Chapter 66: SI POV XVIII
Early 162 AC
Morning was not early for me for once, as I managed to remain asleep until the smell of cooking was well and truly wafting throughout the camp. The sun had risen in the eastern sky enough that when I emerged from my tent, the need for torches had long since faded, and the path to the Reach contingent was already crowding with moving men and horses, readying themselves for the first round of tourney events this day. It was the sort of chaos that reminded me of the camps during the war, only we didn't have to worry about 'bandits' or raiders attacking us to disrupt supplies or cause casualties. No bandit that valued their life would attempt anything within range of this great gathering of men with sharp weapons and warhorses capable of running down anyone on foot.
Still, having guards around did put my mind at ease, and allowed me to peruse through the various challenges occurring at this grand tourney. I'd rather not engage in the melee, I wasn't skilled enough for it compared to many of the men here, and I'd rather not put it past others to arrange an 'accident' during such an engagement to cripple or kill me. The same went for the jousts, just ask Hugh of the Vale what happens when you're made the pawn of bigger players.
No, the events I looked to possibly join were ones where I need not win a grand prize of coin, but instead earn myself some recognition. I had all the money-making ventures I could ask for as lord, and with the fine stewardship of my family and wife, that was unlikely to change. However, further opportunities would only increase if people knew of me, and given that losers were rarely given the time of day, better to ply many chances to earn a few wins.
Amazingly, the tourney grounds were even larger than the grounds reserved for the attending lords and their respectable households. Granted, it was meant to hold not just those attendants, but also the many, many notables and nobles visiting from the capitol itself, including those of House Targaryen and foreigners. Still, I'd not considered just how vast they tourney grounds were, as this was my first visit to this place, and given the sheer amount of available food, drink, entertainment and competitions taking place, was it any wonder this damned thing was going to take place over the course of days?
Come to think of it, I doubt even old Bobby B could have thrown a tournament like this, even if Tywin Lannister just opened his vaults and threw gold around like it was confetti. Was this seriously how rich House Targaryen had been before the Blackfyre Rebellions and all the troubles brought on by that? Or had my butterflies truly flapped their wings so hard as to bring far more wealth to their house than they had ever had at this point in canon? Or was Daeron splurging with a huge portion of the treasures he'd had as tribute from Baelor to House Targaryen?
Honestly, whatever the case may be, this was my first genuine tourney, and it truly was something to witness. With my guards in tow, I took my time, taking in the sights far more than other lords might, occasionally eavesdropping without notice as I perused random wares. I was not here to win prizes or competitions, for this was an opportunity to rub elbows with lords far and wide in situations that came so rarely to any of us.
"Lord Wytch!" a familiar voice called. From to my right, passing by a vendor serving what looked to be a Crownlands version of my 'log rolls' came Lord Ashford, his son and guards in tow.
"Lord Ashford!" I replied with a smile, clasping his arm. "Enjoying the tourney so far?"
"Aye, seems to be shaping up to be the grandest in living memory, and it is only the first day!" he replied with a hearty laugh. "Say, what of you, my lord? Any competitions catch your eye?"
"Well, the throwing competitions did at first, but given some of the men signing up having been throwing things like that since they could walk, I figured I'd keep my dignity intact and not look the fool if I couldn't throw near as far as them," I replied. "However, I noticed there were a pair of singing competitions to be held today, the first for best singers, and the latter for original songs. Seems to me the king is looking for new songs to be sung for his feast, as the best of both will be invited to the Red Keep, on top of their prizes."
"Well, from the songs I heard your men and women sing during the war, I'd say you've got a greater chance of the latter than most others might," Lord Ashford said. "Not to say you're a bad singer my friend, at least enough to say I'd bet on you placing at least in the winner's circle in either."
"Bet as you wish, my lord, but not too much," I replied with a chuckle. "To earn a chance to sing in the Red Keep would undoubtedly raise the station of anyone among their peers, lowborn or not. Come to think of it, had this happened in my youth, my father would have likely found it far easier to find a marriage for me than he originally had."
"Aye, and yet your marriage is one to inspire many a young man. As for the competitions to come, anything else catch your eye?"
I shrugged. There were plenty to pick from, with prizes ranging all over the place. The largest draft horse, for example, would earn the winner a new plow and seed drill, while the fattest hogs would earn their owner a silver for every pound it weighed at the butcher. Come to think of it, the number and variety of the listed prizes eclipsed the actual number of competitions taking place by more than one would assume it would. Who had come up with that idea?
