, brother. For our family", he said, to which Garthon let out a small chuckle. The hostility in his gaze was gone, replaced by a reluctant warmth.

Torvin looked out of the window of the chamber, directly on Harrenhals courtyard. The five towers, darting tall into the sky, the walls higher than any arrow could ever fly. Harrenhal was built on blood. And it would end in blood.

With a sudden, determined grin, he grabbed Garthon by the shoulders. "We will return to Pyke as heroes, brother", he growled, in rare good spirits for once, now that he knew his brother would be at his side. "The name 'Breaker' will be revered once again and no one will ever despise us again!"

Garthon let out a chuckle. "You are far too confident, brother. We're both going to die. But I am not afraid. You are a stupid, damnable fool and you doomed us both. And, should we enter the Drowned God's watery halls, I will beat you up for eternity. But I won't let you alone with this", he proclaimed. With these words he grabbed his cloak. "When shall we meet your Riverlord?"

Torvin sighed. "Two hours after midnight, in a hut outside the walls", he explained. Suddenly he felt the weight of this day. And he felt far older than he really was. "I… think I might get some shut eye before that", he sighed. "We have a lot to discuss tonight. And… I am glad you're on my side, brother"

Garthon smiled and looked out of the window. "Sure, take your nap... old man. I'm going to take some preparations. Will meet you here in a few hours", he said, before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

And just like that, Torvin was alone, yet for the first time in months he felt a true connection to his brother and a goal for the future ahead. With a tired groan he laid down onto the bed, not even bothering in taking out his boots. Within seconds, everything turned black…

A huge black room. Torvin was chained, bloody, beaten. Broken. His family was there, not only Garthon, but everyone, even his father. They were all dead, mutilated, their dead bodies still screaming silently in terror and pain. And out of the darkness came Harren Hoare, his blackened armour sprinkled red, the red of dying men and dying dreams. In his hand, he held an axe, blood still dripping down from it. "I will break you...", he whispered. "I will take away everything you hold dear. You will suffer, every day till I allow you to die. Until then, you will live with the regret... by the way, we have found your little whore in Pyke. Did you know that she was pregnant?", the King hissed, giving him a smile that was burning with cruelty…

Torvin awoke, shivering, covered in sweat, breathing heavily, to the sound of someone knocking on his door. One quick glance out the window confirmed that it was already dark outside and he knew who would knock for him there. With shaky feet, Torvin walked to the door and opened it. Garthon looked at him, with an indifferent look in his eyes. "Bad dreams?", he asked in a snide tone.

Torvin ignored the remark. "Which hour do we have?", he asked, surprised by how gruff and tired his voice sounded. The sleep had given him no comfort and the vivid nightmare shook him more than the autumn chill that held this night in its grip.

Garthon shrugged. "Three hours before midnight. Thought I wake you from your little slumber. We don't want the Riverlord to take a swim without us, do we?", he replied and Torvin already moved to put on some heavier clothes for the journey. It would be a long night, but he felt ready.

The way out of Harrenhal proved to be easier than the way in. Even in the later hours, there was a constant flow of people entering and leaving the castle. Torvin had been to Fairmarket once and it has been one of the biggest cities he had ever been, certainly bigger than Pyke. Fairmarket in return could fit into Harrenhal's largest courtyard in its entirety. Nobody paid attention to two Ironborn on horseback, especially not Kyra Greyjoy's overworked guards, who had better things to do than to check up on everyone who wanted to leave this oversized castle.

Torvin had never liked horses and he rode accordingly. They were too unreliable for him. He wasn't scared by snakes in the grass, by loose stones or by fire, but these beasts were and atop of them he felt at their mercy. No, horses weren't reliable and he preferred a good ship over them every day. Still, considering the circumstances, he had to rent two horses from Harrenhals stables. The stablemaster, a scarred and one-armed veteran, had gladly given them two horses and even kept his mouth shut, after Torvin had given him a generous amount of silver coins. Garthon rode next to him, as they passed out of the northern gate. Torvin took a short glance to the right. The corpse of a man was nailed to the wall, right next to the gate, the skin on torso freshly removed. Torvin shivered. When Harren Hoare wanted something done, it was done without delay.

The two brothers rode silently next to each other, down the southern road. To their right, Torvin spotted the God's Eye, the largest lake in all Westeros, so huge that it almost reminded him of the wide, open sea at home. In autumn and especially in the evening hours, fog rose from its banks. Torvin had been here once in the summer, when he and Garthon had been younger and the days had been brighter. They had been sitting at the shore of the lake, trying to catch fish, while constantly staring at the Isle of Faces in the centre of the lake, the place where the First Men and the Children of the Forest had made their peace, thousands of years ago. The Children were long gone, but their weirwood trees were still standing on the small isle. In fair weather, a keen eye could see them. And they were able to look back, with their inhuman faces. But now, Torvin could barely see his brother next to him. At least he knew that they were travelling in the right direction. He knew the road and he probably knew the trail Lord Tully had been speaking of. They were close. Torvin shivered from the cold and wrapped himself tightly in his coat.

"We're turning left here...", Torvin said and was surprised how loud his voice sounded in the complete silence that had engulfed them. Garthon gave him a silent nod. It was clear that he was deepin thoughts. Torvin gulped as he imagined the possibilities. Had Garthon betrayed him? Could he really distrust his own brother? By the Drowned God, was he really defying a tyrant? A sting of shame crept up within him, as he quickly refused to entertain these notions any longer. Garthon would never betray him.

Calling the small path a 'trail' was a generous term by Tully. It was barely more than a mass of ground that has been trodden in to slightly resemble a path. However, they did not need to follow it for long through the dark and quiet woods, for Torvin soon spotted light in the mist. As the two brothers rode closer, they saw that it belonged to a small lantern that had been attached to the wall of a small one-story stone cottage with a reed roof. Whoever was living there clearly preferred his solitude, but it was anything but lordly

"So, your riverlord just called us out to... this?", Garthon snarled, as they both dismounted. They walked up to the small cottage, Garthon up ahead and without hesitation, he slammed his fists against the door. Torvin heard someone shuffle behind and a moment later, the door got pushed open a tiny bit.

A young man, clearly several years younger than the brothers, opened the door. He was thin, a good foot smaller than Torvin. His short hair had the same muddy colour as the 'trail' Torvin had just rode on and he had a small scar on his left brow, but a boyish face beyond that. In one hand, he held a short sword.

"Can I help you? What do you want here?", he asked with suspicion in his voice. He did not point the sword at them, but the gesture was unmistakable. His posture was decent, Torvin noticed and he had the stance of a skilled swordsman who was trying to hide that fact. Someone with less experience would have underestimated that young man, but Torvin could see that he could be dangerous if provoked.

Garthon laughed. "Put down that sword boy, before you're hurting yourself. We're here to speak with Lord Trout", he replied and a brief smirk flashed over his face. "Tell him, his Kingbreakers are here" The young man seemed to be slightly taken aback by the two muscular Ironborn who were approaching him. Torvin was unarmed, but noticed that Garthon took a short dagger with him. Still, the boy was no coward, for he met their gazes without hesitation.

"It's alright George!", a familiar voice came from within the cottage. "We are expecting them!"The boy, George apparently, seemed to calm down. His face softened up slightly, then by a lot and he seemed genuinely relieved by this turn of events. "You're Torvin Breaker, right?", he asked and looked at Torvin, with slight awe. "Lord Tully told me about you. Let me just say, it is an honour to meet you!"

Torvin had to smile. "And you are... George?", he answered. "Just George?" He mustered him more closely now, noticing that the boy had a wiry strength to his build despite his shorter size and his arms were longer than ordinary, giving him a deceptively long reach. Clearly, he could hold his own in combat.

The boy nodded. "Yes, m'lord. It would be George Rivers, but my father never acknowledged me", he answered with a shy smile. "By the Seven, I never expected to meet an Ironborn who impressed my lord. Seeing you, I just know we can make this work!"

Garthon rolled his eyes. "Touching. Hey Torv, looks like you just adopted a puppy. Listen boy, we need to talk to Lord Tully now, can we come in?", he spoke with impatience. Only in that moment did the boy seem to realise that he still had his sword in hand and blocked the doorway. His face blushed and he put the sword down. He gave them a quiet, embarrassed nod, as he stepped aside, allowing them to enter.

The cottage was surprisingly warm and cosy, albeit very small. A single room with a small bed, a fireplace with a small pot over it. The smell of stew was in the air. Two people sat on chairs around a small table. One of them was a tall man with fair skin and black hair. His brown eyes looked careful and as he saw Torvin and Garthon entering, he smiled.

The other man was Edmyn Tully. The Riverlord raised an eyebrow as he saw Garthon entering and stood up. "You brought a guest, Captain Breaker?", he asked in surprise. Torvin nodded, but before he could give an answer, Garthon stepped forwards.

"Garthon Breaker, Torvin's brother. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Tully", he said surprisingly charming and took a short bow. Since their early youth, Torvin and Garthon had had both been steadfast, determined and rough when needed. But while Torin was always the gruff fighter of the two, Garthon could be charming if he wanted, the talker of the two. Just like Torvin had always been the better fighter and better fisher, charm had been Garthons weapon, but he wielded it like a claw, concealed until he had to strike. Lord Tully was about to meet the charming Garthon. That was probably for the better, but Torvin was unsure how long it would last.

"A brother of Torvin Breaker is welcome here. My name is Edmyn Tully", he said, his tone surprisingly pleased. "Allow me to introduce my men here. The young man at the door is George. He might be young, but he is skilled enough to be a member of my personal guard. His loyalty is out of question and he has a brave heart", he said, while George slightly blushed and smiled with pride. "And here we have...", the Riverlord continued, before Garthon interrupted him.

"Gabin Strad. From Reymand Orkwood's household guard. You owe me three coppers", he proclaimed, as he crossed his arms, a playful smirk on his face. Torvin had seen the man around as well, just this afternoon in fact, as one of several men following after the dwarf of Orkwood, one he was rarely paying any attention to.

The other man, Gabin gulped and his smile faded. "Good to see you here, Garthon...", he said, his voice a tad bit nervous. Torvin knew nothing of the history between this man and his brother, but it did not surprise him. Garthon was the charming one of them, after all. He knew how to make friends and he knew how to make them owe him.

Garthon chuckled. "You too, mate. Can't say I expected you here. Last I heard, that drunken dwarf pays you well", he spoke, but Gabin's expression fell almost immediately. He opened his mouth to speak, but Garthon had clearly understood. "Ah, none of my business I suppose. I haven't come for you, Strad"

A brief, awkward silence between the two men followed, until Lord Tully broke it. The lord approached Torvin, giving him a brief clap onto the shoulder, before he turned to Garthon "I can assure you that I have no doubt on Gabin's loyalty for our cause...", he began

Before he could continue, he was interrupted by Garthon again. "Ah yes... our cause... Tell me, Lord Tully, what is our cause exactly?", he asked. "Please, I want to hear from you in your own words what you seek to accomplish here"

Tully narrowed his eyes. "You don't know? Or do you mock me? The death of the king is our cause. For our families and for us all", he proclaimed. "Before winter comes, the king and all of his sons will lie beneath the ground!"

Garthon shook his head. "Is that so, Lord Tully? Because to me, it looks like you take a group of good men and lead them to slaughter" Every word was cold as ice. Torvin gave his brother a sharp glare. This was not the right time for it! Garthon was charming, yes, but he was also gifted with the ability to be terrible when he wanted to. "You take men like my brother, like Gabin, like George and tell them that you can bring down Harren the Black? The man's shit is more cruel than all of you combined", Garthon continued. "Do you have family? Because I do and I worry for him"

Torvin closed his eyes, already regretting his choice to take Garthon with him. Tully was remarkably calm, but Torvin noticed the dangerous look in his eyes. "I'm doing this for my family, Garthon", he spoke. "More than anything else, I'm doing this for my family. I won't let Harren Hoare live long enough to use them against me, because I know sooner or later he will"

"He already is using them against you, Lord Tully", Garthon continued, his tone slightly softer. "He doesn't know what you're doing here, he doesn't care. But he is using them against you. You fear for them, but in your fear you do exactly what the king wants. Can't you see that?"

Tully's gaze was still as firm as before. "If you don't believe in our cause, why are you here?", he asked. "I have asked for men who believe in our duty. If you don't consider yourself among them, then why do you stand before me right now?"

Garthon smiled, a cold but charming smile, able to cut rocks. "Because one of the men you're going to kill is my brother! And I won't let him die alone, Lord Tully, I won't", he explained. "I don't believe in you or anything you could ever tell me. But I believe in Torvin. I always believe in him And I will stay with him, through night and rain, until the last storm ends. Always..." Torvin looked at his brother in surprise. He had always known of Garthon's loyalty, but he had never thought much about it. He simply expected loyalty, by his brother and by his crew.

Lord Tully's gaze softened immediately and he looked at Garthon with understanding, before moving his gaze to Torvin. "My brother once almost killed me over a girl. He left the house and the continent for Essos and brought disgrace to my family ever since", he revealed. "You can call yourself blessed for having a brother like Garthon, Captain Breaker" Then he looked at Garthon. "I'm glad to hear of your devotion. As ong as you stay loyal to your brother, I trust you. And I hope that, in time, you will also learn to trust me. What I seek to do here is for the good of all of us, your people and mine. It is a risk, but much must be risked"

"With all due respect, Lord Tully, but shouldn't we get to talk about why we're here?", Torvin asked, his voice showing less patience than he actually felt. He felt a slight lump in his throat after Garthon's declaration and that made him slightly uncomfortable, enough to hurry onwards. He had iron in his blood and was forged by salt and sea. He wasn't used to raw emotion. But he was glad that Garthon stood by his side.

Tully cleared his throat. "Yes! Of course. You all know that we have to bring down Harren Hoare. But the king is no fool. We need people to gain his trust. And we need to have the weapons to kill him", he explained. Torvin thought about his spear and was certain that he could kill a king with it. "I have a plan for both of those, but I need trusty and capable man to go where I, as a lord, cannot"

Before he could ask what Tully meant with this, the Riverlord continued. "I have only a few people with me who know about our plan. George is absolutely loyal to me. And Gabin will help us so that we can right a wrong he suffered at the king's hands", he spoke, his hand pointing first at George, who straightened his back and stood attention, then to Gabin, who gave him a determined nod. "Each of them has a certain use for our cause. George is my most loyal man. He will travel to Maidenpool, where he will meet with a smuggler from Essos. I have been told that this smuggler can get us a special weapon, a kingmaker as he called it, deadly and easy to conceal", he continued. "Additionally, the smuggler will provide us with poison from the city of Qarth. Able to kill a man in a heartbeat, or so I've been told. Gabin will stay in Harrenhal in the meantime" With these words, he turned to Gabin, who began to continue.

"I am, as you know, a part of Lord Reymand Orkwood's household guard. In this position I... got acquainted with Prince Harlan", he revealed. "He regularly asks for me, greets me as a peer and has invited me over to his gatherings. He is a personable man, if a very dumb one and he starts to trust me. I can use this connection to get us close to the king. The chance we need"

Garthon raised an eyebrow. "How did you meet that rotten secondborn?", he spat and a frown appeared on Gabin's face. Torvin had heard of Harlan Hoare, had even met him a few times in passing. Eager to please, eager to get along, but when push came to shove he had the same darkness in his eyes as his older brother. Each Hoare prince had, in their own way and he knew, Harlan was a dangerous man to get close to.

Then, Garthon shook his head. "That is your plan, Tully? The one you're gambling all our lives on?", he asked. "Your great plan involves a crossbow and the hope that Harren Hoare's monster of a son befriends a lowly guard? I thought this reckless, but clearly, you need my aid more than I expected"

Tully shook his head. "This is not all, Garthon. While George and Gabin will bring us close to the king and bring us a weapon that can be smuggled past his bodyguards, I will use my connections and my wealth to ensure that the guards look away", he explained. "I will ensure that nobody hears or sees anything when Harren Hoare takes his last breath. I will ensure that he dies alone, like the swine he is. I have prepared for this for many years until an opportunity in the form of your brother came along. Killing the king isn't the hardest part, I can assure you that"

Garthon laughed, this time he even sounded amused. "Well, I haven't been planning on getting out of this alive. Why shouldn't I waste my life for a little madness?", he said. "Truth be told, I expected worse. I'm in, if you'll have me. Where can I help?"

He and the Riverlord looked at each other without any fondness, but perhaps a hint of understanding. "Now that you support us, we can support Gabin and George. The journey to Maidenpool is a dangerous one, however I fear that staying in Harrenhal is even more dangerous", Tully revealed. "I would like to have one of you go with George and one of you help Gabin in winning Harlan Hoares trust"

Garthon shook his head. "I'm not deciding how I want to die. Your call Torvin...", he sighed, as he looked at his brother, so did the Riverlord and his new companions. Torvin clenched his fists. It was a risk, but he was not afraid of Harren Hoare nor any other man. He would throw himself into the fray for this. And as such, he knew that there was but one course of action for him.

"I will stay here then", he spoke, noticing the young George's obvious disappointment. Garthon seemed surprised, but Torvin would hear none of it. His decision was final, for he would not allow Garthon to put himself into such danger. "I will deal with Harlan Hoare"

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · Apr 30, 2024

Lucas

It was a chilly afternoon, the setting sun barely shining over the tops of the thick trees that flanked the large road, when the two knights spotted the roof of a building in the distance, at least two stories high, with smoke coming from the chimney. A tavern, perhaps? Lucas certainly hoped so and he could tell that Leonard thought the same. In the early morning, the other knight's horse had stepped onto a snake and fell badly. While Leonard himself had only gotten a few bruises from the fall, the horse had broken its leg. They had to put the poor animal out of its misery and the remaining horse now had to carry both of their equipment. Lucas and Leonard had to walk all day, only stopping once to eat a bit and to talk to a farmer, who had seen a boy who looked like Dairon just about a day ago, riding like the Stranger himself had been behind him. With a bit of luck he had managed to kill his horse by now. In that case at least they'd still have a chance catching up to him.

"You ever been to this area, Len?", Lucas asked. He himself was more familiar with the Stormlands, where he had travelled through for about half a year after he had been knighted. Afterwards he had journeyed to Essos to fight in a small sellsword company. But the Reach, his homeland, it was still unfamiliar to him. Lush and peaceful, with large towns, lavish keeps and well-fed people, but for years Lucas had been more drawn to the adventure that could be found beyond its borders.

"Couple times actually", Leonard revealed. "Up ahead is one of the most important crossroads in Reach, connecting Raylansfair to Highgarden and Oldtown. Some smart fellow had the idea to build a tavern there, the 'Hammered Harp'. Got good beds, no bed bugs and the wenches are comely and eager if you know what I mean"

Lucas rolled his eyes. "You speak from experience?", he asked, though to be fair he was not too keen on details about Leonard's love life. They were travelling companions now and had the same goal, but the other knight was no friend of his.

"Nah, just thought I should mentioned it in case you want to. I don't like whoring around, believe me or not", Leonard answered. That was a slight surprise, to be honest. Leonard the Stately was popular with the women at Lord Raylan's court, the servants and the occasional visitor, likely for the shade of his hair and the scar, which gave him a rugged look, one Lucas would have called 'distinguished'.

"Now you surprise me, Len. I always thought you were one for the easy girls", Lucas said mockingly, which caused the other knight to glare at him grimly. "Easy Leonard, I'm just kidding you. You got that one coming and more after your little jest with Ser Ilhan!", Lucas answered firmly. Seems like he had touched a nerve, but antagonising his companion beyond mere jabs had not been his intention. "Bad experience?", he asked, slightly more sympathetic.

Lenard nodded. "You can't even imagine, Flowers…", he hissed, his sharp glance softening slightly. "But now ain't the time for sob stories and I'm not to keen on sharing mine with some bastard" He shook his head, his gaze distant, but his attention clearly dwelling on old regrets.

The Hammered Harp was now directly in front of them. It was a large building, spacious and with its own pair of stables, but to Lucas' surprise it did not seem particularly well-visited. Still, it was well-maintained with polished windows and clean walls. The inn even had a field right next to it where the innkeep could grow his own crops.

A tune reached their ears from the inside, one Lucas knew all too well. Somebody was playing "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" on a harp, while a deep male voice was singing horribly along the lines. There were people there, probably not too many, but maybe one of the people in this inn had seen Dairon. And if not, at least he would be able to sleep in a real bed tonight. In Essos he had spent weeks sleeping on the rocky ground, but it had never gotten any easier. Essos… not all of his memories from beyond the Narrow Sea were good ones, but at least he had been his own man there, unbound and with his honour untarnished. He had travelled with a small group of mercenaries, the Gutters and fought for a magister from Myr, a small man with the darkest eyes Lucas had ever seen. He had fought and loved and for the first and only time in his life, Lucas had felt well and truly alive. Given what had happened since then, he sometimes found himself longing for those days once more.

"Well, I'll be damned…", he heard a gruff voice behind him. Lucas and Leonard flipped around, the latter with his hand on the hilt of his sword. A man stepped from the shadows of the barn, tall and well-built, perhaps slightly older than Lucas. His skin was dark, a Dornishman, with short-cut hair only slightly lighter and a stubble beard. The one feature that Lucas recognized him by after a moment of confusion was the thick scar that ran down the left side of his face, having cost him an eye. A bright smile formed on his face and Lucas reciprocated it a moment later, once he recognized the man in front of him. "Lucas Flowers, you sly bastard! What the hells are you doing here?"

Leonard reluctantly lowered his sword as he noticed the wide grin that appeared on Lucas' face "I could ask you the same thing, Temari!", the bastard knight exclaimed, giving the other man a friendly handshake. Temari Keys, that was the name of this one-eyed ruffian in front of him, was an old acquaintance. On good days, Lucas would even call him a friend. They had met in Essos and while Lucas knew that he and the rest of the Gutters wanted to cross the Narrow Sea, he had no idea their destination would be the Reach.

"We're on our way to a job, Lucas!", Temari replied, his smile wider than usual, his expression lacking his usual dour coldness. His breath meanwhile indicated that he was by no means sober. "Come inside, Gutten will be so happy when he sees you, I bet he'll piss himself!"

Leonard narrowed his eyes. "You know that guy, Flowers?", he snarled, his voice oozing distrust. Though he no longer had his hand on the sword, he remained on guard, carefully eyeing the gruff sellsword.

Temari clearly took note of it, his expression hardening. "You have a problem with me, mate?", he growled. His tone was stern, but Lucas knew that expression all too well. Over in the Free Cities, Temari had never shied away from a good fight. In fact, he had been yearning for it, actively looking to cause trouble. But that had been against fellow sellswords. Leonard, on the other hand, was a trained knight and no coward either.

Lucas rolled his eyes. "Temari, that is Ser Leonard Constantine, my companion", he explained quickly, hoping to defuse the situation. "We're looking for a boy, auburn hair, lanky kid, a maester's apprentice. Must have come by"

Temari gave Leonard a cold glare with his one good eye and nodded, his smile finally returning, but it had a dangerous edge to it now. "Then come in!", he growled. "Maybe Gutten can tell you more about that" With these words, he entered and Lucas quickly followed, after exchanging one brief glance with Leonard.

As expected, the taproom was nearly empty. At full capacity, it could hold a few dozen people, but right now there were far fewer. A trio of women sat around a table, watching a tall man in a sleeveless leather vest, dancing with a younger red-haired woman in his arms. Lucas recognized him, for John Gutten had not changed a bit. Tall, well-built, with an eyepatch, short-cut dark hair and a thick moustache. He made for a dashing sight and his easy smile and quick tongue had made him pleasant company in the Free Cities.

For a second, Lucas' gaze fell into the corner, where he spotted a remarkably pretty girl with light brown hair, playing the harp with a quietness and calmness that was oddly, but charmingly out of place in the presence of Gutten and his men. She was playing the "Bear and the Maiden Fair, likely on Gutten's behalf, for the one-eyed sellsword loved that son. Lucas had done so as well, but eventually he had gotten a bit sick of it back in Essos.

"Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air.
My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!
And off they went from here to there,
The bear, the bear and the maiden fair."

The sellsword sang along the lines, completely out of tune and with a voice that had not gotten any more pleasant since last time he had tortured his men with his rendition of the song, while dancing with the red-haired girl. She, for what it was worth, clearly enjoyed it and even did him the favour of sighing and squealing and kicking the air as the song demanded of the fair maiden. Gutten lifted her up and spun her around and in doing so, his gaze fell onto Lucas. His grin widened and with a genuinely gentle move, he freed the girl from his grasp, spreading his arms as he approached the knight.

"Lucas Flowers! Seven Hells, what are you doing here?", he shouted over the tavern, while walking towards Lucas. "Come on my smooth-cheeked friend, give me a hug!"

"It's good to see you, John", Lucas replied, as he walked towards him, a bright grin on his face. He hadn't seen John Gutten and his mercenaries in over a year. The man hadn't changed at all, except for a new scar on his right upper arm. If anything, his smile had gotten only wider.

He pulled Lucas into a firm hug, the kind that could break a bone or two. According to his own tall tales, Gutten had done just that to some of his older acquaintances. "Aylard! Bring my friend here a mug of your best!", he shouted at the top of his lungs.

The innkeeper, a brown-haired tree of a man, gave an approving nod "Will do, Ser Gutten", he answered. "Come on, girls. There's new guests to take care of!" Behind the innkeeper, Lucas noticed an old warhammer on the wall, not the kind he'd expect from a simple innkeep. The pretty girl who had played the harp, while the red-haired wench gave Lucas a wink before taking her behind the bar.

Lucas raised an eyebrow as the two friends separated again, with John patting him onto the shoulder. "Ser Gutten? Are you a knight now?",he asked, to which John started to laugh loudly.

"If I didn't know you so well, I'd probably punch you for that. Why should I become a knight, fancy Ser Flowers?", he asked, accompanied by a laugh. Yes, he was definitely not sober. But John Gutten was pleasant company even when he was wasted, as Lucas had learned during their shared time in the Free Cities. Many an evening had passed in a blur with John readily sharing any fine bottle he could find. "Come on, grab a seat. I have to introduce you to our newest member!"

With these words, he practically dragged Lucas to the nearest table, where the trio of women was sitting. Lucas immediately recognized Janae among them, John's second-in-command. She was a cold-faced woman, with long black hair and the bronze skin of the people from Essos, but with a harsh look in her dark eyes. As usual with her, she wasn't smiling, but instead gave Lucas an approving nod. She had never been much of a talker with anyone aside from John, but he had grown fond of her in his own way. That said, Janae was dangerous, a killer by instinct and if half of what he had heard of her was true, then he was glad he had only met her in recent years, when a decade in the presence of John Gutten had mellowed her out somewhat.

Next to her sat a beautiful young girl with brown hair, deep brown eyes and olive skin. Lucas did not recognize her at first but then he looked over to Temari, finally recognizing the very faint resemblance and his jaw dropped. "Behara?", he gasped. Behara Keys, Temari's younger sister was almost a grown woman now and she had grown a lot in the year since their parting. She gave him a pretty smile and Lucas felt heat rising to his face. "I… haven't recognized you!", he stuttered.

Gutten laughed at his reaction. "Not many people do these days", he chuckled. "Our Behara has grown into a fine woman, hasn't she?" He moved one hand through the girl's face who rolled her eyes with playful annoyance. "Still my little Hara though!", he declared

Lucas could not contain a wide smirk as he found himself in the unexpected company of his old friends. With this, he looked at the third woman at the table. He did not recognize her at all. Though a sellsword, judging by her attire, she was clearly a new addition, for up until now, Janae and Behara had been the only women in Guttens small group. She was a pale woman perhaps a few years older than Lucas, with long blonde hair and blue eyes.

At first, she shared Janae's cold expression, but unlike John's second-in-command a surprisingly sweet smile found its way to her face. "So, you're the knight who rode with sellswords, the one Gutten won't stop gushing about?", she chirped. "Can't recall how often I was told of that time when you killed the crossbowmen near Volantis"

Lucas had to grin when she mentioned that particular incident. "Two crossbowmen. And John drew their fire onto him, lest I wouldn't have gotten that close to them", he clarified. "He deserves just as much glory for that!"

The woman let out a hearty sigh. "Gutten tells the better story", she said before extending a hand. "Samantha Ducard. I joined the Gutters in Pentos, seven months ago. Though I thought we'd remain in Essos a little while longer"

The red-haired barmaid that danced with Gutten came to the table and gave Lucas a mug of ale, with a second one for John. As she walked away, the one-eyed sellsword gave her a light slap on the butt. "You should be careful with Sammy", he warned Lucas, while giving the blonde woman a wink. "All laughs and smiles until she gets into a fight. That girl is like Janae, only twelve years younger and a tenth as dour"

Janae raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed, but Lucas knew that it was practically impossible for them to actually get into a serious disagreement. Different as they were, they had always been thick as thieves, understandably so, for it had been John who had helped Janae escape from her Ghiscari masters. "How charming you are, my bear", she said with a cold scoff.

John gave her a bright smile. "Always, my maiden fair!", he exclaimed, raising At least with these two nothing had changed. They were like an old married couple.

Just then, a loud noise made Lucas and Gutten flinch, as they both glanced over their shoulders. Temari and Leonard stood there, glaring at each other. One of them had just thrown a metal mug of beer on the ground. Another inn worker, a blonde woman in her early thirties came over and began to wipe the beer from the floor. "You don't even know me and still you dare to make that assumption?", Leonard asked with a cold voice.

Temari's look was equally cold. "I know people like you. You think you're something better, just because you are a knight. I can't stand this arrogance", he answered and looked over to Lucas. "Hey Lucas, there's good news! Me and Ser Constantine agree that we don't like each other"

Gutten's eyes narrowed "That other guy is with you?", he asked, his tone low and stern so that only Lucas could hear him. "Looks like some knightly arse. Tell me he ain't trouble" John could be friendly and jovial with his friends, but towards strangers he could be outright cold, especially towards those who got into trouble with his men. Unfortunately for a great deal of men, Temari was the kind who often got into such trouble.

"He helps me out right now. He has his good sides", Lucas was quick to answer. Of course, Leonard had his good sides, mostly when he was quiet. But even then, Lucas did not want to get him into trouble. They had come to an understanding over the last few days and he did not want to risk that.

Gutten shrugged. "That's enough for me. I fought side by side with men who had no good sides" While he spoke, Temari walked up to him, then to Behara. He placed his hands on his younger sister's shoulders as he had done when she was still younger. Her smile remained sweet, but slightly forced. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucas saw Leonard walking over to a table by himself. The other knight glanced at him, but remained silent, thankfully. Well, Lucas could not say that the was unpleasant company, but there was no way he would not sit with his old companions right now.

He leant back and this was enough for Gutten to raise his mug of ale. "First, let me propose a toast!" he exclaimed, far louder than necessary. "To Lucas Flowers, the craziest son of a bitch I ever had the honour of fighting with!"

"Eh... wouldn't that be me?", Temari asked with a frown, but he still obediently raised his mug in Lucas' honour. "I bet the amount of crazy shit I pulled in a fight beats Ser Smooth-Cheeks over here!"

His own sister gave him a pat on the back."We all know that you're not crazy, Tem. You're just stupid...", Behara stated with a sweet smile, earning herself a surprised chuckle from Samantha and an approving nod from Lucas himself.

Temari tried to think of something to come back from that, but was silenced by a short glance from Gutten. "Be nice to each other, children...", he said with a stern, but warm expression on his face. "It is a good day, after all. Probably the first we had in a while"

"You got them into trouble with me gone, John?", Lucas asked. "Come on, things were going well last we saw each other. What happened to all that triarchy coin?"

John sighed. "True, the Gutters had better days…", he admitted. "We have been banned from Qohor, for mocking the Black Goat" His tone was as serious as someone could possibly remain while saying those words. Still, Lucas couldn't help but to let out a loud laugh, especially as Behara raised two fingers to her head, mimicking that ridiculous Qohorik god.

Gutten chuckled. "Yeah... it was something like this, except that it involved Janae seducing the High Priestess of the Goat for our mission and then leaving before breakfast", he stated and his right-hand woman shrugged apologetically. "The Qohoriks wanted to claim my other eye for that, and Temari had to use wildfire to get me out of that"

Temari shook his head. "He makes it sound far worse than it was", he was quick to claim. "I only had to kill four of them. The rest likely survived..."

"Except the ones that burned to death…", Behara mumbled and unlike Gutten or her brother, she sounded less than thrilled about that particular event.

"We will also have problems finding work in Volantis in the future...", Gutten said, while giving Temari a sharp glare. "Because a certain someone had to get into a fight with a triarch's son"

Temari sighed. "He was harassing my sister. Not my fault that he lost his teeth", he explained, while Behara gave him a disapproving look. "He wasn't harassing me, he was flirting", she hissed in return and for a second, both siblings glared at each other.

Gutten shrugged. "Whatever, we figured that we're no longer welcome in that city, so we decided to head back to Westeros. And here we are... well, some of us...", he explained. Lucas tensed up at those words. He had already noticed that some familiar faces were missing, but had not dared to ask.

Instead, Janae cleared her throat. "Tomjack got killed in Qohor. Leo Swift bit the dust near Pentos. Trout got his share of the money and retired in Volantis. And Red Ryon left the company when we decided to travel to Westeros", she clarified. "Jaro and I'lian are still with us, but they do some work on their own. Once that's done with, we want to meet here" She let out a sigh and though she was probably the coldest woman he has ever met, he knew she cared for her companions. Losing so many of them over the span of one year… it was a small surprise that Gutten was so damn happy.

In this moment, the red-haired barmaid came back and gave John a new mug of beer, which brought a grin to the one-eyed man's face. Well, perhaps it was no surprise after all. "A beer for the bear", the girl said with a coy grin.

As John looked at her and then back to Lucas, it was clear that he had at least one drink too many. "Ah... Lucas, may I introduce you to Cass, the prettiest barmaid in Reach?", he said, while putting a hand around the girl's waist. She gave him a playful smack on the head.

"John, you're embarrassing me in front of the customers", she said with a smirk, while Gutten gave her the honest smile of a drunkard, but she did not resist his advances. In fact, the way she leant against him clued Lucas in on the fact that she was already quite familiar with the man himself.

"Isn't she great, Lucas? Cass wanted to become a Septa. With a body like that, would have been a bloody waste...", he said, while Cass gave him another smack, but a playful one.

"You are unbelievable John Gutten!", she said, but she smiled while saying it. "Well, I suppose you'll just have to make it up to me later on" With a wink, she turned around and headed back to the counter.

With a grin on his face, John turned back to Lucas, who had one eyebrow raised. "Who would have known that they have girls like this in Reach?", he asked and stood up to go after her. "Excuse me, I suppose I'll have some amends to make to Septa Cass"

They looked up, as Gutten grabbed Cass and started to carry her towards the stairs that lead to the second floor. Janae rolled his eyes."I've knowb him for thirteen years, but that is a new low, even for him", she scoffed. "She's a sweet girl, but half his age and twice as smart"

While they watched the bear and his squealing maiden fair, a haggard old woman stepped out of the backroom, a saggy and plain-faced crone with wispy grey hair. "John Gutten! Not as long as the girl has work to do, you know that!", she began to shout, but Gutten didn't even seem to notice her. Cass was clearly enjoying it, but let out playful squeals.

Finally and only after the old woman had stepped into his way, John Gutten paid any attention to her."Eh, Gunel, let me have something nice for once, will you?", he said, but he let Cass down regardless. The girl had gotten red as a beet in the presence of the old woman and nervously straightened her dress.

The old woman shook her head. "You had something nice for the last four nights, Gutten", she scolded him. "That girl has work to do, for crying out loud. Aylard's not going to pay her for spreading her legs to some sellsword scum!"

Gutten shrugged and shook his head. "Eh, you're good at ruining all the fun, Gunel", he moaned, while the older woman gave him a wrinkly smile. Cass used that opportunity to excuse herself and hurry into the backroom. John, however, did not smile. He sank onto the stairs with a stern expression. "Just once, would be nice if someone couldn't end up ruining shit for me", he muttered and his mood seemed to have shifted starkly.

Temari let out a sigh. "I should probably bring John to his room, before he starts to puke", he growled with a sigh. "Next thing we know, he'll make a move on Lunett, the innkeep's daughter and that'll be the last of our bear"

Lucas glanced at the innkeeper, with his enormously muscular arms. He doubted that Gutten could take a punch from this guy in his drunken state. Faithfully, Temari walked up to John, while giving the innkeeper a friendly wave."Everything alright, Aylard! I'll bring him to his bed", he said.

"No, I'm not tired man...", Gutten started to protest, but Temari grabbed him by the arm and dragged him upstairs, with the drunken sellsword unable or unwilling to resist in full. Exactly the moment he was out of sight, Behara looked over to Leonard.

"You're leaving your poor friend sitting there all alone Lucas. Why don't you ask him to sit with us?", she suggested. Lucas sighed. Oh, not again. He had seen this look in Beharas eyes once, back when she had fallen for a handsome sailor in Pentos. Once Temari had been done with him, the sailor hadn't been that handsome anymore.

"I don't think I should do that. Besides, he isn't really my friend. We're just on the same mission", Lucas said. No, the last thing he needed right now was Behara falling for Leonard the Stately.

"Well, if you're not talking to him, I will", the girl said decisively, leaving Lucas baffled by her confidence. She had been barely a woman grown when last they had met and now here she stood, beautiful and decisive. She had gotten dangerous in her own right.

Samantha looked at her and raised a brow. "You sure that's a good idea, Hara? Your brother won't be thrilled", she mumbled, but Lucas could see the look in her eyes. She had no stakes in this. If anything, he suspected that Samantha wouldn't be that unhappy with a little excitement on this evening.

Behara shook her head. "Do I look like I care? Tem ain't my father, even if he sure as hell acts the part", she proclaimed before walking over to Leonard, who sat alone at his table with a scowl on his face and a mug of ale in front of him. The knight took one glance at her and to Lucas' surprise, his expression lightened up slightly.

Samantha looked after her and sighed. "Temari won't like that. And Aylard will hate it. A brawl in his inn is the last thing he wants", she said, before taking a deep sip from her beer. "Well, at least your knight is better off hitting on Behara than on Aylards daughter. Temari will just beat him up royally, but we can stop the worst of it, probably. Aylard would likely smash his legs"

Lucas looked across the taproom and at the huge warhammer that was hanging on the wall behind the innkeep in question. "Odd weaponry for an innkeeper", he asked. "Was he some kind of soldier once?"

Samantha shrugged. "Never asked him. Never cared, but I bet you're right. Must have hit him hard when Reach and the Storm King made peace", she admitted, followed by a brief, devious grin. "Apparently nobody told him that there's still Dorne to fight against"

"Seven", Janae said, her tone cold and sharp as she cut Samantha off. Before she continued, she lowered her voice. "Seven graves. In the backyard", she explained. "That man has lost people, so cut him some slack, Sammy" With these words, she looked straight at Lucas. "And you, look out for your knight. We can deal with Tem, but he better not make a move on sweet Lunett"

Lucas looked over to Leonard. The knight was a competent fighter by himself and somehow he doubted that an innkeeper could beat him up, former soldier or not. Temari was a different case altogether unfortunately and Lucas did not share Janae's confidence. Though no older than Leonard, he had more years of combat experience and had even fought in Essos for years. Not the single best fighter Lucas had ever seen, Temari's main advantage was his relentlessness and his sheer, godless anger. And there were days where even talking to Behara in the wrong way was enough to make him angry. She was all he had left in this world and the sellsword made sure to protect her, sometimes going more than just a bit too far.

Janae was still remarkably silent. While she had never been talkative in any way, Lucas noticed that she appeared strangely sullen right now, even by her standards. That was still more emotion than she usually showed. "Is there anything else, Janae?", he asked.

She looked up and then towards the stairs. "It's John...", she said and closed her eyes for a moment. The two of them, Janae and John, were as close as siblings or more, a bond unlike any other. "I worry for him. The drinking, the whoring, the merrymaking… I mean, we all knew he's good at those three, but it's been getting worse. Day drinking, a new woman each night if possible… Started when Trout left the company. Think he's afraid of losing any more of his friends"

Lucas looked at Behara who sat on a chair next to Leonard. The knight's frown was gone, replaced by a charming smile, as he merrily chatted with Behara, right now regaling her with a tale from his many journeys through the Reach. Seven Hells, Temari would not like this.

"He hasn't been sober for one full day since we left the Free Cities. Where available he practically throws himself at the nearest whore or finds one who takes him without pay, like that little redhead of his", Janae hissed. "And he requires that blasted Bear song at least once a day. Get's outright melancholic otherwise. Luckily, Samantha has a good singing voice and Behara can play the flute well enough"

She briefly paused and looked into Behara's direction. The girl was grinning from ear to ear, her attention fully on Leonard. For what it was worth, the knight was proper in his behaviour, nothing indecent, but still, he clearly did not mind her attention. Janae frowned, likely thinking the same thing as Lucas did. Temari would not like this. Not one bit.

"I've known him for thirteen years now and this is a new low for him", she began. "We lost four men in ten months. Five, if we count you. But you're here now and that might count for something" She paused again and looked Lucas directly in the eye. "You should stay with us, Lucas. Rejoin the Gutters. You should hear how John talks about you. It would be good for him and for you. You are one of us"

She looked at Leonard, who was still talking to Behara, and made a derogatory hand wave. "You don't need this. The pomp, the knightly arrogance. To men like him, you will always be 'Flowers', the bastard knight", she hissed and Lucas knew that she had a point. The courts of the Reach and most of its knights would forever treat him with suspicion or worse after what his brother had done "But the Gutters are family. None of us is better than the others. If you're a bastard, we all are. And when we continue our way, you should join us", she said with a stern face.

This time, Lucas had no doubt that Janae was serious. He was afraid that it would come to this, one day. The Gutters were his friends, more than that. But he had sworn an oath to a good man, to the only one who had given him a chance. "Janae, you know I can't do that. I'm a sworn knight now...", he explained, as softly as possible.

Janae's gaze hardened. "You have spent a whole year with us, Lucas. You fought with us, you laughed with us and cried with us. My bear took a shine to you. You know that Behara had a little crush on you, don't you? And then you just turn your back on us and leave for Westeros...", she said with a bitter voice. "You were one of us and here I am hoping that you still got that part in you"

Lucas gave her a soft smile. He had always suspected that Janae had a heart underneath the bitterness and this right here seemed to be her way of showing him she cared. "Janae, you and the Gutters are family for me", he assured her gently and his tone seemed to calm her somewhat. "You helped me, formed me, you took a boy and made a man out of him. But I also have a family by blood here in Reach"

He closed his eyes for a moment. It was a brutal injustice that he had been banished from Darkdell, that his reputation and honour would remain forever stained. Still, he held no ill will against his father. His brother on the other hand... Petyr was a cunning man and a danger for his family. His venomous words had lead to Lucas' banishment. He hadn't heard anything from his family in the past few months, but everyday Petyr was around them was a day they were in danger. He feared for his father, for his sisters and his youngest brother.

"They need my help, Janae. The old Lord that gave me refuge in the past months, he promised to aid me. But he is dead", he explained. "My brother, Petyr, seeks to murder my father, to gain control over the house. I have to regain my honour and I have to stop him. And the best way of doing this is to fulfil my oath to Raylansfair"

"He is right...", Samantha mumbled, her interjection catching both of the others by surprise. She looked at them and raised both eyebrows, a brief smile on her face, thin and mirthless. "What are you looking at? Family is important. Given the opportunity, I would do anything to avenge mine. I would hurt the men who killed them. I would make them pay. I would hear them scream. Stranger have mercy, for I have none", she continued, her voice a low growl now "But if I had the chance to prevent all of this, I would do anything for it and so should you... Besides, I never liked the name 'Petyr'. Kind of a cunt name"

Janae looked her in the eye and her expression softened slightly. When she looked at Lucas, she almost smiled. "Perhaps I was wrong then", she admitted. "If it helps you in saving your family, you should follow your path. And if you meet this Petyr asshole face to face, stab him in the crotch for me, will ya?" Lucas smirked, before giving her a firm nod. Coming from Janae, those words were actually sweet.

"So, how does your current job help you in regaining your honour?", Samantha asked. This time she even looked honestly curious and her attention seemed more genuine than before. Before he replied, Lucas looked at Leonard and Behara, with the girl having moved her chair a bit closer. He sighed, knowing that this would not end well.

"The Lord I lived with, Robert Raylan... he was murdered alongside his Maester. Two good men murdered, a line extinguished, a city in peril. If I can prove my worth here, I can prove my worth to the Lords of the Reach. Perhaps then my word will have some weight behind it", Lucas explained. The moment he mentioned Lord Robert, he noticed that Janae and Samantha exchanged a brief, surprised glance, before looking back at him, urging him to continue.

"Our only lead is the last man who saw them alive, the maester's apprentice. Goes by the name Dairon. A bit younger than me. Tall, but lanky. Reddish brown hair, pale skin. He was last seen taking the road to Oldtown, so Leonard and I chased after him", Lucas continued. "Lord Robert, he promised to help me stop my brother, before he becomes a danger to my family. Perhaps the new lord will do the same, if I manage to bring Lord Robert's killer to justice. The castellan of Raylansfair, he is a man of honour and he will surely uphold his old master's oath" Just then, he noticed Samantha's grin. "What?"

"Lord Raylan of Raylansfair", she asked. "Is the castellan's name... Harris? Harris Flowers?", Lucas looked at her in confusion, clearly surprised enough for her to chuckle. Even Janae seemed somewhat amused by his reaction.

"Turns out, we do know that Harris guy. Why, we're on our way to that very same city to meet with him", Samantha continued. "He hired the Gutters a few months ago, back when we were still fighting for the Marcher Lord Swann. Wanted a small, but discreet group of sellswords for some big task" She shrugged. "And since he's paying better than Swann, we took him up on it. We're on our way to Raylansfair right about now"

Now, Lucas' surprised expression gave way to an honest smile. The Gutters were coming to Raylansfair! Mother have mercy, he could hardly contain a grin as he realized what this would mean. And yet, why would Harris hire the Gutters in particular? "Looks like I'll be around either way", he sighed. "Only thing I need is to find that blasted boy and then we'll share a couple of pints in Raylansfair's best inn"

"Then you'll be happy to know that your boy sat in this very room just yesterday", Samantha revealed. "Didn't mention his name, but the description rings a bell. Quiet kid at first, sitting by himself"

"Dairon was here?", Lucas gasped, having his hopes confirmed. And just a day ago… this meant that even with only one horse there was a slight chance that they could still catch up to the boy. If he wasn't expecting to be followed, then perhaps he hadn't gotten too far. But this was all he had hoped for. A lead, at last, a chance to do his duty. "You need to tell me everything!"

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · May 5, 2024

Willfred

Looking down from the highest tower, Willfred could see the procession slowly nearing the castle. The king preferred not to travel with his whole court and Willfred counted not more than about fifty horses, slowly advancing the rugged and bleak path that led up to his father's castle. However, it seemed what the king lacked in servants or guards he made more than up for in accompanying noblemen, for compared to the size of the entourage Willfred saw a surprisingly large number of different banners. Of course, the golden lion of Lannister was chief among them, but there was also the burning tree of House Marbrand, the black and white boar of House Crakehall and, much to his surprise, the six seashells of Westerling. So, the King of the Rock was bringing him to Castamere?

Willfred stood up from his comfortable position. Castamere was not a big castle on the surface, but its southern tower was big enough to look down the mountainous path and the valley below. When he had been younger, Willfred believed that he could see all of his family's lands from up here. While he knew better now, it did not lessen the breathtaking view. The area around Castamere wasn't very fertile, quite barren, with only few trees and bushes and slightly yellowish grass. It was also quite mountainous and the most beautiful landscape Willfred had ever seen. His family's wealth came from the deep silver mines under these mountains and they had lived and mined here for thousands of years. Every mountain, every river, every village he could see belonged to his father and once he'd reach the highest peaks that loomed in the distance, all he could see from there belonged to him as well. Over everything the red lion. And over them, dark clouds on the horizon. All for their pride.

