[sub][right]Collab with [@Neianna86][/right][/sub]
[center][b][h2]Domeric Redwyne | Manfryd Lothston [/h2][/b][/center]
[center]-Around the time of Elayne becoming lost-[/center]

The morning was bright and early, the sort that spoke well of the weather for those that attended the tournament in Summerhall. It could have been raining or snowing and the mood of perpetual grimness surrounded the Lord of Harrenhal. Dressed in somber black with trim of gold and white, his vest was of plain leather and boasted the bat of House Lothston as he crossed the tournament grounds. Two guards with him, not as any real measure of protection the Lord would agree, but more as to give them something to do aside from the drinking and flirting with pretty maids that would certainly be out of their reach. Stopping as he walked through the tournament ground, he spoke to several lords and their sons, though the tones were often tense. It was well known that Manfryd had no love for the King and Princes of House Targaryen and were it not for the fact he had two daughters to wed it was known he would not have attended even if the invitation as proved an insult.

There were the Freys who drank a cup with him and spoke in agreeing tones about trade. The Moontons, the Paeges- to whom Manfryd had no love but they held lands near his own and the Lord of Harrenhal was determined to make his social rounds as duty bound him-, and many other Riverlords. Some had sons aplenty, others had sons spoken for, yet he breached the topic and found most were regretful that they would not marry a son to Danelle that would take the Lothston name. There was scorn in some voices, others showed sympathy, and still, others offered sons and daughters and discussed the Realm and the various potentials of the Targaryen Princes.

Finally, he came to the House in truly wished to speak to and paused as one of their manservants rushed by. Waving over the loitering man, he spoke with sharp words and a passed groat. “See to it that Lord Gorlois Redwyne is notified that I wish a word with him, or his brother Ser Domeric is notified Hop to it, man.” He had written letters of commiseration to the House before about the ire of the Targaryen’s missteps, and the possibility of marriage between their houses, both rich for their own reasons. Gesturing to his guards, he left them to roam like faithful hounds as he sparked a conversation with a large and brutish-looking Hedge Knight he recalled from his years past when he did joust. Ser Hamil was a large man whose hair had gone and an angry scar gave what remained of his nose a snoutish look. Topics turned to banditry and the tournaments and travels of the knight.


The man had looked at him with some internal conflict, before shaking it off and finding his lord, it was after all not for him to question such things.
It only took a minute or two for Lord Domeric and his Lady to appear. They had been enjoying a courtly stroll together as ‘the children were handling themselves and had been given orders. Honora would see to it that they were obeyed. 
The woman was part bloodhound after all.
As they approached Lord Manfryd they halted and offered him a welcoming smile.
Lady Cyra Peake bent low in her courtesy offering the man a little warmer welcome than he would be used to.
“Tis a good thing to see the bat of Lothstone amongst all these Northern knights.” She offered. “I almost believed I truly was up above in the Neck at this point.” She started with a gentle laugh.
“I assume you will want something to drink? What pray tell, may I fetch you?”
Domeric himself was a taller man, slightly portly as the years and the wine had settled well, particularly a bit around the stomach, but such was the case with age and prosperity.
His dark hair had started to show some graying and his darker blue eyes were fixed on Manfryd’s as they attempted to read the man’s expression.
Nevertheless the man offered him an equal warm smile through the well maintained black beard that was gracing his face. His nose bore a scar, a memento of a skirmish with some pirates some 20 years ago, a particularly nasty event that also cost him one of his eyes. Whilst the damage was not so horrible that it left a great deal of scarring, the eye had been ruined. So he wore an eyepatch to cover up the replacement he had put inside of it, leaving many to wonder what exactly was behind it.
Some spoke of a crystal eye, capable of seeing the future. Others swore it was similar to that of a black candle, so black that it would swallow all the light and offer the man his sight back.
Domeric never unveiled it, so it was and remained a mystery and he himself enjoyed it being that way immensely. 
The coat he wore was stitched with silk and gilded thread and the cufflinks were little trusses of grapes and the padded silken shirt beneath it showed off their wealth with its cleverness of the stitches and embroidery as well as the material that was used.
Cutting to the chase he turned to Lord Manfryd and spoke in a more serious tone.
“I doubt he came here for leisure Cyra…I believe he came here for business. Is it not so, my Lord?”