"Well, in case you find yourself not partaking in a competition, I do have some potential business for you, should you wish," the lord replied. "I've taken to listening in on some of my fellow lords when we are gathered, and the Fossoways have accumulated a good number who don't seem particularly fond of you or our dealings."
"So I've heard, what of them? Are they a threat to our arrangements?"
"Not directly, no, they'd dare not hassle my house, given my relation to a good number of other Reach houses. No, instead they may try and limit any growth of our mutual interests into the Reach, should they hear of you heading such a venture."
"Stifle our chance for growing into such a prosperous region, eh? Have you any solutions to this?"
Lord Ashford nodded. "One does not succeed without finding the means of avoiding obstacles in their path. In this instance, I would gladly serve as the face of our business, alongside Lord Meadows, when attempting to expand into the Reach… for a small fee of course."
I bit back a grimace, but I knew that for all I'd done so far, I did not have the prestige of history or connections in the Reach to decline such a stipulation. That, and I'd rather not sour our deals over such a perceivably petty amount, so I nodded. "Given what we're facing, I'd say that's more than fair, my lord. Say, a percentage per lord, based on every lord that joins us in this endeavor?" I knew lords did things in exchange for favors and payment, rather than mere goodwill, but in the Reach I'd rather my 'allies' earn a touch more than me if it meant they kept the Fossoways troubles away from me and mine. That, and such a deal would ensure Lords Ashford and Meadows were motivated to seek out additional partners to earn even more coin, thus putting the risk of Reach chivalric politics squarely in their hands, not mine.
"Hmm, a good start. What say you to twenty percent?"
"To just yourself, or split between yourself and House Meadows?" I asked.
"A just split of course, we would not be so brazen or unfair as to seek near forty percent to divide between just two houses," he replied. "I will find Meadows and broach the subject with him, but I believe he will find it most agreeable."
"Excellent, though I would advise against offering the same deal to lesser lords in exchange for themselves reaching out to others," I cautioned, knowing I didn't full remember what I was going to teach him, but knew enough to make it sound realistic. "There are these risky deals amongst merchants known as pyramid schemes, so named for their shape resembling great buildings in Essos. At the top one has a 'head' so to speak, who recruits others to sell for him so that he doesn't need to himself, yet still takes most of the profits for himself. His subordinates are thusly 'encouraged' to repeat the process with their own recruits to make greater coin for themselves, even if their 'head' maintains the largest share. It almost mimics the same system in which tenants pay tax to their lord, to then his lord, to then his king at the very top."
"Sounds somewhat reasonable, why is it problematic?" Ashford's heir asked.
"Besides trade being inherently unstable if war, pestilence or weather cause problems, on and on it can trickle down, always relying on lesser able to risk themselves and their profits to bring you greater profits. If you promise a percentage, and then the next lord promises a percentage, and the next and so on, but then floods ruin enough crops of the lowest ranks to make them unable to complete an order…"
"Then the cascading effect could ruin the entire structure, prompting some to turn to lesser means to make up for the losses in order to stay in the fold," Ashford surmised. "With the taxes it is easier to mitigate such acts of divine nature on lost crops or poor mine veins, as other things can be counted as tax such as labor or other goods, but for just trade it indeed poses an issue. I see where it could be problematic if enough lords joined our a compact under such pretenses, never mind the difficulty in keeping track of all the goods and coin exchanging hands."
"Indeed Lord Ashford, hence why I believe that cutting you and Lord Meadows a percentage is entirely fair, but then you promising a cut to other lords would only hurt our interests, rather than help. Too quick of growth can lead to weak trees, after all, hence why the strongest of all trees tend to grow slowly."
"Aye, a tree's girth is a greater indicator of its strength than its height," the lord replied. "You've given me some ideas to discuss with Lord Meadows. I will see you come the end of the day I think, likely by messenger. Until then?"
"Until then, Lord Ashford, and I wish you and heir luck with whatever event you participate in."
As his small group departed, I bit back a sigh, hoping against hope he would take my advice seriously. Even if I had only the barest form of schooling when it came to economics, it was still likely more than nearly every lord on this continent had at their disposal. To think if I was an economist in my last life, the sheer damage I could accomplish if I wanted to. Baelish had been on the right track for understanding the power behind economic ownership and debt, but even then he'd been in it for the power he'd had to accrue in a medieval world that his birth and lands could not afford him otherwise. I wasn't practicing what I preached merely for myself, though that did help, but because even though my smallfolk loved me, enough mismanagement or disaster could bring it all crashing down on my head.