"Are you up there, Will?", a soft voice called out for him, tearing the heir to Castamere from his thoughts. His sister, of course. Not even a moment of peace could Alanna grant him on this dreadfully busy day.

Willfred rolled with his eyes before turning to the ladder leading down the tower. "What is it?", he asked loudly, slightly annoyed, before starting to climb the ladder down. Of course he could imagine what was expected of him. The King of the Rock decided to pay Castamere a visit, his first in years and the whole family had to be there to greet him. The many banners also confirmed the rumour that the king desired to hold a war council with his trusted generals, right at Castamere and as Lord Reyne's firstborn, Willfred had the privilege to attend. At least this war council was one of the things he actually looked forward to on this day. Everything else was a chore, especially the much-dreaded meeting with Loren Lannister. Last time they had met, he had been the King of the Rock, a man Willfred respected and knelt to, but no more than that. Now, in a very recent development, he was also his soon-to-be father-in-law.

For a short moment, his thoughts wandered to Lorna, the king's daughter. Golden of hair, with blue eyes, a Lannister beauty, the greatest treasure of Casterly Rock. It had been his father's diplomatic prowess that led to King Loren agreeing to betrothe his only daughter to the son of his most powerful bannerman and not for a lack of options. Among Lorna's suitors had been high lords of the Vale and the Reach, at least two sons of Mern Gardener and the firstborn of Lord Orson Royce. According to some rumours, Harren the Black had even offered to sue for peace, sealing the deal through a marriage between the fair gem of Casterly Rock and his firstborn, Crown Prince Harmund, the black-hearted fiend.

Thankfully for Lorna, Willfred's father had done much for the Lannisters and eventually King Loren had agreed, but even then his letter of confirmation had been filled with hesitation. Willfred had only seen the girl a few times and not since their betrothal had been made official, but he was looking forward to it. What he was not looking forward to was to spend more time in the presence of his father-in-law, for one wrong word, one blunder could undo years of diplomatic effort.

"Will!", the voice called again. "Father is awaiting your presence in the courtyard" With a sigh, Willfred looked down the ladder and saw his younger sister standing there. Alanna was tall and skinny, with high cheekbones and deep blue eyes, often said to resemble their young mother quite a lot. Willfred noticed that she had her long blonde hair carefully styled for this important event and she had put on her best dress, the silver one. He also realised that her cheeks were wet with recent tears. How completely unexpected…

"Alanna!", he said in audibly feigned surprise, as he began to climb down the ladder to meet with his only sister, younger than him by four years in body and probably twice that amount in mind. "How did you find me?"

Alanna scoffed. "There's only one place in this entire castle where you could stay all morning", she said with a low voice. "Also, Two-Face told me…" Willfred chuckled in a slightly mocking tone. Alanna was afraid of the man many mockingly called Two-Face, although there was little to be afraid of, for Walder, as was his real name, had been the captain of their guards since before Willfred was born and despite his gruesome looks he was loyal to a fault.

"He is such a gossip" Willfred chuckled, as he briefly gave his sister a pat on the shoulder. "By the way, what exactly have you been crying about again?" Alanna rolled her eyes at him and did not answer at first. That was typical for her. Crying. It had been adorable when she had been younger, but now, Willfred found it annoying and unseemly and he was sure that her future husband would find it annoying too. Maybe that was one of the reasons her father hadn't found a suitable match for her yet despite her being the only daughter of the most powerful lord of the Rock.

"I am afraid Will…", she finally said with a weak voice. Ah, Seven Hells. He liked to tease her, but at this moment Willfred felt a sting of sympathy for his little sister. He stopped at once and turned around, wordlessly putting his arms around her and pulling her into a gentle hug. Annoying or not, he could tell when she was serious and he could tell when she was afraid. And he didn't want her to be afraid, he preferred the joyful and kind-hearted Alanna, the one that would always make him smile and fill the halls of their home with music and song. The one even Two-Face liked, even if that grumpy old bastard would always deny it.

She began to weep softly into his chest. "I am afraid that the king will send you and father into war…", she whispered. "The knights have been talking. Things are bad in the east. They say the Ironborn march against the Golden Tooth again and that the king needs his most loyal" Will had no answer for this, except hugging her tighter. He wasn't afraid of war, but then again, he had never been in one before. What if the king would send him to the Riverlands, to bring the fight to the doors of House Hoare? A part of him would treasure such a task greatly. Another was content with winning glory in jousts and melees, in being a good brother and son and soon a good husband to the most beautiful gem in the entire kingdom.

He had no answer to Alanna's tears and none to his own concerns. He could only try not to be afraid himself. "We should get down. Dry your tears, sister, you don't want to let the king see them, do you? Think about it, you'll get to see Tino again!" Tinnet, their younger brother and squire to the crown prince, would come with the king. Alanna gave him a weak nod, the thought of her brother clearly enough to cheer her up slightly, before they both continued the way down.

Just as they reached the bottom of the tower, the clouds broke and the first soft drops of rain poured down onto the lion cubs. They stepped into the modest courtyard of Castamere, surrounded by walls on three sides and by the side of the very mountain it had been built in by a fourth. Small for the keep of such an important and ancient house, most would be surprised by how deep it had been built into the very foundations of the earth.

Their mother was the first to spot them and she quickly raised her hands to wave them over. "Willfred! Alanna! Hurry, the king will arrive any moment now!", she shouted. In Willfred's earliest memories of her, she had born a certain resemblance to Alanna, but after three pregnancies she had gained some weight. To her son, she was still the most beautiful woman in the Rock, with the same golden hair her only daughter had inherited. On top of that, she was without a doubt the kindest woman Willfred had ever met.

Next to her stood his father, tall and stately, with short black hair and a bushy black beard, wearing his finest silver attire with a wide red cloak draped over his shoulders. Willfred had gotten his darker hair from his father and he was quite grateful for it. It helped to set him apart from the fair-haired men that surrounded them. Right now, his father looked at Willfred with his usual stern look and his eyes were a piercing light hazel. "There you are, boy", he growled. "You're late"

Alongside the family, almost the entire household had gathered on the courtyard, servants, knights, the maester, both septas, over a hundred men and almost as many women, all to greet the king. Willfred took position between his father, who gave him a gruff nod. Just then, he felt a hand briefly, but strongly clasping his shoulder and as he glanced over it, he spotted the man most of the commoners knew only as Two-Face, his father's trusty friend, captain of the household guards and personal protector of the Reyne children. Willfred knew his real name to be Walder Waters, but few called him by it, for his scarred appearance certainly earned him the moniker. He was even taller than Willfred's father, clad in black steel, with a head full of wild, black hair and a bushy beard. But what truly set him apart were the horrific burn marks on the side of his head, the flesh on his temple having melted and scarred over. Most of his face remained intact, but it was hard to call it handsome even without taking the knotty, dark scars into account. Willfred had always wondered how one would get such scars, but Walder had remained quiet about the topic.

Despite his gruff appearance, the warrior seemed pleased that Willfred had found his way here, more pleased than even his own father. "What a pride of lions we got here", he growled. "Look alive, boy! You'll want to be on your best behaviour with the golden king, lest he denies you that gem your father worked so hard to acquire" A crooked, but genuine grin flashed over Walder's scarred face and Willfred shot him one in return.

"Mylady, your hair gets all wet", a soft voice hissed towards Alanna. Lea stood there, her handmaiden, a dark-haired northern woman, closer to Willfred in age than his sister. She has grown up with the Reyne children and been Alanna's constant companion for over ten years, but beyond that she was trusty friend even to Willfred. Painfully shy, easy to mock, but trusty and forgiving. "And we need to do something about your cheeks. Let me have a look" While the girl moved around Alanna, tidying her up at the last moment, Willfred turned his attention back to the gate.

A short trumpet blast from the walls announced the king's arrival. Willfred tensed up as the gates were opened, nervous as always when meeting the king. Up front rode the royal herald, a short and stocky man clad in the red and golden of House Lannister.

"His Majesty, Loren of House Lannister", he decreed. "First of his Name, Lion of the West and King of the Rock!" Two more trumpet blasts and then, Willfred could see the entourage just entering the keep, twenty men on horseback riding in first, with carriages and flagbearers behind them.

"Prince Lucion Lannister, heir to the Rock", the herald continued. "His squire, Tinnet Reyne!" A smile flashed across Willfred's face as he spotted his younger brother eagerly moving his horse even past that of the Lannister prince. "Lord Stevron Marbrand, Lord of Ashemark!", the herald declared. "Lord Quentyn Crakehall, Lord of Crakehall! And Ser Vashord Tallian, General of the Westerling forces as the representative of the Crag!"

When that last name was called, Willfred noticed that his father tensed up, his stern expression turning downright cold. There was little love lost between Lord Darren Reyne and General Vashord Tallian. Westerling's ward was one of King Loren's highest-ranking officers, a strict man and brilliant strategist, but also a vocal critic of the sheer power Darren Reyne was wielding, power he, according to Tallian, did not dedicate in full against their war against the Isles and the Rivers.

As part of the first batch of knights, Tallian rode in even ahead of his king, removing his helmet even before his horse stopped. He was on the heavy side, a pudgy man who did not quite fit into his fine armour, with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and a sour expression on his face. Clearly, he was about as thrilled to be here as Lord Darren was to have him.

Just then, Alanna grabbed his arm. "There he is!", she said with barely concealed excitement. Willfred shifted his attention to the King, who rode in behind his vanguard knights. Though not as handsome as most of his line famously were, Loren was still a tall and well-built man, a fighter through and through, with broad shoulders and a long, thin face with a prominent nose. His calm expression could only be described as regal, however and his attire was nothing short of impressive. The King of the Rock wore ornate armour adorned with the lion of Lannister and a cloak of lion fur, with his crown, a thin but exceptionally well-crafted golden laurel wreath, resting on his head.

Willfred knew that the king wasn't as charismatic as his predecessors had been, not a born talker and diplomat, but he made more than up for it with his brilliance in military matters. The right king for times of war. A leader, not to be loved, but to be followed. And without him, the Rock would have already lost their costly war against the Ironborn of House Hoare.

By his side rode Lucion, the kings only son, a man whom Willfred had many unpleasant memories of, humiliating defeats and heated arguments. Lucion was even taller than his father and by all means a very handsome man, with shining blue eyes and a sharp, superficially kind smile.

Next to the two golden lions rode Willfred's youngest brother Tinnet, Lucions squire. While Willfred got his looks mainly from his father and Alanna mainly from her mother, Tinnet was clearly from both of them, with Lord Darren's dark hair and Lady Mileena's kind face and blue eyes. As soon as he saw his siblings, a bright smile appeared on his face and Willfred could only grin back at him, for he had not seen his little brother in months. The boy seemed to have grown quite a lot since they had last seen each other.

One by one, the knights of the Rock descended from their horses, with only the elderly Lord Crakehall receiving aid, which he accepted with a sour expression. King Loren himself, flanked by his son and Vashord Tallian approached the Reyne family.

Willfred's father was the first to drop to his knees, together with the rest of the household. After a moment of hesitation, Willfred got on his knees as well. "Your grace! It is an honour to welcome you in Castamere!", his father intoned firmly. "Hail Loren, Lion of the West!"

Willfred looked up and saw a smile appearing on King Loren's face. "And I am honoured to be your guest, Darren!", he proclaimed, before extending a hand and all but pulling the Lord of Castamere back to his feet. The two men shared a warm handshake and now, a rare but genuine smile appeared on the lord's face.

As soon as they separated, a smile flashed across Loren's face, as he spread his arms to hug Willfred's mother "Mileena! It's good to see you!", he exclaimed. "By the Seven, you haven't aged a day. Still Lord Tarbeck's wreath of gold, aren't you?" His tone was good-natured, free from any venom and Willfred's mother blushed slightly.

Meanwhile his father and General Tallian limited their greeting to a short nod and a cold glare. The general glanced across the family, his gaze briefly meeting Willfred's. They both narrowed their eyes, but before Willfred could decide how to greet Westerling's ward, the king approached him. "Willfred, my boy, long time no see", Loren greeted him with a handshake and then a pat onto the shoulder. "I hope all is well with my future son-in-law"

Though the gesture was warm, his tone was curt. Willfred knew that he had not been the king's first choice as a son-in-law, but that he still decided for him over important foreign ties was a testimony to the power House Reyne wielded, something Willfred was keenly aware of in moments like this. "All is well indeed, your grace", he replied firmly. "And I do hope your journey has been uneventful"

Loren gave him a crooked smile. "It has been a bit rainy", he answered with a twinkle in his eyes. Willfred felt obliged to give him at least a weak laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother smiling while the handsome Lord Marbrand, a lean man with bright red hair, took a gallant bow in front of her.

Then he saw Tinnet running up to his sister, wrapping his arms around her, not caring for the hair and dress Lea had properly arranged just moments earlier. Tears streamed down Alanna's cheeks, this time clearly out of joy. She had always been close to Tinnet and in recent years he had spent more time in Casterly Rock than in Castamere. Everyone in Castamere had missed Tino, Willfred included, but he knew that their separation had been hardest on his sister. In earlier years, they had been inseparable, always roaming the castle and the mines, looking for an adventure. If the gods were good, they'd do so again soon.

King Loren smiled as he saw Alanna's joy. It was a surprisingly soft expression from a man as stern and unadorned as the King of the Rock. "Your brother missed you deeply, Willfred. You should talk to him", he spoke, but before he moved on, he raised one hand and gave Willfred a stern look. "We have a small war meeting as soon as possible, for the matter that brought me here demands swift counsel. I'd be honoured if you would join us"

Of course, Willfred knew this already. His father had told him days ago. With these words, Loren turned around, walking up to Willfred's father again, who talked to the elderly Lord Crakehall right now. On the other side, Two-Face walked up to General Tallian and gave him a surprisingly warm handshake.

"Will!" As Willfred turned around, he saw Tinnet, rushing to his side and nearly jumping into his hug. Almost as tall as Willfred but several years younger, he looked like a young lord in his Lannister attire, all red and golden instead of the silver of his family. If his hair had been blonde, he could have passed as one of the golden lions as well.

"Look at you, Tino all grown up", Willfred chuckled, moving one hand through his younger brother's hair and ruffling it until the boy pulled away in embarrassment. "Soon all the girls in the Rock will chase you!"

A bright laugh came from the king's son, who had just walked up to them, with Alanna nearby, stealing glances at the handsome lion. She had a weakness for men like him, handsome and confident, but Willfred knew Lucion a bit better, knew of his arrogance and egoism. He was not half the man his father was. Two times they had sparred with each other in the past, both had ended in victories for the Lannister, but Willfred knew that Lucion had just gotten lucky.

"The girls already chase him, Willfred! You should see my sister's dim-witted handmaidens all gushing over him when we walk around the castle", Lucion said with a feigned smile. "How are you, brother?" He extended a hand and Willfred shook it only reluctantly.

More than anything, he wanted to tell this arrogant Lannister that he wasn't his brother. Not yet. And being brother to Lucion Lannister certainly was one of the downsides of his engagement. "I am fine…", he mumbled. "I hope your journey had been alright, Lucion"

Lucion shook his head. "It rained all day", he answered with a slight smile, surely believing himself to be terribly clever. Seven hells, this joke hadn't even been funny when the king had said it! Willfred gave him a cold look, but Lucion didn't seem to notice it. "How is your training going, Will? We should spar, maybe after the greeting is over. What do you think?", the prince spoke. "I yearn for a proper opponent instead of the sheep that graze at Casterly Rock"

That smile. That damnable arrogant smile. How he would love to wipe it off Lannisters face. But not by giving the prince what he wanted. Today, he would not embarrass himself or his family by immediately picking a fight with his future brother-in-law. As such, Willfred forced himself to make a friendly smile. "Not today brother. I think it is more important to plan the war, instead of playing it", he replied and his smile got brighter with every word. "We are not children after all, are we?"

Lucion's own smile, on the other hand, faded. "Sure. You are right... brother", he answered shortly. "I see you around then, should you decide not to waste your time. Come, Tinnet!" With these words, he turned around and walked up to Lord Crakehall, leaving the Reyne siblings behind, though with a slightly apologising nod, Tinovhurried after him. Willfred looked after the crown prince with a triumphant grin. That will teach him!

"That one's not happy with you, m'lord"", Willfred heard a voice behind him. As he turned around he saw Lea, who raised one brow in slight amusement. Alanna's anger was definitely real on the other hand. His sister's face got bright red, partly out of embarrassment, partly out of anger. And Willfred saw tears in her eyes. Oh, not again!

"You made him angry...", she hissed. "The first time a prince like him rides into our keep and you just have to make him angry!" It seemed to take her all her willpower not to stomp her feet and storm off in front of the courtiers.

With a good-natured smirk, Willfred shook his head. "Eh, he'll be alright", he replied. "I know Lucion. He's not angry, he's just being a cunt. At most I snubbed him a little and he definitely deserved that!" In response, Alanna shot him a glare, before turning around with as much dignity as she could muster, heading after the crown prince"

He rolled his eyes, keenly aware that Lea seemed mildly annoyed by Alanna's mood swing as well. "I better got after her, m'lord. I'll calm her down, don't you worry", the handmaiden sighed. "That said, you did good there. Show that golden lion we're not to be pushed around" With a firm nod, she excused herself from the scene and Willfred knew that she was enjoying every moment of this at the least.

Just as he was looking around, another voice called out to him. "Willfred Reyne?", a man spoke with a firm, gruff tone. As he turned to his left, General Tallian stepped into his field of view. Up close, Willfred saw the cold, but firm look in the man's dark eyes. With impeccable manners, he made a short bow in front of Willfred. "My name is Vashord Tallian. It is a privilege, meeting you after hearing so many stories"

Willfred gave the general a nod in return. So, this was Vashord Tallian, King Loren's trusty tactician. He remembered what he had been told about the man. Even though the general had authority on the battlefield, he was not nobility by birth. His success came from being fostered by Lord Robert Westerling, who had taken a shine to the common boy, giving him his first command. That had been the beginning of an unusual success, one looked not looked favourably upon by the higher nobility of the kingdom, but one nurtured by their practical king nonetheless.

"General Tallian, the pleasure is all mine. Tell me, how is the war?", Willfred asked. His father rarely spoke about the war. Of course, the Reynes had sent troops, mainly to secure the northern coast. Every house was obliged to do that. But they were commanded by a distant uncle of Willfred and despite the strength of House Reyne no more than three hundred had been sent north. After all, the war has been stagnating for years now. Occasionally, the Rock led a campaign into the Riverlands, followed by increasing raidings of the coast in retaliation. Five years ago, the Ironborn attacked Lannisport, but were repelled. If all of the men of the Rock would band together, they could crush the Ironborn for good, Willfred had no doubt about it. But many were cautious, his father included. Too cautious for his liking.

"The war... had better days", Tallian sighed in a grim tone. "If you're looking for someone to bring you up to speed though, you won't find him in me. I'll summarise the situation only once and only at the war council. I heard you wish to join us?"

As they spoke, the two men began to walk towards the Great Hall, where his father and the other lords had gathered. "True", Willfred confirmed. "It is my first war council. Is there anything I should watch out for?"

Tallian let out a short laugh. "My usual advice would be to be careful around your father. He is a clever man and has no fondness for this bloodshed", he revealed. "But I can see you are cut from a different cloth. Tell me, Ser Willfred, what do you think of the war?"

Willfred was silent for a moment. He wanted to go into battle. He wanted to achieve glory. He wanted to be a hero and to prove himself worthy of Loren Lannister's fair daughter. But then he remembered how Alanna had cried at the thought of him going to war. "I've never been to a real war, General Tallian", he finally answered as they began to climb the stairs to the Great Hall itself. "I just hope we're going to win"

Tallian snorted in response, as they entered the hall itself. Much like the seemingly modest keep itself, the upper Great Hall of Castamere was neither the largest nor the most impressive in all Westeros. And yet, it was a good indicator for the sheer wealth House Reyne had at its disposal and the deep mines from which it came. The Great Hall reflected this well. Where other lords styled their halls with gold, the Reynes used silver. Silver frames for doors and windows, silver tableware, the banner of the Reynes on every wall. A red lion on silver ground.

"The king has called for an urgent meeting", Tallian said. "I have advised him so and I am pleased he even skips formalities, such as the dinner you had undoubtedly prepared" It was true, his mother had wasted no effort to compose a beautiful meal for the gathered lords, but it would have to wait.

Willfred saw his father, together with the King and Quentyn Crakehall. They were already heading towards one of the smaller chambers that connected to the Great Hall, one of several meeting rooms perfect for a council such as the one called right now. Stevron Marbrand was still talking to Willfred's mother, but took note of the king's intention. A gracious bow, followed by a kiss on the hand for Lady Mileena and then he turned around to join the king. Lucion joined him, still with a stony face.

As Willfred and Tallian walked towards the king and the Lord of Castamere, the huge, scarred Walder Waters approached them from the side, greeting Willfred with a curt nod, before marching by his left side. "Will you be accompanying us to the council, Two-Face?", Willfred asked.

"What else is a man supposed to do here, red lion?", he replied and a grim smirk flashed across his face. The effect on his scarred flesh was gruesome. "Lord Darren asked me to accompany you. Said my knowledge could come in handy" He let out a bellowing laugh. "Not much I can tell you that your lord father can't either. We've both been splitting Ironborn skulls side by side since before you left his nutsack and he was bloody good at it in his day"

With this, the three men entered the small meeting room. It was barely big enough for a small table, maybe able to hold about ten people, with narrow windows looking out into the courtyard. A large map was placed at the centre of the table, a map of the Rock with small figurines clearly representing their forces and those of the enemy. King Loren had already sat down at the head of the table, Lucion to his left, Lord Darren to his right. Next to Lucion was a free seat which was quickly taken by Vashord Tallian and next to him sat Quentyn Crakehall, who carried a small bundle. Stevron Marbrand took a seat on Lord Darren's side of the table, but left space for Willfred to sit between the two men, silently inviting him with a friendly nod. Only Walder remained standing, his hulking frame behind Lord Darren as usual.

"Good, mylords, you are all here", the king began as soon as they had all been seated. He pointed at the map and Willfred followed his gaze, looking at figurines. Small lions representing the Lannister forces were spread all across their borders, many protecting the kingdom's coastal holdings, with small krakens, clearly representing the Ironborn, located all around them at sea. He knew the Iron Fleet had the naval superiority in this war, their numbers and experience far beyond what the Rock could offer. More worryingly, Willfred spotted a large number of figurines on land on the eastern border, surrounding the Golden Tooth, the kingdom's border fortress.

The King of the Rock closed his eyes. "The Ironborn have started an offensive, swarming our coasts in numbers we have not seen in decades", he revealed. "With our forces bound on the coasts, he has sent an army of Riverlanders against the Golden Tooth. A fortnight ago, I have received word that Lionel Lefford has been slain. His son Mandon continues to hold out, but to break the siege he needs significant reinforcements of the king house Lannister no longer has, now that our forces need to repel the raiders from our shores"

His tone was grim and his words hung in the air for a while, with Lord Darren's expression darkening, as he and Willfred both realised how dire the situation was. "At this point, Harren Hoare seems determined to end this war and I fear he might succeed", Loren continued. "His numbers exceed ours by far, he naval superiority and our border fortresses are no longer as secure as we have been led to believe"

"What about allies?", Willfred's father asked. "The Rock does not stand alone and none have any fondness for Harren and his kin" He leant closer to the king, his wide gaze fixed on the Golden Tooth. Willfred was no stranger to tactics and he knew what it would mean to lose the Tooth. Without it, the fertile plains of the inner Rock would be unprotected. The Ironborn could plunder and raze their grain chambers and safely retreat before the Lannister army could stop them. With winter coming, it would mean starvation. It would mean that Loren would have to surrender or risk a famine. "Send word to any possible ally", Darren continued. "The North, the Reach, any place where good men with a grudge against the Ironborn rule"

Now, Loren narrowed his eyes. "I already have, dear Darren", he spoke calmly. "The North declined. Torrhen Stark is a cautious man who would rather focus on defending his own lands than aiding ours. The Vale declined. The boy king's mother believes she can keep her kingdom out of trouble if she just ignores what goes on beyond her borders, that foolish wench!" The king shook his head. "Only our old ally, Mern Gardener, has offered aid, but I know he is in a weak position and unable to muster his banners against an allies foe without risking unrest in parts of his own realm", he continued. "Instead, our cunning friend to the south has left it up to his bannermen to aid us or not"

With these words, Loren pulled out a small scroll. Willfred noticed the seal of a crowned book on it. "This is an older letter, written half a decade ago, by Lord Robert Raylan of Raylansfair", he revealed. "The old lord hates the Ironborn and has solemnly, in the name of gods and men, sworn to aid us should we ever have need of it. He has promised five hundred men, a vow which he bid his successor to uphold as well" Loren let out a sigh. "The fool that I was, I pondered on his request until now, unwilling to indebt myself to a foreign lord", he added. "I fear my hesitation can cost us dearly"

He placed the scroll on the table and a second, smaller one followed. The seal was the same. "This one, mylords, was written just a month ago, as a response to me asking Lord Raylan to uphold his vows", he stated. "This one was written by Lord Raylan's castellan, a certain Harris Flowers. He declined our request and informed us that his lord is dying and unable to make rational decisions. By doing so, he broke the vow his lord has made all these years ago. And with recent developments, this might be devastating to our war efforts"

Lord Darren cocked his eyebrows. "With all due respect, your grace, are these five hundred truly needed", he asked. "I know you have called for this meeting here at Castamere because you require Reyne troops. In accordance with my oaths of fealty, I will grant you them, the full might of House Reyne to crush the siege of the Golden Tooth" Willfred noticed a worried tone in his father's voice, a rarity with Darren Reyne. "But even if Lord Raylan sends his men, they will be too far away to protect our eastern border.

"It is not the eastern border that worries me, dear Darren, for I knew I could count on your aid", Loren spoke, though despite his pleased tone his expression remained stony. "But we need Lord Raylan to uphold the promise he gave us. We need his troops, or else we will lose our newest and most unexpected front"

This caught Willfred by surprise. "My king, I'm afraid I do not understand. Is the war really so bad that we need the troops of such a small house?", he asked. "You have the might of House Reyne behind you. With your troops and ours, surely we can repel the invaders"

Loren sighed. "I'm afraid the situation is worse than any of us expected...", he mumbled and his expression, always hard and cold, cracked for a moment, revealing to Willfred just how worried the king was. "Allow me to show you" He gave a short nod to Lord Crakehall, who put his small bundle onto the table.

As the lord removed the cloth around the bundle, Willfred noticed that it was a small battleaxe. "There have been sightings of marauders on our southern border", the old lord spoke, his voice stern and his gaze firmer than Willfred would have expected from a man of his age. "We thought them mere bandits, emboldened but mostly harmless. Then, I took this from one of them in combat. A Hoare battleaxe. The man I had slain had been Ironborn and so were all of his companions"

Willfred's eyes widened, just as Tallian began to speak. "Our enemy has fully encircled us and we have been too preoccupied with their obvious attacks that we failed to notice it until it was too late", he growled. "Now, our men are bound on the previously established fronts, while Ironborn raiders march through the wild lands between our holdings and those of Mern Gardener. We thought our southern border to be protected, but we could not have been more wrong about this"

To this, Crakehall gave him a firm nod. "I have sent most of my men north to defend Lannisport and the Yellow Lea", he growled. "If I pull them back as I may be forced to, this will leave our coastal holdings open for attack. If I don't, I risk my own house and kin and with all due respect, I won't be the first of my line to lose Crakehall to some Ironborn cunts"

King Loren spoke up again, his tone more conciliatory. "None will judge you, Lord Crakehall", he assured him. "But I have been hoping we can find a different solution. Raylan's five hundred. They can be our border force, fighting the marauders that now trouble our south. But to do so, one of you, mylords, must travel south and negotiate with Lord Raylan or, if he has passed on by now, with this narrow-minded castellan of his, this Harris Flowers"

He looked around, first at Willfred's father, then at Stevron Marbrand. "Neither of you two", he growled. "Darren, I have need of your men. Muster as many as you can within a week, then combine your host with Stevron's. March against the Golden Tooth and break this siege. I myself will join you with the few Lannister troops I have not yet bound to one of the other theatres of war"

While he said these words, Prince Lucion's gaze rested on Willfred. "Perhaps you should go, red lion", he then spoke up, cutting off his own father while a brief, wicked smirk flashed over his face. "After all, you wish to marry my sister, uniting the red lion and the golden one. Perhaps this could be a test of your abilities. If you cannot take care of a matter as trivial as getting this bastard to uphold his lord's solemn vows, then how can you take care of Lorna?"

Willfred narrowed his eyes, knowing exactly that this was the prince's way of getting back at him. Lucion was a petty man and Willfred was once more reminded why he had such little fondness for him. He noticed his own father's expression darkening, but to his surprise, both the lords Crakehall and Marbrand seemed rather taken by this idea. "This could work", Stevron Marbrand admitted. "Sending the son of your most powerful bannerman to uphold this vow, your grace, would surely be a powerful gesture. Raylansfair is a small town surrounded by insignificant holdings. The splendour of House Reyne will bedazzle them"

"This idea... I have heard worse from you, son", Loren admitted. Willfred sighed. The king liked this idea and as such, it was basically settled. He knew it, his father knew it and even though Lord Darren seemed clearly unhappy with this turn of events, he did not disagree. It made a certain amount of sense, even Willfred had to admit it. As such, the decision was made for him.

"I don't think I get a saying in this, do I?", he asked hopefully. "I was hoping to march by your side, father, to win glory in battle. I am ready, you know I am" His fathers glare could have made a lion tremble and was response enough. Immediately, Willfred sighed. "Alright then... Any advice on how I should do this?"

Lucion opened his mouth to speak, his expression smug, but a stern look from the king silenced him. "We have gold. Buy them, if you must. Or intimidate them", Loren offered. "Tell Lord Raylan, a Lannister always pays his debts. Furthermore… there might be an ally you and only you can recruit in the Reach" He exchanged a glance with Willfred's father. "Your brother travels the Reach at the time, doesn't he?"

Darren Reyne scoffed. "My half-brother, yes. Ser Roger Hill... But he is a man without honour. Unreliable. He has no loyalty to the Rock. Your grace, I do not think we can put any faith in Roger. Any man who attacks his own brother is not to be trusted"

Lucion narrowed his eyes. "He is a good man...", the king's son said with a rare anger in his voice. Willfred himself had heard of his uncle but only from tales. Roger Hill, his grandfather's bastard, who had gotten into a fierce fight with his own brother before leaving Castamere for good shortly before Willfred was born. Afterwards, he had been at Casterly Rock for many years, being master-at-arms to the young prince and Loren's nephews.

Willfred had never met him and only heard his father's spiteful tales. And yet, Roger Hill was family. House Reyne always stuck together in good and ill, it was right there in their words. "All for our pride…", he mumbled, before he looked at his father, who had clenched one fist. With a sigh, Darren gave him a nod and that was all the confirmation Willfred needed. "I will look for my uncle then. He might be of help indeed"

King Loren seemed to be wholly satisfied with this response. "From his time at Casterly Rock, I know Ser Roger as a decent man", he admitted. "He might not be a Reyne by name, but he has your blood. He would do all for his Pride" He exchanged one glance with his son. "And maybe we even know where he could be right now"

Lucion sighed, before he himself continued. "Roger is for all intents and purposes a knight errant, sending word of his exploits to Casterly Rock", he explained. "We know he is somewhere between Crakehall and Old Oak by now, having become some sort of folk hero to the commoners"

Willfred's father looked up and raised a brow. "Why would he do that?", the Lord of Castamere growled, making his displeasure known. "Seven Hells, his own family hasn't heard of him in decades!"

To this, Lucion gave him a sharp glare. "Well, maybe because we are the only family that did not treat him like a bastard", he hissed. "You have never given him a chance, mylord, but Roger is a good man, a loyal man"

Willfred's father did not react to this outburst. Instead he looked at the king. "Your grace, what did he write?", he asked. Other people would sound concerned when asking about their brother, whom they hadn't seen in twenty years. Darren Reyne managed to sound calm, almost as if he had asked the king about the weather.

The kings answer was almost as trivial, as if he had just complained about the rain again. "Rogers last letter arrived two months ago. He was between Old Oak and Crakehall then, mentioning an increase in outlaw activity", the king told him. "We can now presume that he encountered the same marauders that are now troubling our borders"

Darren looked at his son. "Are you sure you want to do this, Willfred?", he asked again, this time sounding slightly worried. It was unlike him and Willfred took note of it. While his father was a good man and had raised him well, he had never been affectionate, not like his mother.

Willfred looked his father right in the eyes. "Yes, father. If the war requires it, I will head to the Reach, find Roger and return with an army. For our pride", he answered. Apparently he had given the right answer for his father gave him a brief, genuinely warm smile.

King Loren smiled as well. "Very well, Willfred. I am glad you will do this. I know you've never met him, but Roger is a good man", he assured him. "He has his flaws, but I would trust him with my life"

Just then, Vashord Tallian cleared his throat. "Your grace, I would like to accompany Ser Willfred and offer all the help I can give", he offered. "Raylansfair is a coastal city. They often have troubles with Ironborn and I am sure my military advice might be useful for them and beneficial for our negotiations"

A surprised expression flashed across Willfred's face, but King Loren seemed to have expected Tallian's decision. "That could indeed be helpful, Vashord", he confirmed. "However, I do expect results from you, have I made myself clear?"

Tallian bowed. "Yes, your grace. I won't disappoint you", he promised before looking at Willfred. "Are you okay with this, Ser Willfred? There is no love lost between me and your father, but I hope to be of aid to you in this crucial task"

Willfred looked over to his father. The Lord of Castamere was in deep thought, a frown on his face as he silently contemplated the offer. Finally, he gave his son a short, quiet nod, confirming a decision Willfred would have chosen without him as well "It would be an honour", Willfred answered and he honestly meant it. He did not know Tallian well, but the general was an accomplished man and he was curious to see what he could offer to the task at hand.

"And I will escort you to our borders", the old lord Crakehall growled. "To my own seat at the least. If Raylansfair won't send aid, I will defend Crakehall to whatever end" It was a fierce proclamation and one Willfred understood as a challenge to the king. Quentyn Crakehall was among the oldest bannermen of King Loren and true to his words, there were none so fierce as him.

King Loren and Lord Darren exchanged a long look and only Willfred picked up on the subtle shift on his father's face. Finally, he nodded and a pleased smile flashed across Loren's face. "You will not travel alone, none of you", Willfred's father explained. "I can muster two hundred men in a few hours. They will head to the border with you and aid in the defence of Crakehall. Two dozen of them will continue as part of Willfred's retinue"

It was a generous offer and the gesture was not lost on Crakehall, who shot him a crooked, but genuine grin. "Is that your apology for spurning my Sally all these years ago, red lion?", he chuckled. "Ah, I accept! Long may we hold out if all else fails!"

Willfred's father gave him a firm nod. "So be it then", he sighed, before he looked at his king. Immediately, all hesitation left his gaze, the red lion glaring at the golden one and Willfred tensed up. "One more thing, your grace, and I think we all deserve the truth here", the Lord of Castamere spoke. "Can we truly win this war, even with aid from Raylansfair? House Hoare has the largest army in all Westeros, their troops are fierce and cruel and they want nothing more than our blood" His words were grim and the brief, hopeful mood Willfred had felt was gone in an instant, for he knew that his sharp father spoke truthfully as always. "If we lose the fight, we will have to negotiate from a weakened position, but perhaps we can sue for peace now and prepare for the coming winter"

A sharp glare flashed across the king's face, but he softened up almost immediately as he noticed the honest concern on his bannerman's face. "I won't lie, mylord's. It isn't going to be easy. Raylansfair's troops will only free our own, they won't win us the battles to come", he answered. "Victory is not assured"

His words hung in the air for a moment and only Quentyn Crakehall's jolly, defiant mood did not falter, for the old lord seemed genuinely enthusiastic. Then, Loren Lannister slammed one fist down onto the table, firm and heavy, as he rose from his chair. Each man in the room received a long, stern glare. "And yet, I refuse to negotiate, for I know it to be futile", he declared. "Harren Hoare does not negotiate, for he thinks this land is his for the taking. He believes he can break us, as his people have done for thousands of years!"

With a rare passion in his tone, Loren slammed his fist onto the map, hard enough to make the small kraken figurines near the Golden Tooth topple over. "But what he does not consider is that we are not weak. We are Men of the Rock and iron cannot break us!", he declared, "He will hit us again and again, hoping to see us fall. Again and again he will strike, cruel and relentless, from land and sea. And I will not lie, many will perish. But we will not break. The Rock will not break, not to his iron chains and his iron fleet and not to the thralls under his command!"

The Lion of Lannister spread his arms and Willfred felt renewed vigour. Prince Lucion and Lord Marbrand exchanged a confident look and even Lord Darren's expression lightened slightly. "We will not fall, mylords!", Loren continued. "With aid or without, we will repel him over and over until his iron gets jagged and dull, until his own men falter and the Riverlands are set ablaze. And then, mylords, we will pay the debt. I vow to you, before the end comes Harren the Black will cower in fear, for he will hear me roar!"

And for a moment, Loren Lannister sounded more like a lion than a man.

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · May 10, 2024

Richard

Something was clearly worrying her. Richard could clearly see it, despite her insistence that all was well. "Are you sure nothing's the matter?", he asked. "You look... distraught..." As she turned around to face him, she seemed genuinely shaken for a moment. He knew Lyria for years now. She was strong and stubborn and not easily frightened. Yet, something clearly scared her. "It's... it's nothing, really", she claimed once more. "I've just heard what happened to the Lord and to Maester Eaton... and I don't know what that means for us"

Richard closed his eyes for a moment as she mentioned Eaton. He had always liked the man. And he remembered how Maester Eaton, over seventy years old at that time, had come alone and by foot in the middle of the night, only to help Richard's family. He had been too late to save his wife. But Jenna... Richard owed him the life of his daughter. And now he was gone.

"I don't know either…", Richard admitted. "For all my life it has been 'Lord Robert'. I don't even know who is going to succeed him" He hadn't known Robert Raylan very well, but to him the man had been a hero. Six years ago, his actions had saved a large part of the city from the Ironborn and he had always been kind and fair in his judgments. Yes, Lord Raylan had been a good man and a good lord and without him, Raylansfair felt wrong. But he knew that Lyria saw it differently, not without reason. She was the last person he thought would have mourned the late lord.

"The workers in the archive will find out...", Lyria stated. Yes, that much was for certain. The historians wouldn't sleep for the next few days, they would work through every book in the archive and they would eventually find some connection House Raylan had to another noble house. Something like that had to have happened before, right?

"Possible", he admitted. "I'm going to meet Philip at the Pony. I could ask him" Philip Loren, one of his friends, was currently working at the archive, not as a historian, but a helping hand was always needed in this maze of ink and paper. He'd know better than a farmer and a blacksmith at the least.

Lyria gave him a weak nod. "Yeah, do that", Lyria mumbled, her gaze darting around the crowd. "This whole situation just gets to me. I think I just need a short break. Maybe a prayer... Something" There was clearly something she wasn't telling him, but Richard knew better than to pry.

"A prayer could help", he offered, half in jest, slightly unsure what he should say in a situation like this. He had never seen her agitated like this, but he himself was concerned as well. The future of their city was more than just a bit uncertain.

She gave him a nod, followed by a weak smile. "I think I'll be doing just that", she replied. "Richard... take care. Keep Jenna safe, remember" With these words, she turned to the sept, where Septon Corbin was holding a sermon the whole day, praying for the mercy of the Seven.

Richard himself had just gotten out of the Sept and the thought of Lyria having to spend hours in there felt him with pity. After a sermon with Septon Corbin, he always found himself in need of a stiff drink, so that was exactly what he'd go for on this troubled day.

Still... the advice to keep Jenna safe... Was something wrong? He looked at Lyria and for a moment it seemed as if she wanted to say something else. But she simply turned around and began to walk towards the Sept, with every step she seemed to become stronger again.

Looking after her, Richard Harking shook his head. He knew that he was one of Lyria's only friends, but if she could not even tell him, then it had to be something severe.. The woman had always been too quiet about her own fears and concerns. One of these days, this would be an issue…

He walked over the market square, up to the Tapping Pony, Raylansfairs largest and finest tavern. The three-story building had seen better days, but the beer was greatand he was a regular, a friend of Audrey Marigold, the stout proprietress of the inn. And on a day like this, it was packed with customers well before the evenings. About a hundred people could fit into the large taproom, dozens of which were here already.

And one poor barmaid had to handle the situation all alone... Or at least she would be a poor barmaid if she wouldn't be Ilish Granver. She had been working at the Pony for three years now and did a tremendously good job, at least from Richard's perspective. A clever girl, able to retaliate every comment thrown in her face and quite deft as well. Richard had seen her taking a drunkard's purse, after the man had thrown an insulting comment about her mother right in her face. Yeah, she had fit right in with the crowd at the Pony.

The moment he entered, the heat of the taproom stunned him, as did the noise. It seemed that half the city wanted to drown their worries after the shocking news of this morning. His favourite barmaid quickly took note of him and with a friendly wave, she began to make her way past packed tables. Ilish was a short and thin girl, whose pale, freckled skin and dark hair gave away her northern heritage immediately. Luckily for her, she was not entirely alone today, for the red-haired Daisy worked behind the counter.

"Hey Richard!", she said, with a slight smile, pushing her lean frame past a staggering drunkard and giving the man a light tap on the shoulder. "Urid and Philip are in the back. Told me to look out for you"

Richard smiled as he heard her words. He hadn't counted on Urid to attend their little meeting, for his quiet friend had grown a bit meek after the birth of his youngest child. "Thanks Ilish!", he replied, greeting her by briefly placing a hand on her shoulder, his gaze already scanning the room for a sign of his companions. "Tough job today, huh?"

She replied with a bright, deceptively innocent grin. "A perfect day to make some money", she chirped. "Now, if you excuse me..." With these words, Ilish went up to another table, leaving Richard to look for his friends.

Philip Loren and Urid Strad were sitting at a small table in the back as the girl had said. It was Urid, the local tailor, who saw him first. The man was a bit shorter than Richard and several years younger. A father of three with an unassuming face and simple black hair and a Riverlander by birth. Despite their different upbringings, Richard had found a kindred spirit in the man, for Urid more than anyone else around him knew how it felt to care for several children, even if Richard's own were all grown up already. "Richard! Over here!", Urid shouted across the room, a wide smile on his face.

This prompted the man next to him, a pale blonde man with a short bedraggled beard to look up. Philip Loren was a few years older than Urid, closer to Richard in age, but unlike the other two men he was unmarried, a bit of a drifter. A sly smile flashed across his face. "Richard Harking! You kept us waiting!", he greeted him.

Richard walked over to them and pulled back a chair. "Not my fault. I got delayed", he explained and let out a pleased sigh as he sat down, resting his aching back after a morning of farm work.

"Well, you're here now and that's all that matters", Urid spoke, giving Richard a warm pat on the shoulder, followed by a bright and genuine smile. "It's been too long, my friend. How are things on the farm?"

Richard shrugged as he leant back against his chair. "Same old, same old", he sighed. "Roman's causing trouble as usual. Lays claim to a part of my land. If we can't settle it amiably, we're dealing with it on the next court day"

A cold sneer flashed across Philip's face. "So Roman's a proper asshole as always", he sighed. "Say the word and I gather the lads. Roughen him up a bit for you, that'll teach him" It was no empty promise and Richard knew it. Philip was a decent man, but he'd do anything for his friends. Once, Richard could only barely stop him from pummeling a man who had insulted Urid's wife.

As such, Richard was quick to shake his head and decisively so. "We won't be doing any of that", he assured him. "Roman's a difficult lad, but he has his good sides too, I'm sure of that" Philip seemed more than just a bit disappointed, but gave in with a grumbling nod. As such, Richard glanced at Urid. "And how about you? How's the family? Your youngest still doing well?"

The tailor smiled in response. "Yack has a good start in life. He looks like my father and he has these intelligent eyes, you know", he explained and his expression was practically beaming with joy. "Farrell and Mickaela love their little brother and Carma recovered pretty well, all things considered. She picked up work again this week"

It warmed Richard's heart to see his friend happy like this. At the same time, it brought back memories of when he was the same. A young father with a loving wife and four children on the way. Now, his wife was buried beneath the apple tree close to his farm, his sons were off to fight a war and his daughter was too busy to spend more than one night a week at his farm. As such, his smile was slightly forced. "You should cherish them", he mumbled, knowing that this was not the day for dreary thoughts. What had happened with Lord Robert and Maester Eaton was already bleak enough. "You know, I met Lyria today. Even she seems a bit worried"

This prompted Philip to chuckle. "Lyria Mettel? That woman can ge tworried too?", he exclaimed. "Tough as nails that one. When she gets worried, that can only mean that the White Walkers are returning. I wouldn't give too much on it, it's been quite the day!

Richard shook his head. "Not this time. I think something really got to her", he clarified. "She tried to downplay it, said it was because of the lord's death, but we all know how she felt about that man" He glanced at the table. "Seven prayers to him"

"Well, whatever it is, let her keep her secrets", Philip replied. "Speaking of secrets, did you get a chance to speak to your girl about the maester? That's something we should be talking about. Lord Raylan was ill, but Eaton?" He shook his head. "He was older than half of the scrolls in our archive, but still, I saw that man a few weeks ago and he was spry for his age", he added. "To lose both in one night… Something ain't adding up"

Richard shook his head, having only briefly spoken to Jenna after the horrid news had reached them. Urid however took a deep breath. "He fell from the tower… Officially, he jumped", he mumbled with a grim voice. "At least that's what Carma told me... she found him, you know..."

Philip raised an eyebrow, his usual grim expression softening slightly. "Your wife found him?", he asked with concern in his tone "Damn, that's hard. Is she alright?"

Urid's own smile faded. "Of course she is. Carma has gone through worse and it's not the first corpse she saw. We Riverfolks are steeled", he said with emphasis, before letting out a sigh. "But still... Maester Eaton's death took her hard. She liked the man, he has always been kind to her"

"Everybody liked him", Richard sighed, his tone slightly bitter. "Are you sure it was suicide?" Jenna hadn't been very forthcoming, but he knew that Carma Strad was gossip enough for three women. If there were any rumours among the servants she would know them all.

Urid shook his head, but then he leant closer and lowered his voice. "Carma saw some darkly clad figure leaving the keep and she wasn't the only one", he revealed. "One of the guards told her that Harris Flowers hired a Faceless Man to kill the Lord and the Maester. The maester's boy, this Dairon, he's missing too, so she believes that he's one of them Faceless"

"Yeah, that sounds about right", Philip interjected. "Murdered by a Faceless Man, sure!" He had spoken perhaps slightly too loud. Two of the local farmers from a neighbouring table looked up, but quickly minded their own business, as Richard glared over at them.

"Maybe we shouldn't talk about that kind of stuff...", he said. "Like, at all. It's an ill thing to speak that way about the dead and about our good castellan" His tone was serious, but more than anything else, he was angry at how loudly his friend had spoken these words.

Philip merely chuckled, but Urid gave him a glare. "Cut it, Philip", he hissed. "I don't want your loud mouth to get my Carma into trouble, you hear me?"

"Relax Urid, it wasn't that loud", he was quick to downplay it. "Besides, that creep over there didn't hear it, so there's something" He briefly and subtly pointed behind Richard, towards the entrance and when Richard followed his gaze, he spotted a man sitting by himself in a corner close to the door.

Richard had never seen this man before, for surely he'd remember him. A pallid man in his thirties with bedraggled blonde hair and unnerving grey eyes. He had a smile on his face bar any emotion, a chilling expression Richard had never seen on anyone before.