Manfryd gave a bow and a small smile at the woman. While he would grumble and grouch, the man was not without manners. “The bat of Harrenhal indeed. I come for business, thought your offer of wine is generous and I would hardly refuse a woman her will.” There was a reason that Calera had accepted him as her husband and though time may have embittered him, Manfryd could not help but try to give Cyra Peake the courtesy he saw due to her. Privately he wished he had kept to Domeric’s aging and not his own balding head, he knew his age hung about him as his frame seemed in decline but the spirit was strong and he would see Harrenhal kept as it should be. A lordship of note and worth in the control of House Lothston. Turning his cold blue eyes on the Ser Knight, he gave a firmer tone that spoke of business. “Shall we move this talk to more shaded quarters, we are not the youth to let the sun stew us in silk and armor alike.” He also did not want to speak so openly that others might take up an interest.

Domeric laughed and nodded as he patted Manfryd on his shoulder.
“Come, I’ll see us both seated. This year’s Tournament is proving to be a rather good and profitable year. As all Gods know, when bounty is a-plenty one must return the favor. The Gods will otherwise take their share and usually are far less cordial then.”
He led him to the Feasting hall, but helped him up towards the Redwyne’s own table as he instructed his own household guard. “Keep a clear eye on trouble makers and allow us to have our business in private. Anything that cannot wait you will call upon the lady Cyra, she’ll keep the peace for now.” 
With but the shortest of nods in accordance, he gestured for Mandryd to sit himself down at the well dressed table. Food was always present or refreshed for those who desired to eat and goblets stood there ready to be filled with whatever their guests desired.
“Anything you fancy, Lord Manfryd?” He asked.

“The red wind of the Arbor. Your drinks hardly lack.” He stated what to him was bland truth and sat easily when Domeric did so, not wanting to be too presumptuous so soon. Glancing about the tent with a smile that was tired, if not easy, he swirled the goblet and watched the guards keep a discrete ring about the noblemen. “Far finer than Dornish swill, I need not worry about choking on poison or sand.” Giving a shrewd look to the Reachman, he decided to cut to the chase, they could talk more of politics later. For what he spoke of did not change his footing there. “I have two daughters, you have two sons Ser Domeric. If we cannot find an acceptable match between the two,” The thin man shrugged his shoulders in dismissal. “I might have to see if your brother will be agreeable to giving one of his daughters for my wife.” Considering the wine, he looked across the pavilion and gave an almost sad smile. “I had one once before, taking another would not fill that void, yet no woman would find Harranhal a horror.” The man for all his snarls and sour nature dearly missed his first wife and something had snapped in him to reform into anger over everything else.

Domeric poured him from the decanter Lady Cyra had brought them, catching Domeric’s eyes for a moment before stating.
“If you have need of me, you need but call for me, Husband.
Domeric smiled before waving her off.
“Go on, I know you’ve been eyeing that Lannister goldsmith ever since we passed them, buy the bloody things.” He said before adding. “Just, keep in mind to tell Honora to keep watch.” Knowing the glint in his wife’s eyes all too well.
As he watched her leave with a smile spread from ear to ear, he took hold of his goblet and toasted.
“Let us drink to good business and taste.” He offered allowing the red liquid to please and soothe his worries.
“Aside from the fact that the bat has always been a well respected sigil, your own visits to Tournaments have been rather rare have they not?” He asked. “Or perhaps our paths hardly ever crossed during those times…Whom would you aim for if you were a betting man?” Domeric asked as he swirled the wine in his goblet.
He eyed him more seriously this time.
“I doubt few houses would honor the bat and offer it its due respect. Perhaps it is fear that drives them or simply because they’d rather not part with sons or daughters.” He gazed about the room.
“You sent out a letter I believe to my brother. Whilst I have heard him about the desires regarding his House I did not hear him mention your name amongst them.” He told him matter of factly.
“You’re in a bind, my lord. You have no sons to carry your line and with your own age increasing I doubt few Lords would offer up their daughter for fear of what the lowborn call: the curse.” He told him as he took another sip from his goblet.
He allowed the silence to speak for itself. 
To ponder and consider his next move for a moment longer.
“I would offer you my sympathy as well if I did not see the opportunity that lay within.”