Meandering through the events and varying lords, some of them in small groups whilst others wandered only with their guards for company, I found the singing competitions. Judging from the 'originality' list I signed up on, I had competition directly with mostly Essosi, likely because if there was one thing that disseminated quickly among Westerosi other than food or gossip, it was things to enjoy, and singing was probably one of the oldest forms of entertainment that existed. As such, most songs they would likely sing would originate from Essos and perhaps be entirely unknown to most Westerosi, which would thusly work directly in my favor.
Why?
Simply put, Westerosi did not like Essosi very much, and the feeling was more mutual than I'd first thought. I mean, sure, many higher Essosi thought of us as mere barbarians in comparison to their ancient and storied cultures, but for Christ's sake they acted as if we were so lower than them that if they met Wildlings or Vale clans they'd not notice a difference. At least the Braavosi and Westerosi could bond over their shared hatred of slavery, hence why in good years they were also one of the larger trading partners of this entire continent. Daeron's meddling in Dorne had cooled that for some time, but from what I overheard among the Essosi, some of them hailing from Braavos, that was starting to return to some sense of normalcy. I always thought that if Daeron was smarter he'd seek some sort of alliance with Braavos to aid in keeping pirates free from both our shores and the sea routes between our realms. At least slave raiding in Westeros wasn't as bad as it had been on Earth during an equivalent period, what with what happened to places like Baltimore…
So it was just before midday that our competition began, myself versus primarily Essosi and the occasional roaming bard. Suffice to say, that bard didn't stand a chance, as he knew mostly 'known' songs and anything new he had didn't really work well. I just think he'd joined it just in case, not expecting win, but hoping he did. The Essosi were more competent than him, at least, but most of their songs didn't get much reaction from the crowds, either because they were polite enough to clap after the song ended, or because the references were so Essosi that nobody knew why they were being sung about.
As for my songs? Well, they weren't quite the same as those from Earth, but my time as a lord had given me more than enough free time to rewrite Earthly words, especially those mentioning guns, Earth names and the like, to where the song was just a touch different, but the message was still roughly the same. That, and unlike many of those 'higher-class' originating singers, I'd been born as their 'smallfolk' in my past life, and thus had a greater handle on what they'd respond to. That didn't mean my noble upbringing here had erased it, but since I was technically of both worlds, I could reasonably guess who liked what.
The smallfolk, by and large, seemed to be fans of what folk and country songs I could remember, especially Johnny Cash for some reason. Maybe because what songs of his I remember told of enduring hardships? The nobles in the crowd liked ballads and 'froofier' songs, though some seemed to really enjoy John Denver, which is weird because some of those were country/folk-ish enough for the smallfolk to enjoy them as well. Whatever, they must have been Stormlanders, seeing as during the war Stormlords from all walks of life seemed to enjoy that style. Although… I'd damn near had a riot with how happy some passing northerners were with my 'Battle of Winterfell' version of 'Battle of Bannockburn' detailing the end of the Long Night.
So I won the competition, partly from my successes amongst lords and smallfolk alike, and also because there was clear favoritism with me being Westerosi, but I wasn't going to be the one to point that out. I think some of the judges might have been also afraid of being confronted by angry northmen if I didn't win. Hard to tell from where I sat with my guitar, but hey, I'd won a seat to sing before the feast in the Red Keep. No pressure at all. As I made to return to my tent for lunch, I found my way blocked at one of the entrances to the Stormlord encampment. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the day, there was a small group of men halted at this entrance by several sets of guards, only one of them mine and none of them looking all-too pleased with the situation. The gathered men bore no sigils I recognized, though judging from their accents none of them were Stormlords. Not Reach lords either, come to think of it, they seemed too… rough for that.
"Excuse me, my lords," I said, my guards subtly moving closer as I drew their attention away from those halting their progress. "What seems to be the trouble?"
"Ah, a Stormlord, good," one of them said, his accent slightly familiar, but for the life of me I couldn't quite place it. "We have been seeking an audience with another Stormlord, but our entrance has been unjustly barred."
"Simply because rumormongers have been making an issue of our lord, and we would not wish to allow anyone into his presence he has not invited himself," one of my older guards said.
"We simply wish to speak with the lord of House Wytch, if possible," another of the gathered men said. "I was told that he is here for the tourney, as we all are, and we hoped to seek his audience before midday."
Interesting that they wanted to speak with me, yet I had no idea about their identities. With the number of my guards around, as well as those of other Stormlords, I didn't feel this was a danger, but still, best to be cautious. "I am he, Casper of House Wytch at your service," I replied, giving a slight nod of acknowledgement as my guards drew a touch closer. "What of you, my lords? I apologize, but I do not recognize your banners."