In that moment, the stranger's arm darted forwards, grabbing Ilish'd forearm as she passed him by. He spoke something to her, but the taproom was too loud for Richard to make out any words. "Shit… you ever seen that guy?", he growled.

Philip shook his head. "Poor fucker just signed his own death warrant", he whistled. "Let's lean back and enjoy the performance, lads. Ilish's going to handle him. I've seen her handling men twice her size" Richard narrowed his eyes, behind a little less confident in his favourite barmaid than Philip obviously was. Ilish tried to break free from the stranger's surprisingly strong grip, a look of pure anger on her face.

Richard clenched his fists. The stranger was speaking to Ilish while giving her this cold, unnerving grin. Either Ilish was too well-behaved to punch him, or she was too afraid. But, Philip was right. She had handled men twice her size. And this guy wasn't even that tall or muscular. He was just creepy.

Most of the others seemed to ignore what was going on there, if they noticed at all. But Richard was not like them. And he made his choice. With a sigh, he pushed himself up from the table. "Sorry, Philip, but I need to do this", he spoke. "You can back me up, or you can sit back and… enjoy your ale, I guess"

The moment he stood up, it was Philip who followed his lead, much to Richard's surprise. He noticed the farmer's surprised expression and shot him a confident smirk. "For the record, this is unnecessary", he replied. "But I'll be damned if I let you go there on your own"

Urid let out a sigh and stood up too, but Richard noticed that he didn't seem too sad about this turn of events. "Well... I don't think I have much of a choice here, do I?", he asked. "We all owe Ilish enough for that. Let's go and lend a hand!"

As the three men walked up to the stranger, Richard's heartbeat quickened. There were three of them and the stranger was all alone. And while Richard towered over all of them, Philip and Urid were no weaklings either. The stranger on the other hand was lean beneath his brown overcoat. He looked rather harmless, if it weren't for those dead eyes and the unnerving smile.

As the three men approached him, his attention shifted to them and his cold smile faded.. Ilish used this distraction to break free from his grip and gave him a hard slap in the face with the backhand. The stranger, more surprised than hurt, almost fell from his chair, his eyes wide as he placed one hand on his cheek.

"Fucker…", Ilish spat, before taking a step away from the stranger. "Thanks Richard" The farmer noticed that she was shaking.

The stranger stood up, his previously calm face now twisted with anger, before facing the three men. He wasn't tall and actually had to look up at Richard. "What was that about?", he asked, his voice harsh, raspy and shaking with anger. "I was only having a nice conversation with the lady"

Philip sneered. "Yeah, sure you were, mate", he spat. "Come on, don't play dumb!" The stranger slightly opened his coat and Richard gazed at a rusty dagger in a leathery sheet. Suddenly he didn't seem all that harmless anymore.

"Yes. A nice... conversation", he said with emphasis, staying dangerously calm. His eyes were wide opened and Richard noticed that he hadn't blinked one time. "What does it matter whom I talk to?" This time, he looked from Philip to Richard and the farmer had to break eye contact first, unable to stand this unsettling gaze. "I am only here to wait until blacksmith Mettelhas finished my appointment"

Richard's eyes widened. Lyria! That creepy weasel had something to do with her? That could explain her earlier tenseness. "What's your business with Lyria?", Richard asked, his voice cold with anger.

The stranger eyed him up and down. "Don't see how that's of any concern to you", he said with a bitter voice, before smiling again. "The dear blacksmith Mettel is just doing an assignment for me. And I'm going to pay her appropriately. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry..."

Philip seemed to notice Richard's anger and placed one hand on his shoulder. "Easy now... What is your name, stranger?", he asked. The stranger gave him a slight smile and Richard noticed that Philip's hand on his shoulder strained for a moment.

"Woodbark. Wolfius Woodbark", the stranger hissed and gave Philip an irritated stare as the man started to smirk, but it died down the very moment the man glared at him out of his cold, grey eyes. "That is my name", he insisted, before looking Richard straight in the eye. "And what's yours?"

By now, Richard noticed how shallow he was breathing. This man was unnerving, but he was messing with his friends and he was not one to remain silent. "My name is Richard Harking", he began. "Now could you please…"

Wolfius didn't even let him finish, as his gaze shifted towards Philip. "Harking. I'll remember that", he hissed. "And yours?" Philip looked at Richard, visibly unnerved, before merely shaking his head.

Wolfius only gave him a cold glare, but he did not push the matter any further before turning to Urid. "And… yours?", he asked again, this time with a low growl accompanying his voice. There was something feral about him now and Richard was certain he was more dangerous than he had seemed at first.

Urid looked at him for help, but it was Ilish who answered in his stead. "I'd say you better get the fuck out of here now", she hissed and her voice was as sweet as a knife. "Or I'll cut your balls off. I'm just about done with you"

Wolfius gave her a confused look. "That… is a very odd name", he sighed, but he seemed to understand what Ilish was saying and took a few steps back. "But so be it. We will meet again" With a short and impeccable bow, he walked out of the inn, leaving Richard in mild confusion and deeply unsettled. This stranger had seemed weird, almost laughable. Yet... something was off about him. His smile. His stare. His strange way of speaking, always so calm and monotone. This man wasn't harmless. Not at all.

"Just… who was that guy?", Philip finally managed to say. "You seen his eyes? That was unsettling" Though usually confident, Richard could see how shaken his friend was, even as he tried to appear brave in front of Ilish. "You alright?", he asked the barmaid.

Ilish rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm alright!", she hissed, before giving the men a brief, but entirely genuine smile. "But I appreciate the help. Ale's on me tonight"

This brought a smile back to Philip's face, but Richard remained concerned and all of a sudden, he was not so certain if he even wanted that ale anymore. "What did he tell you?", he asked. "When he was speaking to you, that creep"

Ilish shrugged. "Nothing special. Started off polite enough, so I indulged him. Asked me a few odd questions about the city", she revealed. "But as I went to leave, he grabbed my arm. Still polite, but in a creepy way. Started to give me compliments, can you believe that?"

"Clearly a madman", Philip interjected, but his smirk was gone the moment Ilish shot him a glare. "Sorry…", he mumbled, completely averting his gaze.

"You think having to deal with men like him is funny, Philip Loren? Try wearing a dress in this inn for a day and we'll talk", she hissed. "He got really pushy. Wouldn't let go of me either. Asked me about my name. My age. Where I live. Of course I didn't tell him a thing. He ain't the first to try though" She shrugged and her smile returned, but a bit thinner than before. "Glad you were around, boys", she spoke. "Anyways, I gotta get back to work. You see what's going on here tonight"

With these words, Ilish turned away and walked over to another table, as if nothing had happened. To anyone not privy to what had just happened, it would surely seem that way. "Well, she's fine, that's for sure", Philip chuckled. "So, we're going back to drinking our beers now, or do you want to spend more time thinking about this Woodbarf, or whatever his name was?"

"Woodbark", Richard sighed. "The name was Woodbark. And I don't think we should make fun of him" He gave Philip a stern, serious glare."You noticed it too, right? That dead stare of his. That is no man you should make fun of"

He closed his eyes and shuddered at the memory of the look on Wolfius' face. Then, he shook his head "I'm afraid we have to cancel our meeting...", he muttered. "This guy said something about an assignment he had with Lyria. I'll gotta go and warn her about him"

Philip raised an eyebrow. "Don't think she will listen to you Richard, but go on, knock yourself out", he scoffed, but he smirked as he spoke and his tone was good-natured. "Guess that's what happens when you always try to do the right thing. You leave your friends to enjoy their free ale all on their own"

Richard gave him a sad smile. "Drink one for me, boys", he spoke and his expression hardened as he turned to the door, looking at the setting sun through the coloured window. "I'll be back in a few, once I checked up with Lyria" With these words, he stepped out and into the chilly autumn evening.

As Richard stepped out of the inn, he looked up into the darkening sky. Winter was coming. Of course, there had been a long summer and Richard had not been idle, hoarding supplies and preparing for the long cold ahead. Yet still, the thought of years of winter always filled him with concern. It wasn't quite dread, but he certainly worried. Worry for his daughter. Worry for his friends.

The last winter had taken his wife, when the food hadn't been enough. It had been three years long and these three had been enough to shatter his world. As he walked, he glanced up at the castle, its silhouette clearly visible against the setting sun. At least Jenna had a good life now. The castle was safe. The castle was warm. And nobody would ever starve to death there.

With a grim feeling in his gut, he continued his way through the city, closer towards Lyria's forge. Soon, Raylansfair was illuminated only by the last rays of sunlight, dousing the streets in a gloomy red twilight. For Richard, this was his favourite time of the day, when everything was quiet, peaceful, calm. The perfect time to think and to be alone for a bit.

As always, his family came to mind. Jenna was his only daughter, his sweetest child. She was gentle and exceptionally timid, yet sometimes Richard was more afraid for her than she could ever be on her own. It was truly a blessing that Lord Robert had granted her a spot in his household. Back then, Richard had been certain that Maester Eaton had played a part in this. He knew there had been feelings of guilt within Eaton for not having been able to save Richards wife when she had grown too weak. There had never been anything to feel guilty of, not for Eaton at least, for the maester had tried everything. Unlike Richard…

And then there were his sons. Arvin, his oldest son, his most ferocious son. Dylar and Dramin, Jennas younger brothers, barely grown men, trying too much to be like their older brother. The day they had volunteered to follow him into the war was one of the darkest in Richards life. They were in the Dornish Marches now, fighting alongside the forces of the Storm King. Fighting against the Dornish. It had been many months since he last heard of them.

Just then, a faint noise from a nearby alleyway caught his attention, a gasp and a muffled cry, something that made him freeze at once. With wide eyes, he glanced into the darkness and when he moved closer, a chill of true dread ran down his spine. There, on the ground lay a body. He couldn't see who it was, nor did he look any closer, for above this body he saw a crouched figure. Again Richard couldn't detect any features in the dark, but the setting sun reflected off a short, crude dagger, red as the few rays of light that still reached it.

For a moment, Richard and the figure stared at each other, before the figure let out a hiss. Then, they turned around and ran down the alleyway, leaving Richard free to rush towards the body. It was a young girl, maybe a bit younger than Jenna, with short red hair and a pretty face, freckled like Ilish's. A thin, red smile ran through her throat. By then, the figure had already reached the other end of the courtyard.

Just then, light fell onto the killer's face and Richard's eyes widened as he recognized the pallid features of Wolfius Woodbark, still in his brown overcoat, his grey eyes wide and furious. He bared his teeth to a feral snarl, before he reached the end of the alleyway. With a heavy roar, Richard jumped up. He tried to ignore his heavy breathing and the furious beating of his heart. He tried to ignore his fear. This man could not get away!

He had known something was off with Wolfius Woodbark and yet, as Richard quickened his pace, he realised just how much he had underestimated this man. His pace quickened and he rushed around the corner, seeing Wolfius running down the dark road. Though not by much, Richard was faster. If he could keep this up, he would catch him and then… well, that was for later to decide. Now, all he knew was that he could not let him get away, he would not!

Wolfius seemed to notice that too, because he ran even faster than before. Richard suppressed the urge to shout something, for he needed all his breath. In moments like this, Richard was glad for his build, for he knew that once he'd catch up to him, he could overpower him. This Wolfius, killer as he was, did not seem like a fighter. And yet, with an uneasy feeling, Richard remembered the rusty dagger. Wolfius had been carrying with him. That was not a weapon made to fight with, that was a weapon made to thrust, to slice, to slash and maim. A weapon made to kill.

And another thought crept into the farmer's mind, as he hurried down the street. He had told him his name… Jenna! By the gods, Wolfius knew his name! From there on, it would be possible he'd find out about Jenna as well. No, that would not happen, not if Richard could prevent it! Only a few metres separated him from Wolfius by now. In the dim light, the man looked even thinner than in the tavern, not imposing. No threat. But Richard had underestimated him before. He would not make this mistake again, for Jenna, for the city and for the poor girl whose throat this murderer had just cut.

It wasn't long until Richard knew where Wolfius was heading to. The buildings got taller, but more and more uninhabited. Wolfius was running down to the harbour. The storehouses there would be a perfect hideout for a man like him. Nobody lived here and there were storehouses were few ever came to...

Over three thousand people and somehow this bastard had found the one spot where nobody ever came to. Despite the stress, his rager and growing exhaustion, Richard gulped in a sudden chill. If he would die here, nobody would find him…

In that moment, Wolfius noticed an open door to his right and with a quick jump, he disappeared through it. It was a tall, two-story building, one of the older storehouses, indeed one of those that hadn't been used in years. A building with plenty of opportunities to hide a body... No, no, he should not think about that. He had to stop the killer.

Richard stopped only briefly, glancing left and right for anyone to aid him, but night was falling already and throughout the entire chase he had not met a single soul aside from Wolfius himself. As such, knowing that this would be up to him, he took a deep breath before he headed into the darkness.

The room was almost pitch black. From what Richard could see, it was large, packed with old, dusty crates over two floors, though the second floor only consisted of a small gallery and some smaller doors behind it. Plenty of space to hide. There was a second exit, a small, but closed window on the second floor, through which scarce moonlight fell down into the room.

With a furiously beating heart, Richard stepped into the room, deeper into its centre, into the small circle of moonlight that came from the window. By now, his breathing had steadied and his reflexes were heightened. Wolfius was in here somewhere. But more than that, after a moment in which the farmer looked around, he realised that he was not alone.

"My, my...", a soft, male voice said. It did not sound like Wolfius. "Look who we have here... A hero, trying to save the day" As Richard looked up, he saw a figure standing on the second floor above him. "Aren't you an unexpected sight"

"How did he find us here…?", a second voice, female this time, spoke, her tone notably less confident. "Clayton, we need to…"

The male voice cut her off with a hiss. "Someone screwed up…", he barked. " Ain't that right, Kersea? Now, brave hero, would you kindly explain to me why you are here?"

Richard looked up to see how many people were watching him right now. He saw one figure, tall and well-built, leaning onto the railing, with a second, shorter figure by his side. He glanced around and at the exit, feeling like cattle, watched by predators.

"I... I am here for Wolfius!", he exclaimed. "I don't know who you re, but I have no issue with you. But this… this beast! He murdered a young girl... I..." Richard noticed that his voice sounded shaky, just like his hands were slightly trembling. He closed his eyes. Wolfius would have been bad enough of an opponent on his own. But these people, two of them at the least, perhaps more... He had never felt so vulnerable in all his life.

The male voice let out something resembling laughter. "Wolfius? You are here for Wolfius Woodbark?", he asked in a mocking tone. "I can assure you, Wolfius is none of your concern Regardless of who you think Wolfius might be... what he might be capable of... I'm worse"

As he spoke, he descended from a narrow staircase and Richard could see him more closely now. He was a tall man, well-built, wearing a vest that left his arms bare. His face was lean, with short-cut hair and as he came closer, Richard saw that one of his eyes was missing, with a nasty scar running through that side of his face. "You just got into something far too big for you, little villager…", the one-eyed man whispered. "And I'm sorry for what is going to happen now"

"God damn it, just get over with it. Cut his throat and be done", the woman up the gallery hissed. Richard shuddered, but when he turned to the exit, he spotted a third figure blocking his path, another woman, wiry and lanky, wielding something in her hand. A crossbow, as he realised. Only then did Richard fully understand what sort of danger he had gotten himself into. And still, Wolfius was nowhere to be seen.

"Please, puppy, don't be like that", the woman with the crossbow hissed. "There's nothing against playing with the cattle" She pointed the crossbow at him and as she came closer, Richard saw her face, lean and pale, marred by several scars and with damp dark hair tied behind her head. Her eyes were the worst though, for they were dark and deep and as empty as Wolfius' had been.

Richard took a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes. He had always thought of himself as a brave man. He had been at his wife's side through four childbirths and had held her hand on her deathbed. Not even once had he felt fear like this. Not once until now had he feared for his own life. He opened his eyes again and slowly turned around, facing the entrance. The door was still open. Though the armed woman was blocking his path, he was over a head taller than her. Maybe he could take her by surprise, tackle her out of the way and then run for his life…

His entire body tensed up as he prepared to charge. Before he could even begin though, the woman raised her crossbow, far too swift for him to even follow her move. And she fired from the hip…

A sharp, terrible pain exploded in his left leg and Richard fell to the ground, with a loud scream of agony. The armed woman began to laugh, a chilling and hollow tone. "It's in the eyes", she told him. "It's always in the eyes. I knew what you were going to do the moment you thought of it"

Richard gasped, reaching down and pressing one hand onto the wound. The bolt had only grazed his leg and then dug into the wooden floor next to him, but the pain was severe, so much that Richard could not even think about standing up. With wide, fearful eyes he saw the woman approach him.

"Have you ever hunted a rabbit, little hero?", she hissed and her smile did not reach her eyes. "Do you know the thrill, when you manage to graze its leg? The thrill of having it helpless and completely on your mercy? That moment when only your imagination limits you…"

Richard groaned in pain and despite his situation, he tried to crawl away from her. The one-eyed man stood only a few feet away and now, Richard saw another figure in the darkness, calmly and quietly watching. Wolfius Woodbark, his expression dead serious.

"What you feel right there, is an extraordinary sensation called 'pain', dear rabbit", the woman scoffed. "I'm going to reload now and then I will put a bolt into your other leg, nail it to the floor. Then I'll do the same with your arms. And before I'll cut your throat, I'm going to cut out your bright eyes..."

The one-eyed man interrupted her right there and then. "You will do no such thing, Alysanne", the man growled. "A corpse here in the city will be a hassle" He threw one glare at Wolfius, who slowly approached the circle of moonlight Richard now found himself in. "Another corpse, I mean", he added with a snarl. "No, we will not kill him. Kersea, get down here! This requires a more delicate touch"

The other figure Richard had seen in the darkness above him stepped down the staircase and even with the pain clouding his mind, Richard saw the reluctance in her steps. "Must we do this, Clayton?", she asked. "I get that he needs to die, but we're not here for cruelty. Well… some of us aren't"

She stepped into the light and he saw that she was young, perhaps only a few years older than Jenna, with dark hair and grey eyes, a short and lean woman. There was something wolfish about her, about all of them as they circled around Richard, but she kept behind the one-eyed man and her eyes were wide and apologetic.

"This is not cruelty, my love", the one-eyed man snarled and the woman, Kersea, flinched as he said these words. "No… this is a sad necessity. There is no place for heroes in this city once we're done with it" He crossed his arms, silently commanding her closer with one move of his head. "You will knock this poor sod out. Get him out of the city under cover of the darkest night. Now, a farmer who gets murdered here in the city, that will spark an investigation, one we cannot afford. But there are wolves in the forest who will gladly do the job for us"

Richard's eyes widened and his breaths became ragged. No... no that could not be! It should not end like this. It must not…! He glanced around, focussing onto the young woman who came closer, each of her steps soft, but with dangerous precision. "Please…", he managed to gasp, which made the other woman, Alysanne as the one-eyed man had called her, chuckle coldly.

The woman who approached him now, Kersea, shook her head. "This is nothing personal", she assured him. "But I must do this. Forgive me" With these words, she kicked him in the face, heavily and without holding back. For a second, pain exploded in his face and his senses dulled, but as he fell onto his back, his arms spread from his body, the mercy of oblivion would not come.

"Is that too much to ask for, my love?", Clayton spat. "Knock him out or I shall do it for you" With a groan Richard moved one hand to his face, feeling the blood on his forehead. The woman stood above him now and he could see how little she enjoyed this, unlike the other people in this room. And a second figure joined her, that of Wolfius Woodbark.

"One moment, Kersea Catelins", he hissed, before he flashed Richard a truly wicked grin. "You were so close, Richard Harking" He opened his overcoat, revealing the blood-stained dagger. "But this… all of this is too big for you. A rabbit you are not, for even rabbits have instincts. You on the other hand ran head first into your doom… Know that after Kersea is done with you, I'll make sure to send your family to you as fast as I can"

Richard let out a scream, half pain, half rage, trying to jump up, to grab this monster and take him to the grave with him, but before he could do this, Kersea delivered another brutal kick into his face, deceptively fast and stronger than before.

This time, everything turned to black.

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · May 14, 2024

Lucas

"He was indeed here", Samantha explained. "Sitting on that table over there just a day ago. At first he was quiet, but then Kyette, the barmaid, took some pity on him. Gave him a beer and that was all it took for him to start singing" She leant back in her chair and Lucas glanced past her at Leonard, who by now was thoroughly enjoying the attention fair Behara was giving him. "Told us some stuff about Raylansfair. Now, that was quite interesting, given that we're on our way there, so I did listen. Something about the lord being dead and the maester having sent him to Oldtown. Kyette could tell you more, she's…" And in that moment, all hell broke loose.

"What the fuck!", a familiar voice shouted. Temari slowly walked down the stairs, his one eye burning with a dangerous anger, as he watched his sister and Leonard, with the knight having just placed an arm around the girl, who had scooted unseemly close to him. "I'm gone for a hot minute, dealing with John's drunken gibberish and I come back to find my sister whoring herself out to Ser Fuckturd over there?"

He didn't even try to conceal his anger and his hand twitched towards his belt, where his sword would usually hang. Right now, Lucas was glad he was not armed, else steel would have been drawn already. The same, as he realized, could not be said about Leonard. And as Temari slowly strode towards the two, the innkeeper behind him glanced over his shoulder, where his warhammer was hanging on the wall.

"Excuse me?", Behara hissed, her tone more than just a bit irritated. "Did you just call me a whore?" She separated from the knight and crossed her arms as she glared at her brother. Though Lucas remembered her as a mild and sweet girl, right now her glare was no less fierce than her brother's

Temari expression barely softened and only for a moment. "You know what I meant!", he argued. "And you, Ser, you step away from my sister right fucking now or we're going to have a problem"

Unsurprisingly, had risen from his seat as well. "Or what?", he said and his facial expression was notably calm, whereas his voice was raised ever so slightly. "Excuse me, but what the fuck is your problem exactly?"

Lucas felt a hand on his shoulder and as he turned around he saw Samantha standing behind him. "Come on, Lucas. Sit down, there is no need in interfering with that", she spoke softly. "Temari knows exactly how far he can go" She was not entirely wrong there. Tem knew his strength, but his temper sometimes got the better of him. And Leonard… Lucas honestly did not know him well enough to make any assumptions. Things were getting dangerous.

"You are my problem. People like you", Temari hissed. "You see a pretty girl and all you can think about is making her your little whore for a night" Every word he uttered oozed disdain.

And even though he was calmer than the sellsword, Leonard started to get angry too. "That was not my intention, you daft knuckle dragger", he barked. "Your sister and I, we were having a normal, friendly conversation. Besides, she is not a child, so why don't you stay out of our business?"

Temari did not answer, but Lucas could see that he was trembling with rage, his fists clenched and it was clear the two men were about to fight. "Gods be damned!", the innkeeper roared. "You come to blows in my inn, you get booted, you hear me?"

Temari faced Leonard, his one eye filled with rage. Leonard looked back, slightly calmer. Yet he had a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Careful now. If you attack me, I'll hit back. And you won't like that", the knight warned him. It was no empty threat, Lucas was sure of that much at least.

Temari however merely chuckled, his one eye glaring at the knight. "You're not going to fight me", he claimed. "I know people like you, the oh-so-noble sort. All bark and no bite. You're a self-righteous coward, a weakling"

Leonard's expression grew progressivey colder. "I am a knight of Reach", he answered firmly. "An insult to me will be taken seriously. Besides, I was sworn to defend a maiden's honour" Behind her brother, Behara opened her mouth to protest, but by now this was no longer about her, for neither of these stubborn mules would back off. "Force me to draw my blade and I'll have to kill you"

"Stop this shit!", the innkeeper yelled again, audibly frustrated. His face grew red beneath his beard and glanced at his daughter, who had retreated behind the counter as well. "Lunett, get your brother and go outside to Kyette. This isn't going to end well..."

By contrast, Samantha had a slight smirk on her face. "Oh, that'll be golden...", she chirped. "Best case, your knight teaches Tem a lesson. Worst case, it'll be entertaining at the least. Ah, should have ordered more ale before this went down"

To his own surprise, Lucas found himself agreeing with the woman. Temari was his friend, but the sellsword had started this and as such, he found himself siding more and more with his fellow knight. "You know what... You might be right", he admitted and Samantha replied by giving him a pat on the shoulder.

Temari and Leonard started to watch the other's moves carefully. Lunett, the innkeeper's daughter, stared at the two men with wide eyes, before another loud call from her father made her cringe. "Lunett! Get. Your. Brother!", the innkeeper yelled again. This time, the girl hurried out the back door, but not without throwing another worried look at the two men.

"Lucas… do something…", Behara hissed. Lucas saw the hint of tears in her eyes and if he hadn't known her any better, he would have thought that she was crying in fear or sadness. But Behara had basically grown up in a sellsword company. She was no fighter, but hardened nonetheless. No, those were tears of frustration and anger and by now, even if he'd break the two men up, Temari would likely get his ass kicked by her.

"I bet five silver hands on your knight, Lucas. Bet he can hold his own in a proper fight", Samantha said and poked him in the ribs playfully. "Janae, you in?" With these words, she glanced at the other woman and gave her a playful smirk.

In return, Janae only gave her a cold glare. "Are you crazy Sammy?", she asked and shook her head. "Gutten would have stopped this by now" She was right, Gutten would have stopped that by now. Lucas knew exactly how Gutten would stop a fight like this. He would have beaten Leonard to death if it would have aided Temari. Wouldn't be the first time that had happened, for Tem was the kind to always get into a fight, either because of his sister, or because of his love for fighting and for killing, the only two things he seemed to be actually happy to do. It was for the best that John was not here right now, or else there would have been blood.

"Touch my sister and I'll rip your fucking eyeball out...", the sellsword growled in a low, dangerous tone, taking a step closer until the men were only inches apart.

In return, Leonard gave him a sly smile. "So... does that mean touched her once?", he answered, by now knowing fully well what this snide comment would provoke.

Temaris answer was a howl of rage as he jumped forwards, hitting Leonard faster than the knight could react and sending him almost to the floor. Leonard managed to recover and retaliated with a strong blow to his opponent's chin.

The sellsword dodged the punch and instead gave Leonard a heavy kick in the stomach. And even though Leonard wore light armour he must have felt that, as he went on his knees. Temari used the opportunity to kick him again, this time to his face, sending Leonard to the ground. "Mother have mercy!", the innkeeper shouted and grabbed the large warhammer.

"Don't intervene... they have to settle this...", Samantha told him, but even she did not seem to be that convinced anymore, as Leonard and Temari tumbled on the ground, the sellsword

In that moment, Leonard managed to catch Temari's fist, followed by a swift punch to the sellsword's face. Lucas noticed that the other knight was bleeding a bit, but he still seemed to be able to hit his opponent. The sellsword on the other hand got it worse. Leonard was still wearing gauntlets of reinforced leather and they left cuts in Temari's face with every punch.

One punch from the knight was enough to disorient Temari and he paused his attacks for a moment. Leonard used his opponents confusion and delivered two more punches to Temari's chin, finally managing to push him off from his chest. Breathing heavily, Leonard got up and then he finally drew his sword, pointing it at Temari' throat as the sellsword was lying on the ground, still visibly dizzy from the heavy punches.

Behara cried out, this time in fear and now, Janae jumped up as well. She hurried between the girl and her brother, holding her back while staring at Leonard. "Alright, you proved your point, Ser", she hissed. "Tem is a cunt, but he's got enough. Lower your sword"

Aylard the innkeeper walked from behind his bar, now holding the huge warhammer with one hand and pointing the blunt tip at Leonard. "Back off, all of you", he growled. "I swear by the Warrior and by the Stranger, nobody's going to die today or you'll regret it"

Leonard didn't even seem to notice him. He still pointed the edge of his sword at Temari, a glare of pure anger. Behara, trembling with worry for her brother, stepped between them now, placing one hand on the knight's arm. "Please…", she sighed. "Don't…"

By then, Janae shot a glare at Lucas. "We all had our fun, boy. Now stop this, or I will", she hissed. Lucas noticed that she held a small kitchen knife in her hand. He saw the weak spot in Leonards armour. And no doubt Janae saw it too.

Leonard had turned his back on them, instead still glaring down at Temari. "You will apologise...", he demanded. "Apologise now and we can all go our merry way. But I will not stand for this any more"

Lucas found it remarkable that there were two words Temari still managed to say in his nearly unconscious state. The first one was 'Fuck'. 'You' was the second. He let out a sigh. That damnable fool was digging his own grave.

Leonard shook his head. "Not to me, you idiot. I've had worse fights and say we're just about even", he clarified, before looking over to Behara. "You will apologise to your sister" With these words, he raised his sword…

... only to put it back in its sheath a second later. Janae let out a sigh of relief and Lucas noticed that he himself was shaking slightly. Behara let out a sigh of relief, but she was still trembling in fear and even Samantha did not seem to be calm anymore and her smile was gone. "I could have killed you...", Leonard stated. "Your life for an apology. Shouldn't be that hard a choice"

Temari gulped and gave him a weak nod. "Alright… alright… I'm done…", he mumbled, his voice slurred from the beating he had just received. Meanwhile, Leonard's armour seemed to have protected him from the worst, even if his face was slightly bruised. "Behara…", the sellsword added.

His sister came over to him, giving Leonard a stare that slowly shifted from horrified to genuinely grateful. "It's okay Tem...", she said. "You are an asshole, but that's part of your charm. After all, what are big brothers there for?" As she spoke, she gently stroked his head. Temari gave her a weak smile, before drifting into unconsciousness.

Leonard looked at the other people and gave them a weak smile. "So... that wasn't all that bad, wasn't it?", he smiled. Janae shook her head, mumbling something in the hard and guttural language of the Ghiscari, but Lucas could tell that she was not displeased. Neither was he, admittedly. He had underestimated Leonard, for a lesser man would have harmed Temari.

Aylard the innkeeper clearly felt different. He was still standing near Leonard, with rage on his face, though he had at least lowered his warhammer. "You two... you damned knights!", he spat. "Come here and think you own this place, picking fights with my guests. Stock up for the road, then be on your way. You will not stay the night here!"

Leonard's expression soured, but before he could answer, Lucas interjected. "Yes. We will leave", he assured him. "Apologies for what happened, but I believe we're even" Aylard gave him a short nod and with this, all was said between them, for the innkeeper finally headed back behind the counter, where he hung the warhammer back onto the wall.

With a slightly apologetic look, Lucas turned to Janae and Samantha, while Behara helped a badly bruised Temari to the backroom, to check up on his injuries. "Well… I guess our reunion won't be as long as I hoped it'd be. Tell John I'll see him in Raylansfair", he sighed. "Would have loved to catch up a bit more, but it is what it is. First we need to check up on this Kyette though. We need to know more about where Dairon's been heading to"

To this, Aylard glanced up again. "Kyette's off to Sparrowfield, small hamlet about five miles down the road, buying new supplies for needy guests", he growled. "Works for me, because if you hurry you might be able to catch up to her"

This time, Lucas gave him a respectful nod. "Appreciated, Ser", he spoke, as he patted Leonard onto the back. The knight was clearly in better condition than Temari, but he had received a few blows nonetheless. "We'll be leaving then. Thank you kindly, by the way"

The other knight said nothing in return, whereas Samantha shot him a brief, cheerful smile. "Don't you worry, good Sers", she chirped. "We'll make sure your city still stands once you're back" She gave Leonard a hardy pat onto the back that made the knight wince in pain. "Well-fought by the way! You should do that more often"

Now, Leonard managed to give her an expression that was somewhere between a grimace and a grin. "Yeah, not so sure about that…", he sighed. "Fucker threw a mean punch. Glad nothing's broken" With this, he shot Lucas a surprisingly cheerful grin. "So… I like your friends!", he stated.

For a moment, Lucas looked at him as if he had lost his mind, before letting out a soft chuckle. "You are a piece of work, Len", he replied, but his tone was softer again. "But I'm glad you're alright" He exchanged a warm handshake with Samantha, followed with a less warm but entirely honest nod from Janae and with this, the two knights stepped out of the inn again and onto the road, approaching the stables.

They were stopped only a few feet in front of the building, when all of a sudden, a small figure jumped from behind a thick bush. It was a young boy with short, dark brown hair and green eyes, just like the innkeeper. With a cheerful smile, he pointed a wooden sword at the two of them and the sheer contrast to the brutal fight that had just broken out took Lucas by surprise. "Halt, troublemakers!", the boy squealed. "I am Ser Galladon of Morne and I demand a duel!"

A small, but genuine smile appeared on Leonard's face, as he and Lucas exchanged a brief look. "Galladon of Morne?", Leonard exclaimed. "Seven have mercy, Flowers, I doubt we will stand a chance against this fierce hero"

"Sawyer!", another voice called out from the stables and the girl Lucas had seen earlier, the innkeeper's daughter, hurried after the boy. Up close there was something about her that caught Lucas' eye at once, a simple, but pleasant beauty. She had a worried expression on her face, but it faded as she saw the kind smile Leonard gave to her younger brother.

"I am sorry, m'lords!", she exclaimed. "He ain't supposed to bother you, but he's just a child" She reached her brother and wrapped an arm around him, a smile on her face as she moved a hand through the boy's hair.

The boy, Sawyer gave her an annoyed glare, before he broke free from his sister's grasp. "A duel!", he yelled, now directly at Leonard, who stood a bit closer to Lucas. "I demand a duel!"

"No offence taken, sweet lady", Leonard assured her, before he glanced around, swiftly spotting a stick on the ground. "But it appears the little knight just challenged be to a duel and a knight never backs down from a challenge" He seemed to be in rare good spirits, but when he noticed Lunett's worried look, he took a deep bow in front of her. "Don't you worry your pretty little head", he spoke. "I am no opponent for this formidable warrior"

With these words, he took a few steps to the side, with the boy running after him in excitement. Lucas glanced after them, only then realising that he was smiling. "Again, I am so sorry, m'lord", the girl spoke. "I'm Lunett, by the way. Lunett Kawl, Ser…"

"Lucas", Lucas introduced himself. He took a slight bow in front of her and a quick blush flashed across her face. "Just Lucas is fine, really. We were actually on our way to look for the barmaid who spoke to your guest yesterday, a girl named Kyette"

Lunett gave him a shy smile. "I'm sorry m'lord. She's on her way to Sparrowfield to buy new supplies. Just started. Maybe you could still catch up to her...", she revealed, while taking a short look at Leonard who just parried a strike by the young boy. "Your friend is good with children...", she added and blushed.

"Well, he has to be good for something", Lucas replied, to which the girl let out a bright chuckle. Lucas had to admit, she had a pretty laugh. He walked into the stables and Lunett followed him closely. "So, how far is Sparrowfield? Any chance we can catch up to her?"

The girl shrugged. "Probably. It's only a few miles and Kyette took the carriage, so she's plenty slow", she admitted. She tended to Leonard's horse, while Lucas turned to his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the girl glanced at him, a sly smile on her face. "Say, m'lord… Forgive a girl for listening, but you've been plenty loud. You're on your way to Oldtown, right?"

Lucas raised an eyebrow, but he gave her a nod. "That is correct", he confirmed. "Anything I can do for you there?" Now, what did she mean by that? He turned towards her, noticing the hopeful glint in her green eyes.

"Yes!", she exclaimed. "Yes, m'lord, you can! If it's not too much, I mean… may I… may I accompany you?" Her tone was innocent and honest, but her request nonetheless caught him off guard. "To Oldtown, I mean!", she added.

"Your father would kill me", Lucas protested at once and the girl took a step towards him, giving him a long, pleading look out of her green eyes. Her eyes were pretty too, he realised. "That… mylady, I am afraid this is out of the question"

Lunett took another step towards him. "He won't if you bring me back", she argued. "It's just… I've never left this place in all my life, never been farther than Sparrowsfield and it's just so… so boring here. So ordinary. I always wanted to see Oldtown, y'know" She had a pretty pout too… Seven Hells! Lucas quickly avoided eye contact to her and focussed on the decidedly less pretty pout of his horse. "I can cook for you, I can wash your clothes, I can sing… I won't slow you down if you take me, I promise"

This time, she reached out and clasped his hand and Lucas tensed up as she smiled at him. "Please, m'lord, please", she begged him again. "Just this once, I want to see the world. Besides, I can help you. I have an uncle who lives in Oldtown. He's a captain of the guard there, so if you help me, I help you. That's only fair, isn't it?"

It was only fair indeed. Lucas hesitated, but she stood a bit too close for that. And her offer was a good one. They needed the aid of a local in Oldtown and Lunett's guardsman uncle could be just the man they needed. "Alright then, you can come with us", he spoke, but he had lowered his voice, knowing that the innkeeper would kill him if anything were to happen to his precious daughter.

"Maybe Len can even show you the city. He's been there before, I think", he added. "But in return you will introduce us to your uncle and the moment we are ready to leave you will come with us. No arguing, no begging. That won't work again!"

Lunett's smile was contagious and wide and she jumped at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. "You take me with you?", she gasped. "Oh, thank you! Thank you! I can't believe it, oh Seven, I'm finally getting out of here!" The moment she separated from him, she actually saluted and Lucas could not stifle a smirk at how clumsy but earnest the gesture was. "I will not disappoint you, m'lord!"

"Just Lucas", he corrected her, as she rushed past him, to another box in the stables. He took a step back, silently impressed as she pulled forth a backpack she had hidden there, as well as a thin mare that had been standing in one of the boxes.

"You're not the first to ask, but the first to agree", the girl admitted. "So I hid a backpack here, some supplies and spare clothes, all I need for a proper adventure. Just you wait, I'll prove my worth, just you see"

In Lucas' eyes, she was off to a good start when she managed to saddle a horse almost as fast as he himself would have done it. "So… we're good to go?", she asked. "I figure we need to hurry if we don't want father to catch us. Trust me, he'd get real nasty"

Lucas did not want to stay and find out, so he took her for her word. Within minutes they had both horses saddled and ready and when they left the barn, it appeared that Sawyer had won his duel against Leonard. The boy stood triumphant of the kneeling knight who presented his wooden stick as a trophy. "That was a formidable duel, young knight", Leonard exclaimed, before taking a surprisingly respectful bow in front of the boy. "Train with your sword every day and you shall become the finest swordsman in the Reach in time" This made the boy smile with joy and he rushed back into the house, just as Leonard turned to Lucas and Lunett. "And what is that, Flowers?", he asked, glancing at the girl and her horse.

"That, dear Leonard, is a woman. I thought you knew about them…", Lucas spoke, earning himself a bit of a glare from Leonard. "Her name is Lunett Kawl, the innkeeper's daughter. She will accompany us"

Leonard was baffled for only a moment, collecting his cool swiftly. "I'd say you call the shots here, Flowers. Are you sure about that?", he said, taking this revelation with surprising approval. If anything, Lucas would have expected him to protest, but after his fight with Temari he seemed oddly calm. Perhaps he had needed it. "But one thing is for certain… I take that horse. You can ride behind me, mylady, but I am a knight and I will not walk all the way to Oldtown"

Lunett was all too happy to oblige and soon they rode down to Sparrowfield, now as a trio, with Lunett expertly holding herself behind Leonard. It wasn't long, perhaps half an hour, until they spotted a small horse-drawn cart on the road ahead. "There she is!", Lunett exclaimed and as they came closer, Lucas saw the blonde-haired woman he had very briefly spotted as he had entered the inn.

Kyette, as was her name, heard them coming of course and glanced over her shoulder as the riders came closer. Her blue eyes widened in surprise as she recognized Lunett. And yet, she did not ask the most obvious question. Instead, she merely laughed. "Finally found someone stupid enough to take you with them, huh?", she chuckled, as she gave Lucas and Leonard both a mocking smile. "You do know what you're getting yourself into, right?"

Lucas truthfully shook his head, but it was Leonard who answered. "Hardly, mylady", he spoke. "But don't you worry, we are good and proper knights and she'll be safe with us. Her uncle in Oldtown will be of aid in our search, as will you, or so we've been told"

For a second, Kyette's eyes widened and she exchanged a quick glance with Lunett. "That uncle? Huh, makes sense", she admitted. "I take it you're after the maester's apprentice… Darren? Darion? No, Dairon, that was his name. I did talk him for half the night"

"Lucky man", Leonard replied with a cocky smirk on his face, earning himself a mild glare from the blonde barmaid. "Did he tell you anything interesting?"

Kyette raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, love, don't remember", she chirped and her expression made it clear what this would be. "You see, it's been a really long night and day and I can't be expected to remember every single customer of mine, can I?"

Leonard rolled his eyes and quietly tossed her his pouch. "That is more than you earn in three months", he growled in a frustrated tone. "Tell us something useful and you can keep it, but I ain't in the mood for any surprises, so don't you dare hold anything back now"

Kyettes smile widened. "Today is your lucky day, Sers, because I just remembered!", she exclaimed. "Dairon said something about Quent, the Archmaester of History. Apparently he's headed for the Citadel, so that's where you should be looking for her

Lucas and Leonard exchanged a brief, but telling look. The name Quent meant something to Lucas, who had once read a fiercely written letter by the Archmaester directed at Maester Eaton. He was no friend of Raylansfair or the archive and the last person Lucas would have expected Dairon to seek out. But, given the content of the letter, nothing surprised him all that much anymore. "Quent, huh…", Lucas sighed. "This is getting more dangerous by the minute, but I'm all for it. You with me, Leonard?"

The other knight gave him a nod, but just then, Kyette reached out, grabbing Lucas' forearm. "Careful, knight…", she hissed. "If you let anything happen to Lunett, Aylard isn't the one you have to fear. That would be me" Her tone was dead serious, but her smile returned swiftly. "Just a word of advice", she added. "I wish you good fortune on the road"

With this serious warning, she continued down the road, with the knights looking after her. "I like her", Leonard then mumbled, earning himself a mild smirk from Lucas. Some things, it seemed, would never change with Leonard Constantine.

To be continued

Jaron

It was no real choice, just an illusion posing as one. The polite tone of the conversation, the comfortable ambience, the luxury, it all barely concealed the fact that he had no proper option in this. He knew people like the Burned Man. They always got what they wanted in the end.

"I will work with you, Burned Man", Jaron finally answered. "For the memory of Ser Matthos, but only for as long as I deem right and I will not harm the innocent on your command, have I made myself clear?"

The Burned Man smiled and the expression was calm, soft and soothing. "I am glad to hear this, Ser Jaron. I...", he began, before suddenly breaking off, letting out a pained groan and starting to shiver, almost sinking against the table by his side. He only barely managed to remain standing. Jaron took a step back, quite startled, bumping into Harpy, who calmly and swiftly stepped past him without even giving him a passing glance.

With experienced moves, she helped the Burned Man back into his chair, before turning to a small cupboard. The Burned Man was breathing heavily and his eyes were narrowed, what remained of his good hand clenched in pure agony. Jaron noticed tears of pain in the man's eyes. Harpy returned to his side, holding a small cup in her hand, milky liquid inside. She placed it at the Burned Man's mouth and he quickly drank a few sips.

Immediately, his breath calmed and the shivering got better. When he noticed Jarons shocked gaze, he even managed a weak chuckle, before the laugh went over into a cough. "A little gift from the Wise Masters. Pain follows me wherever I go...", he managed to say, before looking at the cup. "Milk of the Poppy. Highly diluted, so that it barely blurs my mind. Enough to stop the pain, at least for a short while, but it's been getting worse lately" He gave Harpy an affectionate smile, which she returned. "Thank you, my dear"

Jaron clenched his teeth as he heard these words. He knew the milk. Maesters used it to lessen pain. In an undiluted state it was enough to make a grown man sleep for days. He himself had it only once when he had broken two ribs during his first proper fight against a Dornish marauder and it had been a horrifying experience.

"I'm glad you are here to help me, Ser Jaron", the Burned Man whispered. "I must admit, I am in no way a good man. But there are people fighting over this city, fighting over this kingdom, who are far worse than anything you can imagine. My enemies and, if you consider yourself a true knight, yours as well. A common foe calls for unlikely allies''

Despite the pain, the Burned Man mustered the strength for a weak smile. "For these people, no sacrifice is too much, no depravity too far to reach their goals", he added. "I despise bravery. It is the source of mankind's greatest griefs. But even I can't let my enemies win. I'm afraid it takes a brave man to stop them. Brave… such as the man you always wanted to be"

Jaron narrowed his eyes. He had noticed the quick change in the Burned Man's tone, but especially in his gaze, which had gotten notably warmed now that he was looking at the hedge knight. "Of whom do you speak there?", the Hedge Knight asked. "And even more importantly, why do you care?"

The Burned Man gave him a weak smile. "Good questions, Ser Jaron. I'm afraid the answers won't be quite as satisfying", he admitted. "I don't know who my enemy is, not in full at least. He is at least as powerful as I am, but in a different way. I don't have answers, I don't have proof. I just have rumours" With a wince, he straightened his back in his chair. "Tell me, Ser Jaron, have you ever heard about the Solvers?".

Jaron noticed a subtle change in Harpys face. The Burned Man appeared as calm as ever, but his handmaiden was clearly agitated just by hearing that name, a brief, sharp look flashing over her face. "Can't say I have", Jaron admitted. "What do they solve?"

The Burned Man's kind smile faded. "Problems. Or at least their definition of problems", he growled. "They hunt down undesirables. Oldtown is the largest city in Westeros and outside the Hightower it is not all as shiny as you outsiders would like to believe. The streets are filled with those the Solvers deem a disgrace or even a threat to the city. They label them criminals, but they do not leave it to the city guard to take care of them. No, they hunt, they hound, they murder"

Jaron tensed up. He did not like the direction of this conversation, sitting in a gloomy back groom having a chat about serial killers with a self-admitted criminal. "They label these people criminals?", he spoke. "Implies you don't. What would you call them?"

"Friends. Companions. Employees", the Burned Man began and his dark haze hardened with anger. "Children. Some I would call children. Survivors. Victims. Young, bright children" His voice was calm, but his expression was far from it. "I have many children on my payroll", he admitted. "Children are easy to please and easy to lead. They appear harmless, but with the right training there is little a child would back off from. It is pragmatism that makes me employ them, but I admit that I have grown fond of them too. I keep them fed and clothed and safe and I give them coin and a future in these wretched streets. I care for them, because nobody else cares. They look at boys like Himani and they see a filthy urchin. I see a boy with a brilliant mind and sharp wit. I see a useful tool. And I care."

Just hearing this made Jaron feel sick. This wasn't right and it went against all that his mentor had held dear. Children shouldn't be used in that way! Could Matthos have truly worked with this man? But on the other hand, Jaron had grown up in poverty as well. He knew that in every larger city there was someone like the Burned Man. Sometimes, things were better with them around, because without them nobody cared.

"The Solvers, now they have been active for a while now, but they have gained power over the recent years, enough to rival my sway on the shadows of Oldtown", the Burned Man explained. "Their strategies are insidious. Sickening. They cause fear in the hearts of all they deem undesirable. They claim to fight crime and some, I believe, are drawn to their ranks out of extreme but superficially noble reasons. Others are thugs of the worst calibre" The anger, sheer, unadulterated rage, was affecting his deep baritone voice now and the effect was quite intimidating. "Their methods are all the same. Sick to its core. They kill the lucky ones. They make an example of the others. Grown man or little child matters not to them. Those whom they take alive, they always return, always alive, never whole and always begging for the sweet release the Solvers deny them"

Jaron gulped and only then did he realize that he had held his breath. "They… mutilate children?", he asked and he felt a growing sickness within him. He knew people like the Burned Man, had met them in his past, before Ser Matthos had shown him a better way. These men seemed affable and polite and they were good at making themselves seem the lesser evil. And yet, much as he doubted the Burned Man was even remotely as noble as he portrayed himself, the anger, the grief in those dark eyes was nothing but genuine.

