Several suns had risen and fallen before a raven returned from Harrenhal giving formal acceptance for Wyllem to visit, since that sable feathered bird had returned his stomach had been a tangle of knots. This was to be his first meeting with his liege Lord and though Wyllem could shrug off insults hurled at him from behind his back or afar, to be facing them was another. Would Whent resent him for his lowbirth? Would the man snicker and degrade him for the audacity of asking for his daughters hand? These thoughts nagged at him, gnawed even. It took every bit of courage he had to mount his palfrey and ride east though he felt some comfort in his company that rode with him. Maester Gerold and Kenric trodded along on either side of him with ten of his household guard trailing behind.
It was a small host, most likely to earn a few laughs if spotted by some Great Lord, but for Wyllem to travel with a caravan would simply be too costly and this early on in his reign over his Lordship every gold dragon was worth twice its fetching price to him and required to be spent only under the utmost urgency and need. As for the road east to his lieges keep it was more a trail traversed by wild game than men and at times they need unhorse to guide their steeds through narrow thickets and across rampant streams, thankfully the road to Harrenhall was short and it was soon upon them on the horizon, it's mighty hold standing like a mountain in the distance.
It was only as they approached that the grandeur of Harren the Black's castle faded away, the towers looked twisted and sickly from Balerion's fury all those centuries ago and when they passed through its portcullis, the inner parts of the keep did not fare any better. Buildings within sat with caved in roofs, grass and weed had grown over in many places while livestock ran free unattended. For the size of the keep he laid claim to, Lord Whent looked to have less than a quarter of the people needed to ensure its upkeep. It was a relief for Wyllem to see, all that pondering of how a greater House was set to judge him, and here by his own opinion they did not appear to be in better shape than his own meager holding.
Looking behind him, Wyllem eyed his escort as they dismounted and handed the reins of their horses over to Harrenhall's stable hands. Specifically he spied his guard for whom he had paid garment makers in Streamstone to fashion tunics for, despite being made of poor cloth and the Goose emblazoned on their chest being misproportioned in parts, it helped them look a unison force and gave him a sense of pride regardless of the cheap looking result. Besides, after seeing the state of Harrenhall, who was he trying to impress?
"Good greetings Lord Wetley! On behalf of my Lord father I humbly welcome you as guests to Harrenhal!" Came a nasely voice that had Wyllem cranking his neck to view a young man dressed in a yellow doublet speckled with the black bat of House Whent, his face cleanly shaven as long curls of a dark amber fell in a bunch about his neck. Lord Whent's son presumably given the man's words of welcome.
In reply, Wyllem gave a nod and slipped from his saddle to stand. "You've my gratitude for the warm welcoming though I've not the pleasure to have made your aquaintance as of yet."
"Steffon Whent," the man introduced himself proudly. "Heir to Harrenhal."
"Ah, my House's future liege then," Wyllem replied, he made a show of a bow to ensure Lord Walter's son felt respected.
"I shouldn't think to be for some while, I am pleased to say my father remains in pristine health," declared Steffon, he offered a thin smile and gestured to a bulky tower behind him, the largest of the castles monstrous four. "Speak of him, I should inform you that he awaits your presence and I dare say you shouldnt keep him waiting long."
"Of course," agreed Wyllem, half turning he looked to address his enterouge. "Kenric, you and your men may take leave. Maester with me."
Kenric gave a curt huff of understanding before breaking to bark out orders at his men while Maester Gerold shuffled up to Wyllem's side, his cloudy hazel eyes scanning the gargantuan tower they were to enter once over.
"Several tragedies have occurred here since this place was built," whispered Gerold. "Be wary while here, my Lord."
"I didn't take you for the superstitious type Maester," replied Wyllem, beginning to walk once Steffon Whent took off before them.
"I'm not, I'm a man well studied in history and any historian knows the tales told of Harrenhall well," returned Gerold solemnly. "Dark deeds transpire easily within this castle's walls and for the unlucky few who happen to be the target of them, well simply put, it does not end kindly."
"Fear not Gerold for luck has been at my side as of late," stated Wyllem confidently. "I'd not be Lord of the Rill as I am if I hadn't would I?"
They continued in silence after that, following behind the heir of Harrenhall as he knowingly lead them up a steep set of winding stairs. It was dark within the tower's walls with only one torch lit for every five to guide their way as thin window sills provided some extra light, but the day was giving away to nightfall and Wyllem expected the tower to be eclipsed in utter darkness before they reached Lord Whent's hall and he wasn't wrong. When at last they came upon the overly large double doors that lead to the great hall, there were mere speckles of light within, the greatest source of which was an enormous iron ringed chandelier that hung overhead and was alight with a hundred candles.