The lords seemed to relax at that, the second speaker stepping forward slightly. "I am Lord Heath, of House Heath here in the Crownlands, though not from these lands. With me are lords from Houses Sluff, Pyne, Cedarr and Bryne. We primarily hail from nearer Cracklaw Point and… my lord, if you could spare a moment of your day with us, we would be most grateful."
"For what purpose, my lord?" I asked.
"We seek… advice, for our lands and houses, that is. Though we are old houses, we have never been rich ones and our lands…
"They have always suited our needs," said one of the lords, moving slightly ahead. "So long as our lands have been dwelled in, so too have we ruled them."
Lord Heath shot him a cowing look, the other lord sighing in acknowledgement and stepping back amongst them before Lord Heath continued. "That they have, Lord Pyne, but none can deny they are destitute compared to elsewhere, and our people often struggle with what we do have if the harvests prove poor." He looked back to me. "We have heard strange tales from passing merchants and other lords alike of your… accomplishments with lands considered backwards and poor."
Oh.
This was an interesting development… one I had not expected.
"Then why seek the advice of Lord Wytch?" a new voice called out, and as I turned, I barely bit back a sigh of annoyance. With his heir and small retinue of guards in two, perhaps with an unlanded cousin or two as well, what could only be Lord Fossoway stopped short of our little gathering. Lord Darklyn flanked him with much the same men, though he seemed content to remain silent.
"Lord Fossoway," I replied, bowing politely. Had they been listening in on my conversation, only to interject at the 'right' time? What kind of cliché was this?
"Wytch," he replied, not even bothering to acknowledge my title, to my… restrained annoyance. I'd dealt with a monstrous crab turtle that called itself a god, I could handle a petty man with pitiful critical thinking skills and a severe lack of keeping good company, if his lordly goodbrother was anything to go by.
"Why should we seek answers elsewhere, my lord?" Lord Pyne countered politely. "Lord Wytch has, by many accounts, the sort of knowledge we'd seek for our own lands, and he seems more than willing to give it without exorbitant recompense."
"Bah! The words of the son of a former commoner will bring you closer to ruin than riches my lord," Lord Darklyn said. "It takes the experiences of generations to truly know what works for your lands, and what bodes ill is when storied houses look to much younger, far less worthwhile houses for aid. Such new houses know nothing about tried-and-true methods, only the quick solutions to problems that will fester before consuming them from within."
"No man is above seeking aid on the behalf of his house or his smallfolk," I replied, crossing my arms. "Pride is a sin for a reason, my lords. Well-earned pride is to be expected of anyone, but pride created by basking in the accomplishments of your forbears without contributing your own? The book of the Seven preaches justly against that, as do other faiths no doubt." I gestured at the lords behind me. "These lords come in good faith, likely wishing for the means of increasing their prosperity for the sake of their houses, their children and their people. Who am I to turn them away without hearing what they have to say?"
"You will not turn them away, for it is you that require more from their ancient lineages than your infantile line," Fossoway scoffed. "You need of them more than you could ever hope to provide, no matter what the fools in other lands might think of you."
"Many of those same 'fools' are my fellow Stormlords, many of whom I hold in high regard or went to war alongside," I replied coolly. "I would advise against speaking of them in such terms, many are far quicker to anger than I am and are much better swordsmen as well."
"My lords, my lords, there is no need for this manner of words," Lord Heath said placatingly. "We merely wished to speak with Lord Wytch on what might be done for us and our lands. We would never seek to simply take any man's advice and implement it blindly, but all we wish is to hear what he has to say on the matter."
Fossoway and his heir shared the same disdainful smirk, the kind that made me want to punch them both in the nose. "Then tell them of your supposed 'skills' in such matters, 'Lord' Wytch. Go on, let's see how well you can turn a coin on the backs of good men."
I bit back a retort of not seeing any good men before me, only a pack of braindead fops, before turning back to the Cracklaw lords. "My lords, seeing as I would be unable to visit your lands with any sort of surveyors, what can you tell me of them? You need not worry about telling me too much, the more details I know the better advice I can provide."