Behind the Burned Man, Harpy briefly lost her cool. "The Solvers are beasts", she hissed. "There is nothing noble about them, nor good intentions. They are sick to the core. Things weren't good in Oldtown before they arrived, but things worked. Now… everything's broken"

"They do mutilate children", the Burned Man confirmed. "Among others, but yes. As I said, child or grown man matters not to them, nor the crimes they committed. They'd torture a murderer as they'd torture a pickpocket. You see now why I say that we need the aid of brave men to fight back? You see why the Solvers can rightfully be considered a common enemy, noble Ser Jaron?"

"What would you have me do then?", Jaron asked. "I am but one man. I've been knighted only a few months ago, I have no fame to my name, no wealth, I have no glory… and I doubt I'll find any here"

"Is it glory you want, or the chance to live up to what your mentor saw in you?", the Burned Man asked and this question caught Jaron by surprise and briefly rendered him speechless. "Because I believe Matthos never sought fame nor glory nor riches. I have many who seek nothing else, but what I need, what I truly need, is a man with principles. Your mentor was such a man and I rue his passing. I want to believe his former squire is cut from the same cloth"

"I…", Jaron began, before he let out a sigh. "You may have a point. Perhaps we do have a common enemy. Anything you can tell me about them? You have to know more, right? Who… who leads those beasts?"

This brought a thin, but somewhat genuine smile to the Burned Man's face. "Ah, you are angry. Good. Angry is good. I do know some things about them, yes", he admitted. "Not their exact numbers, but such information is hard to come by even for me. The Solvers are hiring some of the most dangerous sellswords in the city, but most hide their names, some even hide their faces for obvious reasons. Even their leader never appears in the open. He is a monster and believe me, as a fellow monster I do not use that term lightly. His followers call him Butterfly"

Jaron raised an eyebrow and though the topic was grim, he looked at the Burned Man expecting a jest. "Butterfly?", he remarked, his voice oozing disbelief. "That does not sound very threatening"

"He does not need to sound threatening, for his actions are threat enough", the Burned Man clarified. "But in this case, it is meant as a provocation as well. Butterfly openly means to provoke the commander of the city guard, a certain Maron Mullendore. The butterfly is on his house's sigil, but I know for a fact he has nothing to do with them, for the Solvers attack even his men, good and upstanding members of the city guard, because they feel the guard's not doing enough"

That made a certain sense, Jaron had to admit it. And yet, hearing that these Solvers were even willing to attack the city guard was worrying. "So he is an ally?", he asked, genuinely hoping that at least someone on the right side of the law would stand with them in this.

At once, the Burned Man shook his head. "The enemy of my enemy is not always my friend, Ser Jaron", he remarked. "Mullendore is dangerous and ruthless and he would never be caught dead working with me. There are times where we profit from each other's actions, but any of my associates caught by him soon meets the Stranger"

Jaron sighed, knowing that his hopes had been too good to be true. "Not a man whose attention I'd want then", he mumbled. "Nor Butterfly's for that matter. And yet, that's exactly what I'll provoke, won't I?" Jaron was many things, but no fool. He was a knight, he'd one day win fame and glory and the longer he spoke to the Burned Man, the more he realised that he stuck out like a sore thumb. This was not his world. "Am I your bait, Burned Man?"

Harpy's eyes widened, but the Burned Man remained entirely calm. "Is he?", the girl asked and the crippled man raised his charred hand, as a small, but decidedly pleased smile flashed across his face.

"And ugly term, yet not entirely unfitting", he admitted. "This is not by my design, mind you, I am merely using an advantage that your arrival has provided me with" Jaron narrowed his eyes, but the Burned Man remained calm. He shrugged and one of his shoulders did not move at all. "I believe from the moment you entered the city agents of the Solvers have kept their eyes on you, because even before that, Butterfly has shown a certain interest in your mentor, good Ser Matthos"

"Matthos?", Jaron exclaimed. That… that was hard to believe. "Ser Matthos would never have anything to do with the Solvers. I find it hard to believe he'd have anything to do with you, but them? Come on, you can't be serious"

The Burned Man's smile faded. "I never jest about Butterfly. I've seen too many of his victims for that", he growled. "And no, Ser Matthos had nothing to do with the Solvers. Doesn't chage the fact that Butterfly wanted to meet him. For what, I do not know. Perhaps he hoped that a man as noble as your mentor could be turned against me, that his knowledge could be used to take me down. But the reasons matter little. Just like how I learned of your arrival in this city, I have no doubt Butterfly has his own means of acquiring them. Double agents among the gate guards, for example. Regardless, I have my reasons to believe that Butterfly wants to meet with you"

To this, Jaron's eyes widened. "Meet me?", he growled, "Why in all the Seven Hells does that monster want to meet me? Just because of Ser Matthos? He's dead and I… I'll fight for you, alright, against that monster I will, but there is nothing of value I can tell Butterfly"

"And yet you are speaking to me right now, Ser Jaron. That alone will be reason enough for Butterfly to approach you", the Burned Man argued. "You are a new variable in this shadow game we play, a pebble that can cause an avalanche. Butterfly knows that and he will seek to use you for his gain or deny me a new ally"

Jaron let out a sigh. This time, he actually held onto one of the chairs in front of him. The Burned Man's expression softened. "If my estimations are correct, Butterfly will learn about you tomorrow. By then, I will have men shadowing you. Protecting you", he claimed. "Butterfly will meet you in person, I am sure of it. He'll try to sway you, but you know what sort of beast he is now. But when he lets his guard down, when he meets you in person, then I will strike. I will use your arrival to kill my enemy. If this makes you bait, then so be it. Consider it a test of your bravery"

A grimace flashed across Jaron's face, even if those words made a certain amount of sense. And he was not afraid, no. He was furious, not at the Burned Man, but at their common enemy. "That does sound a bit easy though", he brought up. "If that's all it takes, why haven't you killed him already?"

The Burned Man smirked thinly. "Because it is not easy", he stated calmly. "I have tried to kill my enemy before and his retaliation has always been horrible. But you are of special interest to him, as was Ser Matthos for reasons even I cannot be certain of. Interesting enough that he will have to lower his guard. You are an opportunity, one I will not let go to waste"

Jaron took a deep breath. Great. Now he was of 'special interest' to the Butterfly. "Bloody wonderful", he sighed and though the Burned Man's expression remained calm and aloof, Harpy showed some open sympathy at least. "What about me then? Can you assure my safety?"

Immediately and much to the hedge knight's dismay, the Burned Man shook his head. "I never assure anything", he spoke. "Especially not here. It's why I said that I need the aid of a brave man. One willing to risk his life for what is right"

The two men, hedge knight and crimelord, looked at each other for a long minute. Then, Jaron was the first to break eye contact. "You have found him then", he spoke. "If it helps ridding the world of a man such as Butterfly, then by all that I hold dear, I will be your man"

This time, the Burned Man's expression was genuine and warm. Harpy behind him closed her eyes for a second and her face showed more doubt than that of her master. "Good", the crimelord spoke. "Then this will be all. My urchings will contact you shortly, but by tomorrow, I will have five good men ready to keep watch over you at all times. When Butterfly makes his move, keep your calm. Know that I will protect you. Do you have any other questions at the time?"

A thousand and none. Jaron's head was thumping with all he had heard today. One day in Oldtown and he already seemed farther away from the glory he desired than ever before. Nothing good could come out of this shadowy war he had found himself in. The moment he shook his head, the Burned Man glanced over his shoulder, turning his head as much as he could with his disabilities. "Harpy, will you see our guest out, please?"

The girl straightened her back. "Of course", she replied and as she walked past the Burned Man, she briefly clasped his shoulder in an affectionate gesture. Then, she reached Jaron, eyeing him carefully. Her gaze was dark and stern and it notably lacked the sheer confidence the Burned Man oozed. "Follow me then, Ser Bastard" Without waiting for his reply, she began to walk. Jaron threw one last look at the Burned Man in his chair, before he followed.

The way back through the Burned Man's house went in complete silence and with Harpy quickening her pace, Jaron had to hurry to keep up with her. She was not in a chatty mood, it seemed. By the time she reached the door, she opened it silently, revealing that night had fallen by now When he looked her in the eyes, he noticed something he had not expected. "Are you worried, mylady?", he asked.

"Of course I am and you should be too", Harpy replied at once. "I have seen what the Burned Man does to his victims. What the Wise Masters did to the Burned Man was merciful in comparison. Yes, Ser Jaron, I am afraid. Only a fool wouldn't be"

"Yet your master seems confident", Jaron spoke and she outright flinched at the term. He noticed he had used the wrong choice of words here from her sheer reaction and immediately, he took a deep breath. "Not your master", he added. "I am sorry"

"Accepted", the girl replied graciously. "And… I am afraid the Burned Man overestimates himself this time. This war has swallowed many good men. You would not be the first to fall, so… take care, I think. Trust in your own sword as much as you trust in the Burned Man"

There was one more thing Jaron had meant to ask her. "This huge Ghiscari I met… Bakr, I think. He said you knew the Burned Man before he became… you know. Care to enlighten me before I head into the unknown?"
Harpy gave him a short, sad smile. "Bakr speaks the truth", she admitted. "But it is a sad story and my mood is too grim already. Survive until we meet again and I may share it with you" With this, she briefly clasped his left arm. "All I can tell you is that Arkan… the Burned Man, I mean, he is the noblest man I know and I mean that. You did right, joining him"

Jaron glanced at her hand on his arm, then at her. "I see… I suppose there will be a next time then", he spoke, trying to sound more confident than he truly was. "How about good luck?"

She flashed him a brief, thin smirk. "Take care, Ser Jaron. Until we meet again", she spoke and with these words, the bastard knight walked out into the cold, dark alleyway, with Harpy swiftly closing the door behind him. Winter was still far, especially in Oldtown, but still it was an unusually cold night. And Jaron shivered, not only because of the chill, but because of what had happened, what he had just learned.

He began to walk, his mind racing with thoughts. Butterfly, the Burned Man, Matthos and his debt. There were a lot of things Jaron had never learned about his mentor. For example, where Matthos even came from, what he had done before becoming a hedge knight, who had knighted him and why. And even if the Burned Man could shed some light on a few questions, Jaron had to admit to himself that it was unlikely he'd ever learn the full truth.

With these grim thoughts, he headed down the streets, trying to remember the way Himani had taken him. Left, right, then left again, walking down streets that were emptier than before and through alleyways that were entirely deserted, gaping black pits that felt him with unease now that he knew who was on the prowl for him.

It took him a while to admit that he was completely lost. At first he tried to take the Hightower as a point of orientation, but that damned thing was just too big and too close to be of any real help. At least he knew that he was in the right half of the city. But every alleyway looked the same to him.

And there was something else. Someone followed him. At first he thought it was only his imagination. The Burned Man had scared him with his speech. That was all. Butterfly... ridiculous! If Jaron would have been a crime lord he would have chosen a more intimidating name, that much he was certain of. No it was only his imagi…

Then, briefly illuminated by the moonlight, a tall man stepped from behind a corner and into his field of view. He was an ugly man, a scarred brute armed with an equally ugly longsowrd. He was bald, his nose was severely broken and part of his upper lip was missing, giving him a distinctively gruesome look.

"Jaron the Bastard?", the tall man stated. It was no question. He knew… Jaron tensed up and when he glanced over his shoulder, he noticed another two men somewhere behind him, the ones who had followed him. And Seven Hells… one of them carried a crossbow. He had not taken aim, but the gesture was clear.

"You must be the Solvers", Jaron stated, trying to remain calm as the Burned Man had instruced him. And yet, this was too soon, much too soon. The Burned Man had been confident that Butterfly would not approach him until tomorrow. And here he was, cornered by three thugs.

"Aye, Solvers", the bald brute growled. "Word is you spoke to the cripple. Bet he told you all sorts of stuff about us" Behind Jaron, the third of his pursuers reached into his mantle and when Jaron glanced over his shoulder, he spotted the glint of a dagger.

"Let me guess", he replied, placing one hand on his sword. "Nothing about that is true. You're misunderstood, all of you, eh?" With these words, he drew his sword, not pointing it at any of the three in particular, but getting ready to defend himself if need be.

To this, the brute shook his head. "Nah, it was probably all true", he chuckled. "Now, Harrington would disagree, but lucky for you he ain't here. Me and my mates here? We're the lot you've been warned to stay away from. This is a dangerous city, bastard, and we are dangerous men"

Jaron grimaced at the tone in his voice. "You're not making a good point for your cause", he tried, but behind his fake confidence, his voice broke, as his heartbeat quickened. Even his attempt at easing some of his tension fell flat. "Doesn't your master want to win me over?"

And much to his horror, his opponent shook his head. "No, bastard, not after you spoke to the cripple first. Who knows what sort of plan you two came up with", he hissed. "Butterfly is no fool. He regrets it, but he cannot take the risk. Now, he wants you dead" He raised his sword and a brief glance over his shoulder confirmed that the crossbowman was taking aim. "Lower your sword and we'll make it quick… quickish"

And there went the Burned Man's plans, all up in smoke. Jaron's breathing got irregular with a sudden and severe fear. He had always considered himself a decent fighter, but against three men? One drunkard with a knife had been enough to end Ser Matthos and these three… they had prepared for this. The crossbowman in particular would be hard to overcome.

"If its a solace for you, die knowing that while Butterfly is in this city, no crime goes unpunished", the brute spoke, but his tone was not the least bit comforting and his expression a cruel, bloodthirsty sneer. He was looking forward for this. "And all will be well"

Behind him, the smaller man, the one with the dagger, let out a hissing chuckle. "Fight back and I will cut off your cock before we kill you", he warned him and his tone was less calm than that of his tall companion, an unstable snarl in his voice. "Maybe that winged bitch can fuck herself with it. I'd pay to see that… but maybe if you scream for me I'll give you a quicker end"

Yeah… that was not an option. Jaron had fought for his life before and he was ready to go down with a sword in hand. And yet, perhaps the situation was not hopeless. If he could take down that vicious smaller man first, he'd be free to charge at the crossbowman. Avoiding the bold would be tricky, but not impossible. And then… oh, he knew this would be bad and he knew he had no other choice. As such, he raised his sword, pointing it at the small man, whose mouth formed a twisted sneer. "Shall we dance then?", the hedge knight spat, as he readied himself for the fight of his life.

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · May 19, 2024

Maya

It was a cold but serene night, with a sharp wind howling across the Bay of Crabs, bringing with it a northern chill and atop the distant peaks, the first snow had fallen. Word in the city had it that it was still autumn, but it surely felt like winter already here in the Vale of Arryn.

Maya looked up to the steep path that led up to the humble stone house, then she glanced over her shoulder. Below her, she could see the sea of lights that was Gulltown, the largest city of the kingdom and her home. It looked beautiful, almost peaceful from up here. But she knew better. The path above her was untamed and seamed by firs and there was nothing out here for weary travellers. Still, someone had built that small house ahead. No. Not someone. She knew exactly who built it and what purpose it served. She shivered, this time not entirely from the cold.

A lone guard stood beside the house, a lone watchman in this dark night. He was a short man, clad in grey and brown, almost invisible in the shadows, quietly watching her struggle up that steep hill and placing one hand on his sword. Of course he wore no tabard, but Maya knew exactly whom he was guarding.

"Seven blessings, good ser", she greeted him and the guard tilted his head, slightly taken aback that she had spotted him in the shadows. "Maya Iresons. His lordship has called for me"

Now, the guard stepped into the moonlight and gave her a short nod. "You're late", he remarked. "You better hurry inside, the lord isn't in his best mood today", he remarked. Maya shrugged in return. Her lord was never in a good mood. Not that it would make any difference. Even on a good day, his mere presence terrified her. At the same time, she had never been warned about his mood before, so that could not be good.

She had worked for him for four years now, ever since she had caught his eye while she had been beating up a thug in the streets of Gulltown for harassing her younger brother. She would have let the man beat her instead had she known who had been watching back then. Though not officially on his payroll, she did all the dirty little tasks his Bronze Lordship was too cautious to send his own men for. No murder though, she had made that clear the first time she had been asked to kill. But if somebody needed to be bribed, if somebody needed to be sabotaged, if somebody needed to be intimidated, the Bronze Lord called on Maya Iresons, or any of his little shadows. She wasn't proud of it, but he paid her well. Without him, life would be harder for her family, for her siblings and at the end of the day, that was all that mattered to her.

With an uneasy feeling, Maya stepped past the guard and entered the building. It was only a single room, scarcely lit to avoid attention from the outside. It wasn't really furnished, since it only had one purpose: To be the place of the Bronze Lord's meetings. A large table with a few chairs scattered around it, a candle and a surprisingly comfy-looking bed, the sight of which filled Maya with dread. There were rumours about her liege, about his taste for young maidens and boys as well and though she was somewhat confident that they were nothing but rumours, the sight of this bed still made her uneasy.

At the large table in the centre of the room said the man himself. Her liege, Orson Royce, Lord of Runestone, the Bronze Lord. The only thing preventing him from calling himself 'Bronze King', like his ancestors had done for thousands of years ago was House Arryn and the oaths he had sworn to them, but Maya knew fully well how little an oath mattered to some men. He was haughty and proud, looking over a decade younger than he truly was. His skin was pale, his eyes had a sickeningly light shade of blue as their colour and his pallid hair was carefully combed back. As soon as she entered, those icy blue eyes darted towards her, narrowing briefly as if to acknowledge her, before his thin lips curled into the hint of a smile.

"Maya. I'm glad you're here", he greeted her. "Please, sit down" His voice was no more than a whisper, for the Lord of Runestone never raised it, but it was compelling enough that she listened to his every order. He was short for a man who claimed descent from the First Men, even a bit shorter than Maya. Still, his whole presence was enough to silence every room he entered. He always sounded friendly, but every sentence was accompanied by a thousand words unspoken. Right now, he raised an eyebrow, almost as if he was amused. But Maya knew that was not true. He was never amused.

Instead of sitting down immediately, she sank onto one knee in front of him, bowing her head in respect. Usually, this was a good strategy to please him. "Mylord Royce, I am honoured" she mumbled, concentrating her stare on the ground.

"Rise, Maya, I insist", Royce spoke and his tone showed some slight amusement. This time, she obliged and grabbed a seat as well. The guard had been right to warn her. Lord Royce's manners were impeccable, but something wasn't right. He appeared calm on the surface, but he was from the blood of the King of Rune and Bronze. His calmness hid a storm. His pale eyes concealed an abyss. He was the most dangerous man in the entire Vale of Arryn and Maya was alone with him.

"How… how can I be of service, mylord?", Maya asked, her voice shaky. She sent a swift prayer to the Mother that it would not be an assassination. She wasn't sure if she could decline it to him this time. Not while he was so... frighteningly polite. He was always at his most dangerous when he was like that.

Lord Royce was quiet for a few moments, his smile not wavering, as his light blue eyes scanned her closely. "Always so eager to serve, Maya", he sighed and his tone sent shivers down her spine. "I know why I keep you in my employ. Answer me, child, have you ever heard of a town called Raylansfair?

Maya thought of this for a moment, but maps had never been her strong suite, with most of her life having been spent on the small peninsula that was home to both Gulltown and Runestone. "No, mylord, can't say I have", she admitted. "Is it located in the Vale?"

Royce chuckled and the sound was horrible. "Slightly wrong... It is a town in the Reach, lying at the coast of the Sunset Sea", he explained. "So… it does lie on the other end of Westeros, all things considered. It is ruled over by House Raylan, once a prideful house that rose to prominence during the brief struggles against House Manderly"

She narrowed her eyes, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her head as she listened to his unexpected history lesson. "Allow me to rephrase my question, Lord Royce", she began and his smile grew thinner, but slightly more genuine. "Is it of importance to the Vale?"

Orson Royce was quiet for a moment, before he shook his head. "Raylansfair? No, not in the slightest. We could not care any less for that city", he admitted. "But within the city lies the most extensive historical archive this side of the Narrow Sea, a splendour unmatched even by the deep archives of the Citadel. It is there that we shall find salvation for the Kingdom of the Mountain and Vale"

He let that statement sink in for a moment and when Maya's expression grew only more confused, his smile widened, revealing his pearly white teeth. There it was, that smile she had dreaded for all these years, the one he showed only when something terrible was about to happen. "Delightful", he spoke and he had said these very same words only once to her, back when he had first seen her, a girl barely grown, covered in the blood of a man two times her size. "Tell me, Maya, are you familiar with the words of my house?"

Maya gave him a nod. Of course she was. Under his tutelage, she had received a basic education, especially about matters of the Vale and its great houses. It was just one part of why she considered him the most generous employer in the Vale despite the short-comings of having to work for a man of his ill repute. "We remember" she whispered.

"We remember", Orson Royce confirmed. "There is power in remembrance. When it comes to this, House Royce and House Raylan saw eye to eye. Their words are We Write History, you know. I respect such devotion to ancient words. To remembrance" He let out a sigh and his expression grew colder. "It was because of this that House Raylan in past years spent much on acquiring historical documents to grow its ever expanding archive", he added. "During the reign of Petyr Arryn, Petyr the Penniless as he was infamously called, a lot of documents that had been in possession of the crown since the days of the Coming of the Andals were sold to Raylansfair. Documents that were seen as worthless by a man so short-sighted he barely even left a kingdom for his heirs to rule over"

Maya noticed by now where his bad mood came from. She had learned to read him as much as she had learned to read his decrees. Orson Royce was concerned, something she had rarely seen in him. "What documents?", she asked. Her fingers clung to the table, but as she looked up, she met his gaze to the best of her abilities.

"The first Andals who landed on these shores were refugees of a sort, but before that they were nobility. Kings and lords and knights with connections far and wide", Royce explained readily. "They brought with them steel and faith, but also contracts. Contracts with each other, contracts with faraway Ghis and even with families from the Freehold they allegedly fled from. Contracts and bonds. Somewhere in this world, someone once owed the early Arryn kings a lot. I believe it is time to collect that debt"

A few years ago she would have just taken this explanation, but the Bronze Lord had taught her to be sharper than that. As such, Maya saw an immediate problem with his reasoning and she was not afraid to speak up about it. "Valyria and Ghis are no more", she spoke. "Who should uphold these contracts?"

An approving smile flashed across Orson Royce's lean face, the same sort of smile people usually reserved for their favoured pets. "Many houses the Arryn kings of old once made contracts with still exist", he explained. "But what I am most interested in are the ones they had with the Freehold. Of course, Valyria is no more, but its blood has not run dry nor its ambition and in these days it can be prudent to have an ambitious man in your debt"

For just a second, his expression cracked and she saw true concern beneath his gaze. For a second, he remained that way, before he caught himself and steeled his gaze again. But it was enough to truly terrify Maya, for she has never seen him openly scared of anything before. Not like this, at least. "There are many who claim to have the blood of Valyria", she spoke. "Are any of them a threat to this kingdom? The Velaryons and their fleet perhaps? Or the Hegemony, or…" She cut herself off as she noticed his expression shift again. He was not in the mood to be questioned.

"It is the Storm King I am concerned about", he claimed. "He can field five times as many men as we could and his fleet is three times larger" Of course, those numbers did not add up and Maya knew it. Fearsome as the host of Storm's End would be, the knights of the Vale had repelled worse enemies and there was no way Argilac Storm-King could field this many men. Someone of lesser education would have believed the Bronze Lord's claims, but Maya did not, not for one moment. And yet, she did not dare to correct him. He tried to deflect and so be it, but she had the fleeting impression that he had revealed a little bit more than what he had intended at first.

"You wish to talk about threats to our kingdom, Maya?", Orson Royce continued. "Then let it be known. We're at the dawn of a terrible war. My spies have revealed that Argilac Durrandon has plans to attack us. His armies won't march over the Mountains of the Moon, of course,but they don't need to. All they need is to take our naval superiority, block off our trading routes and wait for the winter. And winter, as my dear late wife's family never tires of reminding us of, is coming" Though she did not fully believe his words, she believed the intention behind it. Lord Royce was worried, if not of the Storm King then of some other threat, something so terrible that she would sleep easier not knowing.

"You want me to bring you these contracts the old king traded away", she deduced. His expression lit up again and she knew she had come to the right conclusion. This time, she allowed herself a sigh of relief. Some good old thievery at worst, that was something she was good at, something she felt little guilt about. "You want to ally with those who owe our kingdom"

"Clever girl", Royce complimented her "You are swift and graceful. You move like a shadow. You will travel to Raylansfair. You will break into the archive if negotiation fails. And you will bring me the contracts" He was about to add something, before a heavy knock on the door cut him off. For a second, his eyes widened, but then his smile returned. "And you will not travel alone", he added.

The door got pushed open and as Maya glanced over her shoulder, she saw a man walking it. He was about forty years old, far taller than either Maya or the Bronze Lord, not that this meant much. Lean of build, but with thick arms, his body was clad in dark furs and he wore a hood to brace the cold, revealing a fleshy face covered by a thick red beard. With eyes like dark, dull rocks he looked from Lord Royce to Maya, then back to the Bronze Lord, before he took the briefest of bows in front of him.

"Just in time", Orson Royce spoke. "Maya, this is Gregar Balvind, one of Lord Redfort's scouts. The best, as that dullard Redfort has assured me. You see, I am not the only one who knows of this mission. The Queen Regent's spymistress knows, as do a few assorted lords she trusts. Corbray, for he is kin with Queen Regent Sharra, and Redfort who is kin with her late husband. The latter likes me as little as I like him and he insisted on sending one of his own men with you"

While the Bronze Lord spoke, Maya did not take her gaze off Gregar, who silently walked past her and then remained standing halfway between her and Orson Royce. He was undoubtedly a fearsome sight with his size and grim expression, looking almost like a man from the Mountain Clans and this entire time he had been quiet. "Can… can he speak for himself, Mylord Royce?", she asked.

The lord immediately burst into feigned, mocking laughter while the expression of the tall, red-haired man soured even further. "Seven Hells, you're killing me Maya!", the Bronze Lord chuckled. "Gregar, say something to your lovely companion!"

Gregar let out a grunt. "I can speak, girl", he growled and his voice was deep and gruff. "But I prefer silence. Happy now?", he said. On the bright side, he seemed cheerier than Orson Royce. A brute, but nothing Maya could not handle.

The Bronze Lord clapped his hands just once and regained their attention. "Touching. In time, I am sure you will become fast friends", he sighed. "Maya, you will travel to Raylansfair on official duties, not as my agent, but as my ambassador, an envoy of the Vale of Arryn. Diplomacy should be your first weapon of choice, but if that fails I count on your skills in subterfuge"

Maya raised an eyebrow as she heard this. "Ambassador?", she gasped. She had been a petty thief for most of her life and then Lord Royce's shadow. While she had received an education, could read and write and hold a polite conversation even with the lord's dignitaries, she was well-aware of her lowborn roots. She was no diplomat. "Mylord, I…", she added, but he cut her off.

"That is what I just said, thank you for repeating it", Lord Royce confirmed. "Of course, as an official ambassador, you need to look the part. That's why I'm giving you a gift" Maya gulped, knowing that the Bronze Lord's gifts were rarely pleasant. He reached beneath the table and pulled out a small, dark box. Opening it, he pulled something out. A blanket? No, a cloak, a hooded cloak, probably the finest Maya had ever seen. It was all in black, but elaborately decorated with red runes.

The Bronze Lord seemed almost uncharacteristically proud as he gave it to her. "Wear it with pride, Ambassador Iresons", he commanded. And as Maya put the cloak on, she felt indeed something resembling pride. Ambassador Maya Iresons! A few years ago, she was a petty criminal and now this! For probably the first time, she smiled at Lord Royce.

Her smile quickly faded as the Bronze Lord smiled back. "I have one more gift for you", he proclaimed and then handed her a small casket. "These are exceptionally well-crafted. Not quite Valyrian Steel, but then again, even my funds would run dry should I attempt to gift all of my servants Valyrian Steel. These should still serve you well enough. I believe you know how to use them should push come to shove"

As Maya opened the casket, she saw two daggers, the hilts richly ornamented with the sigils of House Royce and House Arryn. For one moment, she was speechless. Orson Royce never made any presents without expecting something in return. "I... Mylord Royce... I don't know what to say...", she stuttered and for a second, she was genuinely taken aback by his generosity.

"Say nothing, sweet child. Your actions will be gratitude enough", he said. Gregar grumbled something and Maya gave him a short glare. That could be fun. A journey to the other end of Westeros, having only this talkative wild man by her side.

"The most important question remains however. How do you want to travel to Raylansfair, sweet girl?", he asked and his mocking smile cut right through her once again. From what Maya knew about the Vales' geography there were two ways she could travel. The paths through the Mountains of the Moon would be the more direct way and likely a bit faster. However, no traveller was safe from the Mountain Clans. The second option would be to take a ship at Gulltown and avoid the mountains that had claimed even the life of their king just recently. She always loved travelling by ship. The waves. The wind…

"I say we go through the bloody mountains", Gregar decided with a firm voice and his expression lit up slightly as he spoke. "I know the clans and they know me. There will be nothing to fear from them with me by your side" Clearly, he believed his own words, but Maya knew what the clans did to captured women.

"I believe my question was for Maya to answer", the Bronze Lord stated and he didn't even need to sound displeased to silence Gregar. His mere statement was enough for that. Maya looked at her companion. He seemed competent enough, but that was to be expected. And she believed him that the Mountain Clans would be no danger to him. After all, he almost looked like one of them! But, the stories she had heard were enough to give her a more than uneasy feeling. No, she wouldn't take her chances on Gregar, as reliable as he might be.

She looked at the Bronze Lord, who still observed her, with his nightmarishly pale eyes, smiling his stilted smile, being dangerously calm for a man of his reputation. Then again, the most dangerous men she ever met had been calm. Truly dangerous men didn't need to be angry to get their will. They only need to be.

"I made up my mind. We'll take a ship in Gulltown, and travel to Crackclaw Point", she revealed, drawing from the knowledge the Bronze Lord had instilled in her for years now. "From there we take the road through the Stormlands, completely bypassing the Mountains and the Riverlands"

Gregrar rolled his eyes, but he remained silent, crossing his arms and revealing plated gauntlets covered in black wood, of the kind a falconer would wear. Ironwood, from the North, no less expensive than the daggers Lord Royce had just gifted her with. It seemed she had not been the only one to receive gifts. He noticed her stare and his expression softened slightly. "For my owl, Ember", he merely growled. "She will follow to this Raylansfair" He was quiet after this, as if this answered any of the questions Maya had about her strange companion.

"So you choose the safe way?", Orson Royce remarked. "Had I not known you better I would have been disappointed by such a mundane choice. This is not very daring of you", he said and chuckled. Daring? Yes, Maya thought of herself as very daring. Daring enough to deal with the Bronze Lord. With these words, Royce looked at Gregar. "Maya is in command here", he clarified. "You will protect her with your life until either me or Lord Redfort relieve you of your duties. Have I made myself clear?"

Gregar clenched one hand to a fist and slammed it onto his thick chest. "With my life", he promised. "I will not disappoint you, Lady Ambassador" This time, she believed him wholeheartedly. There was something reliable about him, something honest that clued her in that he could not possibly be one of Royce's men.

The Bronze Lord briefly smiled at Gregar, before turning back to Maya. "I assume you have to pack some things first", he stated. "But a ship is ready for you. As soon as you're suitably prepared, meet one of my men at the harbour" Maya's eyes widened and she could only look at him in disbelief as she realised that though he had just given her a choice, he had prepared for the option he knew she'd pick even before that.

Orson Royce caught her stare and his lips curled into a toothy grin. "You are easy to read, sweet Maya. I knew you would take the safe route", he revealed. "That's why I chose you for this job. We can't need someone who is willing to take needless risks. Too much is at stake. Consider it a test which you passed with flying colours"

Maya could only nod. There were times where the Bronze Lord managed to surpass the oceans of fear he managed to instil in Maya, calmly evoking feelings beyond terror inside of her. These were the times where she truly understood why he had his dreaded reputation. He knew how people would think, before even they knew it. "A third man?", she asked. "Whom will you send with us?"

"A man who has been working for me for years now, even longer than you", he revealed. "I believe you are familiar with Irving Todd?" His smile widened as he caught her expression and in that moment, she knew without a doubt that he had a terrible sense of humour.

"I am familiar with him, yes", she pressed through clenched teeth. "Irving the Useless, as I'd rather say" Yes, she knew Irving Todd, she had known him for years now, but without ever knowing that he was on Royce's payroll. He was a member of Gulltown's city guard and perhaps Orson Royce was the one reason why he was still a part of them, whiny and useless as he was. No sense of duty. No sense of honour. No skills in combat. No discipline. Yes, Maya did not like him, a deep-seated antipathy rooted in the many clumsy talks he had with her. "Why him, mylord Royce?", she asked, despite her fear of the man in front of her. "Out of all people, why him?"

"Because he is easy to manipulate, sweet child, for I know exactly what he wants", Royce replied at once, seemingly not minding her questioning him. "I find it oddly refreshing to give him some task this once. I assure you, his involvement will be miniscule, but I can't have my treasured ambassador carrying her own belongings like a peasant, can I? After all, with that cloak you represent me and Irving will serve you as he'd serve me. He will carry your belongings and Gregar's too. He will cook your food, which I have been assured of he is not too bad at. Should you be attacked, he may serve as your human shield. Consider him your loyal servant"

Maya sighed, resigned to her fate. There she was, doing a task for the most dangerous man in Westeros, accompanied by a semi-mute Mountain Man and her very own waste of space.
"I understand, mylord Royce", she sighed. "I… believe I have a long journey ahead"

To be continued

Willfred

The morning after the war meeting was the day of Willfred's departure from Castamere. Both, King Loren and his own father had been clear about that, they wished no further delay. What he set out to do was just too important. Even now, after a sleepless knight, Willfreds mind still revolved around the coming journey. He wasn't a dreamer in the way his sister was. Yet, a warrior always dreamt of an opportunity like this. This was his chance to prove his worth.

But first, before he could even think about departing, Willfred knew he had to bid his goodbyes to his family, the one act he dreaded about the task to come. A part of him did not even want to leave knowing that he would not see them again in many months.

The first he approached was Tinnet. His little brother was in the armoury, inspecting Lucion Lannisters spare sword, a fine blade, exceptionally crafted by Casterly Rock's blacksmiths, the hilt showing a stylized lion's head.

His younger brother looked up, even though he didn't have to look that far up any more, considering his growth spurt during the last months. While still just a boy of twelve years, Tinnet Reyne already showed signs of becoming a very tall man in the future. Not so little anymore…

"Will!", the boy smiled, before swiftly putting Lucions sword back onto the table, slightly blushing under his older brother's inquisitive, but playful stare. "I, uh, didn't expect you here so early!"

"Tried to train with Lucion's sword while no one was looking, little brother?", Willfred asked in a gentle tone. "You know your oh-so-valiant lion prince won't like it if his squire plays with his toys, don't you?"

Tinnet gave him a sheepish grin in return. "Well, I have to train if I want to become the bravest knight the world has ever seen, a second Galladon of Morne!", he defended himself. "And Lucion has the finest blade in the kingdom. It's only fair that he lets me use it from time to time!"

Willfred rolled his eyes, but he could not stifle a smile. His little brother was stuck in fantasies about knights and heroes. That was likely Alanna's fault, who had spent far too much time with the boy when he had been younger, filling his head with all the tales Willfred himself had long outgrown.

"Of course, Tino. You will become the most valiant knight the Rock has ever seen", he claimed, trying to hide the dry tone in his voice. "People will call your name in the same breath as they call Ser Galladon of Morne or Davos the Dragonslayer. You will be the bravest of them all"

Tinnet was twelve years old and tall enough for fifteen, but in many ways he seemed to be far younger. He was naive and innocent, but Willfred would never want to take that from him. The world would do soon enough. "I will go on a journey, Tino", he finally revealed. "You must have heard of it from your prince"

Tinnet's cheerful facial expression faltered and he gave him a nod. "It will be dangerous, am I right?", he asked. "You wouldn't have that look on your face otherwise. The one you only show when things get dangerous" This actually caught Willfred by surprise, for he had not expected his little brother to be that perceptive.

He forced a smile, before he hugged his brother. "I will search for our uncle, the one you never met. And I will save the Rock", he promised. "In the meantime, Father will travel to the Golden Tooth and that means, you're the Lord of Castamere until we are back. The head of the pride. Can you do that?"

Tinnet took a deep breath, before he gave Willfred a surprisingly firm nod, his arms squeezing around his older brother even firmer. "And you have to promise me one thing", Willfred mumbled. "Be brave, little lion" And he knew that Tinnets teary-eyed stare were almost enough to make him stay.

Next was the hardest stop on his list, his younger sister. The way to Alanna's room was accompanied by an uneasy feeling. Saying goodbye to Tinnet had been hard. He hadn't seen his brother for over a year and leaving him again so soon was hard. But Alanna... She was four years younger than him. She had been there in his earliest memories, his little sister, always around him, always following and always being by his side. She would cry and he always hated that.

As he walked through the halls of Castamere, his mind raced to the journey ahead. He had rarely left the borders of his father's land and even when he had, he had mostly been to the northern parts of the kingdom, to Banefort, to Maybros and Casterly Rock. He had never been to Crakehall and surely never to the Reach. And now he would see both. He'd see the world, win glory for his kingdom, would prove his worth… but at the cost of having to leave his family for many months. Now that he got closer to saying his goodbyes to his sister, he felt a surprising amount of conflict over this.

As he passed around a corner, he spotted the huge, darkly-clad figure of Walder Waters leaning against a wall. Even in these times of peace, he wore his large greatsword on the back and as Willfred spotted him, the scarred side of his face turned towards him, the mouth forming a genuine if somewhat gruesome smirk.

"There you are, Red Lion", the warrior growled and Willfred gave him a faint nod. "I was hoping to have a word or two, if you don't mind" He straightened his back, walking up to the knight and quietly joined him in his journey through the halls of Castamere.

"Always, Two-Face", Willfred replied. "I'm on my way to say my farewells to Alanna. Take a lucky guess how that'll work out" He forced a smile and Two-Face reciprocated it with his own grim grin. "What can I do for you, my friend?"

"Spare me the smile, young knight", Two-Face growled in return. "I've known you since you first shat your pants. I can tell a real smile from a fake one. You're worried, aren't you? Are you afraid of the journey to come?"

Willfred thought about this for a moment. Surprisingly, his father's friend had been right. What he felt, this deep-seated uneasiness, it was fear indeed. "Not for me", he admitted. "I will be accompanied by two dozen soldiers. But my father…"

"Will have two thousand with him", Two-Face interjected. "And Alanna and Lady Mileena will be safe here behind the walls of your ancestral seat. No enemy has ever breached the walls of Castamere. Perhaps you should be more concerned for yourself" He placed one firm hand on Willfred's shoulder. "Just say the word and I will be by your side", he offered. "It's been a while since I last used my blade and I am itching for a proper fight"

Willfred thought about this offer for a moment. Two-Face had taught him how to first wield a blade. The man was vicious in a fight, a relentless warrior and his hunger for battle was both inspiring and slightly worrying. He would be an asset. And yet, after a moment Willfred shook his head. "You must stay, Two-Face", he spoke. "I have my soldiers and father has his army. But Alanna and mother, they will be safer with you around" He clasped the man's hand warmly. "And I will journey easier knowing that you look after them"

Two-Face let out a sigh. "So be it", he muttered. "Can't say I grudge you for your decision. But I'll envy you and your father when you leave, fighting Ironborn and winning glory, while all I do here is sit around and grow fat" He patted his belly and a grin flashed across his face.

As they walked, Willfred glanced through one of the windows, spotting the young prince, who finally got his sparring match but against Stevron Marbrand instead. He knew, a Lannister always paid their debts. "Keep a close eye on Alanna", he mumbled. "She might need your protection more than either of us"

To this, the scarred man gave him a gruff nod. "She'll be safe, do not worry", he assured him, before he extended one hand. Willfred shook it firmly. "Fare thee well then, Red Lion. I'll stand guard until you return, as I always do" With these words, the two men separated, with Walder heading out into the courtyard. Willfred could tell he was a bit disappointed by his decision, but this already eased the worries that troubled him on this morning. With a lighter step, he continued his way towards his sister.

Lea stood in front of Alanna's room, like a watchdog. Though lean and dressed in a simple green dress, she tried to make the most of her lanky physique and actually had a fierce look on her face as she turned to the newcomer, before she recognized Willfred. If she were a warrior, a knight of Castamere, she'd be the fiercest guard imaginable. And yet, she was just dear old Lea, whom he had known since the day he was born. Her grandparents had served House Reyne. Her parents were still serving them. And here she was, Alanna's handmaiden, seven years her senior and still the best friend the girl could have hoped for.

As Willfred came closer, a smile appeared on her face and she waved at him. "M'lord! Willfred", she called for him. "It is good that you are here" She actually saluted as he stopped in front of her and he could not stifle a smile as he saluted back. "Your high parents are with your sister right now. Last time I spoke to her, she had been alright, but the recent news upset her greatly", she reported. "That said, I am sure I can permit you entrance" She put emphasis on the last words, as if she had some kind of authority to stop him.

Willfred raised an eyebrow, but his tone remained jovial. "Well, then I am glad I am permitted to enter my own sister's room", he chuckled. "Tell me, Lea, had I been Two-Face, what would you have said and done?"

Leas smile faded, replaced by a more grim expression. He knew she was terrified of the disfigured man as most were. "I would have probably stopped him from entering...", she claimed, glancing over Willfred's shoulder, probably looking for any sign of the disfigured warrior. But even she could not keep up that facade, as she cracked a thin, apologetic smile. "Ah, who am I kidding. I would tremble and retreat", she admitted and she and Willfred shared a good chuckle. "You know, your sister should have real protectors instead of just me. Frankly, I am terrible"

Willfred grabbed her hands, as he shook his head. "You are wonderful Lea", he assured her and she blushed at once. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise" By the Seven, he almost did not recognize himself today over all of the kindness. She gave him a nod and quietly stepped to the side, allowing him to enter his sister's room at once.

Alanna sat on her bed and from what Willfred could see, she was not alright, for her cheeks were wet with fresh tears. His parents were there as well, close to his sister, apparently having just talked to her. After all, Willfred was not the only one leaving tonight. Lord Darren had wrapped an arm around his wife, one of the very rare gestures of affection he ever showed towards her.

As soon as she saw him, Alanna jumped up, rushing past their parents and towards him. "You... You...", she gasped in a strange mix of sadness and anger. "I told you I don't want any of that! Father will be gone and you as well, maybe for months. It will be dangerous and you know how much I fear for you! What are you thinking about, Will?"

"Lorna Lannister, mostly....", Will answered truthfully and with a feigned grin, trying to downplay how scared he himself was. Alanna narrowed her eyes and for a moment, he was certain she'd slap him. In the last moment, she contained herself and lowered her hand again. Instead she whimpered and then wrapped her arms around him in a close hug.

"I don't want you to go, big brother...", she whispered into his chest. "I am so scared. What if you get injured. What if father gets injured. What if you…" She paused and pressed her face against his shoulder, as he gently moved a hand through her hair.

"Shhh…", he mumbled. "You know I have to go, little sister. But I will be safe in the Reach. Tallian will be with me and Quentyn Crakehall for half of the way and that stubborn old boar is still the fiercest man either of us will ever see" He gently kissed the top of her head as they separated again. "I will be back. Lion's promise"

As he looked up, he saw his parents there, arm in arm as they rarely stood. Theirs had been a marriage of convenience, not love, a bond forged in respect, not warmth. And yet, here they stood, the head of the pride and his wife, him stern as ever, her gentle and smiling. He reciprocated her smile, but his heart was not in it, for now that the moment of his departure came ever closer, he felt a sense of dread that likely matched Alanna's, only that he was not as weepy and teary-eyed as his little sister. "Mother, father", he mumbled. "I… if you want to have a word with Alanna I can come back later" In response, his sister tightened her grip around him.

His mother was the first to walk over, placing one hand on Alanna's shoulder and the other on Willfred's, while his father remained behind. "Look at you, my lion", she spoke warmly and with barely contained pride. "Your father made it sound as if you alone will save this kingdom"

This earned her a short and cold glare from Lord Darren and the brief moment of warmth he had shown earlier was gone at once. His father was a good man and he had raised his children well, but Willfred knew he was not warm of heart and surely not sentimental. "Mileena, I did not...", he began, but he was quickly interrupted by her.

"Well, maybe not word for word, but I know what you meant, darling", she sighed. The last word was almost sweet and she accompanied it with a gentle, honest smile. Willfred knew that there was little love between his parents in these days and though they were not an unhappy family, they had never grown as close as other families had. The young Mileena Tarbeck must have loved her future husband at one point, but Willfred knew that for Darren Reyne, this had always been a union of convenience first.

"You are from the blood of the red lion of Reyne. I know you will make us proud", the Lord of Castamere growled. "And you are my son. My heir. No matter what happens, you have already proven your worth when you chose the path ahead" He remained behind, but his expression softened ever so slightly.

"Your uncle Roger…", his mother began again and the moment his half-brother was mentioned, Lord Darren's expression hardened again. "You know you can trust him, right?" Darren narrowed his eyes, but remained quiet, instead he closely watched his firstborn son. Willfred had never met Roger Hill before, only ever knowing about the stories, a troublemaker, a bastard knight, more drawn to archery than swordplay, a flighty daydreamer whose own views ever clashed with those of his stern half-brother.

"He may not have your name, but he has your blood", Mileena continued. "And that means he will be by your side. For all their differences, even your father sees this… isn't that right, Darren?" She glanced over her shoulder and the Lord of Castamere let out a sigh, followed by a quiet nod.

"Roger and I, we never saw eye to eye", he revealed and his gaze was firm, but not as cold as before. "And yet, we are both lions of Castamere. Our strength has always come from each other, a pride of lions united. All for our Pride, as our words say. Even Roger will abide by that"

"No matter what happens on the road, be willing to do anything for your family as we all are for you", Mileena added. "We are all lions, but without each other, we are nothing" With these words, she tightened her grip on his shoulder and then pulled him and Alanna both into a firm, warm hug. "Come back safely, my son. You are my pride and joy, my little lion"

Lord Darren opted for silence, but Willfred could see the pride in his eyes. No words were needed between them and in the twenty years of his life, this was the first time Willfred knew how much his father cared for him. How right his decision to leave had been. Having his sister and his parents so close, the Young Lion only wished that Tinnet would be here with them as well, instead of sitting in the armoury, playing soldier when the war would come to him soon enough. "All for our Pride", he promised.

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · May 26, 2024

Ellena

Ellena gazed up at the bafflingly huge tower in the distance standing atop a massive rock, with two huge bridges, each of them built over with lavish mansions, leading to it over the water. Even now, she could see a fire burning at its top and not for the first time, she had to ask herself if she could climb to its top. "Can we go up there?", she asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

Terroma let out a kind chuckle. "We can surely try", he offered, much to her delight. "Though I think Lord Hightower's guards won't be too happy. Ah, I am sure I can show you a few decent parts of this city!"

Talea on the other had had a visibly displeased expression on her face and Ellena could tell she was unhappy with this choice. "Oldtown. Terroma you are taking her to Oldtown!", the girl hissed with a cold voice. "I hope you know what you're doing, for her sake!"

Terroma gave her a smile with his rotten teeth. "Talea dearest, I always know what I'm doing", he claimed. "I assure you, Ellena will be perfectly safe in my company. I can defend myself and her"

The captain's daughter let out a sigh, before she looked him straight in the eye. "Good…", she spoke and her tone was softer only for a second, before it gained sharpness once again. "Because if you let anything happen to that girl, there will be no fucking place in this world where you could hide"

Terromas smile faded and his face got a stern look. "I promise that I'll keep her safe", he spoke solemnly. It was the most serious tone Ellena had ever heard from him and she trusted his every word. If Terroma wasn't worth her trust, who was?