“I have seen time better off tending to my land.” The man said stiffly, “Tournaments are for those who care for such foolishness as to risk their necks getting broken. I rode the lists in my youth and with no son to take my place, I saw little reason to join them again.” Leaning back in the chair, he drank deeply of the wine and forced himself to relax. Ser Domeric’s words struck close to the heart of the matter and Manfryd waited patiently. “It does seem that even the Highborn find themselves fearing nonsense, the only ghost that haunts Harrenhal is that of Jeyne. I was gracious enough to allow her a place to stay after her husband’s children turn her out when the Stranger took him.” It irked that Gorlois did not see him fit for even consideration, but Manfryd held firm against the insult.

“A bind? If I wished to relieve it, I would take another commoner for a wife.” He pointed out with a bored expression. “They are plenty enough and a young woman would be eager to be spared working the fields. That is no guarantee of a son to carry my line, however.” He would give some ground to gain a husband for Danelle, though it made his pride quiver in outrage. “Though the lad who married the heir to Harrenhal and took the Lothston name would find himself a man with rich lands and a wife well interested in tending them properly. For all my daughter has her eccentricities, she is capable and is familiar with the land and would not begrudge a husband free reign with his own amusements.” That he was certain of. Danelle would care less about the man so long as they upheld the Lothston name. “Let us cut to the chase, Ser. You have two sons who are not like to inherit. What is your price? Gold? Land? I will be loathed to part with the latter. Harrenhal is vast and needs that vastness.” He arched a brow. “Or would you seek to marry a son to Elayne? I would not be discouraged by that notion if it was your younger son.”

Domeric waved his hand in a gesture of appeasement.
“You mistake my meaning. I meant I had expected you sooner, where Gorlois children were concerned. At present I doubt his daughters would please you and his sons whether they were paired up or not, would have done for your children.
As all good gardeners know, a good wine needs more than just water and sun.” Domeric turned to him more as his features turned serious. Gone was the jovial smile, sharp was the glint that came from the blue eye as he placed one leg over the other leaning forward a bit.
“As you stated I have two sons. You need one to carry your name. Whilst we both know Harrenhal is vast, it is also capable of crushing families with its expenses. We both know this, so why not seek to provide ourselves with a better outcome of the matter. I’ll be frank and you’re not deaf either. The rumors regarding your daughter have made it difficult for you, you cannot deny that Manfryd.” He spoke father to father.
“I’d happily give you one of my sons if I knew that it would be a union that would bear some fruit. If only to offer you some solace from this.” He held up his goblet.
“My sons need not inherit, I did not inherit either and yet we have not suffered for it. I married upon my brother’s command and learned to live with my lady wife, finding her agreeable and capable to live and bear children with. Who is to say this could not be true for your daughter and my son. Provided they agree to it.” He stated refilling their cups and explaining his thoughts to Manfryd.
“Poorly made marriages never last, when lovelessness grows into disgust all you will reap is more sorrow. If the girl agrees to the match, I’ll see to it my son will take up your mantle. To ensure we sow a good field. Half of your castle cannot be manned or used, I’d say it should be repurposed for the wealth of your line. An orchard perhaps. With its more central location it could even be used as a retreat from the world. Alas my business mind is thinking ahead…pray tell me one more thing. Why would you rather have my younger son for your daughter Elayne?” 