As it turned out, they dwelt in differing valleys nearer the Bay of Crabs than the Narrow Sea, which was decent as from what I could recall Cracklaw Point itself was not a good place to develop in the best of years. There are not many people dwelling there overall, considering each house only has so much land that is even partially suitable for farming. It is filled with bogs and hill-covered caverns, salt marshes, slow streams and a great deal of either pine barrens or thick forests, some of which apparently overgrown with what I can only assume to be some kind of proxy for Spanish moss. No wonder any tax collectors sent in by other lords seldom return in good shape or at all, likely getting lost or suffering 'accidents' whilst trying to collect taxes.
So, not the best kind of land to tend to, though thankfully they made no mention of swamp predators like crocodiles or lizard lions. I wonder if those are primarily just from the Neck, and either their Cracklaw ancestors wiped out what might have been along their shores, or such creatures never dwelt there at all? Hard to tell with how long Westeros has been inhabited by at least First Men, you'd think a place like the Riverlands would have similar fauna but I bet those were wiped out too.
"Well, I suppose we can begin with farming, as it is most important for land to support its people. These bogs, are they deep or shallow?" I asked.
"Most are shallow enough to walk through, though the danger lies in getting stuck in the deeper ones, as the muck will quickly grab ahold of you and cause your death from thirst or exhaustion," Lord Heath said, looking a touch perplexed.
"Do the shallower ones stay flooded consistently?"
"Aye, only in the driest of droughts do they dry up. It is in these rare times that we collect as much peat as possible before rains return water to them."
"What does this have to do with farming?" Lord Darklyn asked with a huff.
"Peat is very good for establishing gardens, and if you had enough of the stuff, likely entire farm fields," I replied. "Yet I doubt you lords have easy access to enough stone to, say, cordon off a large enough area you could then fill with enough peat to be high enough to farm, yes?"
"Aye, no quarries in or close to our lands, have to import stone from nearer the coast," Lord Pyne said. "Though enough stone could be used to raise gardens for people, I suppose."
"Well, for your shallower bogs where you won't get stuck all the time, assuming you don't already grow things like blueberries and cranberries on the higher portions, I would suggest planting rice."
"Rice?" Lord Heath asked.
"Rice?" Lord Fossoway parroted, sounding even more confused than the Cracklaw lord. "What in the name of the Father is rice?"
"A crop staple of the far east, in lands such as Yi Ti and Leng, with a grand variety of flavors and types. It grows well in many kinds of soil, but a wondrous thing about it is that it can grow in water up to a certain depth. In this case, I would seek out the lords of the North, especially those from the region of the Neck. They have been growing it for a few years now, along with crayfish and other creatures living in these watery fields, courtesy of the prince's expeditions to other lands seeking more crops for our people."
"Bah! A crop that grows in water? What next, are we to plant and eat cattails?" Lord Fossoway scoffed.
"Considering the number of plants that grow in stagnant water that can be eaten, it would not hurt to find what you have access to and grow it where you cannot grow other staples like wheat," I replied, wondering how a man from a land known for growing food is their bread and butter isn't jumping on this chance like a madman. Did they not have or even know of arrowhead or watercress? "Besides, rice holds wonderful from spoilage. If you've a dry enough container after preparing it, I believe brown rice can last for three moons. However, should you mill rice and then store it somewhere cool, dry and free from fouling air, it can last perhaps a decade or more unless it is fouled by pests, water or dust."
"A crop that can last ten years after harvesting? Surely you jest," Lord Bryne said, speaking up for the first time. "No crop can last that long after a harvest and still be worth the trouble of eating."
"Considering the supposed size of cities in Yi Ti, where a smaller one is still several times larger than Kings Landing, I doubt they would have enough wheat fields to feed that many people, regardless of how bitter or minor their winters might be," I replied. "Such crops that can last long after harvest is a much-needed commodity in the North, given the harshness of their winters. Just ask the Neckmen if you don't believe me how well it can last."
"This foolishness is dangerous, Lord Wytch, I would advise you to cease immediately, before you bring another house to ruin, as you did the Craggner," Lord Darklyn said. "Besides, if this rice is as great as you proclaim, why had our ancestors never imported it?"
"Considering the distances involved sailing to Yi Ti, is it any wonder none had the funds or time to do so? Before the coming of our king's house, the lands of Westeros saw far more war and thus had far more pressing matters than chasing rumors of such a crop from distant lands. I'm more surprised lords didn't send for rice during the Conciliator's reign, given the length of peace we had."
"I shall seek out these swamp-dwelling Northmen soon, Lord Wytch, if only to sate my curiosity for this supposed water-loving plant," Lord Heath said. "Yet what of our lands outside of farming? Have you any suggestions?"