Talea seemed to be slightly reassured. She turned to Ellena, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. "Stay with Terroma, do you hear me? Listen to him", she warned her. "This city isn't Braavos, where even the cunts on the streets have a certain degree of honor. This is Oldtown. It was already ancient before Valyria fell. It had plenty of time to develop depravity" With these words, she pulled the girl into a hug and for a second, Ellena was stunned before she reciprocated. This display of affection was unexpected. She knew, Talea was fond of her, but this time she seemed genuinely worried. Was this city really that dangerous? Even with Terroma around?

She left the Pale Princess with a slightly uncomfortable feeling that quickly vanished once she inhaled the air. The smells! The Purple Harbour of Braavos had hundreds of smells. Spices from Qarth. Roasted lamb from Lazhar. Ale from the North. Perfume from Lys. This one, however, had all of those and even more. It was the biggest harbour she had ever seen. And the people! Never before had she seen so many people in one place. Ellena looked on with joy, as a portly dark-skinned man from the Summer Island trounced a screaming dwarf with a huge fish, while shouting profanities in his surprisingly melodic language. A Pentoshi with an oiled and forked beard had a vocal argument with a young Dornish woman. As Ellena walked after Terroma, an elegant Braavosi took a short and very gallant bow in front of her, before handing her a rose and walking off without saying a word. She looked after him, barely noticing that she had blushed.

When Terroma noticed her facial expression, he let out a jovial laugh. "You have an admirer, little Ellena!", he exclaimed. "Perhaps a prince for the princess?"

Elllena narrowed her eyes and shot him a playful glare."Not true!", she answered, but when Terroma still laughed she felt the need to add "He was from Braavos. And he was much older than me!"

Terroma chuckled brightly. "Oh, he was from Braavos, now that explains everything!", he replied. "You are young, so I suppose you have no way of knowing, but many men from Braavos are scoundrels. Do not trust them with your feelings. Use your mind, little Ellena, be calm as water and see. See them for what they are and want"

Ellena gave him a furious glare. "Stop laughing!", she barked "It was sweet. And the rose is very pretty!" Still, Terromas laugh went on, until Ellena had no other choice but to laugh too. She gave the rose to a young man who relaxed in front of a barber's shop, taking an elegant bow, before walking away without saying a word.

"You're learning, sweet Ellena. I could not be prouder!", Terroma commented on this, followed by an approving nod. "So, where do you want to go first?"

Ellena thought about that for a short moment. "What's with the tower? Can we go there?", she asked. It had caught her attention from the moment they had left the Pale Princess, a building taller than even the Titan of Braavos, many times so. It was of such a baffling height that she wondered how people could even live up there. And yet, a fire was burning, so someone was keeping it ablaze.

Terroma smiled. "We can get a little closer, but I don't think they'll let us inside of that tower. You must know, it is a castle and a prison, a fortress for the lord and the headquarters of his city guard", he explained. "You can't just walk into a castle. But we can go near it"

Ellena squealed with joy. For the first time in many months, she felt truly happy. Ever since she had been placed in that orphanage, something had been missing. And now that she walked down the alleys of Oldtown together with Terroma, she knew what it had been all along.

Home...

The Hightower grew higher and higher into the sky the closer they got, but even though it seemed so close, the city was larger than Ellena had anticipated, a lot larger than Braavos even, not that she had ever explored every nook of her home.

The sun was already setting, as they reached the bridge that would lead them to the Hightower, with crimson rays hiding behind the tower itself. This bridge was already a wonder in its own right, as large as a smaller city and completely built over and lined with lavish mansions, as well as high enough for even three-masted galleons to pass underneath it. The city watch had an increased presence here, patrolling in pairs and Ellena was glad she had put on her best dress for the occasion, for more than once she spotted the guardsmen approaching men who did not seem to belong to this finer part of the city. This was where the richest men of Oldtown had to live, those closest to their rulers, who quite literally towered over them.

Close to the tower and all around it, the bridge widened into a round square all around the massive structure, as lavish as any in Braavos. This was a place of beauty unlike any she had ever seen before and with wide eyes she stared up at this immense building. She had no idea how anyone could have ever built this high in ages past.

"Battle Isle", Terroma explained, as he pointed at the jagged rock the square had been built around and which served as the foundation for this massive tower. "That's what they call it. And yet, even the maesters are surprisingly tight-lipped about the battle that had been fought here once. Surprising, given how fond they usually are of violence in their books"

The tower was not quite as closed off to the public as she had expected, with a long line of supplicants waiting on the stairs leading up to it, but Ellena knew at once that she did not have it in her to wait for what was likely going to be hours before she would even reach the massive reinforced doors of the tower itself. As such, with her curiosity sated by this closer look, Ellena and Terroma made their way across the square, past the tower and to the other, shorter bridge that led back into the city proper.

After a short walk across this side of the bridge, which was less built over and instead covered in market stalls. Here, the merchant within Terroma was clearly in his element, as he led her past stalls, only briefly stopping to buy her a slice of fried bread, which she nibbled on as they continued.

For himself, Terroma had bought a new knife, because according to him, a man could ever have enough knives. It was a simple blade, best suited for slicing an apple and indeed, shortly after Ellena had remarked upon that, Terroma had bought an apple and shared half of it with her.

And then, they reached the far end of the bridge, where it widened into the city proper again, more precisely into a square even larger than the one surrounding Battle Isle. Despite the setting sun, this square was crowded with people, most of them gathered in front of a palace of sorts, a many-towered dome on the other end of the square. A sept, if she was not mistaken, but it only bared a passing semblance to the humbler building she had once visited in Braavos.

"So many people", Ellena remarked in awe. She had already seen supplicants in front of the Sealord's Palace in Braavos, but never that many in one place. Indeed, even on its most crowded days, one would not find this many men on the streets of Braavos.

Terroma followed her gaze. "They are here for their religion", he explained. "That over there is the Starry Sept, the most important building in the Faith of the Seven. The High Septon resides here and every evening, Lord Hightower himself heads across this bridge to pray alongside him and his most devout, while his subjects pray to be absolved" He smiled, but this time the expression did not reach his eyes. "Quite the display of piety, isn't it?", he added. "As if it washes away all the sins a man might amass in life"

Ellena raised an eyebrow. There was something different about his expression now, a slight sadness perhaps, but she remained quiet about it, knowing that Terroma did not like to speak about his past, but she did him the favour of not commenting on it. Instead, she reached for his hand and for just a second, he tensed up at her grip before his eyes moved away from the sept. They lit up again as his gaze found hers. "We don't have to go there if you don't want to", she offered.

Now, Terroma's smile widened and was finally more genuine again. "You are kind, little Ellena", he sighed. "But I will be alright. Actually, there is one spot close to this sept that I want to show you, if you may. I think you will like this one" With these words, he led her across the square, past the lines of people and through a smaller street that led away from the imposing centre of the Faith of the Seven.

There, in the shadows of the sept, Terroma led her to a silent, walled garden filled with pine trees, a shady place, but well-tended to and with carefully cultivated flowers lining the stone path the two walked down. But what truly captured Ellena's attention was the large tree in its centre, bone white tree, with blood red leaves. A face was carved into its trunk, ancient and withered, its eyes and mouth wide open and filled with crimson.

"I have always preferred this display of faith, though I never shared it", Terroma admitted. "Humble and silent, centred around a living, growing thing.This, little Ellena, is a godswood" She had heard of the name before from her father's tales, but she had never thought to ever see one for herself. With Terroma by her side, she moved closer, remembering what her father had once told her about these places.

"This face had been carved by the Children of the Forest and the tree endured when many others of its kind have been cut down by men who only yearn to destroy", Terroma spoke. "Not even the High Septon dares to cut this one down, you know. There are a hundred temples in this city, one for every god men pray to from Pyke to Asshai, but this one has always been my favourite"

Ellena tensed up as she remembered a tale her father had once told her. Father… For a second, she closed her eyes. "Is it true that the dead can hear us at a weirwood?", she asked. The solitude of this godswood brought up memories of old and Terroma sensed her discomfort clearly, for he gently patted her back.

"Nobody can ever be certain", he replied. "I heard Northmen claim that their dead loved ones are with them at a godswood and if anything, I always found that a comforting thought. Do you want to give it a try?" His smile was encouraging and he moved his fingers across the white bark.

Ellena could only give him a weak nod, afraid that anything more would bring tears to her eyes. Under the old man's watchful gaze, she walked up to the weirwood, unsure what she should even do. How did those from the North pray to their gods? Finally, she decided to simply kneel in front of the inhuman face. With her small hand, she touched the face's cheek. It felt almost warm.

Instead of pulling her hand back, she gently stroked the bark, before reaching for the crimson within the face. This was no ordinary colour, that much was certain, but the leaves shared it, a deep crimson unlike anything she had seen in Braavos. The moment she reached the eye, briefly covering it with one hand, the leaves above her began to shiver under a sudden gust of wind. A thousand of them, rustling and swaying, looking almost like eyes themselves. Ellena looked into the one carved eye she had left open and for a second, it seemed to her as if the tree itself was staring back at her with a thousand eyes and one. But it was peaceful. For a short moment, she felt peaceful. When she finally pulled her fingers back, they were blood red from the colour.

When she looked up again, the sorrow she had felt just moments ago was gone, replaced by a sense of solemn, if fleeting peace. Yes, Ellena could see why the people of the North spoke their prayers here. She turned away from the tree and its odd face, only to spot Terroma sitting on a small stone bench nearby. By now, the sun had sunken entirely behind the Hightower, dousing the godswood in a gloomy twilight.
"Are you finished, little Ellena?", Terroma asked. He stretched his short legs and gave her a kind smile, as she staggered away from the tree. "The frown on your face has lifted a little bit. I am glad"

She gave him a nod, before glancing at the nightly sky. "I… I think I am", she admitted. "This was good. Thank you, Terroma" She walked over to him and as she reached him, the old man stood up from the bench with surprising swiftness.

"Then let us be on our way", he replied. "It is late and I fear we have lingered for too long. Poor Talea must be worried sick by now" Ellena gulped as she realized that he was right. What was supposed to be but a short walk through Oldtown had taken most of the day and by now, darkness loomed over the streets.

"Swiftly now and stay close", Terroma spoke, his tone calm, but stern. "We will take a shortcut" With these words, he began to lead Ellena away from the godswood and then the Starry Sept, down a smaller road and into the nightly Oldtown. By now, the city had lost the wonder Ellena had felt earlier. Instead, it was now cold and dark and dangerous and the people they met were no longer the wondrous sight she had taken in before. No, these were dangerous men and women and Ellena was glad for Terroma's company. The red colour on her fingers was still there. And it was warm, far warmer than the rest of her body…

By now, she had no idea where they even were. The Hightower could still be seen against the nightly sky, but it was too close to truly help her with orienting herself. The fact that Terroma preferred the side streets and alleyways, where less people were walking, did not make things any easier.

It was then, that she heard something, a cold voice hissing something. "Fight back and I will cut off your cock before we kill you", the voice, that of a higher-pitched man, snarled. "Maybe that winged bitch can fuck herself with it. I'd pay to see that… but maybe if you scream for me I'll give you a quicker end"

Terroma had slowed down by now, having heard the same hateful voice and Ellena reached out for him, only to realise that he was tense. "Terroma?", she whispered and the man glanced over his shoulder, quickly moving one finger to his lips. They rushed through the small side street they had been crossing and then, Ellena could see who had caused this commotion.

A young man stood there, likely only a few years older than her, with dark hair falling down his shoulders and a patchy beard, wearing ill-fitting armour, sword in hand. He was surrounded by a trio of thugs, a tall man in chainmail and on the other side a smaller man with a crude knife and behind him a crossbowman who had just taken aim. They were clearly enjoying this, given their twisted expressions, but the young man looked frightened. He needed help.

At once, Ellena stopped and Terroma, noticing that she was no longer by his side, followed suit at once. She stared into the alleyway with wide, fearful eyes. "We have to help", she gasped. She could not bear to watch this happen, could not stand by idly. Not again…

The old man shook his head. "We should not, sweet Ellena", he said softly. "They are three, he is only one. He will die, that's for sure" His tone was grim and as he spoke, he quickly placed a hand on Ellena's shoulder to push her away from this alleyway.

Ellena looked at him, in fear of what would happen every moment. "But... but you can help him, can't you?", she asked. "I… I know you can" Though her voice was a mere whisper and she was confident the men had not spotted her or Terroma yet, her heart was beating fast with fear.

Terroma let out a sigh. "I could kill them all in a heartbeat", he admitted. "But we don't know what happened there, whom I would pick a fight with were I to do that. It is dangerous to get involved in this city" His expression was grim though and his tone was not as convincing as usual.

And Ellena couldn't let that happen! Not again! The young man was surrounded by his opponents by now and readied himself for a fight he could not possibly win. She saw the long knife in the small man's hand. A long knife just like the one from that night. No! She did not want to remember! She did not want to...

She remembered the lavish living room in her father's mansion. She had been unable to sleep, kept awake by a bad feeling in her gut. As such, she had been sneaking through the nightly mansion, enjoying the thrill of moving unseen, of doing something forbidden. Only later had she realised that no guards had been present, long after she had snuck into her father's study. When he entered the room, she hid under a sofa, watching as he sat down on his work desk, brooding over a few documents. He had always done this in the evenings, some nights he hardly slept, instead he always worked and worked and worked…

She remembered the man who had entered the room through the balcony, without even trying to be subtle and silent. Most of his face was concealed beneath a cloak, but she would remember the uncovered bits of his face for the rest of her life, one eye missing, replaced by a crude scar. Her father jumped up, facing the man and grabbing a sword, an elegant, slightly curved sword from Lorath. "I wouldn't do this, Ellyrio Terys", the stranger hissed, his voice a higher pitch, but polite.

"Who are you?", her father asked, walking past the sofa under which Ellena had been hiding without taking note of her. He pointed the sword at the stranger and from her hiding spot, Ellena could see that the man himself carried a longsword with him. "Guards!"

To this, the stranger only laughed. "They sleep. I haven't killed them, for they are not part of the contract. You on the other hand..." With these words, he came closer until the top of the raised sword nearly touched his chest. Still he had not drawn his weapon, his entire body language oozing confidence.

She remembered her father standing strong, ready to strike, yet hesitating. He had been a merchant, not a warrior, unable to use the sword properly despite all his bravado. He had been too gentle for violence. But now, there was anger in his voice. "Stand back or I will kill you", he growled.

To this, the stranger merely shook his head. "I doubt you will. But if you resist, I will kill you slowly. Painfully", he threatened him. "Then I will kill your daughter. Even slower. I have a friend, she loves to do this kind of stuff. Maybe I let her do it" His tone was deceptively soft, but his words were monstrous. "It is your call, Ellyrio Terys"

She remembered her father. The subtle change in his facial expression. "Ellena... gods no, she is innocent in whatever this is!", he exclaimed. "I do not know who sent you, but leave her out of it! You… you wouldn't dare, you monster!"

The stranger shrugged. "You can't imagine half of the things I am capable of, but hear my words, for I never lie", he answered. "Fight me and the two of you die tonight. Accept the inveitable and she lives"

Her father's expression faltered and for a second, Ellena was sure that he saw her. Then, he threw his sword to the ground, allowing the stranger to come closer. "Good choice", the stranger complimented him. "Now, Ellyrio Terys, how do you want to die?"

She remembered her father closing his eyes. "Just get over with it...", he had murmured.

She remembered the stranger plunging a knife into her father's heart.

She remembered the stranger going down looking under the sofa, directly at her. In that moment, she knew that he wasn't a Faceless Man, for a Faceless Man would have left no witness. "You got lucky girl. Your father loved you", he had said, before leaving the room, leaving Ellenas life shattered.

No! She would not let that happen again!

"Terroma!", she said, her voice getting sharper, more agitated. "Please, Terroma, don't let him die!" As she spoke, she saw the men getting ready for a fight and she threw herself at the old man, her fingers clenched around his body as she hugged him tightly. "You are a good man", she claimed. "You couldn't live with that either! Please Terroma! I don't want it to happen again!" By now, tears were running down her face.

Terroma looked at her, his face becoming sorrowful after her last sentence, his kind smile fading. "I am afraid you don't know anything about me, Ellena, nor what I am capable of", he sighed, before closing his eyes. "Except one thing... I can't let that happen" When he opened his eyes, all trace of kindness was gone. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her away, while giving her a stern glare. "You stay back, you hear me? Should anything happen to me, don't try to help me. Run"

Ellena could only nod. Through a blur of tears, she saw the young man attacking the small man first. His opponent jumped back in time, but still the blade grazed his chest, sending him to the ground with a superficial cut.

The taller man used this opening to attack the lone man's back with a strong blow from his sword. The sound of steel hitting steel sounded, as the sword clashed against the worn-down armour.

In this moment, the crossbowman fired his weapon. His bolt found its mark, digging into the young man's upper left arm, going right through the thin armour. The man let out a howl of pain and by instinct he dropped his sword in sheer agony.

Then, the tall man attacked again, this time delivering a strike to his disarmed opponent's rips. Ellena could hear the sound of armour breaking and then she saw the young man going down, landing heavily on his injured arm, the other hand pressed against his side.

Under muffled curses, the small man got up again, one hand pressed against his chest, with blood seeping from between his fingers. "He hit me... God I think he almost killed me!", he exclaimed in shock, but his surprise quickly gave way to anger. "Fucking fucker! Let me cut his dick off while he is still breathing, while he still feels it!"

In this moment, he was the first to take note of Terroma, who had just entered the alleyway. "And who the fuck are you?", he spat. Terroma's hand wrapped around the small knife he had bought earlier, the knife he had used to cut an apple with. Ellena didn't know much about weapons, but she knew one thing: That wasn't a weapon to fight with. That was suicide!

Terroma pointed his knife at the downed man "You won't harm him any more", he stated. His voice was almost toneless, but polite. Calm and polite, just like the stranger from that dreaded night and yet different in every other way. "You will leave him here. Be on your way"

To this, the tall man merely laughed, a deep, booming and horrible sound."Go fuck yourself, old man", he barked, showing a smile even more hideous than that of Terroma himself. "This is Solver business. If you have any wits left to you, then turn around and forget you ever saw us"

The small man pointed his knife at Terroma, while the crossbowman started to reload. "Yes, go fuck yourself! Butterfly wants him dead!", he exclaimed. "And Butterfly always gets what he wants. All will be well!"

Decidedly unimpressed, Terroma merely shrugged "I don't even know who this Butterfly is. He means nothing to me and I am not afraid of him", he replied, his tone still ice-cold. "I want to give you a chance to leave this place alive. I suggest you take it"

This made all three men burst into laughter. "Oh, but you should be afraid of Butterfly", the tall man warned him, as he began to approach Terroma. "You should be very afraid"

Terroma continued to approach them without flinching, getting ever closer. "I am never afraid", he whispered and his clear voice carried far in this nightly alleyway. "Fear cuts deeper than swords"

This caused the tall man to laugh even louder, a snorting sound, more befitting to a pig than to a human being. "Trust me, old man, my sword cuts deep enough for you", he spoke, as he pointed the weapon right at him at last. "Last warning"

She couldn't see his face anymore, but she could tell that Terroma was smiling from the way his voice sounded. "I am not afraid", he claimed once again. But you should be… Turn around or you will"

The small man, who wisely kept behind his taller companion, now looked past Terroma and his gaze met Ellena's, who let out a gasp. A wicked smile flashed across his face, the pain from his injury all but forgotten. "Is that your daughter over there?", he asked while licking his lips. "When we're finished with you, I'm going to have a bit of fun with her"

Terroma stopped dead in his tracks for a second. When he spoke again, Ellena noticed a new emotion in his voice. "Oh, you poor men, all of you...", he hissed, his voice trembling with anger, the first time Ellena had ever heard such an emotion from him. "That makes it easier for me... You don't even realise how dead you are right now, do you?"

The moment Terroma had said that, the tall man attacked. Ellena noticed that he was wearing chainmail. A knife like Terromas could never go through chainmail, there was simply no way. He attacked with a very quick strike to Terromas chest.

Before the blade could connect with his body, Terroma took a swift step to the side. All of it happened almost too quick for Ellena's untrained eyes to even follow. And yet, she had seen people fighting like this, her father had been fond of watching the art of their duels. Was that... Water Dancing? No, it looked similar and yet, the moment Terroma moved to attack in return, she noticed a big difference. A Water Dancer attacked with elegant strikes and slashes, giving potential viewers a presentation of his skill. But Terroma's attack was swift and brutal, not intending to look good. His only intention was to kill. He hit the man under the chin, so fast and precise that his opponent could not react to it at all, deeply embedding the knife in his skull, before pulling it out again in the same move. The tall man staggered backwards, then his body grew limp and he fell backwards.

The smaller man's eyes widened, as Terroma charged at him, no longer casually strolling, the speed of the old man taking not just Ellena by surprise. Instead of running away, the small man chose to fight. He struck at Terroma with his long, twisted knife, but the old man just stepped backwards and quickly grabbed his arm. "Is this how you wanted to die?", he asked, before slashing the small man's throat in a single, cold-blooded move.

The crossbowman, the last of the trio still alive, had almost finished reloading his crossbow. Terroma raised his knife, his small apple-knife, just as the crossbowman raised his crossbow. Five feet separated them. Instead of waiting for the crossbowman to finish reloading, Terroma threw the knife, hitting his opponent in the unprotected chest. The crossbowman staggered backwards, raising his weapon a bit too high. Then, he fired his bolt, narrowly missing Terroma's head, before going down. The old man did not even flinch.

A moment passed and Ellena suppressed the urge to rush towards Terroma at once. He seemed different now. More dangerous, perhaps even the most dangerous man she had ever seen. The crossbowman, who was still alive with the knife embedded in his chest, began to cough violently, his body convulsing with pain, as Terroma walked towards him, his stride now casual and slow once again.

"Fuck you... You're dead asshole, you and your little daughter and this fucking bastard knight and all the people you ever knew!", the crossbowman barked with his last strength and his words were mere gurgles. "Butterfly will hear about this..."

Terroma shook his head before he leant down, pulling the knife from the man's chest. "He won't", he growled in return and with this, he cut the crossbowman's throat, having killed three men in mere moments without breaking a sweat. Without hesitating.

As he turned around to look at Ellena, his kind smile had changed. It had grown thinner and sadder. "I am sorry that you had to see this", he sighed. "Rest assured that you have never been in any danger" Ellena could only stare at him, too baffled to answer. Still, this was Terroma, the man who had treated her with nothing but kindness since the day he had met her. Why was she so afraid of him right now?

The injured young man let out a groan in this moment and it was enough to dispel the fear, as she rushed towards him. He was injured and in pain, but still somewhat conscious. Terroma reached them as well, sinking onto one knee as his eyes scanned across the man's body. "He is alive, but badly wounded", he explained. "The sword did not pierce his armour in the back, or else he would be dead now. One deep cut in his side, moderate bleeding and the arm's injured too. He needs a healer"

With these words, he placed one hand underneath the man's back and though she had no idea how she could aid him, Ellena tried to push him upwards as well. The young man screamed in agony, as Terroma put him over his shoulder, slightly staggering from the weight of his armour. "Easy boy...", he tried to calm him and to his credit, the injured man did not struggle. "We bring him aboard the Pale Princess. The medico should have a look at him"

With this, his smile returned, his genuine and kind-hearted smile, the one Ellena had grown to care for so much. "Do not worry, Ellena, don't be afraid", he spoke and she believed every word he said. "You are safe. I would never allow anyone to hurt you"

She managed to give him a slight nod. His look was that of the kindliest man she had ever seen, but what he had just done, this swift, precise brutality, it was more akin to a beast, a demon of the old stories.

By his side, the injured man groaned and staggered and at once, Ellena was there to hold him, to prevent him from falling once again. "Oh gods…", she gasped, as she noticed the blood on his armour and the gash in his side. "Please… please don't die! Ser, stay with us!"

A weak smile flashed across the young man's face, before he shook his head. "Jaron…", he sighed. "My name… Jaron" He had trouble staying awake and yet, he had a chance to survive. Perhaps he would, with swift medical assistance, the kind he could get aboard the Pale Princess. As such, the orphan and the old man made their way back towards the harbour, towards the merchant cog, bringing with them an injured man and leaving three dead bodies behind.

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · May 28, 2024

Jenna

The talk with Ser Ilhan had helped. Jenna felt stronger. More confident. As she walked past the guards, she made an effort to look them in the eye and to her surprise, they did not seem all that intimidating anymore some of them even gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement. A genuine smile found its way onto her face, even as she approached the Great Hall.

All of that was gone the moment she entered through the open gates, seeing none other than Halla Peddle at its centre, glaring daggers at two young servants who had broken a pair of clay pots. "Useless!", the housekeeper hissed and just hearing her words brought back a primal fear within Jenna. "All of you! No discipline, no respect! Back in my days, old Lord Esbern would have had you thrown from the battlements for that!"

The young girls cowered beneath her fearsome voice and tears were streaming down their faces.. Jenna knew, at least one of them would quit service before sundown, no matter how good the pay was. Jenna herself had thought of quitting as well, many times in fact, but truth be told, she didn't even have enough courage for that.

Lady Halla was breathing heavily as she turned around, her expression souring even further the moment she spotted Jenna. She was in a horrible mood, the worst she had been in in a long while. "Jenna Harking!", she barked and Jenna's heart dropped as she heard this spiteful tone. "You worthless pile of trash, get over here!"

Jenna gulped and the fragile bravery Ilhan had built up was swept away in an instant under the housekeeper's fearsome glare. She followed the order, not daring to defy her, not when she was in such a foul mood. "Yes, Lady Halla…", she mumbled, her heart already beating faster in fear the moment she got closer to this woman. Oh, how she feared her, how she hated her!

"There is work to do!", Halla spat. "You do know what work is, don't you?" She had her fists clenched and Jenna instinctively remained out of her reach. Many servants in the castle had bruises or scars from Halla's outbursts and though she had not received a permanent mark yet, today was not the day she'd get one.

She wanted to protest, wanted to do as Ilhan had told her, wanted to shut this woman up with all her heart and tell her that she was not worthless. It had sounded so easy in the presence of the master-at-arms. And yet, Ilhan was a strong and proud man and Jenna was the complete opposite, timid and quiet and she knew she could never be like him. One look into Halla's dreadful eyes was enough for her to cower. "Yes, Lady Halla…", was all she managed to whisper.

The housekeeper came closer and Jenna backed off, thankful that Halla stopped after a few steps. "Someone has to sweep through the Lord's chamber!", she spat. "That treacherous bastards, Lucas Flowers, has been in there and I am sure he left the room a complete mess! Our good lord is dead and that man had nothing better to do than to chase after ghosts. We should all be in mourning, for crying out loud!"

Indeed, Jenna spotted something different in Halla's face. There was not just the hateful glare she had gotten to know and fear, but something else as well, a deep-seated grief. She had known Robert and Eaton both for longer than anyone else at the keep, including Ser Harris. As monstrous as she was, there was a sorrow within her as well, one that caused her to lash out with ever greater brutality.

"You will clean up our good lord's chamber, or I swear to the Seven, you better start praying to the Stranger", Halla hissed. Every word of hers shattered the walls of confidence Jenna had just built, like a riptide destroying a sandcastle. Shattered them until there was only Jenna, poor Jenna Harking, all alone in this castle, all alone with a monster. And contrary to what Ilhan had claimed, there was no sword in sight.

Again, she could only nod. "Yes, Lady Halla…", she gasped, as her eyes darted around. A broom was leaning in one of the corners and at once, she turned to it. "I… I will go at once. You won't have anything to worry about!"

She flinched, as the housekeeper grabbed her forearm, a harsh, strict gesture accompanied by a stern glare. "Hmm, let me be the judge of that, girl", Halla sighed and for just a second, her voice sounded a tiny bit less spiteful. "You have your duties, now get out of my sight! I can't stand to look at you any longer"

She did not need to say this twice, for the moment she let go of Jenna, the girl retreated at once. Armed with a broom, she hurried out of the Great hall and onto the battlements, hurrying towards the lord's tower. If anything, she could understand the housekeeper's anger today, for even Jenna herself mourned their late lord. She had always liked Robert Raylan and had never been afraid of him. He had been kind to her, the few times they had talked, with a warm look in his green eyes and always an open ear for the needs of his people. Jenna had never dared to tell him about the pain she and the other servants had gone through at Halla's hands and now she regretted having missed the chance.

And even more than grief for a man she had admittedly barely known was the uncertainty. Raylansfair was a notable city, House Raylan had been a strong house. There had to be a Lord of Raylansfair, but it had been widely known that Robert had never fathered a child. Behind closed doors, some of the servants had spread the rumour that Ser Harris was of Robert's blood, his bastard nephew most likely, hidden to avoid shame from the house, or maybe even his son by blood and to their credit, Harris sported the same auburn brown hair Lord Robert reportedly had in his younger years, he and a third of the men in the Reach.

Regardless, Jenna had her own thoughts on the matter. Harris was not a bad man. He had always treated the servants with respect, he had always been kind and polite. And yet, was he a good lord? She was not so sure about that, barely knowing him after all. He was the acting lord now, assuming the duties of his late liege until the king would appoint a new lord and Jenna had no doubt that by the end of it, Harris hoped to become this successor. Lord Harris Raylan… after all these years in which she had known him only as Ser Harris Flowers, it did not sound right to call him by that title, nor that name.

As soon as Jenna entered the great tower, she took a deep breath, taking in the old, stale air. Few had lived here, only Ser Harris and Lord Robert for as long as she could remember and it had always been a quiet, dusty place. Though Lord Robert had always been kind towards his servants, being here had felt almost forbidden. Even now, with Lady Halla's outspoken order, she felt nervous entering this place, entering the dead lord's private chambers.

This time, as she quickly realised, the tower was not quiet. Almost immediately after she had closed the heavy door behind her, she heard the muffled voices. Two men, their tone agitated, talking over each other from somewhere upstairs, where right now, only Ser Harris had his rooms.

Jenna tensed up at once, her fingers beginning to tremble as she glanced up the stairs. If these voices indeed came from Harris' chambers, she'd have to pass them by to reach the lord's chambers. A part of her wanted to turn around at the mere thought of it, but Ser Ilhan's words were still fresh. There was a sword for every monster, as he had taught her.

As such, Jenna continued her way up, though the uneasy feeling remained and grew only stronger the higher she got and the clearer the voices got. By now, she could almost hear what the two men were talking about. They were agitated and clearly arguing… and the recognized both. There was Ser Ilhan's distinctive raspy snarl, the hint of a dornish accent to his words even after decades spent in the Reach. The other voice was the deep, pleasant timbre of Ser Harris… Lord Harris, she corrected herself. He was the acting lord now, after all. It would be easy to eavesdrop on them…

Jenna stopped dead in her tracks in front of Harris' door. Even just considering this was wrong. It would get her into trouble. But she had always been a curious girl and right now, this curiosity got the better of her. As such and against better knowledge, Jenna actually approached the door with a furiously beating heart, while her instincts screamed at her to just go on with her duties.

"Seven Hells, Harris Flowers!", Ilhan snarled. "You're no lord and you know it. It's a formality, a duty! You have to prepare for the new lord to take over, for Robert's rightful heir!" He slammed a fist onto the table and Jenna flinched at the sudden loud sound. And yet, she pressed her ear against the door to hear their argument more clearly, as curiosity won over fear. "Who gave you the right to decide otherwise, bastard?", the master-at-arms continued.

Silence follower for a few short moments and then, Jenna heard the acting lord speaking. "A formality it might be, Ilhan, but until the king grants the title to another, I am your acting lord", Harris spoke and though his voice was calm, she heard a hint of anger in it as well. "This means I outrank you, Ser. You will never speak to me in that tone again"

"Fuck rank!", Ilhan barked at once and his voice sounded so close to the door that Jenna had to suppress a gasp. "I will not bow to you on a technicality! For all the differences between us, we are knights of House Raylan and comrades in arms. That is all the respect you will get from me"

Jenna remained tense, but calmed down slightly as she heard the master-at-arms walk away from the door again, his heavy steps growing softer and more distant. "After what you just told me about Robert's last will, I thought you wanted my honest counsel", Ilhan added. "Have I been mistaken, Lord Harris?"

"I thought you of all people would agree with me", Harris admitted at once. "This house means everything to me and I will not waste its legacy on Manfred Hightower!" Jenna's eyes widened as she realised more than ever before that she was just listening to something not meant for her ears, something dangerous. And still it made her only more curious. "You have always been loyal, Ilhan, so why…"

"Loyal, aye!", Ilhan barked, cutting the acting lord off with impatience born of anger. "Loyal to Robert, the man who knighted both of us, gave us a purpose beyond what we were born with. This was his last will, Harris and we are oathbound to follow it. Do you want to deny him even this courtesy?"

Now, it was Harris' turn to interrupt him and his voice, previously calmer, was suddenly flaring up with anger. "This is not just a courtesy, Ilhan!", Harris shouted. "Robert was old and ill, he was not sound of mind when he made this decision. Eaton… he promised me, Ilhan, he promised to do what is best for this house and then he went on and wrote this… baffling nonsense!"

"Mind your tone, Harris!", Ilhan growled and both men were shouting once again, this time at each other in clear, naked anger. "They were good men, both of them. They were your friends and mine and I will not stand by while you trample over their memory like that!" For as fierce as he could be, Ilhan actually paused and took a deep gasp to calm himself. "If Lord Robert truly dictated these words as his last will, then we have no choice. Besides, the original is on its way to Oldtown already and the lads are after it"

"Indeed they are", Harris admitted, his voice still shaky, but he clearly made some effort to calm himself. "But we can work around this as long as we only work together, Ilhan. I can make preparations, a contingency, something to avoid the worst of the damage this might cause. We can discredit this foolish note with ease…"

"Discredit?", Ilhan then barked again and for as much as he had audibly tried to calm himself, his voice was now sharp and precise again, his dornish accent stronger as he grew more agitated. "I never liked you, bastard, but I never took you for a petty schemer! Robert and Eaton were murdered and the killer is still at large and you… you want to play your little game… and for what? What could you possibly hope to gain with this, you baseborn maggot?"

"Watch your tone!", Harris roared, so loud that Jenna nearly gasped in fear. Oh gods, oh by the gods, what was she doing? What were they doing? Someone braver would have intervened, but Jenna was nothing like it. She was only a fly on the wall, meek little Jenna Harking and as much as she wanted to flee, her legs did not obey her.

"Watch your tone…", Harris sighed again. "Difficult as this might be for you, Dornishman" He made the word sound like a curse. "I am the Lord of Raylansfair and between the two of us, I intend to keep the title. If I am all that stands between Raylansfair and the greed of Manfred Hightower, then I will cling to this title, I will fight tooth and nail to protect my city. If you see that as scheming… then perhaps I have been wrong to consider you an ally"

"Do you even hear yourself?", Ilhan spoke and though his voice was not as loud as before, it had barely calmed down. "What are you suggesting? Lucas and Leonard will bring the boy back and then what? You think they will agree with you? And young Dairon… if he reaches the Citadel, then there's no telling who else might know. You have no chance here, no goal you could ever hope to reach"

Harris was quiet after that and Jenna noticed that she had barely taken a breath during this argument. She inhaled deeply, trying her best not to make any noise. When Harris spoke again, it was in a different tone from before, one she had not heard from him before. It sounded old and sad and lacked any of the confidence he usually oozed. "I am afraid, Ilhan", the acting lord muttered. "This house is all I have. Without it, I am nothing, just a lowborn bastard with neither family nor renown. I will not let all of it burn to the ground because one senile old man decided to throw it all away"

In response, Ilhan let out a cold, raspy chuckle. "Seven Hells, Flowers!", he hissed. "I thought you were a greedy schemer, a bastard who never learned his place. Turns out you are none of those things. You are just a pathetic, wincing child afraid of change. Even the lowliest servant in this keep has more guts than you" He paused and Jenna nearly recoiled as she heard his steps moving closer to the door again. "You are free to dig your own grave, Harris, but my decision stands. Mern Gardener must decide"

"We will not inform the king!", Harris barked loudly and Ilhan stopped dead in his tracks. "Mern Gardener is deep in Hightower's pocket. If we even entertain this last will, then you know in whose favour he will decide. We may as well hand Raylansfair over to the Hightowers on a silver platter!"

"Now you slander the king as well?", Ilhan roared. "By the gods, just… listen to yourself, you pitiful maggot! Mern Gardener is a just man, a good man" Once again, the master-at-arms slammed his fist down onto the table. "He will not destroy Raylansfair and neither will Manfred Hightower. We can reason with them, we can work something out, but only if we are honest and direct", he added and in his voice, angry as it still was, Jenna noted a pleading tone as well. "Anything other path will bring ruin to this city and to you as well"

Harris let out a loud sigh. "And this is where you are wrong, you stubborn fool", he mumbled. "If Manfred Hightower becomes the Lord of Raylansfair, he will strip the city for all its value. In time, it will end up like Bennicksford after the last of the Bennicks had died. I have been there, Ilhan. A decaying village filled with gaunt old men clinging to the shadows of the past"

Despite his anger, Ilhan laughed again, a hollow, mirthless tone. "You really don't see the irony in that, do you?", he growled. "House Raylan is gone. It had been dying for the past fifty years. Robert failed his line when he refused to take a wife and so it ended with him. You're not only clinging to the past, you are living in denial! Are you of such a narrow mind that you cannot see the path ahead?"

Silence followed once again and when Harris continued, his voice was steely once again. "I could ask you the same thing, Ilhan", he mumbled. "I loved Robert more than I loved my own father, but this city, this house, is my everything. I will fight tooth and nail to protect it and if Raylansfair goes down, then so will I. I am the castellan, the acting lord, the last line of defence this city has against its enemies"

Now, it was Harris who moved, his own gait softer than Ilhan's heavy stomps. "I have tried to pull rank on you and you rejected me. I have tried to win you over with arguments and you have refused to listen", he spoke. "We are not friends, but we have always understood each other. As such, Ilhan… I beg of you. Do not side with those who wish to see Raylansfair burn. Do not become my enemy"

The master-at-arms approached the door once again and Jenna prepared to flee from the scene just as he stopped once more. "So, we're begging now, are we?", he sighed. "Seven Hells, Flowers… you speak of enemies as if either of us has a choice here. This is not about Raylansfair and what might… yes, MIGHT happen to it. This is not about you, you selfish, power-hungry bastard. This is about Robert Raylan, a man we have both been sworn to. This is about the knighthood he bestowed upon us and the duties that come with it. You have made a vow and now's the time to bloody keep it!"

"Some vows are meant to be broken", Harris answered, his voice a calm, barely audible whisper. It was in this moment that Jenna heard the most spine-chilling sound of her life. Steel being drawn right on the other side of the door, as Ser Ilhan readied his blade.

"Then you leave me no choice, Harris", the master-at-arms spoke and despite his clear and naked anger, there was regret in his tone as well. "I thought you a man of duty and clearly I have been wrong. But I will not let you defile Lord Robert's memory by disregarding his last will like that. You are not worthy of being Lord Raylan"

Another moment of silence and barely holding her breath Jenna pressed her head against the door, trying to listen to anything else. She would get into trouble for this, but right now she no longer cared. This was important. The future of Raylansfair was being decided in this very moment and… by the gods, she had to do something, right? She had to intervene somehow, but what could she possibly do? She was no knight like Ser Ilhan, not capable of greatness. All she could do was listen, while trembling in fear and anticipation.

"So, you choose to be my enemy…", Harris sighed and though hesitant at first, his voice soon gained its former steel. "Tell me, Ilhan, have you been in Hightowers pocket this entire time? Maybe you even had a hand in the untimely death of Robert and Eaton. It would surely explain why you are so hellbent on burning this city to the ground!"

"How dare you?", Ilhan shouted, now at the top of his lungs. "You bastard… you fucking maggot dare to insult me like that. By the gods, Harris Flowers, you are no lord and no knight. I relieve you of your command! Step down willingly and maybe you can still salvage this. But I will give you a new vow, right here and now… one wrong word, one wrong move and I will cut you down where you stand!"

"Ilhan…", Harris gasped and this time, the lord sounded genuinely horrified, his voice shaky and on the brink of tears. She had never heard Ser Ilhan this furious, nor Ser Harris this desperate. "Please, don't do this… there… there might still be hope. We must…"

Just then, Jenna felt strong, bony hands grabbing her, sharp nails digging into her shoulder, the other hand yanking her hair and pulling her head backwards. She had not heard anyone approaching, she had been too focussed on the confrontation between the two knights. As such, she let out a loud gasp that cut off all talk on the other side of the door.

"What are you doing, Jenna Harking, you useless little bitch?", the familiar voice of Halla Peddle hissed into her ear, her voice cold venom. Jenna's eyes widened in naked fear. Not her! Oh by the gods, out of everyone, why did it have to be her? The sharp nails dug into her flesh and her gasp was not only out of reflex, but out of genuine pain as well.

"I give you a simple task and when I decide to check up on you, I find you eavesdropping instead!", the housekeeper spat as she spun Jenna around and heavily pushed her against the door. For such a lean old woman she had a baffling strength and Jenna was paralyzed in fear, unable to resist, as Halla gave her a heavy slap without holding back, hard enough for Jenna's head to slam against the wooden frame.

"Eavesdropping!", Halla spat again. "Now you did it, Jenna, now you really did it!" There was a wild fury in her eyes and right now, for the first time ever, Jenna was afraid for her life. She tried to remember Ilhan's teachings, but her head was thumping in pain from the slap and she was terrified, too terrified to even think straight. "Now you really are in trouble!"

Her eyes widened as Halla grabbed her again. "No… don't, please!", Jenna yelled. "Please, no…!" Despite her sobbing plea, Halla pushed her against the door again and Jenna knew, this was who she truly was. The timid, helpless Jenna Harking. With one hand, Halla grabbed her by the collar, the nails scratching against the soft flesh of her neck and with the other, she pushed the door to Harris' room open.

"Mylord!", the housekeeper exclaimed. "Lord Harris! This little bitch has been eavesdropping on your talk, the rat that she is!" She was unaware of the heated talk between the two men, entirely oblivious to the tension between them and Jenna was too terrified to warn her, as Halla grabbed her by the hair again and dragged her by her side and pushing her head down with a strength born from sheer hatred. "And Ser Ilhan is here as well, excellent!", Halla added as both men turned towards them. "Perhaps you'd like to discipline her properly"

Ilhan stood closer to them, his sword drawn, but the look of sheer fury on his face grew softer, more confused, as he saw the two women standing there. Then, his gaze met Jenna's and he recognized her. A sigh left his throat, one of exasperation and perhaps slight disappointment. Behind him, the unarmed Ser Harris stared at the two women with wide eyes. His expression was different from Ilhan's. Not angry, but scared. If anything, Jenna would always recognize fear.

"Alright then, enough of this", Ser Ilhan spat. "We have more pressing matters at hand than one scared little lamb eavesdropping on us" He actually lowered his sword and behind him, Harris' fingers twitched, as his gaze darted across the room. "Unhand the girl, Halla"

Instead of following his stern command, Halla's nails dug even deeper into Jenna's scalp and the girl yelped in pain. Tears welled up in her eyes and she could see the two men only through a blur, as she rapidly blinked. She was afraid, not just for herself. No… she could read the room well, better than Halla and better than the distracted Ser Ilhan. "Please… please don't…", she gasped.

"What did you say?", Halla growled, probably to Jenna and Ilhan at the same time. "She has been eavesdropping on you! She… she's probably a spy, must be it!" She forced Jenna's head up and this time, the girl saw clearer again. She saw Ilhan and the fury that grew within him once again. And she saw what happened behind him. Before she could warn the master-at-arms, Harris made his move.

Ser Ilhan shrugged. "I heard you loud and clear", he snarled. "And I think I made my point clear. I said unhand her, you spiteful, frigid crone…"

Just then, Harris slammed him over the head with a thick silver goblet from his desk, a heavy blow that was enough to make Ilhan stagger to his knees and drop the already lowered sword in sudden surprise. At once, Halla let go of Jenna, both women screaming in terror. Jenna dropped down onto all fours and behind her, the housekeeper froze in place. "Stop it!", she yelled. "Please!" But her voice was too thin, too quiet to be heard.

And yet, with Ilhan stunned for a second, Harris raised the goblet again. Jenna could see blood on the silver. He did not manage to land a second blow, for the master-at-arms jumped up once again, now with a monstrous rage on his face. He delivered a strong uppercut against Harris' jaw that made the castellan stagger, followed by a quick kick to his shin. This time, Harris almost went down, stumbling backwards against his desk.

With a howl of fury, Ilhan wrapped his hands around Harris' throat and began to choke him. A gasp left the other knight as his hands flailed around. He pushed one against Ilhan's face, trying to push him away, while the other blindly flailed over the desk, knocking down papers and trinkets, before they found a golden candlestick.

With one desperate move, his expression one of growing panic, Harris slammed the candlestick against Ilhan's face, pushing the burning flame against the other knight's eye. Momentarily roaring in pain, Ilhan's grip around his throat lessened and Harris took a deep gasp of fresh air, before delivering a violent kick against his opponent's groin.

Jenna winced, as Ilhan staggered backwards, but before Harris could recover his footing, the master-at-arms charged at him again, this time slamming against him and pressing him against the desk with brute force, toppling the furniture over and jumping on top of him. One hand found the castellan's throat again and the other began to deliver experienced, violent strikes against his unprotected head, as Harris tried to push him off. They would have been evenly matched, but right now, Ilhan was more a furious beast and this sheer rage gave him strength.

And yet, while Halla just stood there, screaming in fear, Jenna noticed something else, as she knelt there on the ground. Harris was reaching for something on the ground, one of the trinkets their fight had knocked down. A knife… no… Jenna's eyes widened as she realised what was about to happen.

"Ilhan!", she screamed in fear, hoping to warn the knight. She was too late. The master-at-arms briefly glanced at her and just then, Harris raised a gilded letter opener, pushing it upwards and into Ilhan's throat.

Immediately, Ilhan's screams of rage were cut off, drowned into a wet gurgle. His eyes widened and his grip around Harris' throat weakened. With newfound strength, the castellan pushed him off and as Ilhan struggled again, Harris rolled on top of him, ramming the sharp letter opener into his throat once again, then again, until the master-at-arms stopped moving.

Jenna could only stare at the scenery ahead of her. Tears poured down her face freely and next to her, Halla sank to her knees in fear. She barely acknowledged the housekeeper, her gaze fixed on Harris and the dead Ser Ilhan. "No…", she whispered and her voice was meeker than ever. "Ser Ilhan…"

Atop the dead knight, Harris stared down at what he had just done. His eyes were wide with fear, but also with grief and rage. "You… you made me do this!", he roared into the dead man's face. Even in death, Ser Ilhan's eyes glared skywards, staring at Harris in silent accusation. "Why… why did you force my hand?", Harris roared again. "I wanted to save you. I tried to give you a chance. It would have been simple! We could have saved this city, you and I together!"

A louder wail of fear left Lady Halla's throat and this time, Harris' head turned to the side, his glare hitting both women and quenching any thought of resistance. Tears streamed down his face and yet his gaze was sharp and solid as steel. There he was again, Ser Harris Flowers, castellan and acting lord. She had never been truly afraid of him, not until now.

"You… you two!", he growled and his voice was raspy with exhaustion. "You won't tell anyone, you hear me?" He had raised his voice and the injured, exhausted snarl within made Jenna wince, as she recoiled in fear. "He had his sword drawn and tried to kill me!", Harris gasped again and though Jenna had heard the truth, she did not dare to defy him, not right now. He would kill her. One word was enough and she knew it.

Instead, she glanced at Lady Halla, hoping that the fearsome housekeeper would say anything. And yet, to her horror Halla's expression mirrored her own, terrified and tearful. "No… no, m'lord", she gasped with a shaky, horrified voice. "We won't tell anyone. Please, just… have mercy, I beg of you"

Harris narrowed his eyes. "Mercy…", he sighed. "Not mercy, no… but we can work on this. We can fix this, together" With a groan of pain, he pushed himself off of Ilhan and sank to the ground next to him. He glanced at the dead master-at-arms and his expression was one of pure, horrified grief. Then, he looked back at Jenna and Halla and the look in his eyes hardened once again. "I had to defend myself. I had to defend Raylansfair", he growled. "And you two… you will help me fix this mess, all of it!"

