[CENTER][sup][h1][img]https://imgs.search.brave.com/zPqCc3MzYjZtYmc_LWKcDr33EjNmbWLdlV3acwwBowM/rs:fit:860:0:0:0/g:ce/aHR0cHM6Ly9zdGF0/aWMudmVjdGVlenku/Y29tL3N5c3RlbS9y/ZXNvdXJjZXMvdGh1/bWJuYWlscy8wNTkv/NDk2Lzk4NC9zbWFs/bC9hLXJpdmVyLXJ1/bm5pbmctdGhyb3Vn/aC1hLWdyZWVuLWZv/cmVzdC1waG90by5q/cGc[/img] [b][color=f26522]T H E R I V E R L A N D S[/color][/b][/h1][/sup] [/CENTER] A light drizzling rain began to fall and Lord Harold Hayford turned his face skyward, letting the first drops of chilling water strike his visage. Autumn rains he thought, soon enough the leaves would turn gold and red and brown and litter the earth. Winter would come and all warfare would cease as men hung up their arms and armor and huddled closer to hearth. Not soon enough though. He twitched the reins and Stringstep, his dappled grey palfrey hurried her idling pace, ambling along at a gentle trot. The other members of his entourage, a score in number, followed his lead eager to be clear of the oncoming rain. The promise of a comfortable castle and a warm fire gave them fresh vigor here towards the tail end of their journey. Nearly a month in the making they’d traveled from Hayford Hall at a steady pace avoiding trouble for the most part despite the obvious signs of war that lingered in burnt villages and smoldering holdfasts. Even a party as large and well armed as Harold’s own slept warily in these lands. Brigands and traitors prowled in number, growing bolder by the day. Still the people went about their lives in a resigned determination. Here and there they passed smallfolk tending animals, fixing homes, and tilling the soil. Landed knights would wave while they patrolled their little patches of land offering the seven blessings in passing. The farther north Harold rode the less ruined the countryside became. It seemed these people cared little for the politics of distant southron kings. Lord Hayford wondered how his own fiefdom remained. The Crownlands were well in Targaryen control, but that would not give pause to a sizable raiding party slinking in under the cover of darkness. Harold could only pray the capable men he’d left behind to defend his possessions would prove adequate to the task. Here he needed to keep his mind focussed on the objective at hand. Defeating the traitors by reminding these far flung northerners of their oaths. First the wolves in their winter dens, and then the falcons roosting upon mountain peaks, and lastly whatever meager strength could be drawn from the cowed lion in the west. They approached a shallow stream which they forded and stopped to let the horses drink and rest. A young lad of fourteen wearing the sigil of Hayford upon his breast joined Harold by the streambed, letting his palomino gelding walk along the banks grazing leisurely while he strode beside it minding the reins. The squire had headful of curly dark hair that fell to his shoulders and round boyish features. A bit portly like his grandfather, though not nearly as well fed. Truth be told Harold felt positively thin after the month long ride from the Crownlands. His personal cook remained behind in Hayford Hall, meaning the usual fresh fare he typically enjoyed lacked of late. Persistent hunger gnawed at him night and day interrupting his sleep darkening his thoughts. The thought of another hurried dinner of cold salted beef and stale travel bread did not ease his pangs. The sacrifice he made for the realm, he chuckled to himself. “You seem deep in thought, Grandfather. What troubles you so?” His grandson piped up when he drew closer. “Oh, nothing serious dear boy. Just the grumblings of an old man’s stomach. We haven’t had a proper meal since we left that holdfast the previous morning. Here’s hoping the Frey’s have a decent kitchen, and ample stores.” Harold patted his large stomach, a dreamy glimmer appearing in his eye. “What I would give for a lamprey’s pie, they ought concoct an excellent eel confection at the Twins. Out on the river like that. Perhaps fresh baked salmon, or small-eye bass fillets cooked in cranberry sauce and chives.” Steffon licked his lips and covered his eyes in exasperation. “Oh grandfather I plead you cease lest you set my stomach to rumbling as loud as yours.” “Mmhmm. Crawfish steamed and buttered, and fruits aplenty on the side. Apples, bloodmelons, blueberries and more. Sugar cakes hot from the oven, cinnamon scones and honey and sweet preserves spread on thick brown bread all served with spiced wine from the arbor - Say, who’s this?” Harold interrupted himself, his gaze having been drawn to the stream where a small child waded through the shallows. Unclothed and decidedly unconcerned the boy, who could be no older than four sucked on his thumb and gazed up at the gathered men and horses on the bankside. At long last he waved. “Hello, I’m Nory. I’m hungry too.” “Well we have provisions, nothing fancy as all that.” Harold smiled down at the toddler. “Get on out of that water young man. Steffon, fetch something for the lad to eat. For me as well, we might as well rest here for a moment and partake in the last of our salted beef and stale bread. So now, where’s your mother? You should not be wandering around on your own.” “Dunno, lost her.” Nory shrugged and looked saddened. “Sara is sleepy.” He pointed upstream and returned to sucking his thumb. “Sara, your mother? Sister?” Two small shakes of the head. Harold sighed and dismounted Springstep. He wrapped his cloak around the child which enveloped the toddler in the greens and golds of House Hayford. Presently his friend and trusted knight Ser Mallyn and Steffon approached bearing a small luncheon for them all. They all dug in hungrily while Harold tried yet again, unsuccessfully to pry more clear answers from the child. At last he sighed and gestured for Ser Mallyn. “Ser, I ask for your service my friend. Take three men and search both sides of the stream for Sara. She’s sleeping up that way supposedly. She might provide proper answers, though I fear what you may find.” “I suspect that fear is well founded.” Ser Mallyn agreed but he chose three others and they began laboring their way through the shallow waters. It did not take them long. He returned a child sized smock in his hands, and notably stained dark by what Harold suspected was copious amounts of blood. Yet, the child bore no wounds. Grimfaced the old knight shook his head. “Found her, an arrow deep through her back. An old septa no doubt about it. She must have ran far carrying Nory before she collapsed. See this too. The boy’s clothing I suspect. I think it must have stank of blood so he pulled it off, and the old woman still had a powerful deathgrip on the sleeve. Took a touch of effort to pull it free.” He held the smock out for Harold to inspect. Surprise filled the lord of Hayford Hall and he squinted at a tiny embroidered badge which would normally be positioned above the heart. “Here Steffon, your eyes are young and keen. What emblem is this? It appears we have a little lordling on our hands.” “Steffon peered, but frowned. “I am not certain grandfather. It is unfamiliar to me. Perhaps a cadet branch of Vance? It is quartered by two green dragons and two towers.” “I’m Lord Vance.” Nory piped up, pointing at himself. “Sara says so.” Dumbstuck the diplomatic party of Hayford watched as the self proclaimed lord of a great Riverlands house nodded, smiled and sucked his thumb.