"Aside from harvesting peat for yourselves, either for fields or for gardens, I would recommend harvesting timber from your thicker forests, but take heed in replanting them as I have. Perhaps you could set plantations of trees where the land is most suited for it?"
"Tree plantations? What bollocks could that possibly serve? It would take at least two generations for those to be of any real worth, why even bother if they could all be wiped out by some pest or storm?"
I turned to Lord Darklyn. "Investing in the future of your house is not only to be done whilst you are alive, my lord. We as a people will never advance so long as men will only want to plant trees whose shade they will one day rest in. It is much the same for roads, for why else would anyone wish to build a road, which takes a great deal of time, effort and coin, when they can simply use hardened earthen tracks?"
"Roads and trees are not the same thing, Wytch."
"I know, which is why as soon as I found a way of making better roads that will last longer and endure the elements far better, I immediately sought to build as many as I could. Certainly, it has been an expensive endeavor, but with my secrets," I said, with only a slight emphasis, "I should certainly hope they will be in use long after I have joined the embrace of the Stranger. Besides, these lords of Cracklaw Point-,"
"-are still better off seeking answers elsewhere," Lord Darklyn finished for me, much to my annoyance. "Any man with a good idea and the experience of putting those ideas into practice can be at least worthy of being heard. Yet outside of the citadel it is quite difficult to find such men, and frankly impossible from amongst the ranks of smallfolk or those with immediate smallfolk heritage."
These lords were really starting to piss me off. Fossoway was an asshat, but Darklyn being cahoots with him was simply the lesser of his two evils. This man tried to steal from me and alter the recipe for my Wytchstone with the intention of profiting from it, all without me being able to do anything about it. Honestly, I have been unduly patient with these kinds of men. They talk as much shit as they can before the proverbial chivalric gloves come off, only to rear back to avoid problems whilst hoping to leave me seething and unable to think properly. Well, joke's on them, I know what happened to the Darklyns in canon, well-deserved considering the theories, and to be frank I don't give a damn about either of their houses. My ties to the Meadows and Ashfords would shield me in the Reach, and my friendship with the prince would keep any assholes like this from giving me any overt trouble.
Yet before I could give a well-deserved rebuttal, I was alerted to the sounds of men on horseback and turned to find a trio of men bearing Targaryen sigils upon their armor approach our little gathering. Honestly, this was something I'd not expected, even if our 'discussion' had remained quite civil in a world where swords could be drawn on the lightest provocations and duels to the death were more common than maesters.
"Would you be Lord Wytch?" the lead man asked, a captain judging from his uniform.
"Aye, I am he," I replied, again.
"My lord, you have been summoned to the Red Keep, courtesy of the prince," the man said, handing a scroll to my captain.
"What? Surely you jest, good ser," Lord Fossoway said, looking as if he'd suddenly bitten into a strawberry pie but found it to be full of unripe lemons.
"It is no jest, Lord Fossoway," the man replied, surprisingly knowledgeable to the sigils of houses from differing kingdoms. "Prince Baelor himself bade me to find Lord Wytch and bring him to the Red Keep."
"Give me that!" Lord Darklyn muttered, rudely snatching the summons from my captain's hands. More than a few men's hands went to their swords at this, but I signaled them to stand down. From his rapidly growing scowl, it would seem my 'escort' was indeed from Baelor, but why now? I'd not even had my lunch yet, and the day was yet young.
"Lord Darklyn?" the Fossoway heir asked.
"Aye, it's true," the man spat, thrusting the summons into my waiting hand. "It bears the prince's seal."
"Why would you be summoned by the prince, Lord Wytch?" Lord Heath asked, sounding somewhat awed.
"The prince and I are good friends, and we served alongside one another in both the war and the search for the old Wyl treasure hoard," I replied, surprised the Fossoway and Darklyn lords didn't vomit from the amount of smug I sent their way. Turning to my men and the other guards, who would no doubt inform their lords of this development, I nodded. "As it is, I am not one to be late if I can help it. Captain, have the men return to their posts and keep watch over the camp, my personal guards will accompany me. Send for our horses, though, it would not do for a guest of the prince to simply walk to the Red Keep."
The training of my men was quite evident with how quickly they returned to their posts, as my horse was fetched soon after the Fossoways and Darklyns left in a huff, no doubt seeking to spread new rumors about my supposed advice on planting rice and playing down my invitation from Baelor. With a silent nod from the Targaryen captain, who seemed none too pleased with their behavior, my personal guard and I followed him off towards Kings Landing, our horses lightly kicking up dust as we left the great tourney and encampments behind.