With these words, he sunk back, his head resting against the wall behind him, breathing heavily and in sheer exhaustion, his eyes closed, but still crying bitter tears. Next to Jenna, Lady Halla remained on the ground, kneeling on all fours. "Oh, thank you…", she gasped. "Thank you, mylord, thank you!"

And yet, Jenna's own gaze was fixed on the lifeless body of Ser Ilhan Lagoon. There was a sword for every monster, as he had taught her. She had trusted in these words, but then again, Ser Ilhan had a sword and it had done him no good. In this moment, Jenna felt a familiar sensation, that one emotion that had been by her side for half her life.

She was afraid.

End of Chapter 2: Broken Vows

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qExg1YEg1ak

Next time on Forum of Thrones:

"Ser Ilhan attacked me. He tried to seize control of House Raylan. He forced me to defend myself", Harris said with a sorrowful tone in his voice. "He left me no choice but to fight back" Septon Corbin still did not seem to be convinced, but that's why the acting lord had called for them, after all.

"We all knew he was an ambitious man", Lady Halla spoke at once, her tone once again confident and cold, a far cry from the last time Jenna had seen her. "I have been there, Corbin. I have seen it and I can confirm it"

The Septon gulped. "It is true that he has been ambitious... But this? He was a good and loyal man. Why would he do this?", he asked and looked at Jenna, a soft smile forming on his pudgy face. "Dear child, you have been awfully quiet so far. Speak up. You are among friends"

She almost winced as she felt Harris hand on her shoulder. "Jenna has seen it too. She can confirm it, just like Lady Halla", the lord said.

Lord Crakehall let out a roaring laughter from deep within his belly. "Almost a hundred men, if my scouts can be believed!", he exclaimed, as he raised his axe. "You might do all for your pride, Willfred, the Lannisters might roar all day, but there's none so fierce as a Crakehall! We will meet them in the field and we will crush them! And then we shall send their heads all the way back to Harrenhal!" One quick glance at General Tallian proved to Willfred that he disapproved of this plan of action. And yet, as the red lion looked back at Crakehall, he couldn't contain a smile. This was what he had been waiting for, a glorious battle!

"Torvin Breaker!", the man said with a wide and genuine smile. "I have heard a lot of you and I must say, I have been looking forward for this meeting!" He was tall and well-built, as his father and his siblings were, with greasy dark hair and a face that could be considered decently handsome. The looks would have given him away with ease, not just the hair, but the eyes. They were deep dark pools without any compassion in them, black as the Drowned Priests used to say. Yet still, by reputation Harlan was one of the better Hoare princes he could have met here. His smile wasn't as cruel as the kings, his eyes slightly less bloodthirsty. And yet, only a fool would ever mistake him for a good man, splattered with blood that was not his…

"Hello, blacksmith Mettel...", the figure said, and Lyria winced in surprise at his voice, even before she recognized Wolfius Woodbark. "I believe you have finished my assignment, yes?" His smile was cold and joyless and she felt a shiver running down her spine.

Still she managed to give him a slight nod. "Yes... it is all done", she said, as she reached for the knife. For a second, his eyes narrowed as she had grabbed the weapon, but his expression softened slightly as she presented it to him, hilt first.

Greedily, Wolfius grabbed the knife and the only reason he did not slice across her fingers in the process was because she was quick enough to let go of it. The strange man's odd smile widened as he glanced at the blade, moving it close to his face, clearly fascinated by it. "Wonderful work, my dearest blacksmith Mettel", he hissed, his gaze barely even meeting hers. "Now... I guess I owe you a reward…" With these words, he reached his free hand into his overcoat…

By his side, Cass pressed herself against him and he felt her wildly beating heart, but his gaze was fully focussed on the scene outside. "John! My god John, we have to do something! They are going to kill her, we can't let her die, please John, do something!", the girl whispered in terror.

Gutten looked down, looked at these animals who tried to pose as humans, looked at the woman they had just taken hostage. No... They would not get away with that, he would not allow it! A thin, confident grin formed on his face, as he knew that before nightfall, all of those men were going to be dead.

Jaron let out a weak cough, still feeling the shivers of pain coursing through his body from injuries only barely healed. Harpy's expression softened and the look within her dark eyes was one of pity. "I am sorry for what happened, Jaron, truly I am", she began. "Even the Burned Man underestimated how swiftly Butterfly will act. He hopes that you get well soon. We both do!"

To this, the hedge knight shook his head, his expression still angry and perhaps even a slight bit accusatory. "Underestimated? The Burned Man still underestimates him, Harpy!", he growled. "Seven Hells, I don't think you understand the situation, but I have been there. He knew that I would go down that alleyway. Clearly he has a traitor in your ranks"

As he spoke these words, the girl clenched her fists and avoided his stare. "You might be right", she whispered. "Which is why I had to make certain preparations. What happened to you can never happen again. We need to find this traitor"

Clayton's forced smile was cold and sharp and by now, it began to unnerve her. "You understood everything, Kersea?", he asked. She gave him a nod and he replied with a pat onto her shoulder, firm enough for her to tense up beneath his grip."Good. Don't fuck this one up. Kill the target, plant the dagger. Simple enough" With these words, he handed a second note to Wolfius. "And this will be your target", he added, much to the killer's glee. "She has to die too, but you may do with her as you like"

Wolfius looked at his own note and let out a howling chuckle. "Harking! Didn't know he had a daughter!", he exclaimed and his voice got lower, more menacing. "Trust me, Clayton, I will enjoy this..."

Forum of Thrones, Act I, Chapter III: We Write History; Coming Soon!

LiquidChicagoTed · May 28, 2024

And with this we have reached the final part of Chapter 2! I hope you all enjoyed the ride so far, I certainly had a blast and those of you familiar with the original, somewhat unrefined version of my story might notice that I have sometimes made some significant enhancements to the parts. This chapter finale for example has doubled in length, giving a lot more personality to the characters and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have, even if it meant saying goodbye to a character I greatly enjoyed writing and whose presence in the short few parts he actually featured in I have made sure to increase as he deserved. The next chapter will start very soon, featuring the return of Lyria and Marak, neither of whom has been seen as a PoV character in this chapter, as well as a few new storylines alongside the ones features in this chapter.

Like last time, I want to use this opportunity to ask a few questions. Now, I am still not sure how big my audience here actually is, I know there are a number of silent readers and that is certainly fine, but I always love to hear anyone's thoughts. The feedback received so far has greatly helped me with structuring and improving these remastered parts and, well, I am always interested in what you think about the story itself. Like I said last time, replying to these is optional, but merely something I am curious about. If you want to, here are the chapter questions.

Who were your favourite characters in Chapter 2?
Who were your least favourite characters in Chapter 2?
What has been your favourite moment in Chapter 2?
What are you looking forward for in Chapter 3 and beyond?
Was there anything you disliked?

Now, as I said last time, I am not sure how large an audience I already have, so in addition to this I believe it might be interesting for all of you to see what sort of choices I have offered my readers in the original parts back in 2015 and how they have shaped the story and the parts ahead. Like last time, I have sometimes combined parts to give them a better ending. The original parts sometimes ended in the middle of a scene to give the readers a choice that could influence how this scene would have played out. I'll give you some examples for that in a moment. In this remastered version, which for now focusses on readability instead of interactivity, I will restructure the parts quite a bit, so that they instead end on a dramaturgically fitting note instead of a choice in the middle of the scene. This did not happen quite that much in the last chapter, which simply combined most storylines into one longer part, with Lucas being the only exception but even then, his parts mostly ended right where the choices happened.

For this chapter, things have been quite different. Let me begin by telling you about the choices:

Lucas had a slightly shorter storyline than last time, but no less criticial for the things to come. His first choice, having an influence on his relationship with Leonard in the parts ahead, has been to sit with the Gutters or with Leonard. As you may remember, the part you have read here instead featured his choice already, he sat with the Gutters and learned something about Dairon, who had been at the inn the night before and the part instead ended in the middle of Lucas' second part, shortly before tensions between Leonard and Temari arose. His second original choice would have been to intervene in the fight between the two men, he chose not to but he could have prevented the fight altogether had he chosen to get involved. His third and most crucial choice involved Lunett, the sweet daughter of the innkeeper, whom he chose to take with them on a whim. This one, alongside his choice from the last chapter to let Leonard accompany him to Oldtown are among the most crucial choices in the early Book 1.

Meanwhile, Torvin had two choices in this chapter, one concerning his brother, Garthon, whom he could have rejected, leading to them not working together against their king in another very crucial and story-shaping choice. The other, happening at the end of his part in this remastered version, would have been what task to tackle, either he could have stayed at Harrenhal or headed to Maidenpool, leaving Garthon to do the other task. As you can imagine the choice of whom to work with and what task to tackle in person might have a big influence on how the entire assassination plot ends.

Richard Harking originally had three parts which I combined into one especially long part. His first choice happened during his meeting with his friends, where he chose to intervene when witnessing the shady Wolfius harassing his favourite barmaid. Had the readers back then chosen to stay out of it, Richard would not have gotten acquainted with Wolfius and therefore he probably wouldn't have ended up in that warehouse. His second choice, once again very crucial for how he ended up, would have been to chase after Wolfius or not after catching the killer in the act of having murdered that young girl. Had he chosen not to get involved, he could have once again avoided that very painful fate he suffered at the end of Chapter 2.

Jaron the Bastard only had a single part in the original version of this chapter as well where every other PoV received two. In his case, his choice was which of the three thugs who ambushed him at the end of his part he should attack first. It was a purely cosmetic choice and added in by me to give my readers something to choose upon. The end result would have been the same, a badly injured Jaron gets saved by Ellena and Terroma.

Speaking of Ellena, her storyline received some major enhancements in this chapter, especially her final one, which was originally a part of the chapter finale and split by me for this remastered version only because of the length. Ellena's first choice would have been to go with Terroma or to stay with Talea, resulting in a different few parts ahead for her. The other choice would have been to either urge Terroma to save Jaron or to stay out of this fight. Had she not chosen to get involved or had she not been with Terroma to begin with, he still would have intervened and saved Jaron. In fact, her presence made it less likely for him to intervene, because he did not want to put her in danger, but all things considered he is not the type of man to stand by when innocents are being attacked.

Our Vale PoV, Maya Iresons, had a fairly short storyline in this chapter and one I rightfully combined for the remastered version. She had only one choice as well, namely which route to take. She could have followed Gregar's advice and headed through the Mountains of the Moon, reaching Raylansfair by land, or she could have chosen the other option, the one that eventually won, where she would have taken the ship and essentially skipped the dangerous mountains. Nothing would have changed for her in this chapter, but her choice would have severely changed how her next chapter storyline will play out, as I am sure you can imagine.

Willfred Reyne meanwhile had three parts instead of two, with his first part ending right at the moment Lucion, the Lannister prince, asked him for a sparring match. Willfred refused, but had he chosen to accept the duel it could have improved his standing with his future brother-in-law. His second part would have ended in the middle of the war council, giving him the choice to plan his approach to his uncle, the Reyne bastard Roger Hill. The readers back then decided that he should seek help from Roger, but they could have also refused to seek help from the man, which would have majorly changed some elements of Willfred's future parts. As you have seen in this chapter, I decided to restructure the parts so that his first parts ends on a much more fitting note with the end of King Loren's speech at the war council, which originally would have been the beginning of Willfred's third part. His third part would have ended with a conversation with Two-Face, the scarred captain of the guard of Castamere, this conversation notably taking part after Willfred said his goodbyes to his family and sister. In the remastered version, I chose to move this conversation ahead and end the chapter storyline with a more heartfelt moment. Just like in the part you read, Two-Face offered to accompany Willfred and Willfred could have actually accepted his offer, which would have resulted in Two-Face becoming a major recurring character in the parts ahead. The readers back then chose differently and now Two-Face will not appear in quite a while, but rest assured, he and the rest of the Castamere squad will make a return in time.

And our final PoV for Chapter 2, Richard's daughter Jenna Harking, had two parts, though only one choice. Her first part was quite a bit longer than the one you read in the chapter premiere and it was also not originally a part of the chapter premiere. It would have ended long after her talk with Ilhan and would have also featured her conversation with Lady Halla and then her beginning to eavesdrop on the confrontation between Ilhan and Harris. Around the middle of it, so around two thirds into this part, she would have had a choice to either continue eavesdropping or two leave and resume her duties. This would have resulted in neither her nor Lady Halla (who would have been unusually pleased with such a dutiful choice) being present for the final confrontation between Harris and Ilhan. Ilhan would have still died, but Harris would have suffered severe injuries in the process, making his claim that Ilhan attacked him first a lot more believable and his role in the coming parts quite notably different, as Jenna would have not witnessed him murdering the master-at-arms.

As you can see, once again the choices continue to have a big influence in how the original story has played out, but this time I have also changed the structure of the parts themselves, which is something I will keep doing in the parts to come. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, if you have anything to share, I always appreciate your thoughts, positive or negative. Also, the character submission is always open, so if you want to have your own characters appear in future parts, make sure to check that one out. Thank you for reading and I look forward for remastering the next parts.

Chapter 3 of Book 1 will begin very soon!

LiquidChicagoTed · May 30, 2024

Alright everybody! While I am working on the next part right now and aiming for a release later this weekend, I have something I believe might be fun for my new readers. As you know, Forum of Thrones has been around for almost a decade now and in these years, my readers have created a great amount of fan art. In fact, the header image on the first post of the story has been created by one of my readers, the wonderful Mathea. Most of the fan art created by various artists over the years has been character drawings and I intend to share them all in due time, albeit some of the newer drawings contain spoilers for future parts and therefore won't be posted until then. I myself cannot draw for the life of mine, but I am currently in the process of using an AI image generator to create portraits for the cast which I would like to share as well at some point in the future. First, however, I would like to share the fanart my readers have created over the years.

Today I got the very first piece of FoT-related fan art for you, created by a reader who went by foxbrg2 on the old Telltale forums where FoT was first posted. These were drawn over nine years ago, around the time of me writing the original Chapter 2, the updated version of which you have just read. Foxbrg2 has created pixel art of 27 of the most prominent characters in the first two chapters, so these I can share without spoiling any of my new readers. For years I thought these images lost, because fox uploaded them onto a now-defunct image host and I saved them on imgur, which has become objectively garbage over the last few years and ended up deleting my images without warning and without me having a back-up. I had a few of them still saved on my hard drive, but far from all of them. Luckily, one of my readers apparently saved the imgur gallery on the internet wayback machine, allowing me to restore them, which I only realized a few days ago. As such, I immediately uploaded them onto three different image hosts, saved those galleries on the wayback machine as well and stored them on a usb drive just to make sure they'll never get lost again 😄

Since this board allows for only ten images to be posted at once I will split them up, posting ten today, ten tomorrow and the other seven the day after, followed, hopefully, by a new part. I will also hide them behind a spoiler, so click that one to see the images. Enjoy!

LiquidChicagoTed · Jun 2, 2024

Alrighty then! While I am still working on the next part and aim for a release tomorrow, I would like to share the second batch of drawings made by foxbrg2 back in 2015. Due to the ten image limit there is still one more of those coming, which I will also release at some point before the next part. To avoid cluttering the thread with too many images at once, these will also be hidden beneath the spoiler below. I hope you enjoy!

LiquidChicagoTed · Jun 2, 2024

And as I promised, the final part of foxbrg's art, consisting of seven images once more hidden beneath a spoiler. I will definitely keep doing that, share a few bits of FoT-related fan art here and there, between chapters and whenever I need a bit longer for the parts. Another reader of mine has drawn a lot more characters than foxbrg2 has and I believe you might enjoy them as well and perhaps my own interpretations too. A link to a gallery containing all of foxbrg2's work can now also be found in the introduction post. For now, I hope you enjoy these!

[/SPOILER

LiquidChicagoTed · Jun 8, 2024

This part comes out somewhat belated, but after a stressful work week I barely found the time to write outside of the weekends. But now that the next chapter has started, I intend to release updates a bit faster than that. With that, welcome to the third chapter of Forum of Thrones. Enjoy!

Act I: A Fate Uncertain

Chapter III: We Write History

Jenna

Five days. It had been five days since Ser Ilhan had been murdered. Five days in which Jenna had barely left her chamber whenever she had been off duty. Five days in which she had been barely more than a meek shadow, trying to stay alive.

She remembered the gaze in Harris' eyes whenever she had seen a glimpse of him from across the halls, that murderous rage he had shown while killing Ilhan Lagoon. The master-at-arms' death had changed the castellan. His gentle smile was gone, as was the friendly, warm timbre of his voice. She hated him. She feared him. And yet, Jenna Harking recognized a lot of herself in his gaze at the same time, an emotion she knew all too well. Harris Flowers was afraid.

He was hiding it well and yet, Jenna was an expert in being afraid. He could not hide it from her and he knew. As such, much to her relief, he had actively avoided her wherever he could, not summoning her once until now, even going as far as to leave a room whenever she was around. He played it off well, but she knew better.

If there was one aspect of her situation that had improved, then it was that her view on Lady Halla had changed too. Of course, it was not as if the lady herself had changed in any wayl. She still shouted. She still cursed. She still hit Jenna for every mistake. If anything, she seemed to have become even more brutal than before, quick to anger and dishing out horrid punishment upon any servant who dared displeasing her.

And yet, Jenna wasn't afraid of her anymore. She had seen a real monster and now at last she understood what Ser Ilhan had tried to teach her. Halla was nothing more than a shadow compared to Harris, a pitiful, weaker woman, weaker even than the lowliest servant under her command. She tried to mask that weakness with cruelty, oh yes, she tried, but that mask had cracked at last on the day when she and Jenna had pleaded for their lives in front of Harris Flowers, kneeling over the corpse of Ilhan.

On the first day after that, Lady Halla had left her alone. On the second, however, she had been back to form and it had been one of the worst days Jenna has had since entering Lord Robert's service. Her hands had still been shaky, her voice had still been nothing more than a hushed whisper. She had been inattentive, her mind wandering back to Ilhan, whose surprising kindness had been silenced forever. As such, she had dropped a tray of steaming hot soup bowls meant for the soldiers, spilling it all over the floor.

Halla had hit her with a broomstick, so hard that she still felt sore right now, days later. But as the lady had screamed at her and cursed at her, calling her worthless over and over, Jenna had looked at her just once. She herself was not sure what she had put into that gaze, but it had been enough to silence Halla. For a moment, Jenna had seen true fear in the housekeeper's eyes, the same fear she had shown towards Harris. That had been the last moment Jenna Harking had been afraid of that wicked woman.

And indeed, the more time had passed, the more certain she became that by now, it was actually the other way 'round, that it was Halla who was afraid of her. That thought had seemed ridiculous at first, but then, Jenna had paid closer attention to the housekeeper, how she avoided eye contact, how her vitriol was more desperate than before.

Of course, Jenna was still afraid, but her fears had become bigger. She had no room anymore for fear of a bitter, withered crone. With Lord Robert's death, Halla's time in this keep would come to an end sooner rather than later. Jenna knew she would outlast her and so did Halla herself, the girl understood that now. It was odd that Ilhan's death gave her this confidence, but it was the truth of it. The little fears that had plagued her were gone, replaced by greater fears and greater monsters. She was no longer afraid of loud noises and sudden moves, of nightly silence and of tall horses. She was no longer afraid of Halla Peddle.

Now, of course, she feared death, the one monster not even Ilhan could conquer. She feared Harris, more than she had ever feared Lady Halla and likely more than he feared the truth only the two women knew. If only she could talk to someone, but the housekeeper was worse than ever and Jenna would not involve anyone else, especially not Carma, the one person she still trusted in this dying castle. If only her father could be here. Her father… Jenna closed her eyes, as she felt a lump in her throat.

With Ilhan's death, Jenna hadn't had a chance to leave the keep in almost a week. She had been too afraid to turn her back on Harris. At least here, there were guards around, men to witness and he couldn't have possibly swayed them all to his side… could he? Still, in all these days, she had not heard once from her face and right now, she needed him more than ever. She had only him left now. Her brothers had been gone for many months, fighting in the Dornish Marches. Her mother laid buried beneath the apple tree close to her father's farm, where her parents had first kissed. Only her father was left and he could understand her, if only he would be here right now.

It was normal that they didn't see each other every single day, with her work at the castle, where she often stayed at the small chamber she had been given at the servant's quarters. Her father meanwhile sometimes came to visit, but with his work at the farm he would hardly visit every single day. Still, it had been almost a week and for him to be gone from her life for such a long time was worrying.

It almost seemed as if… and she barely dared to think this thought, as if something had happened to him. The mere thought was enough to bring tears to Jenna's eyes. She was not sure if she could carry on without him, if she could ever fill that loss. And now, tears poured down her cheeks and she was unable to do anything to stop them. Her father was missing. Her mother was dead. Her brothers were fighting a war. Maester Eaton was dead. Ser Ilhan was dead. Her father was missing. And nobody was there for her to confide in. Jenna was alone…

She didn't notice that someone had opened the door, not until she saw movement out of the corner of her eyes. She nearly flinched, before she recognized Carma Strad, a sweet and gentle smile and a worried look on her beautiful face. "Jenna?" Her voice was oozing concern and as she sat down next to her on the narrow bed that was about the only true piece of furniture in her room, Jenna couldn't resist to hug her.

Wrapping her arms around her, Carma gently patted her on the back. "Shh, easy now", she whispered. "Everything is alright. Do you want to talk?" Jenna looked up into her warm blue eyes and her vision clouded with tears. Carma could be trusted. But still, Jenna could never tell her, not when there was Carma's family to consider. She had three children, the youngest had been born just a few months ago. No, Jenna couldn't stomach the thought of endangering her. She would never forgive herself for making Carma a target.

"It's nothing…", she stuttered. "Just... my father. I can't stop thinking about him"That was at least half the truth, for the odd lack of her father in these past few days had kept her up at night almost as much as the memory of Ilhan bleeding out on the grounds of Harris' room.

Carma, who had none of these worries, gave her a cheerful smile. "I am sure it'll be alright", she whispered. "Your father owns a farm and winter is coming. I am sure he just has work to do. Urid saw him just about a week ago and everything had been fine back then. There had been something on his mind though, so you need not be concerned"

Jenna stifled a sob. "Then why didn't he send me a message or something?", she gulped. "After what happened to Ser Ilhan, I just want to see if he is okay" She felt a new wave of tears approach, even if talking to Carma eased her worries a little bit.

The other woman hugged her even tighter in response. "Your father loves you, that much is clear to see and you are fortunate for it", she whispered. "Not everyone shares that luck" She paused and now, Jenna felt Carma tensing slightly. "My father was the opposite", she admitted. Unusually for Carma, the chipper tone in her voice was gone, replaced by a warmth born from sorrow. "He had been a shitty father ever since the day my mother died and he hurt me every single day until he drank himself into an early grave. I hated him…" For a second, her voice broke. "Still, after his death I was devastated", she added. "I didn't know what to do or where to go. I was lost until Urid found me"

Jenna looked up, directly into Carmas kind eyes and for a short moment she saw sadness in them, an odd change to Carma's usual demeanour. "Why are you telling me that?", she asked, her voice a mixture between grief, confusion and perhaps a slight bit of anger, for this did not help one bit. The last thing she needed to hear were tales of someone else's dead parents.

Carma held her there for a moment longer. "I don't want you to be afraid", she spoke. "I have been, once, very much so, until I met Urid. Ever since, I knew that life will always go on. Someday, all will become easier. Do not worry, not when there is someone who loves you"

With these words, they separated again and Carma gave her a wide smile, which Jenna reciprocated only half-heartedly. "Your father loves you, Jenna", the other woman assured her. "Don't be afraid. He will come back to you"

There was something about Carma and the warm way in which she spoke that never failed to make Jenna feel better. In a certain way, she was her best friend, one of the few people she would even count as a friend. But still… she could not bare a talk about her father right now, not with these dark thoughts to keep her company and not after all that had happened. She had to change the subject. "Why are you here, Carma?", she finally asked. "You didn't just come to check up on me, did you?"

A slightly apologetic look flashed across the other woman's face. "Lady Halla ordered me to find you", she admitted and Jenna's eyes widened as she realised that the moment she had dreaded had finally arrived. "She told me to bring you to the great hall. Lord Harris and Septon Corbin want to speak to you"

Septon Corbin! A desperate thought formed in Jenna's mind, as she heard this name. The septon was probably the only person in Raylansfair with any kind of authority left after Ser Ilhan's death. She hadn't talked to him in the past few days, she had been too afraid to even think about this possibility. The Septon wasn't a brave man. Her father had once called him a self-righteous coward and he had been right by all means. Still, he was a septon, a holy man whom not even Harris would dare touch. He had the ear of the High Septon himself and if there was anyone who could bring justice here, it would be him.

Perhaps this was a chance, a way to get justice for Ilhan, a sword for the monster that killed him. As such, Jenna took a deep breath, before she gave Carma a smile full of fake confidence. "I'll check up on right away", she promised, before she rose from her bed. She threw one quick glance into the dull mirror her father had gifted her with when she had started her work here and a thin, mousy woman looked back at her, more a girl yet, her brown hair tied into a messy bun and her eyes, half a shade lighter, looking as timid as she felt, the smile not enough to convince anyone. They would take note of it and yet, Jenna knew she had no choice but to follow their summons.

She would have been able to find the way to the great hall with her eyes closed. She had lived here for years now, walking through these halls every single day since then. But never before had it seemed like such a long walk. Every step filled her with a nauseating dread. Her legs were shaking, her entire body trembling. What if this was all a ruse, a trap by Harris to find out if she would stay true to her word? What if... what if Harris had already planned her death? She was a danger to him, she could feel his fear whenever she saw him. She knew the truth and for as long as she was alive, she would be a threat to him.

All her bravery had left her by the time she reached the Great Hall. She felt timid, daunted, intimidated. There were only three people in the hall, all of them sat on the table of honour, where Lord Robert had once sat with his important guests. Harris sat at the top top, on the chair that had been his lord's once. He looked a lot better than he did a few days ago, but the wounds he received during his fight were still visible. Though caught by surprise, Ilhan had put up a good fight and Harris was bruised and battered, his nose broken and his cheek swollen. Still, in his fine green and golden clothes and his neatly combed hair he almost looked like a real lord, not like the lowborn bastard, the murderer he was.

To his left sat Lady Halla, who looked like she hadn't slept much in the past few nights. Her usual hateful stare was replaced by open concern as her gaze met Jenna's. She was as afraid as she had been on the night of Ilhan's death.

And then there was Septon Corbin. He was a fat man, with a pudgy face and puffy eyes, clad in a fine brown and white robe, with the seven-pointed star prominently displayed. He was a zealous man but when it suited him and ever since Jenna had seen him eyeing the blacksmith's daughter she had lost all respect for him. Still, right now he was the only man who could probably be her ally.

Harris looked up as she entered the room and his gaze found hers, stern and sharp. "I am glad you are here, Jenna", he said, his voice sounding clear and strong, stronger than he sounded five days ago, when he had just killed one of the best men Jenna had ever met. "We have a few questions for you"

Jenna took a deep breath, followed by an awkward, ungainly bow on damnable, shaky legs. "Lord Harris, Septon Corbin, Lady Halla", she addressed them, her tone starting firm, but growing icy by the time she addressed Halla "How may I serve you?" She had seen how this worked. The knight, Ser Lucas, he had done it the same way when they had called for him after Lord Robert and Maester Eaton had died. He had been polite and friendly during the conversation and everything had been alright.

Harris gave her a brief, approving nod, but his facial expression remained hard to read, especially for Jenna, who tensed up with fear in this man's presence. Septon Corbin looked at her with his always dolorous face. "Jenna... Harking, right?", he greeted her with a morose tone. "You were present when Ser Ilhan died. I have called you all here because I want to ease the concerns of the good people of Raylansfair. I want to know the truth" He waved one hand to his side, commanding her to take the empty chair by Harris' right.

Jenna looked at Harris as she sat down, her hands aching from how tightly she had clenched them into fists just by being close to him. He seemed to be calm, calmer than a murderer should be. He had some sort of plan, she just knew it. He needed to have some sort of plan. His face darkened as he answered. "You know what happened, Corbin. Ser Ilhan started a fight. I was forced to kill him"

Septon Corbin shook his head. "Nobody is questioning that, mylord", he was quick to assure him. "Still, the recount you gave me has been less than satisfying. I want to know everything to the last detail, so that I may understand the full scale of it. That's why I called your witnesses to be with us today"

"Ser Ilhan attacked me. He tried to seize control of House Raylan. He forced me to defend myself", Harris said with a sorrowful tone in his voice. Was he truly sorrowful? Or did he just lied to the Septon? Jenna couldn't tell, she had never been good at reading people. She had seen Harris as he lied on the ground, seconds after he had killed Ser Ilhan. He had looked so sad, so regretful. Still, he had looked like a monster to her at that moment and she had no pity for him. She had to find a sword for him. "He left me no choice but to fight back" Septon Corbin still did not seem to be convinced, but that's why the acting lord had called for them, after all.

"We all knew he was an ambitious man", Lady Halla spoke at once, her tone once again confident and cold, a far cry from the last time Jenna had seen her. "I have been there, Corbin. I have seen it and I can confirm it" This came as no surprise to Jenna. She didn't know what Harris had told Halla, what threats to coerce her, but she had fully expected the housekeeper to stay on her acting lord's side.

The Septon gulped. "It is true that he has been ambitious... But this? He was a good and loyal man. Why would he do this?", he asked and looked at Jenna, a soft smile forming on his pudgy face. "Dear child, you have been awfully quiet so far. Speak up. You are among friends"

She almost winced as she felt Harris hand on her shoulder. "Jenna has seen all of it. She can confirm it, just like Lady Halla can", the lord said. His voice was calm, friendly, his words directed at the Septon. Still, Jenna knew that he wasn't speaking to Corbin.

Septon Corbin looked at Jenna. "Is that so? Then why is she shaking, Harris?", he asked, his voice gaining some sharpness. Harris' hand on her shoulder slightly shivered and she looked at him. There was no doubt what he was going to do to her if she told the Septon the truth now, with Harris present. He had killed a fellow knight with two witnesses present. Surely he would not stop at a septon now.

"I am sad, Septon Corbin", Jenna whispered. "I liked Ser Ilhan. He wasn't a bad man and he always looked out for me" Another half-truth. Jenna was a bad liar, she knew it. But half-truths weren't that bad, right? She could do this. She only needed to get Harris approval here. She had to be safe. There was no way she could tell Septon Corbin the truth, not with Harris in attendance.

The acting lord looked at her and only she could see his expression right now. Though still calm, there was a hint of relief in his green eyes. "The poor girl is shaken, Corbin, can't you see this?", he spoke, his tone firm and not without a hint of his usual gentleness "Surely you can refrain from interrogating her, can you? Halla saw everything, she can suffice. She can write and is certainly willing to even write it down for you, so we can send an account to King Mern"

Septon Corbin shook his pudgy head. "No, Harris. In the name of the Father, who gives us justice, in the name of the Crone, whose light shall shine on the truth, I am inclined to hear out every side of this story", he explained. "I have to speak to Jenna... alone, if she is ready for it. In my chosen duties, I have often seen people be more at ease in a private conversation" There was an expression in his gaze she had never seen before in him, a certain cunning. He had picked up on her uneasiness, she was sure of it.

Jenna took a deep breath and looked at Harris, who gave her a friendly smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "If you insist, I can't deny you talking to Jenna", he said and patted her on the back, suddenly enough to make her flinch. "Tell him what you have seen this day, Jenna, for the truth must be known. The Seven teach us that a lie is a sin, so I am sure you will do the right thing" His voice was friendly, kind and benign. Still, she had never felt so threatened by him ever before. "Are you ready to answer the septon's questions, Jenna?"

She hesitated for a moment only, before giving him a nod. Denying this request out of fear would have placed even more suspicion on Harris, something that would have likely angered him. She could not risk his wrath, not now. "I… we can speak, Septon Corbin", she whispered, barely able to raise her voice.

After hearing these words, Harris stood up, quickly followed by Lady Halla, the latter only following his silent order after a sharp glare that made her wince. "We are leaving you alone at once", the acting lord offered graciously. "When you're done with your questions, talk to me again, dear Corbin"

He swiftly approached the doors to the great hall, with Halla hurrying after him. Septon Corbin looked after them calmly and only after the doors to the great hall were closed again did he turn his attention back to Jenna, a thin, but kind smile on his face. "Be at ease, Jenna", he spoke. "You have done no wrong and this is not an interrogation. I want you to know that you can trust me with the truth" As he spoke, he rose from his chair and walked up to Jenna, taking the seat to her left, very close to her.

This warm kindness in his voice surprised Jenna. She had never known Septon Corbin to be a compassionate man. Obedient, yes, to the lord of Raylansfair. She had never caught him speaking ill of a knight and up until recently, Jenna had believed his words that knights were always good, that lords were always benign. Harris was both a knight and a lord. And he was neither good nor benign.

"There is nothing to be afraid of. I only want to know what happened on that day, the full truth of it, as the Seven demand", Septon Corbin told her. "I know that Lord Harris and Ser Ilhan got into a fight. I know Harris killed Ser Ilhan, rather gruesomely as the evidence has pointed out. But, what I want to know is, how did it come to this?"

Jenna looked at him. He seemed to be friendly, interested and almost fatherly. She wanted to answer, but gulped as another, truly terrible thought crossed her mind. What if this was a trick? What if Harris wanted to test her loyalty? What if Septon Corbin worked for him? What if he just wanted to hear that she was able to keep up with the story?

But maybe she just got paranoid. Maybe this was her chance to tell someone the truth. Septon Corbin held no worldly power, but he was in a way more influential than Harris could ever hope to be. He was the Septon of Raylansfair and he stood in contact with High Septon in Oldtown. A word from the High Septon held more regard than even that of the mightiest lord of the Reach. A single letter from Septon Corbin would be enough to bring Harris to the gallows. If only she could trust him.

If only she could try to be brave.

"Jenna?", the septon asked and he reached out. The girl tensed up as he placed one heavy hand on her leg, just above the knee and she didn't even dare swat his hand away. "You can trust me. Whatever it is that scares you, I can assure you that it will stay between us. What happened to Ilhan Lagoon?"

After a moment, Jenna took a deep breath, looking at Septon Corbins puffy, dolorous face. The Septon wasn't smiling, he rarely ever did. But he still managed to look quite friendly, reassuring and calming. A self-righteous hypocrite, as her father had called him, but still a Septon. And the only ally she could hope for.

As such, she briefly closed her eyes, clenching her hands even tighter while ignoring the fears that raced in her mind right now. She focussed solely on Ilhan, the one man in this keep who had shown her genuine kindness. "Harris murdered him", she then whispered, before looking back at the septon. "It was not self defence"

Septon Corbin's expression shifted slightly. He often looked worried, but now she saw something else. Anger? Resignation? "I have feared that much", the septon sighed. "Tell me what happened exactly" He followed this up with a gentle smile. "I believe you, Jenna. Rest assured, you confirm my own suspicions"

Jenna shivered with relief. For a moment she had feared that the Septon would dismiss her claims, or even worse, immediately tell Harris about her insubordination. And yet, he seemed to actually take her seriously! "He and Ser Ilhan had a fierce dispute", she began. "Ser Ilhan accused Harris of trying to seize power. He wanted to inform the king about something regarding Lord Robert's last will. Harris refused to let him...", she explained, before taking a pause to breathe again. She noticed tears in her eyes and furiously blinked them away. Not now, not in front of the septon!

Corbin shook his head. "Oh Harris…", he muttered. "Tell me, girl, how do you know this?" His tone of voice sent shivers down her spine, half of relief and half of fear, a fear that was still present even now, with Corbin clearly believing her claims.

She remembered one of his sermons, in which he had preached about how the Seven look down upon dishonourable acts. Did eavesdropping count as thatr? "I... I listened", she admitted. "I wasn't supposed to do that, Septon Corbin, I am sorry, but they were so loud and I… I was curious!"

The Septons face got a stern expression and he raised his index finger. "Jenna, the Seven hate such cowardly actions", he lectured. Jenna could not face his gaze right now and as such she averted her own and stared at the ground beneath her. Thoughts raced through her mind, about how she needed to convince him, how Harris was the monster here and how they had to stop him. But she stayed quiet, too afraid to even speak, while Septon Corbin looked at her with a stern gaze. Finally, he sighed. "But I guess we have to focus on the more pressing matters at hand", he growled. "I do expect hefty prayers to the Seven though, dear girl, one to each aspect for a full week! Only then will they forgive you for your own transgressions here"

Jenna let out a sigh of relief and he gave her a thin smirk, before giving her a nod, encouraging her to continue. "Ser Ilhan had drawn his sword", Jenna continued. "I think he wanted to seize control of the city from Harris, to go through with the lord's wishes. Then, Lady Halla discovered me and dragged me into the room. Ilhan got distracted and... and Harris..." She paused, as her voice began to crack. "He started it. Attacked Ilhan from behind, he…"

Septon Corbin gave her an understanding nod. "It is alright, child", he spoke. "I will contact the High Septon and through him, word of this will reach the king" For a second, his hand tightened around her knee and she flinched. "Until then, it is important that you stay quiet about this, lest you risk our success", he spoke sternly. "Not a word to anyone, do you understand me?"

Jenna looked at him with an expression shifting from disbelief to desperate relief. Out of all the people, it would be Septon Corbin who'd help her! "Yes. Oh yes, Septon Corbin", she said, giving him a wide and genuine smile, as tears welled up in her eyes. "Not a word to anyone, I swear it!"

"Good, very good", Septon Corbin confirmed. "Now all that is left to do is to trick Harris. I will call him in again and tell him that your tale matches Halla's and that I am pleased to absolve him of all suspicions. That will give us the time we need to make our move, with the High Septon's support"

Albeit the thought of getting Harris involved once more made Jenna nervous, she managed to give him a nod. Quite sluggishly the Septon raised from his chair and walked towards the door, letting Harris and Halla in, with both having waited side by side in front of the heavy doors. The acting lord had a concerned expression on his face, a stern and sharp look directed at Jenna. The moment she looked into his eyes, she was certain that he could see what she had just done. Then, a smile formed on his face, almost as kind as his usual ones.

"Well, Septon... Are you convinced of my innocence in this matter now?", he asked. Jenna gulped. If he suspected anything now, if he would not believe Corbin's words, they were all in grave danger, for it would be foolish to believe he would not stoop so low as to attack a man of faith... Ser Ilhan had thought like this, she remembered. He had believed that Harris would act with honour. Then, she remembered Ser Ilhan, lying on the ground, motionless, in a pool of his own blood. No, there was no honour to be found here…

Septon Corbin gave him a nod. "Indeed, Harris. The poor girl was clearly shaken, but I think this is only understandable after what happened. But she convinced me of your innocence", he confirmed. "She saw that Ser Ilhan had drawn his sword, that he was about to attack you. After listening carefully, I absolve you of your guilt. Ilhan clearly is at fault for what transpired"

As he spoke, Jenna's gaze did not leave Harris even once. Nothing on his face gave away how he truly felt except for maybe the tiniest widening of his eyes. "It appears the Seven gave us truth after all, Corbin", he sighed, before giving Jenna an approving smile, one that made her blood curdle. He walked around the table, putting his hands on her shoulders as he leant closer. "I am glad you were able to help me, Jenna", Harris whispered. His tone was sweet, but she spotted steel behind them, a subtle threat to stay on his good side now that she had reached it. "Your dedication to the truth must be rewarded. I have heard your father has not been seen in a while, is that correct?", he said, his words sounding sweet, but barely hiding the steel behind them.

Jenna noticed that she was holding her breath. Her father! What did Harris know about that? Could he even be responsible? No… no, she dismissed that thought at once. Harris was a wicked man, but this was beneath him. She was beneath him and if he wanted to silence her, all he would have had to do was to cut her throat and be done with it. As to how he knew about this… Carma was the greatest gossip in the keep. For a second, Jenna regretted having told her friend anything at all.

"Yes, m'lord", she mumbled, taking a deep breath, as finally, the fear of being discovered by him got replaced by the much greater and much less dangerous fear for her father's well-being. "I have not heard from him in several days and I am worried"

Harris removed his hands from her shoulders and walked around the table again until their eyes could meet again. "You have my condolences", he replied. "No honest woman at my court should be troubled in such a manner. Rest assured, I will send someone to your father's farm right away. We will get to the bottom of this"

There was real gratitude in his expression, something that confused Jenna greatly, for she had not expected it, not from a man like him. Despite her fear of him, a genuine smile forced its way onto her face. "Thank you m'lord", she answered without breaking eye contact. "This is… most generous of you!" And yet, why would he help her? Was this gratitude, or just another way to control her?

"If this is all, Septon Corbin, I would like to dismiss my servants", Harris continued, looking away from Jenna and now fully focussing onto the septon, who had taken place at his old seat again. "I believe a few more words in private are in order, just between the two of us"

Corbin gave him a nod. "Of course, Ser", he replied, before looking from Jenna to Halla. "The two of you may leave now. I thank you for your cooperation" He leant back in his chair, as Jenna quickly got up from hers. With a furiously beating heart, she took a quiet curtsy in front of both men, unable to find her words and glad to just be alive still. Then, she turned around, hurrying outside, with Halla close behind her.

The housekeeper closed the doors to the great hall the moment both women had left. Jenna had her back turned on her, her eyes wide, her hands trembling and her breath uneven and ragged. By the gods… by the gods, she just now understood how badly a risk she had taken. If anything were to happen…

"Seven Hells, Jenna!", Halla spat and this time, Jenna turned around, giving the older woman a glare before she could lay hands on her. "None of this would have happened had you just done your work as I told you!" She spat onto the ground in front of Jenna's feet, her face a grimace of fury. "But no, you had to know better, you snivelling little whore and now look where that got us!"

"Lying to a septon…", Jenna muttered, but her tone was as defiant as her gaze. "We should be ashamed of ourselves and here you are, blaming only me" She shook her head. "You act like you're better than me", she added. "But we're just both cowards, you and I, so for once in your life, do me a favour and shut up"

This actually gave Halla some pause and she remembered Ilhan's words, about how few of the servants ever talked back at her. He would have been proud, probably, that she had just increased that number. "Shut… up?", Halla gasped and for a second, it hit Jenna just how massively she had messed up right now. She had spoken without thinking, with anger born of pain and fear, but she could not take them back ever, that much she knew. "Jenna Harking, how dare you? I don't know what that treacherous Dornishman told you, but lately you have shown a lack of deference. It appears, you lack fear! And let me tell you, I intend to…"

Jenna did not allow her to continue. She shot a glare at the housekeeper, knowing that she was just the same, a coward at heart and to her surprise, this gaze actually was enough to silence Halla. "I am afraid", she admitted. "Just not of you" With these words she stormed off, leaving the housekeeper standing there, seething with anger.

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · Jun 16, 2024

Marak

Don't look into the fire Marak…

Don't look into the fire…

Once again, Marak found himself looking directly into the fire of the small candle in front of him, looking for any signs of visions. Once again he saw nothing. He slammed his fist down onto the table in front of him in frustration. "Damn it", he growled.

During the past week, he had caught himself doing this over and over. There were days where he was looking into the flame until his eyes started to ache, until dark shadows started to dance in the corners of his vision. There were days where he thought that he could see something. Figures dancing in the flames, fiery beasts tearing each other apart. Most of the time, however, he saw nothing and he knew how futile it was. It was foolish and stupid and Marak knew for a fact that he was neither stupid nor a fool! He should be doing something else entirely right now, like having some fun with a fair lass or splitting some skulls. Or do both on a particularly good day, perhaps even at the same time.

But it wasn't a good day. He was sitting here in a shady inn somewhere near Highgarden, together with Noelle, the craziest lass he had ever met and he was drinking the worst ale he ever had. It was a sweet, disgusting reddish ale, warm and with a sickly aftertaste, served in glasses instead of wooden mugs. He couldn't even get drunk from it as he wanted to!

Noelle, of course, stuck to her water. She was not a drinker, not much of a talker either, not after their confrontation in Blackhaven. She had a nasty cough for several days and for a short while Marak had been slightly worried that he had permanently damaged her throat when he had strangled her, up until her smooth voice returned in full. Usually when he did that stuff, he was aiming for lethal damage, so it was not as if he was at fault here… right?

At least the priestess wasn't holding it against him, from what he could tell. He had to tell her what he had seen in the vision to make up for it, again and again. After a while, she had been thoroughly satisfied. And then she had told him something too. Told him how blessed he was, that he was a chosen of rollmop, or whatever the name of her god was. That the Lord of Light never revealed his intentions to just anyone. That he was something special. As if Marak needed some crazy lass like her to confirm what he already knew!

Marak snapped out of his thoughts just in time to grab the barmaid's arm, his hand grabbing her waist with force born of annoyance. "More ale, wench", he growled. "And this time bring me your good stuff. Not this piss! You call that ale here in the Reach?"

The barmaid looked at his glass for a moment, dumbfounded at first, but the moment he let go of the girl a smirk flashed across her face. "I believe this is wine, m'lord", she explained. "You've been drinking it all night now"

Marak looked at her in disbelief for a moment. Was that dim-witted wench trying to mock him? He knew what ale tasted like! "Less talking. More serving", he growled, as he chased her off by baring his teeth.

The moment that wench left them, Noelle looked up. "You seem to be in a bad mood today", she remarked, her tone dry, accompanied by an expression that was a bit too smug for Marak's taste. Seriously? Did she saw that in her flames? For days now, Marak had felt this urge to kill something, or at the very least to break something. The urge was known to him for years now, sometimes he had given in to it, sometimes he had suppressed it. But the vision in the flames had brought out the worst in him. Every minute that passed, he had to stop himself from giving in to it.

Right now he looked at Noelle. And not for the first time during the past week, he asked himself if it was worth following her around, following her orders like an obedient little dog. "No shit, Noelle?", he answered in an annoyed tone. "Looks like you are a damn prophet after all"

Noelle gave him a warm smile. "No need to be sarcastic, Marak. It doesn't suit you", she answered and Marak wasn't sure if she just insulted him somehow. "I am just worried about you, that's all. You seem on the edge, more than usual, aggressive even"

Marak slammed his fist down on the table as he shot her a glare. "Aggressive? Do I seem aggressive to you? After I almost broke your fucking neck?", he hissed. At first he had been intrigued by her. He still was, albeit now there were times where her almost casual way of speaking pissed him off. How could she always remain so calm? It would help if she was pissed at him. He had a long history of women being pissed at him, from White Harbour to Sunspear, from Volantis to Pyke. But never before had a woman actually forgiven him for attempting to kill her. And right now he had no other words for what he had almost done. Was he sorry? No... certainly now. But he was angry. Not at himself and not entirely at Noelle but at everyone else. Oh, how he wanted to burn this whole place to the ground, with their snarky wenches and their pissy ale!

Noelles smile faded. "You did almost kill me and I won't lie, I was furious at first", she admitted. "But the Lord of Light decided that I was not meant to die that day. That you were not meant to kill me. I have trust in R'hllor. He is my fire in the darkness. I am not afraid as long as his flame burns inside of me"

Marak shook his head. A fire burning inside of her? That would explain the strange warmth her skin radiated at all times. Probably hurt like hell. There were days where Noelles crazy ramblings made no sense, not even to him. He just couldn't understand these religious types. The Drowned God was alright of course. Any god that explicitly commanded its followers to pillage and plunder was a god Marak could follow. He was less partial towards other gods. Once he had met a priest of the Black Goat of Qohor and killed him after the dark gibberish the man had been spewing had started to get on his nerves. He had met several Septons, self-righteous hypocrites denying themselves every finer pleasure that made life worth living. Once he had fucked a Septa and in none of those cases did any of their gods intervene or give him even a sign that they existed at all.