At the far end of the open hall stood some thirty men conversing amongst themselves in a mass, all of whom stood before a stone dias where an ornately carved oak chair hosted the arse of a thin man Wyllem could only fathom to be Lord Walter Whent. He followed Steffon's gesture to approach and fell to a knee when he finally came before the dias.
"Lord Whent, I give thanks for granting me and my company as guests to your keep and the honor of paying fealty," he announced, keeping his head lowered.
"Rise, Lord Wyllem, I'll have the chance to look upon you whole and take measure," replied Walter.
Doing as bid, Wyllem rose and met the man's gaze. He was a skinny fellow with shaggy golden-brown locks that fell just below his beard covered jaw. Sleepless bags hanged under Walter's eyes and the man looked much older than he truly was by Wyllem's opinion.
"So this is to be my new bannerman, the savior of Tully's daughter himself. Given the tale told of your heroic deed I imagined you to be a lumbering oaf," stated Walter Whent. "I'm pleased to see you've more poise."
Wyllem pushed forth a tentative smile. "I am quick to learn the customs expected of a man held in my position and have never been regarded as an oaf before. But as it please you, my Lord, an oaf I shall be."
A low chuckle escaped Whent and the man beckoned Wyllem to draw closer to an open seat laid out beside him. "Come Wetley, rest your rear. It's no short ride from here to Rippledown Rill, I've ridden it a few times myself in my years at Lord Tully's request."
Lifting himself up, Wyllem passed the hoard of courtiers around the dias to take the offered seat at Whent's side. At this distance Wyllem figured he could count each wrinkle etched upon his liege's face at this distance. "A five days ride at a casual pace, I should hope I did not keep you waiting on me long."
"Long enough, though not as long as I have thought to have Rippledown Rill apart of my High Lordship. Lord Hoster was wise to have made you my vassal as were you by coming to pay homeage as soon as you have. I value loyalty in my bannermen, and should you prove to be so I should think we shall live in peace," noted Walter. "Are you loyal, Lord Wyllem?"
"To a fault, my Lord," answered Wyllem firmly. Maester Gerold had done well to educate him along their travels about oaths of fealty and guarantees of being faithful. "If you would permit it I would be honored to make an oath to you and your House pledging as much."
Walter seemed satisfied and eased back to a lounging position in his chair. "I shall have your oath, Wetley, on the morrow. This night we shall feast and drink in celebration. What say you?"
"I say I could very well eat," replied Wyllem.
The festivities that eve played out in a fashion the Lord of Rippledown Rill was most pleased with, roasted boar and all the fixings to go along with it was the main centerpiece to the side dishes and drinks of wine and mead that flowed endlessly. He had conversed with Lord Whent throughout the evening and felt as though he was making gains in currying his liege's favour Wyllem believed, which made him feel all the more foolish when he had spotted Lord Whent's daughter Sarra from across the hall. In a flowing gown of gold that swished with her every turn, Wyllem was captivated by her and flush with drunken courage of how the evening had gone so far with his ability to make the Lord of Harrenhal chortle and laugh, it was the self-confidence of how he read that evening which forced him to strike up a conversation with her father.
"She's of fair beauty your daughter is," he quipped, earning the inqueistive peer from Lord Walter.
"She is," Lord Walter affirmed, turning slowly to follow Wyllem's gaze across the hall to where Sarra Whent twirled about the room in cohesion with the music that was played by a group tucked away in the corner.
"I've heard word she is yet to have found a suitor," commented Wyllem.
The hand Walter had grasped around his goblet visually tightened. "She will when the right one comes along, I've had many discussions with many a Lord who have given inquire."
"And yet none have caught your attention as fitting to stand at her side?" Asked Wyllem, again he saw Walter's hand tighten about his goblet, could the man grip it any tighter it might very well have bent.
"If this is your attempt to wade into the waters of asking for my daughters hand I urge you to stalk back onto land, Wetley," came Walter's sudden warning, he craned his neck to look at Wyllem through narrowed eyes. "I enjoy you Wyllem, but I do not have love for you or your upstart House. The day I let my daughter wed you will be the day House Whent no longer sits as the Lords of Harrenhall."
It was a stinging insult straight to Wyllem's pride, but he hoped to look nonchalant as he bit out a humble reply. "It would have been bold of me to ask, I meant no insult."
"I took it not as one lest you persist in your attempt, now drink and let the subject be dead between us," commanded Whent sternly.
