**
"That merchant train brought news—they'd encountered a survivor from a caravan attacked near Fairmarket (a trading town on the Blue Fork). So they hired our men to escort them to King's Landing."
"Father's first thought was—did our own men do this? Ser, you may not know, but banditry's been rare along the northeastern Gods Eye for years." *As long as merchants pay our "protection fees,"* Foster added silently.
"So Father dispatched a 12-man team as guards while investigating internally," Foster continued. "Two days later, before we'd found anything, word came—the caravan was ambushed, our squad nearly wiped out. Twelve men—four riders, six swordsmen, two archers—only one rider escaped."
"What happened?" Ian asked. Mercenaries rarely fight to the death—they'd flee at the first sign of trouble. For them to be annihilated suggested either an ambush or superior cavalry.
"He said they were attacked by twenty to thirty mounted men from all sides. Caught off-guard, they couldn't form defenses with the wagons—shattered instantly. He escaped by stealing a horse in the chaos."
"The enemy didn't pursue?" Ian frowned.
"I asked that too. He said they did chase him."
"But failed?"
"Yes. He rode full speed in panic until they gave up. He didn't stop until his horse collapsed, then walked back to base."
Ian pondered. "Where exactly were they attacked?"
"The Kingsroad near Whitewalls' ruins—where most later attacks occurred. Hence we assumed the bandits laired there."
"I believe the opposite." Ian shook his head. "Their base is likely far from Whitewalls."
"Why?" Foster looked baffled.
"If their camp was nearby, why let a witness escape? Letting him live would prompt searches around the attack site—they'd chase him relentlessly if their hideout was close."
"But if their base is distant, one survivor matters little. Also, as bandits, they wouldn't have spare horses like an army. Conserving mounts would make abandoning pursuit logical."
"We... never considered that. Whitewalls' area is the only wooded terrain between the Gods Eye and Crownlands—eastward lies open plains. Only here could they hide."
"Another contradiction." *Contradictions are good—they provide leads. Featureless mysteries are unsolvable.* "Continue your tale."
"After that rider reported, Father recalled all our mercenary bands." Foster paused to recollect.
"You know how it is—Westeros hasn't seen war in years. Unlike Essos, we operate in small teams scattered across jobs."
"When the captains assembled at Ser Harrison's castle, we debated for hours—yet no one had clues. It was as if these bandits materialized from thin air."
*If this weren't the game's second day but second month, I'd suspect players,* Ian mused.
"You can't imagine how devastating this was for us—the self-proclaimed 'rulers' of the northeastern Gods Eye..."
"'Rulers'? A small mercenary company daring to overlook actual lords?" Ian chuckled.
"Oh? Name these 'great lords,' then." Foster smirked.
"The great lords here..." Ian trailed off, realizing—he *couldn't*. Not from ignorance, but because the region's three major houses had *fallen*.
First, House Butterwell of Whitewalls—once wealthy and powerful (their dreamlike castle proved it). But backing the Blackfyres twice led to their annihilation by Bloodraven. Their castle was razed and salted.
Second, House Harrenhal of the Riverlands—their decline Ian had recalled while buying hunting gear there. Their support for the Targaryens in Robert's Rebellion doomed them.
Third, House Darry of Darry—an ancient family tracing back six millennia to the Andal invasion. Staunch Targaryen loyalists, they gained half the Gods Eye's eastern lands after the Butterwells fell, becoming a premier Riverlands house.
In Robert's Rebellion, they again sided with the Targaryens—even defying their liege lord Tully.
**PS:** Seeking consistent readers! If you're following along, please scroll to the end and click "Next Chapter"—much appreciated!
**(End of Chapter)**