But Noelle was different from those charlatans. She was hot, in more than one way, but something about her behaviour was spine-chillingly cold, methodical, analytic in a way Marak did not like at all. And her god or whatever it was that she prayed to in those flames, it was real. It had shown Marak something and ever since he had lost a part of himself in that fire.

Now, Marak wasn't scared of a mere woman, nor of her fiery god. But Noelle had something on her that sent shivers down his spine with every glance of hers and especially with every word. Her cryptical way of speaking really got on his nerves and no doubt that was one of the reasons he had been so angry in the last few days! He slammed his fist down the table again. "Screw your rollmop!", he growled.

Noelles gaze hardened for merely a moment. "R'hllor...", she hissed. "I tolerate your behaviour. Your violent antics. Your excessive swearing and drinking. But I won't tolerate you mocking the one true god" Her voice sounded hard as stone for a moment and Marak had to close his eyes to avoid her burning stare, suddenly feeling the odd need to apologise.

"Do you understand?", she asked, her voice gaining sharpness with every word. Marak gulped and had to give her a short silent nod. "Good", she remarked, before her sharp gaze moved away from him, scanning the crowded taproom. "Raylansfair is four, maybe three days away if we're quick on our feet. While you took a leak, I talked to a merchant who just came from there. Apparently the old lord is dead. Until the king names a successor, his castellan is the acting lord. He is the man we need to impress, do you understand?"

Marak gave her an annoyed nod, his foul mood growing only stronger the moment she looked away from him. "I am not stupid Noelle", he growled. "And I told you earlier, I don't care about your plans. I'm here to fuck shit up in the direction you point me at"

Noelle gave him a mild smile. "Oh, but you should care", she sighed. "My plans affect us all, for they prepare the arrival of the Chosen One and will help him in bringing fire to all of Westeros" Now Marak gave her a curious, slightly concerned look. There it was again. This stuff about 'bringing fire' that she kept yapping about. He wasn't afraid of fire. In his years as a mercenary, he had set countless fires. But something told him that Noelle did not plan to just burn everything down. Her plans were far more terrifying than that.

"What do you mean?", he finally asked the question that has been burning in his mind since they first met. "Come on, spit it out priestess. I've been your grunt for weeks now. Someone bothers you, I crush his skull and piss on his brain. Figure you owe me some truth for once"

Noelle glanced at the candle between them and her gaze became downright enraptued by the tiny flame, which in return seemed to burn brighter than before, if just a tiny bit. "Fire and Blood, Marak", she whispered. "He will come with fire and blood"

Yeah, now that was not very informative... Before he could inquire further, Noelle continued to speak, much to his surprise. "There will be death. Lots of it. I don't know who is going to die, the Lord's visions aren't that detailed. But I see His Chosen triumphant, if I help him", she continued. "He will bring fire and blood to those who refuse to bend their knee to him. He will bring peace and justice to those who follow him. He will be loved. Revered. He will defeat winter, the night that never ends and the cold itself"

Marak shook his head at her ramblings. He kinda liked the winter from time to time. And there was nothing as refreshing as taking a cold bath after a long day of fighting. In his eyes, there was nothing wrong with a bit of cold here and there, though he did not expect Noelle, of all people, to agree. "And how can this Raylansfair be of any help? I mean, I have never even heard of it before!", Marak exclaimed. "Stupid city in the stupid Reach with its stupid ale"

Noelle chuckled. "There are many things you haven't heard of before, Marak", she revealed. "Personal hygiene, for example. Or proper language. That does not mean these things aren't powerful" Now... Marak was almost certain that this had been an insult! He opened his mouth to protest, but Noelle cut him off again. "Raylansfair has an archive. A historical archive, to be precise. It is without a doubt the most complex of its kind outside of the Jade Library in Yi Ti. It has hidden chambers, tunnels which reach down deep into the earth, chambers which haven't been opened in thousands of years, filled with treasures you cannot even imagine. These dense oafs don't even know how old their own archive is and what is hidden within"

Marak frowned at her words. "Sounds an awful lot like magic", he growled, as he downed the rest of his pissy ale. Somehow, he began to suspect that he'd need a lot more of it to suffer through the conversation to come. Perhaps he should have stockpiled on it.

"Sharp of you", Noelle replied, but this time, Marak could tell she did not truly mean it. "These insular idiots at the Citadel claim that magic started to die out thousands of years ago. They call Valyria the last ember, but you and I know that is not true. Magic remains in this world, for those who know where to look for it. Even now it remains potent in the hands of the initiated. My hand, who will guide the lord's chosen"

Marak looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "You know, I don't understand even half of what you're saying, don't you?", he snarled, but that was only half the truth. Like any clever man, Marak had heard enough about magic to never want to deal with it. This was probably the thing that terrified him the most in Noelle. Some of the things she did couldn't be explained, not even by a man of his intellect. The visions she had when looking into the fire. How she was always able to start a flame even with damp wood. How she never felt the cold even when all she was ever wearing was that thin red dress. By that account, how she always smelled of fresh smoke and charcoal even when he had not yet seen her change out of that dress even once.

"So, what are you suggesting? We just go there and break into the archive?", he asked. That was something that interested him more. He didn't need to know why she was doing all of this, he didn't even want to know it. But he wanted to know what his role in her plans was supposed to be. Was he supposed to be a thief? Muscle? A killer? Marak had been all three of these things and for worse people than Noelle, from what he could tell.

Noelle gave him a warm smile. "Of course not. We try to get into the acting lord's good graces", she explained. "That merchant I spoke to told me that the old lord's death has been more than mysterious. That his Maester committed suicide afterwards. The acting lord is rumoured to be a suspect. He will be surely grateful if we help him. With your brawn and the blessing of the Lord, this should pose no problem for us. We're not just breaking into the archive, they are going to invite us in" He gaze fell past Marak and the sellsword needed a moment to glance over his shoulder. "Today, we are here for this man"

The man she was referring to was sitting by himself, a tall, broad-shouldered warrior, perhaps even a knight if the fine greatsword that leant next to him was any indication. He had a seasoned look on him, grizzled, with a short full beard and slightly longer dark brown hair that fell down to his shoulders. That was a man who commanded respect with a mere gaze and his dark eyes scanned the room, the look within them grim and aloof. "Who is this?", Marak spoke, his hand briefly twitching towards his axe, before he composed himself.

Noelle shrugged. "I don't know much of him", she admitted. "I asked the Lord for aid and the flames showed me this man, repeatedly. What I can tell from my visions is that he is a knight, likely in service of House Raylan. We need him to aid us and that's where you come in. You are a brute, yes, but you can be personable too. Charming in an oafish way. You will befriend him"

Marak chuckled, even if he had not fully been able to follow her words. But befriending a knight? "Listen, Noelle, you got it all wrong. I make friends, aye, but they are usually my kind of people", he told her and he was careful not to speak too fast for her crazy brain. "I got nothing in common with fancy knights. You want me to kill him, I'm your man, but I doubt I can befriend him"

Noelles smile faded, replaced by a brief, cold glare. "Well, you will befriend this one", she hissed. "I see in him the pain of a broken heart and I know from experience that he will not react kindly to a woman's approach. He is a warrior. You are a warrior. And he is obviously a man on a mission. Find out what he wants. Help him. Win his trust, for he will be our key to the archive" With these words, she rose from her seat. "In the meantime, I will return to my room and consult the flames for anything else to aid us", she told him. "I expect progress once I return"

She was gone as quick as she had spoken these words and Marak glanced after her, followed by a slight shrug. Yeah, befriending someone. Nothing could be easier... For someone who claimed to have such knowledge of the world, Noelle was honestly pretty fucking stupid sometimes. But she commanded and he obeyed.

With a sigh, Marak stood up and began his walk towards the knights table. The man obviously saw him coming and narrowed his eyes, so Marak forced himself to smile in what was supposed to be a friendly manner. At least he tried his best. Fuck this, he wasn't drunken enough to be friendly!

"Ah... Good evening, Ser...", he started. "Name's Marak..." By the Drowned God, he was bad at this! Usually, he made friends by inviting them for a drink, or by getting into a fight with them and somehow bashing heads with someone as battle-crazed as he was. This, however, was not his usual forte.

The knight narrowed his eyes even further and Marak noticed a nasty scar over his left eye. "Ser Darren Tallwood", the man growled. "Can I aid you, Ser?" He eyed Marak from head to toe. "If you even are a Ser

Yeah, that could have been better…Marak knew, the undeniable charisma he had when dealing with women didn't apply to men. Maybe they were envious of him or intimidated by his natural confidence and presence, he had never found out. But perhaps being charming was the way to go. After all he only wanted to befriend this knight, not fuck him!
Marak gave the man his most charming smile. "Ser Darren Tallwood", he exclaimed. "Aye, I do know that name, heard it before somewhere, but… honestly, I cannot quite place it. Where are you from?"

Ser Darren narrowed his eyes. "Raylansfair", he hissed. "And I doubt you've ever heard about me before. You look a decade too young for that, despite the beard. What do you want?" Ah, he had asked a question! In countless conversations, Marak had found out that this was usually a good sign. It indicated interest.

"Well, I didn't expect a knight here", he explained quickly. "I respect fellow warriors, being quite a fine one myself and was interested in what a knight might be doing here" He sat down next to him, noticing that the sharp look on the other man's face grew only worse. Perhaps this had been a bad idea, but Marak was confident he could fix it. "Consider me intrigued", he added. "I got no ill intentions, y'know"

Ser Darren gave him a glare. "Liar...", he said with a surprisingly soft tone and for a moment Marak was genuinely baffled. How could he...? Marak had always considered himself a good liar. Sure, he had been born to fight, not to deceive, but nonetheless he always thought that he had talent for it. What had given him away?

Ser Darren noticed his face and sighed. "I saw you with the Lady in Red", he revealed. "Have you seriously thought you wouldn't draw attention with a companion like this?" He narrowed his eyes. "She is too bold for a whore and too good for this shabby inn, yet clearly not nobility either, at least none from this side of the Narrow Sea. And she sent her brute to me. Why?"

For a second, his gaze wandered to the greatsword by his side and Marak knew, he had to do his best to prevent this from going south. After all, Noelle would be furious if he were to kill that one. His smile returned in full force. "Ah, are you interested in the noble Noelle of Braavos, the fairest flower of the east?", he exclaimed. "You know, I can make some introductions and Drowned God willing, she can be yours for…"

"I am not interested in a whore", Darren spat, interrupting Marak with a sudden fierceness the sellsword had not expected. His expression was stone cold now. "Besides, you haven't told me the truth. Your face gives you away. Even a child could catch your lies. Last chance before this turns ugly. What do you want?"

Marak gulped. He never met a man before who had been able to see through his lies and then lived long enough to annoy him with it. But Noelle had been clear with her wishes. He was supposed to befriend this knight. As such, maybe it was finally time for the truth, now that his charming lies had not quite worked out "Alright, you got me", he admitted. "The lady is Noelle Mield, a priestess of the Rollmop of Light" As he spoke, Ser Darren furrowed his brow in mild confusion. "I met her in Blackhaven and she paid me handsomely to escort her to the western Reach, to Raylansfair"

Now, the knight's eyes widened. "Raylansfair?", Ser Darren exclaimed. "What does a priestess want there?" He leant closer and Marak knew he had him right where he wanted him to be. "Tell me all you know, brute!"

Marak shrugged. "Something with your archive", he answered. Well, that was at least half of the truth. "Something with some chosen one. I really don't listen to her too much, it's not good for my mental health" This time he was completely honest. "She wanted me to befriend you. I told her this is a pretty fucking stupid idea, but eh, who ever listens to muscle like us, eh?"

This finally seemed to hit a nerve and the knight seemed downright pleased by his honesty. "True", he agreed. "And the truth as well. Ah, you may sit. It has been a while since I last spoke to a friendly face" He extended a hand and Marak shook it briefly. "I am indeed a knight sworn to Lord Robert Raylan with two decades of service to my name"

"This time, the sellsword sat down with gleeful satisfaction. He had done it again! Now all that was left was not losing him again. As such, he decided to feign some interest. "Raylan, huh?", he asked. "What are you doing here then? Heard the lord's dead" For a second, Ser Darren's eyes widened and Marak gulped. "And… you didn't know, did you?", the Ironborn growled. "Fuck me…"

"I… I didn't. He was old, but in good health when I left", Darren admitted, before his fist slammed down onto the table with sudden force. "Damn it!" His bark of anger was loud enough for the entire tavern to fall silent, if only for a moment. They lost interest quickly the moment Marak and Darren both glared at them. Then, the knight began to speak again.

"I have been his personal guard", he admitted. "No attempt on his life would have been successful had I still been around" He shook his head and this time, Marak saw open anger mingling with grief on the man's face. "Bloody fucking hell… all of this makes sense to me now. I walked right into a trap"

Alarmed by these words, Marak glanced around, but none of the patrons paid them any mind at all anymore. "What do you mean?", he asked. "We're in a trap right now? Come on, Noelle's already mumbling her nonsense all day, least you can do is speak plainly!"

This time, Ser Darren's aloof glare was directed right at Marak. "No, you dumb brute, we are not in a trap right now", he spoke, much to Marak's relief. "It sprung many months ago and the fool that I was, I walked right into it. I abandoned my lord for vengeance when I should have stayed by his side"

This time, Marak saw tears in the other man's eyes and it caused him to lose most of the respect he held for a seasoned warrior. It was not a manly thing to do, to weep like a woman, even if Darren tried to hold it in. "You've been chasing after someone?", he asked and Darren gave him a sombre nod.

"The man who killed my wife. Our daughters", he sighed and the nonchalant way he spoke these horrible words was almost as shocking as the tears on this harsh face. This was a man jaded by his experiences, able to speak to them devoid of emotion, a man who did not live, but merely exist. "I thought it had been an attempt on my life thwarted only by my absence. The killer had left obvious signs… too obvious. I requested to take my leave to chase after them and Lord Robert, ever magnanimous, granted it, sending his loyal bodyguard away"

"Sounds like that was a stupid decision from him", Marak made, regretting his choice of words right away when he noticed Darren's fierce glare. "I mean… not that he could have known, eh? Nor you. Honestly, someone kills my family I'd probably chase after them too" Of course, Marak had no family to speak of, he had made sure of that himself.

"And that's what I did", Darren spoke. "All the way to Blackwater Bay on the other end of the continent. There, I lost track of that bastard and his companions. They led me on a wild goose chase to lure away the one man standing between them and my lord" He shook his head. "Now I hear from a bloody sellsword that my lord has died when I should have been there for him"

It was clear by now that in his own way, this cold and jaded man was grieving. Marak raised a hand, earning himself another glare. "Don't even think of it", the knight hissed. "I need no pity from a brute. What I need is vengeance, so unless you can give it to me, you can politely fuck off" He shook his head. "I need to return to Raylansfair by light of dawn", he sighed. "I have been gone for too long"

Vengeance? Eh, that was something Marak could get behind. "You know, there might be a way", he admitted. "Noelle… that crazy priestess I am travelling with. You may choose not to believe it, but she sees things. She is a powerful woman, perhaps one who can grant you what you desire. She wanted to talk to you anyways, so… why not give her a chance?"

This time, Darren actually thought about these words, before giving in with a sigh. "Fine", he growled. "I will meet with this red witch of yours, this Lady Noelle. You will introduce me to her right about now" Without even waiting for Marak's reply, he rose from his seat and reached for his sword, carrying it by the scabbard as he approached the door.

Together, they made their way through the taproom, evading this disgusting Reach scum, heading up the stairs, just when Marak felt the knight's hand on his shoulder. "I have one question, Marak", Darren asked. "Do you have any loyalty to this woman beyond the fact that she pays you?" Marak was a bit surprised by this question, but shook his head almost at once. No, he had no loyalty to her. She was a crazy witch and he was... well, not afraid of her, of course not, but he was wary around her. There was nothing weak with being wary around a crazy witch!

Ser Darren let out a sigh. "Good...", he admitted. "I don't know why the priestess is interested in Raylansfair, but I will find out. I do not believe in coincidences after all" He gave Marak a cold, hard glare. "But I will be careful around her. And you will tell me all I want to know. Is she dangerous?"

Marak raised an eyebrow. Was Noelle dangerous? That was indeed an interesting question. She saw things in the fire and she commanded it to some degree, she openly talked about spells and other things honest people shouldn't even think about! She was definitely crazy, but was she dangerous? No, probably not. A well-placed fisticuff would down her as it would down any larger threat. She wasn't exactly dangerous, simply a little bit... "She's crazy", he replied. "Completely deranged. Left her common sense in Braavos, or Asshai or wherever the fuck she comes from"

Ser Darren narrowed his eyes and Marak noticed that he had forgotten one important detail. "But she's not dangerous!", he was quick to add. "Seriously, just don't look into her fire and there's nothing to worry about. Wouldn't say she's harmless, because she's got some wits to her, given that she hired me, but on her own she ain't dangerous"

"And she's the crazy one", Ser Darren replied. Marak gave him a bright smile. "Exactly. She's the crazy one, while I'm the brains in our team", he answered. Marak knew, he wasn't exactly the smartest man in the kingdom. But compared to Noelle... "She's crazy, but she is not dangerous"

Ser Darren shook his head. "Let me be the judge of that", he said with a stern voice as they approached the door to Noelle's room. "One more thing, Marak" His face darkened. "I don't know what this priestess plans. But I have a bad feeling. If I don't like what she's planning, do not get in my way"

Marak noticed the tone in his voice. And he didn't like it. He knew that tone, it was one he often used himself, often in situations when he was close to breaking something. Something as tiny and fragile as Noelle's neck… "What are you implying?", he growled.

At once, the knight raised a hand to ease the tension. "I won't kill her, take my word for it", he promised and somehow, Marak assumed he was the type whose word meant something. "But I want to find out what she is up to. And I can see, you want to know it too"

That much was true. Yes, Marak wanted to find out what the priestess was up to. And as long as that knight wouldn't kill her, everything was fine, from his point. "If that is all, you may. But I'm watching you, knight", he hissed. "Don't do anything stupid. Don't kill her, don't hurt her, don't mock her rollmop"

Ser Darren let out a slight sigh. "I won't mock her rollmop, I promise", he mumbled and that was all Marak needed to know. Noelle was kind of serious about that one, after all. "Now bring me to your priestess"

As they approached Noelle's room, a bad feeling grew within Marak's gut. He knew she would be pleased, she had to be. After all, she wanted him to befriend this knight and she wanted his aid. Now the rest was on her. All she had to do was not be her usual, unsettling self for a few short minutes, which sounded doable. Sure, she could be intimidating, not to Marak of course, but he could see how cravens and fools could be afraid of her. Ser Darren seemed to be neither, so he should be alright, although Marak was not sure if this would be a good thing or a bad one.

The door to her room was closed, of course, but not unlocked. It was strangely warm as Marak approached it. Surely she wouldn't start a fire in here, right? She wouldn't be that... he grimaced. Crazy, of course. She absolutely would be. After a moment of hesitation, he placed a hand on the uncomfortably warm doorknob and opened it. "Noelle, I want you to meet...", he began but stopped as he saw her.

She was standing behind that damn brazier of hers, which Marak had carried all the way from Blackhaven to this inn and, of course, she had been crazy enough to light it. The heat inside of the room was breathtaking, but the way Noelle looked at him was chilling. But the thing that really worried him were the flames. Instead of the slightly orange red he was used to, these flames burned green. The room was bizarrely illuminated, Noelle's slim figure throwing a grotesquely flickering shadow on the wall.

"Ser Darren Tallwood", Noelle mumbled and looked up, directly through Marak. Behind him, he heard Darren's gasp. The green flames managed to highlight the colour of her eyes, they appeared almost glowing, while her red hair and the red dress seemed almost black. "The fire told me you would come" Her voice had its usual warmth, but there was a cold, spine-chilling determination within it as well and Marak tensed up as he rarely did even in her unsettling presence.

These were tricks, shadows on the wall, they had to be. Surely he would not be afraid of some oddly coloured flames. Illusionists in the Free Cities used tricks like these, Marak had seen them. The fabled wildfire of the alchemists was green, surely there had to be a method to make normal fire appear green too without burning the whole tavern down.

Ser Darren stepped into the room, looking visibly uncomfortable. "I am glad the flames have finally led you here", Noelle said and her expression brightened. "My name is Noelle of Braavos, a servant of R'hllor, the Lord of Light and one true god"

Ser Darren stepped next to Marak, his expression stony. "You know my name and you sought me out, priestess", he growled. "I want to know why. I want to know what business you have with Raylansfair and House Raylan. I urge you to answer truthfully, else your brute cannot protect you"

Noelle's gaze met Marak's and he noticed that damn, confident smirk of hers. "Your concern is understandable", she spoke and she took a few steps towards him, around the green brazier, only stopping as Darren placed a hand on his sword. She stopped and they quietly looked at each other, before she gave him a nod, taking a step back again. "I will keep my distance if you wish", she agreed. "I merely wanted to make this easier for both of us. Look into the fire and you will receive your answers"

Wisely, Ser Darren seemed to be slightly hesitating but to Marak's unease, he himself nearly glanced into the green flames. "Don't look into the fire, Marak!", Noelle ordered. Ser Darren looked into the fire, but only for a moment, before immediately turning away. A furious look flashed across his face, before he delivered a violent kick against the brazier, causing it to topple over. For a moment, Marak jumped back, certain that the whole room would explode with flames. To his surprise, none of that happened. The strange green fire was still burning, part of it inside of the brazier, part of it on the floor, though it was dying quickly, not even leaving a burn mark behind.

"I don't care for your games, priestess!", Darren growled. "Don't you try your tricks on me" , The hand on the hilt of his sword twitched and with slight nervousness Marak's own hand slightly wandered to the hilt of his axe. He had no intention of fighting this man and yet, he knew that if Darren would draw steel, he would throw himself between the knight and the priestess for a reason he himself could not quite place. Was this blasted woman trying to bewitch him?

"Nobody is trying to bewitch you", Noelle said and Marak was unsure if she was speaking to Ser Darren or to him. "The fire will only help you understand" She took a step closer and this time, the knight allowed it. With a pleased smile on her face, she placed one hand on his shoulder. "Do you think I could bewitch you, Ser Darren?"

"Yes", Marak thought, but he stayed silent. He was almost certain she had heard him anyway, given the look that flashed across her face. Ser Darren shook his head. "There is no magic left in this world, priestess", he growled. "Show me your tricks, your illusions, but don't count me impressed"

Noelle's smile turned to a smirk as she reached into her sleeve, pulling her closed fist out and throwing whatever she held in it right onto the ground. Green flames started to burn again where they had just died down and Marak jumped a step backwards. "Please, Ser Darren. Look into the fire and see the light", she urged him. "There is nothing to fear. R'hllor is not fear. Fear is for the Great Other, fear is for the night, but not for the fire"

And this time, albeit still with visible reluctance battling a growing curiosity, Darren Tallwood looked into the fire. Marak fought against the urge to do the same. He even had to look away, glaring at the wall behind them, though that turned out to be a bad idea. The shadows of Noelle, Ser Darren and even his own shadow, they were dancing and twirling, trying to lure him to look into the fire.

A gasp left the knight's throat. "You see it now?", Noelle asked and the flames burned even higher. Marak turned around and saw Ser Darren pale as a corpse. He knew that expression. He had seen it in himself after he had looked into the fire. That poor bastard…

"What... was that?", Darren gasped. "Is this the future?" He still stared into the fire, as the flames began to flicker and die down. His eyes were wide and the green flames reflected within them, his gaze unblinking with fear. "Raylansfair… it… it was…" He cut himself off, harrowed to the core by what he had seen.

"I have seen the same", Noelle replied. "Raylansfair, burned to the ground. Green fire, Ser Darren. You have seen it" She gently clasped his shoulder and the knight still stared into the smouldering remnants of the fire. "This is but one future. The Red God shows many things, those that will come and those that may never come to pass. In this case, he sent us a warning a future we may still avoid, if you aid me"

Ser Darren did not answer immediately so after a moment, Noelle continued. "I need to travel to Raylansfair. You can aid me there, can't you, Ser Darren?", she remarked. The way she had completely won this man over was shocking to Marak. He himself was here for blood and gold, but to see how other men fell under her spell was not an easy sight. He knew, he had to remain on his guard around her.

"I can aid you", Darren confirmed. "With Lord Robert dead, Ser Harris Flowers will be the acting lord. He is a stern and rigid man, but a good one as well and a true friend. With my support, he will hear you out" He grabbed the priestess by the upper arm, quite harshly so. "Whatever you need, he will aid you", he added. "Anything to save Raylansfair!"

Noelle slightly touched his cheek. "One more thing, Ser Darren", she whispered. "We have seen the same, so you must have seen him too, haven't you? The darkest shadow, the silver sun, the black dread?"

Ser Darren gave her a slight nod, still staring into the embers. "I have seen him…", he confirmed. "A shadow darker than the night, winged and fire-breathing. And a silver lord. Who… who was this man?"

This time, Noelle's smile seemed to be genuine, breathtaking and bright. "He is Raylansfair's salvation, the Chosen One of the Red God. And he is no 'lord', Ser Darren", she whispered and moved her mouth closer to the knight's ear. Still, Marak was able to hear what she said. It was a single, simple word, four powerful letters, a word that has had little meaning to him before. But right now, in this moment, the way Noelle said it, it meant the world.

"King", she spoke.

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · Aug 5, 2024

And with this, I am back! Apologies for the slight break, but my work has been very demanding in the last few weeks, forcing me to take some time off, especially as this part received a larger overhaul compared to some of the earlier parts. New parts should be ready more swiftly from now on. I hope you enjoy!

Lucas

At last, as the trio crossed the hill, with the setting sun shining down at them, the hulking moloch of the city appeared in front of them. At once, an excited squeal escaped Lunett's throat. "By the Seven, by the Seven, this is it, isn't it?", she gasped in joy, her eyes wide with wonder. In the past five days, Lunett's behaviour had gotten increasingly more excited the closer they got to the city, increasingly more lively and by now the girl was gleaming with happiness.

Lucas gave her a thin, but genuine smile. "Looks like it", he answered, not sharing her unmitigated excitement. He had never been to Oldtown himself but the moment they crossed the hill and looked down at the largest city in all Westeros, he had to admit that he wasn't that impressed. He had seen the Free Cities of Pentos, Volantis and Myr, and Oldtown couldn't compete with them. Sure, it was large, comparable to Volantis in size. And yet, it lacked the lavish pomp of Pentos, the fine elegance of Myr and the venerable grandeur of Volantis. Instead it was crowded with three or four-story buildings, crammed with people. From the hill the three were standing on, only a handful of buildings stood out from the rest and managed to impress him.

One of them was the Hightower, easily the tallest building Lucas had ever seen and one they had been able to spot in the distance for several days now, long before the rest of the city came into sight. It was a gloomy day and the top of the tower reached beyond the clouds, with only the light on its top visible through the thick grey. Not far away from it was the Starry Sept, seat of the Faith, with black marble walls and arched windows, a building so unmistakable. And far beyond it, the Citadel could be seen, a complex of towers and buildings, connected by huge stone bridges, themselves full of houses for the Maesters, itself a small city within the city.

Dairon was somewhere down there, maybe wandering the streets of the city, maybe sitting in a chamber in the citadel. Or perhaps he was already lying in the gutters, robbed of his coin and with his throat cut from ear to ear, for Oldtown was a dangerous city as well. Leonard had been here a few times already and he had little good to say about it. According to him, it was a city full of thieves, killers and whores, a city that corrupted good and honest men, if it didn't kill them first.

Needless to say, Lucas wasn't looking forward to what would follow. This was a shady city and he was a knight, proud of his virtue. Though he had worked with men of ill repute before and his old companions, the Gutters, had never been virtuous people in their own right, he had upheld his knightly vows before. And yet, cities such as this one had always challenged and tempted him.

He glanced at Lunett, who was smiling at the city below her and had to ask himself, not for the first time in the past weeks, if bringing her here had been a wise decision. She was pure and innocent and this city would be dangerous for her as well and on his own, he would not count on himself to protect her, not when he had a duty to Lord Raylan to fulfil as well.

At least Leonard was here with them. Surprisingly, the knight had made no advances on Lunett, even though she seemed to fancy him, to Lucas' slight chagrin. Instead, he was watching over her, protecting her as any true knight would. And Lucas noticed the look of concern on Leonard's face as he saw Lunett's exuberant joy. As long as the other knight was by her side as well, Lucas had no doubt that she would be safe.

It took them another hour to get into the city. A long line of peasants tried to enter the city, even at this late hour and the city guard apparently took their work seriously, stopping each and every one of them. It was as unusual as it was exciting for Lucas to see a well-drilled city guard at work. These men clearly had tremendous experience, serving in a city as huge as Oldtown.

By comparison, Raylansfair's city guard was notably smaller. Lucas knew most of the guardsmen by name and while they were good people, Raylansfair was a very safe town, protected by the Shield Islands. There were no high standards required to join the guard and many young boys chose a few easy. A few of them, among them Commander Nathamer, were surely competent, but Lucas knew that most of the men under his command would despair when facing true danger. But he had also encountered the city guard of Volantis, who only served the powerful, he had encountered the city guard of Pentos, who was little more than a private army for the magisters and he had encountered the overzealous city guard of Qohor, made up of frenzied lunatics. From his experience, large cities tended to have corrupt watchmen and even more corrupt people in charge. He had no idea what Oldtown's armed guardsmen were like, but he was willing to give them a chance at the least.

The first guard who stopped them was a lean and boorish man, armed with a breastplate and a reinforced leather helmet with the Hightower sigil on it, who greeted them with a nod. "Halt, travellers" he growled. "State your name and your reasons for coming to fair Oldtown"

At once, Lucas took a polite bow in front of the man. "Greetings, good Ser", he spoke. "My name is Lucas Flowers, this is Leonard Constantine, both of us knights in service of House Raylan and this is Lunett Kawl, niece of...", he started, before looking at Lunett for help. He had never asked her the name of her uncle. From what she had told, he wasn't very high-ranking, but well-connected, just the man they needed to find Dairon in this massive city.

The girl put on her prettiest smile. "My uncle is Thomas Kawl. He is a member of the city guard, a captain I believe", she stated. "Could you send word to my uncle that we have arrived? He'll be happy to welcome us here"

The man shrugged. "Never heard of him, but then again, there are three thousand men working in the city watch", he admitted. "You should head straight to the Hightower in that case. We got our headquarters on the ground floor. Someone's bound to know that fellow",

With these words he stepped aside, allowing them entrance into the city. Lunett let out an excited squeal and the guard rolled his eyes at her. Just then though, as Lucas tried to move past him, his arm darted forward, grabbing the knight harshly. "Take good care of that girl", he growled. "She seems an innocent lass. Excited to be here"

Lucas glanced at him, mildly surprised by the man's sudden move, while Leonard and Lunett went ahead, a wide smile on the girl's face. Then, he gave the guard a firm, stern nod. "She is", he confirmed. "Is that going to be a problem, Ser?"

The guard shook his head. "She shouldn't be that excited", he sighed. "After all, there's a war going on" His tone was ominous, but stern and entirely serious. Lucas had heard of troubles in Oldtown, of criminals flocking together, fighting over territory and power. Leonard had mentioned something like this before and the guard's words confirmed it.

"People call them Butterfly and the Burned Man. Two powerful men, lords of the streets, whose struggles against each other has turned violent", the guard explained. "The latter styles himself a man of honour, giving work to the poor, to homeless kids, but his work includes theft and even murder. The latter's a vigilante, but he targets anyone not on his side. We lost good men to both"

Lucas gulped and after a moment of hesitation, he and the guardsman exchanged a nod. "I promise you, it is exactly as rough as it sounds. Don't stay out late, never leave the girl to wander the streets alone and…", he began his warning before he paused, visibly struggling with his words for a moment. "And when you go to the Hightower, look after the girl. Whatever you do, don't take her to Mullendore"

A slight look of confusion flashed across Lucas' face. "Mullendore?", he asked. "And who might that be?" He had heard of the house, of course, a minor house from the western marches and he had once briefly met its lord, Cregan, but the man had to be far away from here, fighting the king's war against the Dornish.

"Ser Maron Mullendore", the guardsman revealed. "Our commander, personally tasked with bringing these crimelords down. Hates Butterfly and the Burned Man both, but right now we got orders to focus on the latter first. He's gruff, but he can be argued with if you cross paths. Just… the man's got a taste for younger women, but it wasn't me who told you that. If you deal with our commander, leave the girl behind, by all means"

Lucas gave him a nod. "Will do, good man", he confirmed, before he stepped past the guard. So, there clearly seemed to be a lot of issues in the city. He had to wonder if mayhaps this man, this Maron Mullendore could be of aid, but then again, his gaze fell upon Lunett and the guardsman's warning rang fresh in his ears.

He caught up to his companions a few feet behind the gate. By that point, Lunett had stopped dead in her tracks, just staring up at the Hightower, which loomed over the rows of houses that lined the wide main road. A look of pure wonderment was on her face, but unlike her, Lucas had a keen eye for his surroundings and he noticed that for as outwardly pretty as this main street seemed at first, there were dark alleyways lining it and the people lingering within them seemed not the sort he'd associate with. Paint was peeling off the colourful houses that lined the main street and the whole city seemed as if it had better days.

All of that mattered little to the innkeeper's daughter. Lunett's expression was enough to bring a smile to Lucas' face, for he knew his own expression had been similar back when he had first seen the splendour of Volantis. "Oh my gods, I can't believe I'm finally…", she gasped, before she turned to Lucas, with a look of gratitude in her gaze that made the knight's heart beat faster for a moment. "Thank you, Ser Lucas. I know you have your duties in this city, but I hope that before we leave again we can see the city. Make the most of this occasion" She blushed slightly as she glanced at the tower. "I would really like to go there if it's not too much of a hassle"

It was Leonard who shook his head first, when Lucas didn't have the heart for it. "Not yet, Lun", he replied. "First, we need to contact your uncle… Thomas, was it? Securing Dairon takes priority over anything else. So, how might we find the man?"

This time, the girl fell silent at once and Lucas knew the look on her face all too well. He had come to know Lunett as a sweet young woman, gentle of heart. Right now, she felt guilt, clear and obvious to both him and Leonard. He raised an eyebrow. "Lunett…", he spoke, this time with emphasis

The girl grew pale under his gaze and her expression shifted notably, as the look on her face grew downright apologetic. "Well... about my uncle... It is a bit, well… complicated", she admitted and Lucas knew at once what she was implying. "His name might not be Thomas and he might not be a guardsman. Or in Oldtown. I… uh… I don't have an uncle..." In utter shame she lowered her head, unable to meet either gaze, Lucas' resignanted one and the one on Leonard's face…

Leonard was furious. At once, his expression shifted, lost the gentleness he had shown with the girl so far, replaced by utter disappointment and anger, as he threw his hands in the air. "You tricked us!", he barked and Lunett backed off from his rage. "You fucking tricked us!"

Tears formed in the girl's eyes and she barely managed to look at Leonard, who in turn was furious with an intensity Lucas had never seen from him before. "I… I am sorry…", she mubmled. "I really am. But I… I couldn't take it anymore at the inn. Every day was the same back there. It was… dreadful and I wanted more. I…" She took a deep breath, emboldened by her own words and this time she actually met Lucas' gaze. "I wanted to see the world", she added. "Oldtown. The Free Cities. I… I know I shouldn't have lied to you, but… I had no choice"

"Did you?", Leonard growled and his tone was icy. "We have dragged you along ever since we left your father's inn. Accommodated you. Took breaks when we didn't have to. We could have arrived here three days ago!" His fists were clenched and he was trembling with anger, but he took no step towards the girl. "The boy we're looking for is somewhere in this city and with each passing day chances grow slimmer that we find him. You knew that, didn't you?"

Lunett's eyes widened in sudden horror. She had known, yes, but she hadn't considered it. Lucas could see the deep regret on her face and he felt a sting of pity as he noticed the bitter tears she shed. "I'm sorry", she stuttered. "I never meant to hurt you, or anybody. Just once, I wanted to… to just leave. I am sorry… I never thought"

"Yeah, you never thought, that is precisely the issue…", Leonard muttered, loud enough for the people around them to take note. The knight seemed to notice this at the same time as Lucas did and he let out a deep sigh. "We're not going to talk about this here in the open. I know a place", he admitted, but as he walked brusquely past Lunett, he briefly grabbed her by the shoulder, harsh enough for the girl to flinch. "If Dairon is dead, his blood will be on your hands too", he hissed and she grew pale.

Lucas could pity her, yes, but he could understand Leonard's anger as well. Dairon was in peril and with him all of Raylansfair. Lunett had meant no harm, but he could not rule out the possibility that her selfishness put Dairon in anger. As such, he would not comfort her, not now, even as the sight of her grief and horror moved him greatly.

Under the watchful gaze of countless people, the trio made their way through the streets, with Leonard taking the lead, still fuming with anger. He was hard on the girl, perhaps even too hard, but Lucas could understand him well, perhaps for the first time during their journey. Meanwhile, Lunett kept her distance from him, staying closer to Lucas. She would have probably kept her distance from him too, but Lucas would not let her out of sight, for the guardsman's warning rang in his ears. This was no place for a girl like her and the sun was setting. As beautiful as Oldtown looked at day, he knew for a fact that cities like it tended to change in the dark of the night.

"Slow down, Len", Lucas growled after a while, for Lunett could barely keep up with the soldierly steps of the seasoned knight. This earned him an annoyed sigh from Leonard, but he did indeed change his pace slightly, enough for Lucas to catch up to him. "We can't leave her here"

"You're right we can't", Leonard growled. "We shouldn't have taken her with us to begin with, but the least we can do now is to find her a room where she'll stay put until we're ready to leave again. Lucky for us I know a good place. She'll be safe there, which is more than what we can say about Dairon"

The mention of the boy she had endangered made Lunett flinch and by now, Lucas knew that the other knight was too hard on her. She moved even closer to Lucas and when she spoke, her voice was lowered enough so that Leonard would not hear them. "Lucas…", she whispered and the knight gave her a calm look, one with neither pity nor anger. "I am sorry. I… never wanted to hurt you nor Dairon"

He gave her a nod. "I know, Lun", he mumbled and the sight of her, with her entire earlier joy gone, was quite haunting. "But you didn't make things any easier for us either. Let's hope for the best" He gave her a smile as consoling as possible and she reciprocated it in kind.

By now, he was completely lost and if not for Leonard's guidance he would have never found his way around in this city. Where the Free Cities had been built with a plan behind them, street plans to expand upon, Oldtown had grown far beyond its foundations, with streets sprawling in each direction, almost like weeds. They passed quite a number of inns on their way, one thing Oldtown did not lack, but Leonard walked past them all, his path seemingly leading towards one particular establishment.

And yet, the other knight guided them well and soon stopped in front of a three-story building. A tinged metal shield informed Lucas that this building was called 'Blind Helmsman' and judging from the noise and smell that was coming from the inside, it was most definitely an inn, one the Gutters might have frequented as well during their shared time in Volantis.

"This one might not look like much, but this one's frequented by honest folk. Hightower men", Leonard revealed. "We can spend the night here. Make our way to the Citadel at first light. With some luck, Dairon has found his way there as well" He opened the door and despite his anger, he remained chivalrous enough to hold it for Lunett, who barely managed to look at him, her head hung low in shame, while Lucas followed shortly after.

On the inside, the inn differed little from any of the inns Lucas had come to know in the Free Cities. The people in particular would have felt right at home in either alehouse. Despite Leonard's assurance, they did not seem honest in the slightest. Instead, they had the same distrustful looks on their faces as the three strangers entered, making it clear that newcomers were only tolerated here and not welcomed.

An older man limped forth from behind the counter as the trio entered, giving each a scrutinising glare. To Lucas' surprise and relief, his expression softened slightly as he looked at Lunett and he finally gave them a nod. "What do you want?", he asked, his voice high and husky.

Leonard took a bow in front of the man and in stark contrast to his previous anger his smile was impeccably polite. "Three rooms for the night, a bowl of your soup and two jugs of your best ale", he spoke, as he moved one hand to the small pouch on his belt. "We'll pay in full at once"

This brought a sleazy smile to the older man, who quickly grabbed two coins Leonard was handing him over. "This should be enough, aye", he confirmed. "In that case, welcome to the Blind Helmsman, m'lords, m'lady, let me show you to your rooms" He made a brief handwave for them to follow.

Leonard glanced at Lucas. "I'll stay downstairs, secure us a good table. The two of us have a lot to talk about", he spoke, before he turned back to the old man. "The stew is for the girl. Have it delivered to her room" This brought a surprised look to Lunett's face, but she remained silent, merely staring at Leonard for a moment, before quickly following the old man, with Lucas close by.

Upstairs they entered a narrow wooden hallway, from which several doors led into the inn's guest rooms. The ones the old man led them to weren't exactly in good condition, but they were warm and clean and acceptable for their price by all accounts. Lunett's room was the largest of them all even and seeing it finally brightened the girl's mood. She lingered in the doorframe even after the old man had excused himself and hobbled downstairs once more.

"I…", she began after a moment. "I know I made a mistake, Ser…" She glanced over her shoulder right at Lucas, giving him a slight smile. "But you were kind to me when I did not deserve it and I will not forget it" With these words, before Lucas could say anything, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a brief hug.

Lucas tensed up beneath her touch, but she separated as quick as she had approached him, her face beet red. "I… I mean…", she stuttered. "Thank you. For bringing me here. I'll make it up to you, some day" With this, she took a curtsy in front of him and quickly closed the door behind him, leaving Lucas behind in the hallway. It was only then that the knight noticed that he too had blushed ever so slightly. Perhaps, he mused as he walked back downstairs, taking her with them hadn't been that bad an idea after all.

Downstairs, Leonard had secured a small table in an alcove, next to a stained window. Two mugs of ale were standing on the table and the moment Leonard spotted him, he greeted him with a dry, tired grin, one that surprised Lucas, for he had never expected the other knight to enjoy a seedy tavern like this. To him, Leonard had always seemed a prim knight, rough around the edges in some ways, but stuck up and impeccable in others, much more the type to enjoy a glass of wine on a fine balcony than an ale amongst the commoners. Perhaps there was more to him than what Lucas had thought at first.

"Got something on your face, Flowers", Leonard spoke and his dry grin widened. "Spoke to that girl, did you?" He reached for one of the ales, taking a mug and slightly grimacing. "It got worse since last I've been here", he admitted. "Never thought I'd miss Raylansfair's shitty ale, but hells, by now there's a lot about that town I miss"

At this, Lucas took a sip from the ale himself and he winced as he tasted the bitter, poor taste of what was easily one of the worst ales he had ever had. Seven Hells this was bad! Leonard watched his reaction not without glee, but his expression grew sterner after a few seconds. "So then, Flowers", he began. "First things first. What are we going to do about Lunett?"

Putting the ale down quickly, Lucas pondered on the question. Lunett had tricked them, yes, but she had not meant any harm. The girl had a kind heart and he would not condemn her for one mistake. In fact, he had grown rather fond of her on the way here. "You were harsh", he replied.

Leonard narrowed his eyes. "And what do you know about me being harsh, Flowers?", he growled. "Trust me, I showed restraint when it comes to her. She slowed us down when we needed speed the most and if anything happened to Dairon…"

"If", Lucas interrupted him, causing Leonard to hesitate. The other knight's eyes widened, but he avoided Lucas' gaze. It was clear what he was thinking, but Lucas would not even entertain that notion. "We will find him, Leonard", he spoke sharply. "And until then, lay it off on the girl. You're being too hard on her"

Leonard let out a sigh. "Perhaps I was", he admitted. "It's just… I've been lied to one too many times. Really thought we could trust her and then she goes and pulls this shit" He shook his head. "I'll let it rest until we find Dairon, but taking her with us has been a fucking mistake, Flowers"

A brief, annoyed glare flashed across Lucas' face, but he could not disagree with Leonard here. "We'll bring her back to her father once this is over and never speak of it again", he clarified, which got him an approving nod from Leonard. His gaze wandered out the window and onto the streets. Even now, with the sun setting, they were crowded with people.

"At least as long as that brute of a man won't bash our heads in", the other knight sighed. "But onwards to more pressing matters. We need to have a talk, you and I. About Dairon. About Lord Robert's last will. I want to make sure we're on the same page, you and I. What would you have us do with it?"

This question caught Lucas off guard, even if he had been dreading it for a while now. It was not just the fact that he himself was uncertain what to do, no. More worrying than this was that Leonard had brought this topic up by himself. Lucas had grown surprisingly accustomed to the other knight over their journey, despite how difficult he had been at first, but still… Leonard Constantine was not without ambition of his own. He had served House Raylan as he had served other houses before that, a knight errant whose true loyalties had always been a bit murky.

He thought about it for a few moments, considering his next words very carefully. "Lord Raylan wanted to give his city to Manfred Hightower", he spoke. "The will itself is very clear about the fate of Raylansfair. It is what our lord would have wanted"

Before he could continue, Leonard cut him off. "I know", he growled. "But do you think this is for the best?" He took a deep gulp from the cheap ale and grimaced at the bitter taste. "Hightower is no friend of Raylansfair. The city will wither under his rule and we both know it", he added, as he placed the mug down on the table again. "Perhaps it would be best to bring he boy back to Ser Harris. He has his flaws, sure, but he knew what he was doing when he was hiding his copy of the will. You know he'll always do what is best for Raylansfair"

At first, Lucas wanted to protest, but he paused, realising how faint such words would be. He knew that Manfred Hightower was not a good option. The Lord of Oldtown had never been an ally to Raylansfair. He would dismantle the archive, the last trace of glory from the Raylan line, would put horrendous taxes on the smallfolk, anything to drag the city down and elevate his own. Harris on the other hand had been born and raised in Raylansfair. He had always been willing to do whatever necessary to protect it.

And yet, he was a bastard. As a fellow bastard, Lucas knew fully well what an uphill battle it was to gain any recognition in this world. Harris, as well as he may meant, would face challenges beyond any a trueborn Lord of Raylansfair would ever face and the city with him. As such, he made his decision. "Perhaps it will be best to bring the boy to Highgarden", he spoke. "Let the king decide. It is his privilege after all. No new lord will be appointed without his blessing"

To this, Leonard raised an eyebrow. "Mern Gardener?", he asked. "You've been away for too long, Flowers. Most of his powerful bannermen still resent him for making peace with the Storm King. Placating Hightower by granting him a lordship would be a simple way to appease the man"

Lucas shook his head. "And yet he won't do that", he stated with certainty. "Why would he make the man even stronger? He'll choose a good lord, one who cares for Raylansfair, one loyal to him" He took a deep breath before meeting Leonard's firm gaze head on. "Where does our loyalty lie if not here, Len?", he asked. "Lord Robert would want nothing less from us"

"Questioning my loyalty, are we?", Leonard growled. "So be it then, Flowers. It is a stupid idea and you know it, but perhaps it is our duty to make a stupid choice" His tone was tense and his glare sharp, but Lucas knew he meant what he just said. "Just don't expect it to be easy. Even if Mern Gardener hears us out at all, if the wrong man at his court learns of what we tell him, then Hightower will press him into confirming his claim"

"Be as it may, we cannot make that decision", Lucas stated firmly. He was a knight of the Reach and he had his honour, even if the world was willing to deny its existence. "Will you stand with me when I present the evidence to our king?"

He and Leonard glared at each other, but the other knight was obviously conflicted. It was him who broke eye contact first. "You should really hear your own words, Flowers", he spat. "Loyalty and honour are fine things, aye, but in the end it'll be the people who pay the price if we choose wrong. Our people, Lucas"

"I know", Lucas confirmed. "That's why the city won't go to Hightower, Leonard. I swear to you, whatever I can do to protect Raylansfair, I will do it" He extended one hand over the table and after a moment of hesitation, Leonard shook it.