“Harrenhal will stand, there are plans already in the works and repairs being made.” Manfryd sighed, crossing one leg over the other. “As lovely as an orchard would be, we have several around Harrentown. I would not be averse to expanding the industry or adding new to it.” Studying the knight the man gave a chuckle. “As for not coming sooner. Elayne was hardly a girl and too young for me to allow her to marry or even be betrothed, I had held out some hope to find a wife myself.” Shrugging as if it mattered little to him, the Lord continued. “Poorly made marriages, I had one myself. Danelle will doubtless find your elder lad well enough,” And she would if the girl knew what was good for her. “Tell me though Domeric, if your wife perished bringing a young daughter like Elayne into the world, would not see her set with the best match you could? She needs a husband who can keep harm from her. Not one with ambition and with a secure seat to properly provide for her.” He shook his head and gave the man what could almost be called an apologetic look if there wasn’t pride in his eyes for the youngest of his children. “Elayne will go to someone who is worthy of her.”

Taking another drink from the wine, Manfryd decided to steer the topic away from ‘an agreeable match’ and see what could sweeten Domeric to the idea. “As for turning Harrenhal into a resort…” That brought a bark of laughter from the man. “Every war that crossed the realm has found a battle at Harrenhal that I can recall. From the Conquest to the Dance. Dorne never came so far North, but can you say we also did not see fighting on our shores around the God’s Eye from skirmishes as well? I have allies I can call for aid, married into that aid to secure it, and with reason. Perhaps I am being over cautious but Harrenhal has never been a Summerhall.”

Domeric smiled upon hearing Manfryd bark with some laughter.
“It is good to see you smile and laugh, Lord Manfryd. I confess Harrenhall is hardly anything like Summerhall, but as you said it had seen its fair share of conflict. With its location and size, where better to camp, where better to supply those doing battle.” He eyed the room.
“With all this excitement and happiness one would almost forget the potential troubles that stir in the air. If you pay close enough attention then you can smell it, like you can smell rain coming.
It's good that Harrenhal is speeding up its repairs, though I would do more than that. For if my hunch is correct we’ll have Dragons stirring again.” He told him before sipping from his goblet.
“I can understand why you’re protective. I would be as well if I had had any daughters. I know Gorlois has his favorites, but above all I know that the twins would have hardly done for you. They’re…our own little issue to deal with, I would not risk offending you with one of them. Regardless, I am certain we will find an agreement regarding one of your daughters.”

"I must admit that our harvest these last few years have been more fruitful than I have let on. It is wise to hold back some stores against possible disaster." Though a thin smile crossed the man's face. I do believe that one of them would do well if placed down south. I hear the family ties of the Reachmen are strong. Why not let one’s seed fly wide so your roots may run deep?" There was a level of suggestion in his voice and his posture was too relaxed to insult as he suggested that Gorlois marry his twins to Dornishmen. From what he had heard, the whispers, the girls would do well there and could easily send news back in letters to their father. "There is an old village on the West Bank that has suffered some from recent years. Perhaps your son would take up a winery in it. Though, your knowledge on such things exceeds my own." He admitted and cocked his head in consideration. "Shall I bring my daughters by tonight? For them to meet your sons?"
  
“I fear the Dornishmen hold little love for our wine or our family.” Domeric laughed before giving him a curt nod. “The day they do I will praise the Seven and stop drinking.” He vowed. “But I expect they’d cause some scandal and be known as the Arbor Reds that ruin men and salt their fields.” He said in amusement, before agreeing.
“You may bring them. I shall ensure my sons are here to greet them. What will come of it, we will have to wait and see, but I am certain we can press upon them the importance of meetings such as these, can we not?” He asked.
He raised his goblet once more. “To the future…” He offered.


“I am certain we can.” And he would, even if he had to drive Danelle to the septon for the marriage by the threat of disinheriting the girl. Raising the goblet, he suspected that this would be agreeable to his eldest daughter. Domeric’s son would be allowed his vices, the alliance between houses would be beneficial and Danelle would be wed off. A good thing all around. Perhaps this tournament would be of some benefit. “To the future.”