Drink Wyllem did, nor did he stop until his vision had blurred and Maester Gerold with one of his Houseguard had dragged him from the hall to his guest chambers. When he awoke, head throbbing and throat dryer than a field in a drought Wyllem wasted no time in seeking audience with Lord Walter, there before the man slumped in his oak chair looking just as hungover and unwell from last night's merriment as Wyllem felt. The Lord of Harrenhal listened and accepted Wyllem's stumbling oath of fealty before he gave the man some hasty excuse requiring that he leave at once for The Rill.
"It is quite regrettable Lord Whent was not open to your offer of marriage," Gerold noted when they were back on the mud road west.
Wyllem grunted and took a drag of from his waterskin. "Regrettable. The man looked to me as if I were the dung of some mule having grown legs and asked to be his equal."
"Mayhaps a marriage with a House of similar standing to that of your own is best pursued," suggested Gerold. "I shall compile a list of candidates upon our return should you wish."
"It matters not if every Lord and Lady views me as kindly as a pox," grumbled Wyllem, he willed the aching at his temples to fade away but the drink of the prior night was destined to haunt him all day he felt.
"New blood into the ranks of nobility is always frowned upon at the start, my Lord, the Whent's themselves were the servants to the Lothston's of Harrenhall before they usurped their seat," provided Gerold. "Now they are a prestigious House who can claim a member of having served as a Kingsguard."
"Aye, best not to forget Harrenhall and their profound status of prestige as they sit Lord over the realms largest keep, the castle itself commands the respect of others. The Rill on the other hand might as well be Harrenhal's outhouse," quipped Wyllem.
"You want to be looked at more fondly by your fellow lordlings then you need to grow your holdings up from some backwater," came the rough voice of Kenric from aside.
Wyllem shifted in his saddle to eye the man who rarely spoke. "Grow my holdings? Have I not already sought to reap the woods for lumber in hopes to gain further coin?"
"A financial venture with uncertain returns by my wager," said Kenric, he drew one hand from the reins of his mount and rested it atop the handle of the sheathed sword dangling at his hip. "Quickest way to increase your fortune is with steel, give me the word and good cause to support it and I'll bring you more fortune than any axe splitting wood ever will."
"This is not advice to heed, my Lord," intervened Maester Gerold. "Bloodshed is a heavy price to pay for any gain."
Wyllem ignored Gerold, finding more interest in Kenric. "And what blood could I shed? I have no claim to any other lands to even raise a sword for."
"Blackwoods and Brackens have been spilling blood for years for lesser reasons," commented Kenric with an air of correctness that Wyllem could not refute.
Turning back to Maester Gerold riding on his left, Wyllem eyed the man over and remembered the ragtag history of Rippledown Rill he had compiled before leaving Oldtown, there was something there he felt something that stuck to him but he had overlooked in that moment when the Maester had first read it to him. "That history of my Lordship you compiled, did you not write that the lands of the Rill once extended into the Lordship of Darkmoor?"
The old Maester looked none to be pleased to be asked such question but answered none the less. "From what I found of land titles archived at the Citadel there was a time Rippledown Rill held land as far south as Darkmoor, but that was ages ago long before even the lands came to be in Tully hands."
"Yet one could argue the lands of Darkmoor had been unjustly taken from the Rill, no?" Questioned Wyllem curiously.
"How the lands came to be under the thumb of House Goodbrooke is unclear from what I could gather, but to try and lay claim to it now, it would be a stretch to find good cause," answered Gerold.
"Correct me if I'm wrong Maester, but House Goodbrooke rules from Lakehaven a seat southeast from where Darkmoor sits do they not?"
"Regardless it still falls under their High Lordship, my Lord, the lands are theirs whether a member of their House sits there at the moment or not," Gerold stated firmly, it was plainly evident the learned man was not taken with this path of discussion but Wyllem cared not.
Darkmoor may be the Goodbrookes, but it was only theirs for now thought Wyllem. He looked back to Kenric, the quiet man had unsuspectingly earned his admiration, it was an ambitious suggestion of his Master-at-Arms to make but for Wyllem who was ambitious in his new role as a Lord found it a tempting proposition to increase his standing amongst the Riverlords who undoubtably looked down on him and his House.
The lands of Darkmoor consumed his mind the entirety of their return trek back to the Rill, ideas and plots of how to gain it for his House came to him endlessly, but alas, he knew some old parchment found by his Maester was hardly enough reason to convince others that his claim for the land was strong, he needed a claim that none could deny or question, he needed the blessing of the Seven.
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