"Together then, Flowers", the other knight growled. "But don't make me regret this. If Raylansfair suffers for it, I will hold it against you"He took a deep gulp from the ale and Lucas did the same. By now, he felt the weight of the cheap brew and the long journey, a stiffness in his limbs, yet more had to be discussed before he was willing to call it a day.

"Then tomorrow we shall leave for the Citadel", he decided. "It is our best bet at finding Dairon. Perhaps he made it there and all will be well and if not… well it is a start, isn't it?" He sighed. "You've been there before, haven't you? Anything I need to know?"

Leonard gave him a light nod. "Once, during a past visit to Oldtown, on an errand for Maester Eaton", he revealed. "Wasn't a pleasant experience. The Citadel does not look fondly upon Raylansfair nor its knights" He noticed the expression on Lucas' face and let out a dry chuckle. "And that's putting it mildly. For every Lord Raylan who refused to sell the archive, they seem to have written down a new grudge. Archmaester Quent is probably the worst of them. Quent the Historian they call him. Never met him, but by now he has to be almost history himself, eighty years old at the least"

Quent… Lucas only ever heard the name and never much more than that. He knew that the Archmaester of History was a bitter man, at least that was his reputation in Raylansfair, but beyond that, few were willing to talk about the strained relationship between the archive and the Citadel. "Has he ever interfered with your business at the Citadel", Lucas asked.

To this, Leonard shot him a grin. "Like what? The man is ancient", the other knight spat. "I doubt he has all of his wits left in him. His apprentices have been most unhelpful, aye, but the man hasn't even shown himself to me" He shook his head, his grin disappearing as fast as it came. "Still, this man is not our friend. He had a dispute with Eaton, one most severe as I have inferred. A grudge that does not come without reason"

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You think Eaton had a hand in this?", he asked in disbelief. "He was the kindest man I've ever met" This was fairly difficult to believe, to be honest. Maester Eaton had been a good man and a wise one too. Though the old man had once implied to a more troubled past, it was simply beyond him to cause such a grudge.

"I don't know what to think anymore, Flowers", Leonard admitted. "Eaton was a good man, aye, but a grudge such as the one Quent has against him, that doesn't come without reason. His predecessors have never been kind to Raylansfair, but the sheer hostility I experienced in his halls… that's a personal grudge if I've ever seen one"

And yet, one thing here did not add up and this thought did not leave Lucas' mind. "But Eaton was a wise man", he mumbled. "Never did a thing to harm the city… if that*s the case, if Quent hates him that much, why would he send Dairon right towards him? There must be something we're missing here"

Leonard hesitated for a second, before he merely shrugged. "I believe we will find out soon enough", he sighed. "One way or the other, tomorrow we have to meet the Historian and… well, if you stay by your choice then Mern Gardener will come next. I hope for both of us that you know what you're doing"

Of course, Lucas was still unsure if he had made the right choice. He would not admit to it this openly, but he was nervous. Had he chosen correctly? Was this the path forward for Raylansfair? He had never met the king, but his brother Petyr had spoken ill of the man, calling him weak and indecisive. Of course, Lucas had always tended to like the people Petyr disliked, so perhaps this was a good thing. "I am ready", he claimed, unsure if he wanted to convince himself or Leonard.

"If you say so, Flowers", Leonard mumbled, letting out a yawn of his own. The last stretch of their journey had taken a toll on them and though he doubted either would sleep well tonight, they'd sleep soon, this much Lucas was certain of. "That said, we do need a plan. Can't just waltz in, grab Dairon and ride to Highgarden next"

Lucas gave him a nod, before downing the rest of his ale, as Leonard's gaze wandered to the staircase that led up to the second floor. "I think we both agree that Lunett can't come with us", he said. "Regardless of the fact that she fucked us over..." His voice got sharper and Lucas gave him a stern glare. "I mean...", Leonard continued, his voice slightly softer again. "Regardless of that, it's too dangerous. She's safer here. Once this is over, we'll bring her back to her father's inn and never speak of this again"

This was reasonable and Lucas could only agree. "She'll stay here", he decided. "I know she wants to see the Citadel, but maybe she gets another chance in the future. A better one. Right now, too much is at stake"

"I doubt she ever wants to see Oldtown again", Leonard disagreed. "You saw that look on her face while we went through that city. Not only sadness over what she did, but also disappointment. The look many have when seeing the biggest shithole of Reach for their first time. She might be quite content with waiting for our return"

It was a reasonable assumption, all things considered. As unkind as he had been, perhaps Leonard's harshness had been the final step to push Lunett to remain here, in the safety of this inn, one less concern for the two knights. And yet, his words slightly surprised Lucas. "I thought you were ignoring her", he remarked.

Leonard only shrugged. "Looks like I'm not half as good at ignoring someone than I thought", he answered nonchalantly. "Luckily her father's inn lies on the road to Highgarden. I'd hate to take a detour for her. She did slow us down more than enough and if push comes to shove we will have to be careful enough on the road as it is"

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You think there will be an ambush?", he asked, speaking out aloud the words Leonard merely implied. It was a harrowing thought, but then again, he knew fully well that men would kill for the knowledge they would carry to Highgarden. They had killed Maester Eaton after all, by now there was hardly a doubt about it.

"I try not to think too much of it", Leonard admitted. "But yeah… being careful never hurt anyone. The same goes for our dealings with Quent. Do not mention the will unless he already knows of it, don't reveal our intentions for it… actually, perhaps it'd be best if you leave the talking to me"

A confident smirk flashed across his face and Lucas narrowed his eyes, though he gave him a begrudging nod. "Alright", he admitted. "You do the talking. Gotta be good for one thing, eh?" Just as he had said these words, a yawn escaped his mouth and the weight of the day came down upon him. "If there's nothing else, I'll take that as my cue and head to bed early. Tomorrow will be one hell of a day"

Leonard finished his ale and gave him a grin. "Tired, eh? Can't hold that against you", he chuckled. "Well then, you go to sleep, I'll stay here for a while longer. Can't hurt to learn a bit about the current situation in Oldtown from one of the locals. Though I think I'll call it an early night as well soon" He gave Lucas a nod, who reciprocated in kind before turning away.

With this, the two knights separated for now. Lucas headed across the taproom and up the stairs, fatigue finally reaching him. He barely made it to his small room and closed the door shut behind him before falling into his bed fully dressed, sleep soon overcoming him.

To be continued

LiquidChicagoTed · Aug 14, 2024

John

With a groan, the sellsword opened his one eye, his head thumping with the intensity of a frenzied warhorse. A question formed in his clouded mind. Who was he? Now... that was an easy one. John Gutten. Good. The first step. He was John Gutten. Next, he had to find out where he was. It was warm here, comfortable. Safe. He tried to look up, but immediately came to regret it when his vision clouded. But he spotted the finely crafted wooden ceiling above him and he came to realise that he was, in fact, lying in a decently comfortable bed, covered by a thick blanket and with a pleasantly soft pillow beneath his head.

Then, it came back to him... the Hammered Harp... Aylard's Inn… and of course… A smirk formed on his face, as the memory of last night slowly returned to him. He reached out his hand until he touched soft, warm flesh. Now that was a mighty fine arse, belonging to Cass to be precise. Girl had been warming his bed for almost his entire stay at the inn, pleasant company all around. Right now and unlike him, she was still sleeping and Gutten did his best not to wake her. Hells, neither of them had gotten much sleep last night, not after John had started drinking again.

It was morning now from what he could tell and much as he wanted to sleep in with the barmaid by his side, he had never been much of a morning person. Besides, there was something else from last night he remembered and it brought a smile to his face wider than the sight of Cass' naked form. Lucas had been there. Lucas Flowers, briefly a member of the Gutters, the honourable bastard knight John had taken under his wing. He had made a man out of the lad, had taught him well. The day Lucas had left… it had been bad. The worst one in a long time. As such, seeing him again yesterday, it had meant the world to a sellsword past his prime. He had to check up on him.

As silent as it was possible for him with his headache, Gutten, rolled to the side, slowly bringing himself into a sitting position, his headache, while still prevalent, slowly fading into nothingness. He rose from his position, naked as his name day and the contrast to the warmth of the bed and the chill that crept inside on this cold autumn morning was startling. As such, he slowly snuck around the bed, briefly stifling a yelp of pain when he slammed his foot against the wooden leg of it. He grimaced and continued with a slight limp until he reached Cass. Gently then, he pulled the remaining blanket over her and the girl, previously shivering slightly, mumbled something before immediately drifting back into a more comfortable sleep. The sellsword looked down at her with a content smirk. He could get used to this. Could get used to her. It was a dangerous sentiment for a sellsword as experienced as he was.

Having dealt with the girl, he began to look around for his clothes. Black pants, sturdy leather, a sleeveless vest of the same colour, which he left unbuttoned, not because he enjoyed the cold, but because he could not be arsed to try and properly button them up, not before a hearty breakfast. Luckily for him, that was another thing the Hammered Harp Inn was excellent at, besides its lovely barmaids. Lunett, Aylard's daughter, was an excellent cook and he looked forward to seeing what she'd come up with for the day. He placed a hand on his belly, still firm with muscle, but with a sigh he noticed the beginnings of fat on it. Seven Hells, it was about time he'd get out of this place.

By the time he was finished dressing, Cass was still asleep, much to his relief. He snuck out of his own room like a thief, entering the narrow hallway that made up most of the Hammered Harp's upper floor, as his memory wandered back to Lucas. His young friend had seemed troubled yesterday and the man by his side, that sour-faced knight had given him quite the bad impression. But beyond that… what had they talked about yesterday? John had been drunken already and after Lucas' arrival he had drunken even more until the entire evening had turned into a blur. But somehow, the one-eyed sellsword had a bad feeling about this.

With shaky feet, John climbed down the stairs and into the inn's main room. He was greeted by Janae, who sat at their usual table by herself, eating a cold meal of bread, cheese and a hard-boiled egg. Not the breakfast he had hoped for. Her face was even less welcoming, her expression stern as usual and she greeted him with a cold nod. John in return smiled at her, his bad mood immediately gone once he saw his closest, his oldest friend. "Good morning, my maiden fair", he chuckled. "Hope your night was as decent as mine. Now, do we still have some ale left in this alehouse?"

She did not chime in on his light-hearted banter, instead her expression remained cold and severe. "We have a problem, John", she muttered. "Not the kind I expected after yesterday, but fuck it. Depending on how we deal with this, our stay here may as well have come to an end" She glanced at the kitchen door and just then, an older woman stepped out of it.

Gutten's expression dropped at once. Gunel was by far his least favourite member of the staff. A former whore, but he found it difficult to believe she ever had any success in her old profession. She was hideous, within and without and they shared a mutual dislike for each other. He knew, she and Aylard, the innkeeper, were close friends, but that did little to endear her to him.

She approached him with a grim expression, a forced smile that did not reach her eyes. Was that… concern on Gunel's face? John blinked and the sensation was gone. No, there was just the cold, bitter look of a woman who had never achieved anything in her youth. "You are in trouble, John Gutten", she hissed. "Your girl, the blonde, she's trying to calm him down, to little avail right now. Be glad he didn't smash your head in while you were asleep"

John raised an eyebrow over his eyepatch and glanced at Janae, who gave him an apologetic shrug. "It wasn't me this time, so don't give me that look", his maiden fair hissed. "Lucas screwed up big time and by being connected to him we're the ones Aylard blames for this mess"

"Lucas?", John growled. "Where is the lad? He's here for what, a few hours, and he somehow messed up that badly? Come on, what'd he do?" He sat down on the chair next to Janae and despite her severe expression, he forced a smile on his face, trying to bring some levity to the situation. By the gods, he should have stayed in bed…

His attempt at levity was ruined when the door to the kitchen got pushed open again. This time, Temari limped out, propped up by his little sister Behara. His face was badly swollen, battered and bruised. His one eye was barely open and the sight of him there sent Gutten into an immediate rage. "What the fuck!", he barked as he glared at Gunel. "Was that Aylard? If he laid a hand on one of my men, then I swear…"

It was Janae who calmed him down at once by placing a hand on his forearm. "Calm down, my bear", she spoke. "That was Lucas' friend, the handsome one. He and Tem got into a fight yesterday" With these words, she shot a brief glare at Temari himself. "An entirely avoidable, stupid fight which this idiot right here started, as I must add. He's lucky that knight spared his life"

"He tried to touch my sister", Temari interjected as he limped closer, still aided by Behara and these words on their own were even worse. Behara had been with the Gutters since she was a little child. John had no kids of his own, none he knew of, but seeing her bloom into a confident, exceptional young woman had filled him with pride and a semblance of understanding how a father must feel. Right now, a father would feel rage.

Behara let out an annoyed gasp. "He didn't…", she began, before she let go of him, so suddenly that he nearly stumbled to the floor. "Gods you're a cunt, Tem" She gave John a stern, pleading look. "Nothing happened, John", she assured him. "Just Tem being Tem, as per the usual"

Throughout this, Gunel still had her calm, worried smile on her ugly face and by now, John's brief good mood was entirely gone. Gods, he needed a drink or a fight or both. "Stop giving me that smug smirk, whore", he barked at the older woman. "Will somebody tell me why you're making these faces" Without warning, he grabbed Gunel by the shoulders and squeezed them tightly, but to his annoyance she didn't even do him the courtesy of looking afraid.

Gunel's smile stopped. "Careful now, John. You do anything rash and Aylard will have your head on a pike", she hissed, her tone spiteful and defiant. This only further angered John. Under other circumstances he would have smashed her teeth in for that, but he actually liked Aylard and the rest of his staff and for their sake, he stayed his hand.

"He can try", he growled. "Listen, I am in no mood to argue with you. Either you tell me what got you all so riled up or you get the fuck out of my sight, okay?" He crossed his arms, expectantly looking from Gunel to Janae, then to Temari, who let out a sigh before crashing down onto the nearest bench, groaning in mild pain.

"She is gone", a gruff, deep voice snarled from the kitchen and when Aylard glanced at the door, he spotted Aylard Kawl stepping through it, his son, little Sawyer, by his side. Behind them walked Samantha, looking almost concerned for once. She had one hand placed subtly on the head of the small axe she carried everywhere and her gaze on the back of Aylard's head and given how oddly angry the innkeeper seemed, it was not an ill-advised precaution. "She is gone and it is your fucking fault"

"Who…", John began, but he paused, as despite his hangover he noticed one absence among the staff. His eye widened as he realised that he should not push his luck with Aylard, not right now. With his hangover, he would not win against a man as strong as the innkeeper and he was not in the mood to provoke a fight. "Calm down, Aylard", he spoke instead. "Tell me what happened.

"What happened?", Aylard spat, his tone utterly inconsolable. "That asshole knight abducted my daughter, that happened. Your asshole knight! He's your friend, ain't it?" At this point, John had to take a step back, for Aylard was almost in his face. But this… something was not right there. Lucas abducting Lunett Kawl? The other one, the one who had messed Temari up bad, perhaps he was capable of such a deed, but Lucas? John knew him well. They were friends, after all. Lucas had not a single bad bone in his body.

He glanced at Janae and his maiden fair confirmed his sneaking suspicion with a firm nod, having likely arrived to the same conclusion hours ago. "If he took her with him…", he began. "Then he didn't force her. Any chance your girl ran away with our dear Lucas?"

If looks could kill, John would have dropped dead right now. Aylard's stare was furious enough to make even the seasoned sellsword flinch. "She is my daughter!", he barked at the top of his lungs. "She would never do this" His eyes widened and his tone was that of a man man trying to convince himself. Gutten knew that tone, for he had tried it on himself for all his life. "She would never do this...", the innkeeper mumbled again, this time he had tears in his eyes. "Oh gods, Lunett… John, you have to bring her back. They're going to Oldtown and that is no place for a girl like her!"

Once more, the sellsword looked at Janae and this time she shook her head. As per the usual, he agreed with his better half. He felt some sympathy for Aylard, aye and Lucas was a dear friend despite his young years. But he had left the Gutters by choice and though they would always be connected by a bond, he was no longer part of his unit. Gutten had no obligations to fix his messes. And as per the usual, he refused to clean up another man's mess. "I don't think we have to do anything, Aylard", he replied firmly. "This might be Lucas' fault, might be your girl's, but it ain't mine and it ain't any of ours"

This seemed to take Aylard by surprise and anger gave way to desperation. "Wait…", he gasped. "What you're saying is… I house you and your people for two weeks, let you empty my pantry, turn a blind eye on you fooling around with a girl young enough to be your daughter and that's how you repay me? I need your aid and you turn me down?"

"I repay you in coin, not in ungratefulness", John clarified firmly. By now, his headache, while still present, had taken a step back. Right now he was fully focussed on the task at hand. "You know we're just waiting for our two stragglers and then we're out of here"

This brought a new wave of sheer anger onto Aylard's face. "Well, fuck you too, John", he spat. "If that's what it takes, then I can hire you. I have saving and I can pay you to bring my daughter back to me, you money-grubbing cunt! You owe me that much!"

For a second, John contemplated it. Payment changed things drastically. He was a sword for hire after all. But his problem was of a different kind. Even if he'd agree to help, the Gutters had their duties already. He had to leave once Jaro and I'lian would arrive. He and his entire unit had signed with Harris Flowers, after all. And yet, he was not cold-hearted enough to not feel at least a pang of guilt. "I am sorry, Aylard, I know this must be hard on you, but we cannot help", he assured him. "No matter how much you're paying, the Gutters are already in a contract" He took a step towards Aylard, staring him down with a mixture of compassion and a firm, strict anger. "And I owe you nothing. We've paid in full. Once Jaro and I'lian are here, we're gone"

"Well, they're late", another voice hissed behind Aylard and John raised an eyebrow as he noticed the look on Samantha's face. It was intense and entirely focussed on John himself, no longer on the angry innkeeper. Now, where did that come from?

"Sammy, what's that going to be now?", he asked, but she did not answer. Instead, she stepped from behind Aylard and walked up right to him, her expression firm, stern and perhaps a bit angry as well.

"You heard me", she replied. "Jaro and I'lian are late. Two fucking weeks late. Who's to say they won't need another two to reach us? I am your best rider. Give me a horse and I'll bring the girl back in half that time"

John opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off at once. "And yes, you know they won't be here any sooner than that", she hissed. "You know how they are. Flighty, irresponsible… they're probably piss drunk in some roadside tavern, much like a certain sellsword I know"

This soured his mood tremendously. Samantha was the newest member of their unit and though he liked the girl, she was not as close to him as Janae or Temari were. "Aye, I know them", he growled. "Better than you do. I'lian, aye, he's the flighty one. But Jaro is the most honest man I know. They will be here any day now" He slightly tilted his head. "Besides, what got you so riled up? The girl's with Lucas! There's hardly a better man she could have run away with"

Now, her expression shifted. Gone was the anger, the assertive confidence of hers. Instead, he glimpsed at a deep-seated sorrow, the kind he had not seen in her yet. "Family is important", she merely mumbled. "Please, John. I want to do this. Hell, I'll do it free of charge and you can deduct it from my pay if that's what you want. But let me do this"

For a moment right there John was even willing to grant her this favour. And yet, he hesitated and that moment passed. The Gutters had lost over half their members over the past year and a half. John's world was crumbling around him. Samantha was the newest of their numbers, but he would not risk losing her too. As such, he shook his head. "My decision stands", he spoke, though he was unable to meet the sheer disappointment in her gaze. "The girl will be safe with Lucas" His gaze moved from her to Aylard, who subtly shook his head with anger. "And the Gutters will stay together. A few more days and then we'll leave for Raylansfair"

To be continued

Maya

"Are we there yet?"

An exasperated sigh left Maya's throat, as she glanced at her unwanted companion. It had been a cruel joke even by the standards of the Bronze Lord that he had sent Irving Todd with her, the least capable member of Gulltown's city guard. Perhaps this was a favour to Lord Grafton, sending a man he wanted to get rid off on a wild goose chase to the other end of Westeros.

Irving was a short man, around her in height but more than twice her weight, with brown hair falling down his shoulders and blue eyes that perpetually seemed tired. A small moustache covered his upper lip, one that would look charming on a sharp Braavosi sellsword, but Irving was the exact opposite of such a dashing man and on him, it looked ridiculous and misplaced. He was wearing plain grey mail as always and she was certain the armour had saved his life more than once from some drunk who just had enough of him, not that she could grudge him. Having met him, several times unfortunately for they lived in the same part of Gulltown, she had to swallow the urge to just push him overboard and call it an accident every single day of their journey, ever since they had left the Vale five days ago.

"Hey, Maya, you heard me?", Irving asked once again. "I asked you a question. Are we there yet?" His voice was high-pitched and squawking and probably his worst trait aside from his sheer incompetence. She had never taken Orson Royce to be a jesting man and yet, she could picture him, that pearly, horrifying smile of his haunted her dreams as he had a good chuckle at her and at the entire Vale's expense at the thought of having sent this… sorry excuse for a man with her.

She could tell that Gregar was similarly annoyed. Her pleasantly silent companion had kept mostly to himself ever since they had left for Gulltown, clearly displeased by her choice to go by sea, but following without a verbal complaint. His owl had joined him, an oddly domesticated breed, not that she'd know much about those beasts. It was a beautiful thing, named Ember and though she had never heard of an owl that loyal, it seemed to have a certain bond with Gregar, who, on the first night of their journey, had claimed to have basically raised her from the egg.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Maya spotted Irving opening his mouth again and this time, a sigh left her throat. "Not yet, Irving", she hissed, as she looked at the shore up ahead. It was a stupid question anyways. Crackclaw Point was lying just ahead. After three days aboard the ship, it had been Irving of all people who had seen the coastline first and ever since he wouldn't shut up about it. But he was right that the shore was near and with it their first stop on their journey, a pleasant stay with a letter of recommendation from Orson Royce himself.

"Yeah, you could have said that a little nicer", Irving moaned and the look on his face was almost as if she had insulted his mother. "I mean, the sea is nice and all, but I'm really looking forward for some solid ground beneath my feet. Honestly, maybe we should have just walked. Taking a ship just across the Bay of Crabs and then spending the night at some half-ruined keep older than the Bronze Lord's mother sounds like a stupid idea"

"If you don't kill him, I will", Gregar mumbled and Maya had barely heard him coming. Ember was quietly sitting on his shoulder and she could swear even the animal was annoyed by their companion. Yet even the owl seemed oddly unsettled by the wild land up ahead, the one they'd land on soon enough. Up ahead were steep cliffs, above them a dark, fog-shrouded forest, while a thin, pale beach ran in front of it. This was where the ship would drop them before resuming its journey to Hull.

Crackclaw Point, the peninsula just south of the Vale, a rugged and ancient place. The First Men had driven the Children of the Forest to extinction there, but the traders at Gulltown swore one could still hear them, weeping in their long-forgotten caves. It was densely forested, from afar the entire top of the wide cliffs they were steering towards was covered in trees. But between it, that much she knew from the traders and fishermen who sometimes ventured out this far, were hills and valleys and each of them had their own lord. First Men dwelled here, sometimes as savage as the mountain tribes, sometimes almost civilised. What they had in common was a distrust for outsiders and for each other. Sometimes, words reached the streets of Gulltown, of fights and entire wars breaking out between lords with names as odd as Crabb and Boggs, but even the richest of them were still poorer than any medium wealthy man from across the bay, something that surely must come as a source of anger for what she had always perceived as a proud and wayward people. Proud despite their shortcomings, for the men of Crackclaw Point had never bowed to the Andal kings.

And now, Maya was about to land on their territory, unannounced and largely unprepared. The Dyre Den was nearby, seat of what Lord Royce had called one of the most important houses of Crackclaw Point and one holding nominal allegiance to the Ironborn of House Hoare. In the distance, she saw the Dyre Den, seat of House Brune, one of the more important houses of Crackclaw Point and nominally sworn to Harren Hoare. And indeed, as she focussed carefully, she could see a trio of crooked towers rising from between the trees, ancient and windswept, but made of sturdy stone. "We will be there soon, Irving", she muttered.

"And we're being awaited", he spoke as he stepped up right next to her. "I see half a dozen men on the shore and a sixth on horseback, probably their leader. Must be the entire guard of the Dyre Den coming to greet us" Maya narrowed her eyes, but despite her best attempts, she barely spotted moving figures on the shore. Well, at least Irving was good for one thing, for his eyesight was admittedly spectacular.

For once, even Gregar let out a mildly impressed whistle. "Good catch, Irving", he admitted. "Now if only your cooking would be half as good, then maybe you'd be tolerable at times" His stern tone was accompanied by a gruff smirk which he directed at Maya. She reciprocated in kind. By now, a harsh wind was pressing against them, howling from the forested chasms of Crackclaw Point, sharp enough for Maya to wrap herself deeper into the thick, rune-covered cloak Lord Royce had gifted her with.

Gregar's comment earned him a surprisingly stern glare from Irving, who had opted for the role of their cook over the past few days, something Maya had been glad to grant hm, for she had neither talent nor patience for that craft. "Fuck you too, Gregar", the man muttered. "I'll have you know I am considered the second-best cook in my garrison. If you're having a problem with my cooking, then feed it to your bird and starve for all I care"

Gregar shrugged and grim as he usually was, he clearly enjoyed this. "I would, but not even Ember eats the muck you create", he chuckled. "I've eaten moss tastier than what you whipped up yesterday"

Irving gulped and perhaps even he had to silently admit that his latest meal had not been his best creation. "Well, your bird's opinion hardly counts", he complained. "She only eats mice and the worst bits of fish. Oh and her own shit. I forgot the shit. Bet the two of you got that in common" He shrugged. "But if you don't appreciate my cooking, why don't we make Ember our cook?", he added. "Back me up there, Maya!"

Maya raised both hands, unable to fully stifle a smile at the jabs between her companions, taking a step back to indicate that she'd much rather remain out of this. Gregar, however, exchanged a brief glance with her. "Can I please throw him overboard?", he asked. "We're close enough to the shore, he can swim the rest of the way. Or perhaps we'll meet a slaver nearby to take care of him. Heard they're doing business on these shores sometimes"

To this, Maya gently placed a hand on his forearm. "That is enough now, Gregar. You know we'd have to pay the slavers to take him", she spoke with a smirk. "Lord Royce sent Irving with us for a reason, I wager. You're bound to a different lord, but I have learned not to question his decisions. Nor his reasons for sending us on this route for our first stop. At least this Lord Brune will receive us, if that escort by the shore is any indicator"

"Not sure if that's a good thing", Irving admitted. "I heard people talk in Gulltown. They say Trymon Brune is a bitter old man whose own sons shun him for the company of Maidenpool whores. He had to marry his only daughter to old Lord Crabb. The man has no love for the rich lords of the Vale and even less for us. Perhaps that's just me being realistic, because someone here has to be, but I wouldn't expect too much hospitality"

His tone was glum and sour as always, but this time something within it made Maya listen. To her surprise, even Gregar seemed to agree. By now, her quiet companion had his gaze fixed on the shore, where half a dozen armed men had gathered under the leadership of one man on horseback. "For once, I agree with Irving", he growled. "We need to stay alert while we're there"

It was not long after this that they arrived at the shore on a small rowboat they had paid the captain for. The man had staunchly refused to get any closer to the treacherous coast of Crackclaw Point, where sharp, jagged rocks were hidden right beneath the water. As such, it fell onto Gregar to row them to the shore. He had adamantly insisted that she would not burden herself with that task in a surprisingly gallant gesture. Then again, she was the Ambassador of Runestone now and though she had decided immediately never to pull rank on her companions, she had to look the part for those guards on the shore. A task as menial as rowing a boat was beneath her now.

After much whining, Irving had agreed to take a paddle as well, but after he had almost managed to sink the boat by steering it dangerously close to the submerged rocks, it had fallen entirely onto Gregar to bring them ashore, a task the gruff scout had undertaken without complaint. And though he clearly preferred the land over the sea, he was surprisingly good at rowing, swiftly getting them closer and closer to the shore.

By now, the cliffs were looming over them to the left and the three crooked towers of the Dyre Den were entirely out of sight on top of it. The fog seemed thicker here, but Maya had no trouble spotting the armed guards waiting for them at the shore and behind them a narrow, beaten path that led into the forest and up the cliffs. Somewhere in the distance to the right, where the forest grew thinner, Maya saw a small village, little more than a dirty street and a few rundown houses, with ill-clad men and women doing their day's work there.

The guards were not much different. Though armed with chainmail, the clothes beneath were dirty and dishevelled. They were armed with simple spears, though none were pointed at the three strangers that had just arrived at their shores. Maya immediately decided that she did not like the way they looked at her and her companions. It was more likely to her that they had hoped the ship would indeed steer a bit closer, so that they could plunder from its sunken spoils once the rocks would take their toll.

Their leader, the man on horseback, was a different sight entirely. Unlike these thin, dirty men with their greedy expressions, he was tall and well-built, handsome albeit at least a decade her senior. And where they were plain, with pale, slightly misshapen faces, he had sharp, clean features, with dark hair and attentive grey eyes. There was a hint of early grey at the sides of his hair, which he kept short, while a stubble beard grew on his chin. He was the only one among them who wore actual armour, if plain and battle-worn and she had no doubt that he was the only one among these men with any proper combat experience.

The moment they reached the shore, he dismounted from his horse and approached the trio on his own, while his men remained behind, waiting and carefully watching them. He was armed with a longsword and one wrist rested casually on its hilt, but he had made no attempt to draw his weapon and his entire body language was not threatening in the least. Without hesitation he stepped into the water until it reached his ankles, before he helped Maya out of the boat. Despite her heavy boots, the coldness of the water hit her, an uncomfortable sensation when paired with this cold, foggy air.

"Mylady", the stranger greeted her as he escorted her the final few steps to the shore. Then, he took an impeccable and gallant bow in front of her. "You must be the one the Bronze Lord announced by raven a few days ago. I am Ser Aldrik Wolver, in service of House Brune of the Dyre Den. May I say it is a pleasure to finally put a face to the ambassador Lord Royce praised so highly"

Behind her, Gregar climbed out of the rowboat with practised ease, while Irving nearly managed to fall into the shallow water. Maya glanced over her shoulder until she was certain he wouldn't embarrass her in front of this well-mannered knight, before she took a brief curtsy. "Maya Iresons, Ambassador of Runestone", she introduced herself. "The two behind me are Gregar and Irving. We arrive from Runestone on an urgent errand. I suppose I can expect the Lord of the Dyre Den to receive us graciously?"

For a second, the calm facade of Ser Aldrik's face cracked slightly, but she could not quite place his expression before firm, aloof neutrality returned. "Lord Brune will receive you, yes", he confirmed. "He has sent me and my men to welcome you on his shores and to make sure that you find the way up to the Dyre Den. You will be his guests for a short while, you will receive food and drink from his table and enjoy the small comforts House Brune can offer travellers in these lands"

After a few days at sea with only Irving's cooking for comfort, this sounded decent and while Maya expected little of the windswept towers she had seen over the cliff, she was looking forward for a dry bed and a hot meal. And yet, something about his tone made Maya hesitate. "I presume there are terms, Ser Aldrik?", she asked, unwilling to fully relax in the company of this knight and his men"

The hedge knight had the decency to nod at once instead of downplaying or denying it. "I was also tasked with disarming you", he replied and to his credit, he did not seem to enjoy delivering these terms. "The garrison of the Dyre Den is small compared to the armies the lords of your kingdom can field and Lord Brune will not risk a threat to the safety of his men by inviting three armed strangers into his halls, even those walking with the blessing of the Bronze Lord.

And there it was. Maya tensed up at once as he spoke these terms, but it was Gregar who replied first. "No way", he growled. "We're not going to give up our weapons and just trust your lord. Heard enough about him to be wary. So unless you intend to force us, I suggest you stick those terms where the sun won't shine"

A wry smile flashed across Aldrik's face. "I take no pleasure in it, but I am afraid I must insist" As soon as he said these words, Maya saw movement in the trees a few dozen feet behind him. From the edge of the forest stepped something large, though slow and calm. Its mere presence was enough for Ember to shriek and fly up and Maya herself tensed up with terror as she recognized the being as a wolf… or something looking like a wolf at least, for it was much, much larger than the common beasts she knew from her homeland. In fact, she had seen ponies smaller than this one. It was huge and black and yet as calm as Ser Aldrik as it approached them, none of the guards nor the horse seeming bothered by its presence. She had heard of direwolves living north of the Neck, but never had she seen one before, nor expected to finally do so this far to the south.

Behind her, Irving let out a high-pitched, terrified gasp, while Gregar grabbed his axe firmly, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. Ser Aldrik noticed her gaze, as the massive wolf walked up to them. "Please, do not be startled by Knightfang", he spoke. "My loyal companion is not here to harm you and neither am I"

Finally, Maya managed to break her silence, though her voice was thin and surprisingly shaky, as she felt a growing fear in the presence of this huge creature. "That is… that is a direwolf, isn't it? I thought they were all but gone south of the Neck"

To this, Aldrik shook his head. "They are rare, but the remote corners of this world are still a sanctuary for them. Besides, both he and I hail from north of the Neck" By now, the beast had reached them and gently, Aldrik scratched its head. "He is a loyal friend and bonded to me since he was a mere pup. Knightfang is a calm and noble creature, not easily roused unless I am threatened"

His words, while spoken calmly and in a nonchalant tone, were enough for Gregar to lower his axe. "So… if I get this right you won't bring us to Lord Brune unless we give up our weapons", Maya stated. "In that case, as Gregar so eloquently put, no fucking way. Tell your lord that we will replenish our supplies in the village and then be on our way"

As she said these words, the men behind the knight grew visibly more nervous. One of them even lowered his spear for a second, before another gave him a jab with his elbow. It was by then that Maya understood what was going on here. Ser Aldrik let out a sigh. "I am afraid that by now, Lord Brune has grown… quite curious about the reasons for your coming. Lord Royce has praised you highly and he wishes to converse with you", the knight stated firmly. "I must insist on you accompanying me, as I must insist on you giving up your arms"

While Irving took a nervous step back, his feet touching the water once more, Maya remained calm and collected. She had expected trouble, though she had hoped for the best. At the least, this Ser Aldrik seemed civil enough. By contrast, Gregar was anything but civil. "Back of, you and your cur!", he snarled. "You want my axe? You'll have to force me"

Aldrik was visibly unimpressed by this threat. "I beg you to take a look at the men behind me and reconsider", he replied. "I could take you by force and easily so, but I would much prefer to deal with this in a civil way. Lord Brune's intentions are not unkind, I assure you of it" Once again, Maya had a hard time believing these words, but by now, she saw little hope to resist. This was decidedly not what Lord Royce had promised when he had sent her across the Bay of Crabs. Another cruel jest… or perhaps the Bronze Lord was not even nearly as cunning as she had thought him to be if he'd send her to a man as mercurial as Trymon Brune.

"And may I ask what the lord's intentions are?", Maya asked, crossing her arms before her chest, trying to straighten her back to reach even a fraction of Ser Aldrik's impressive height. "Are we prisoners of the Dyre Den? In that case, I must advise your lord to be cautious. He would anger Runestone by waylaying me"

"Lord Brune wishes to talk", Aldrik assured her and this time, his tone seemed more earnest. "He insists you will be his guests for a single night, during which he will host you. You will have dinner and he will listen to your tales. If I understood my lord correctly, he also wishes your aid in a specific manner regarding your liege, ambassador. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

Though his words were calm, the direwolf behind him lowered his head and let out a single deep growl, sudden enough to make Irving gasp in fear. She heard his sword dropping into the wet sand behind her and rolled her eyes at his sheer cowardice. "Take it!", he yelped. "Take it! Keep it! I don't even want it, just… show mercy!"

Aldrik gave him a firm nod, while two of his men approached Gregar from the side. Though he clearly was a skilled fighter who could take any of these ill-equipped men with ease, they were outnumbered and Irving would be of no use to them in this situation. As such, Maya knew at once that resistance was futile. And while she herself had been trained by Lord Royce's agents, she was certain that she was no match for a battle-hardened knight such as Ser Aldrik, to speak nothing of his direwolf.

"Stand down, Gregar", she sighed, noticing the sheer reluctance that flashed over his face. Though sworn to Lord Redfort, he was a man of the wilds, solitary and not used to following orders such as the one she had given him just now. With these words, she sent a glare towards Aldrik, so fierce that his companion bared his fangs at her. "We are your prisoners then, aren't we?"

The knight hesitated and finally shook his head. "An ugly word and not one I would use", he spoke while behind her, the two men reached for Gregar's axe, which he handed over with an audible sigh of anger. "I am simply following my orders here. Lord Brune hired me to do his bidding, but I have never dishonoured my knightly vows and neither will I do so today. I give you my word that you are protected in the Dyre Den"

"Hired, eh?", Gregar spat. He still held onto the hilt of his axe, but by now, one of the men had grabbed it as well, though he made no attempt at either wielding it or letting go of it. "So you're not sworn to House Brune. What are you, a sellsword knight?"

"I am a hedge knight", Aldrik admitted. "Lord Brune was not my first master nor will he be my last, as I presume. But for the time being I serve him and I intend to do so well" With these words, he extended one hand. "The knife you're carrying, Ambassador Iresons. Hand it over please. Surely you do not intend to force my hand"

She narrowed her eyes, before slowly, but steadily reaching for her dagger. Wisely she had hidden the second one behind her back, beneath the runic cloak that he would not take from her. It gave her a sense of safety to keep at least one small weapon close at hand even if it was unlikely to be of much use against this man should he stand against her. Still, he had seen the other dagger, the one she openly presented on her belt and though she remained reluctant, she removed the scabbard from her belt. "Give up the axe, Gregar", she spoke. "Please, just trust me"

Gregar let out a muffled curse. "This is fucking stupid", he snarled, but he did as she had asked of him, letting go of the axe, before spitting before the feet of the man who had taken it from him. "You lot do anything foolish now and the Bronze Lord will have your heads, you hear me?"

Ser Aldrik did not seem impressed and there was something in his tone that Maya wanted to believe in. She was worldly enough to not blindly trust in the word of a knight, but he seemed the honest sort, even if he was technically little more than a sellsword by his own admission. As such, she handed over one of her daggers. The second she kept, if all else would fail. "That would be all then, Ser Aldrik", she assured him.

The hedge knight held his gaze as he grabbed the dagger. Then, he gave her an approving nod, but just as he was about to turn around, one of his men, a weasel-faced blackguard, stepped up and unlike Aldrik's calm, honest expression, Maya did not like the way he kept his gaze on her. "Are you just taking her word for it, Ser?", he asked. "I mean, she has been sent by that Bronze Cunt… shouldn't we at least search her?"

She tensed up for but a moment, fearing what Aldrik would do next. If he'd search her, or worse, if he'd grant of his men the pleasure, then they'd undoubtedly find the dagger. To her relief, Aldrik almost immediately shook his head. "Would you have me search a lady?", he asked, his calm briefly raised with disdain. "The Lady Ambassador assured me she is unarmed now and I will not sully her honour by doubting her words" He glanced at Gregar and Irving. "Search the other two but be quick about it", he added, before looking at the sky. "Night will fall soon and Lord Brune will want to speak to his new guest"

This was an unexpected decency and Maya could not quite keep her furious gaze as she glared at him. Instead, it softened if slightly and to her surprise, a calm, thin smile formed beneath Aldrik's beard. "If you are ready then, Lady Ambassador, allow me to escort you to your host", he spoke, as he offered his arm much in the same way a true knight would have done for a noble lady. But he was a glorified sellsword and she was no noble lady. They had both lied to each other today and she would not keep up a needless charade. Instead of grabbing his arm, she left him standing as she strode past him.

After a few feet, she stopped, glancing over her shoulder at the hedge knight. "Are you coming then, Ser Aldrik?", she chirped. "I tire of this. Bring me to Lord Brune so that I can tell him what exactly I think of the way his men have treated us on his shores" She narrowed her eyes. "I will comply with your demands only as far as I have to. Take me prisoner at your peril"

For a second, Aldrik gazed at her utterly baffled by this defiance. Then, a genuine and quite pleasant smile flashed over his face, as he bowed his head ever so slightly. "As you wish, Ambassador Iresons", he spoke and quickly caught up to her. His direwolf kept up with ease, but by now the fearsome beast had grown entirely calm, at least in such close proximity to its master. But she would not make the mistake of assuming it docile, for it could kill the three of them with ease if angered.

Behind him, his men flanked Gregar and another one pushed Irving forward, not that the latter would have ever resisted. In his hand, Aldrik held the dagger, inspecting it carefully. "This is a fine weapon, mylady", he stated. "A gift from Runestone, as I wager. I will make sure it will be returned to you at the end of your stay"

They began their ascent up the winding path that led through the outskirts of the forest and up the cliffs. From here, Maya once again saw the towers of the Dyre Den and from this close they seemed derelict. This was an old castle, perhaps no younger than Runestone, but where House Royce had the funds of keeping their massive mountain fortress in a good state, House Brune quite obviously hadn't. As such, Lord Trymon seemed to dwell in a crumbling keep, a lonely and bitter man if what Irving had told her was true.

Speaking of the Stranger, they had pushed Irving closer towards her and she could hear his ragged, scared breathing. "Maya…", he gasped. "Maya I hope you know what you're doing, because this is just the worst. I don*t want to sound pessimistic, but if you don't have a plan, then…"

"Irving, can you kindly shut up", she replied with a sigh and to her surprise and pleasure, he indeed did as he was told for once, allowing her to focus on the steep path up ahead, leading up and up and up the cliff, through the outskirts of the dense forest. To her left she could see the cold, harsh sea of the Bay of Crabs, but what briefly caught her attention was the sight to her right, where the forest grew down a hill, before opening to reveal a dramatic, haunting landscape, a fog-shrouded valley from which massive trees and odd, jagged stones rose from the mists that covered the ground.

"A beautiful sight, isn't it?", Ser Aldrik remarked, his tone one of earnest wonder as he followed her gaze. "I have lived here for six years now and I still cannot get enough of it. It is true that this castle holds little to the splendours of Runestone, but there will not be a day where I don't feel content as I watch the beauty of Crackclaw Point's nature"

Maya had to admit that there was a certain beauty to this scenery, but at the same time it was of a cold, hostile and dangerous kind. She much preferred the rugged and rocky hills of the Vale, where only sparse trees grew and she could see any possible danger from miles away. In these forests, anything could hide. And fittingly, the keep of the Dyre Den, which she just now managed to see clearly, rose from between the forest like a giant of old, like an ancient beast freshly roused.

A squishing sound, followed by a muffled but quite explicit curse, made her glance over her shoulder at Irving, who had a sour expression on his face as he gazed down at his boot. He met her stare, giving her an annoyed shrug. "I stepped into the beauty of nature", he moaned.

From up close, the Dyre Den would have been a pitiful sight, pathetic even, if not for her rather unfortunate situation at the time, which made even this place look intimidating. The three towers were surrounded by a short wall made up of much newer stone, partially fixed with wooden parts. There was a gate, but it stood open and the narrow gatehouse was not large enough for a proper portcullis. Two guards stood above it and she could see a third, as well as a handful of servants hurrying across the courtyard. They didn't even sound a horn to announce the new arrivals.

Ser Aldrik was the only man here who seemed dangerous in any way, as well as competent enough to act on it. And yet, for some reason he was the only man here whom she was willing to trust to some degree, if only due to the honest respect he had shown her so far. She had to wonder just how the lord of this crumbling keep managed to pay a man such as him.

Two guards, clad in worn leather, hurried towards the group, saluting Ser Aldrik once they reached him, to which the hedge knight gave them a nod. "Send word to Lord Brune", he intoned. "Announce that the Lady Ambassador Maya Iresons of Runestone is honouring us with her presence!" While his tone seemed earnest in its entirety, one of the guard's gasped as he heard this and he sent a fierce glare towards Maya that gave her some pause.

Once the men were gone, heading towards the largest of the three towers, Aldrik pointed at another, the farthest of the three towers, a crooked thing standing all by itself, surrounded only by crumbling walls. "Please, Lady Ambassador and companions", he spoke. "While we await for Lord Brune, I will escort you to our guest rooms. You may stay there until called upon"

"You mean we have to stay there", Maya corrected him, but he did not reply. Instead, he quietly led them across the courtyard, towards the far end, where grass and weeds had grown through wide cracks in the ancient stone that had once covered it all. The tower, though undeniably sturdy, looked downright crooked from up close, a narrow, tall building with a few open slits on each floor. A steep, winding staircase was inside and without hesitation, Aldrik began to climb it, with Maya, Irving and Gregar following close by.

The hedge knight stopped at the first floor, pointing at an open door. Behind it, Maya could see a small room with two beds and a single chair as its sole furniture, with a small opening in the wall allowing the occupants some light and fresh air, even if it was more chilly than anything right now. "The men will stay here", he decided and under his calming smile, a visibly disgruntled Gregar was the first to step into the room.

"You mean to tell me I have to share a room with Gregar?", Irving gasped, as he gave Maya a brief, pleading look, but she merely rolled her eyes, as one of Aldrik's guards practically pushed him into the room. "Hold on, I…", Irving began again, but the guard slammed the door shut, just as Maya felt Aldrik's hand on her shoulder.

With a grim feeling in her gut, she continued her climb, with the hedge knight by her side. Much to her chagrin she heard the sound of a lock being turned below. They were being locked in. Guests, yes, but prisoners in all but name at the same time. So much for the questionable hospitality of the Dyre Den.

Only she and Aldrik climbed up to the second floor, where a sole room was waiting for her. It was not any larger than the narrow space Gregar and Irving had to share, but at least she would have it to herself. Still, she did not stifle a glare as she walked past Ser Aldrik, who politely held the door for her.

"And when can I expect Lord Trymon to call for us?", Maya asked. "How long do I have to stay in this…" She made a dramatic hand gesture around the small, chilly room she had all for herself. Truth be told, it was still a room within a keep, even if it was little more than a prison cell and the Dyre Den a pitiful ruin.

"Lord Trymon will call for you soon", Aldrik promised. "Perhaps an hour or two. But I am sure he will want to share a meal with you and believe it or not, the preparations for it will take some time" He offered her a small, honest smile which she did not reciprocate. "Until then, I trust you will stay here, rest and recover from your journey and await the lord's call"

"Not as if I have much of a choice", Maya mumbled, before a last, desperate gamble crossed her mind. "One more thing, Ser Aldrik" The hedge knight raised an eyebrow, silent, but indicating that he was willing to listen, to a certain degree. She took a deep breath, before beginning to speak again. "You do know what you're doing here is foolish, don't you?", she asked. "Antagonising an ambassador of the Vale, aiding the Lord Brune in whatever scheme he is cooking up right now…"

"Salmon, if I am not mistaken", Aldrik interjected and for a second, she was baffled by the dry tone in his voice. "I understand what you are implying, Lady Ambassador. But please, while it is only the two of us, why don't you do me the favour of speaking it out aloud?" It was a silent challenge, she realised at once, to doubt him, to dare questioning his loyalty. And yet, what loyalty was there to be found in this keep. Ser Aldrik was clearly a worldly man. He could have served many lords and yet he had chosen the lord of a ruin. There was something else at play here.

"I want you to consider what you have to lose for aiding Lord Brune in waylaying me", she told him. "And what you might have to gain for endearing yourself to Lord Royce and his representative. Protect me, Ser Aldrik, and I will make sure that you shall be compensated for it and richly so"

The hedge knight was quiet after she had spoken these words, one of his hands resting on the doorframe. "Lord Brune is not an evil man", he claimed. "He will not harm you, this I promise. You would do well to… remember this" He gave her a deep, respectful nod. "Rest now, Lady Ambassador", he added. "We will see each other again very soon" With these words and before she could get another one out, he closed the door, leaving Maya alone in her cell, waiting for Lord Brune. Waiting for the things to come.

To be continued

Forum of Thrones - An Interactive Story

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