Winterfell,
"Don't you worry too much, Gareth. Wylis walks his own path. All he's done, he's done with his own two hands. None here can claim a share of it."
"But Old Nan, he's only sent one raven. He's my own son, by the gods. I care naught for his gold or his keep. Could he not write a word more? He's still got kin here—me, his grandsire, you his great-gran, and all his grand uncles and grand aunts. Do we mean nowt to him?"
"Be calm, lad," said Jarek, Wylis' grandfather, eldest son of Old Nan. "If not for Wylis, me and my brothers'd be dead back in Robert's Rebellion. We've the strength and size o' giants, aye, but it's Wylis who's learned to master it. Lord Stark said he's gone south to put down House Mooton for risin' against the crown. Our Wylis has gifts aplenty, best we don't stand in his way."
Gareth sighed and looked at the faces of all members of his family in that small room. Old Nan, his father, his uncles and aunts. He was the only third generation, and Wylis was the only fourth.
"Aye, you've the right of it."
"He sends us coin enough to eat our fill and sleep soft," Old Nan said with a fond smile. "My sweet Wylis, I love him so. But he's a man grown with duties yet to tend. When he's sure of his footing in this new world, he'll send for us, I know it. Let us not become a burden to him."
All family members nodded to that. The last thing they wanted was to be a burden.
They had served House Stark well for decades upon decades. They'd continue to do so.
Wylis was a star that shone brighter than the others—their pride.
####
Riverrun,
An errand boy, that's who I am. Running errands for the crown. Just hope this is worth the trouble.
Armored, his massive sword hanging on his back, his face naked without a helmet, he rode into Riverrun with an entourage of fifty armed men, carriages, and, of course, a prison cart for Lord Mooton and his son.
The sigil of House Kaiser, white wings and red fist gauntlet on black, fluttered on each carriage, and two men riding right behind Wylis held high poles. It was best to ensure the realm remembered that sigil.
The red sandstone walls of the castle stood out. It was not Wylis' first time being there, but he always loved seeing castles. They reminded him how far he'd come in achieving his dream. He'd become a lord at last with his own castle.
Moreover, he wanted to see all the castles of Westeros, and as many as possible of Essos. He had no particular reason but just an obsession with them. He liked to admire them, understand them, their history, and their grandness.
"It's beautiful, my lord."
Wylis nodded at Chett's words. The tall man wasn't officially a squire yet, but he was destined to be one. Currently, Chett was undergoing page training, learning to read and write, and understand the knight code, which didn't exist, but Wylis had his own. Chett, if not for Wylis, would never have left Ramsgate. Now, the man got to see the lands so distant, and also enter castles that would have never opened their gates to him.
"Well guarded, with two rivers and a ditch on the third side. Chett, whenever you set foot in a castle, friend or foe, think on how you'd take it if you ever had to. It's great mental training to hone your observation skills." Wylis advised, always teaching the man something on the go.
"Understood, my lord."
Wylis waved his hand, sending his entourage into another direction inside the castle, where they could hitch their horses and rest. Meanwhile, Wylis continued to the castle's main keep with Chett and the prisoner carriage.
Moments later, he dismounted his horse and walked over to Lord Hoster, who had come out.
"Always a delight to see you, lad." Lord Hoster Tully responded first with a handshake and then a brotherly hug. "And every time I see you, you seem bigger."
"Hah, still a growing man, my lord." Wylis joked and shook hands with Edmure Tully. Just fourteen, the boy was young and had a spark in his eyes that screamed naive. "This is Chett, my page in training."
The tall man stiffly bowed his head in respect.
Hoster chuckled and greeted back. "You seem to be doing well. Brought fifty men."
"All green, I'm afraid. None of them got true battle experience. This is more a training to them than a job." Wylis explained and followed the lord of Riverrun into the castle. "They'll at least walk better by the time I return home."
"I know how hard it is to shape men into soldiers. Anything else troubling you at Ramsgate? I'd hoped to lend you some carpenters and blacksmiths for a time, yet this Maidenpool matter keeps me busy."
"I'm grateful for the thought. I'll take any man who can work his trade. The only trouble, besides the Boltons, is that there aren't enough hands. The North is thin of folk. Southerners keep their distance."
Before long, they arrived at what seemed like a solar. Lord Hoster guided them to seats and took one for himself.
"The Boltons, now there's a matter that caught me off guard. When a new lord rises, it's custom for neighbors to reach out, to build goodwill. But Lord Bolton did the opposite, stirring trouble instead. I can't make sense of it. He seemed a fair sort at the Trident." Lord Hoster reclined back in his chair.
"Ambition, Lord Tully. I had mine, and that's why I sit here now. Maybe he's got his own. We'll see soon enough." Wylis also eased into the chair. "But that can wait. I've taken Lord Mooton and his boy. They're yours to deal with as you wish. Lord Arryn's raven asked only that I bring this trouble to an end."
Lord Hoster straightened up at that, erasing the warm smile off his face. "I gave them every chance a man could to set their folly right. As their overlord, it falls to me to see that the crown is paid what's owed, else the weight of it lands on my shoulders. They let the rot spread, and now it's mine to mend. I offered them mercy, and all I gained for it was my brother wounded."
Wylis honestly didn't want anything to do with it. He just wanted the rewards and a few ships from Maidenpool's fleet.
"What now?" he asked.
"I'll ask them the same thing again, and this time they will be my captives. If they still refuse, I will have no choice but to name them rebels and see that they are dealt with. The crown has made its choice plain. Any house that backed the Targaryen will be judged by how it behaves now."
"..."
I'm the biggest traitor in the realm, then. Lyanna, Elia, Rhaella, Aegon, Rhaenys, Viserys, and soon Daenerys… Let's make those walls higher.
Wylis avoided his eyes from flickering and nodded. "Then I'll wait and see how it turns out. By rebels, any word on the Ironborn? I hear their new lord fancies himself his own man."
"Hah! Those damned squids are forever squabbling among themselves. Nothing to fret over. They've not the ships to trouble us," Lord Hoster said dismissively. "Quellon Greyjoy stood with us in the rebellion, and he paid for it at the Mander. His whelp, Balon, is as much a fool as his father was wise. But fools die fast."
But after burning and pillaging the West Coast.
"Let's hope they don't rise up in rebellion," Wylis remarked offhandedly, aware that Hoster would one day reminisce about this. "Aside from that, I've brought a draught for Ser Brynden. My maester spent many hours on it. It once saved a lady in a hard childbirth."
Wylis placed a vial on the table and rose to his feet.
"I'll go and see that my men mind themselves proper."
"Ah, I won't linger either," Lord Hoster said as he stood. "While I have a word with our guests, you might look for Lord Blackwood. He's about somewhere, grumbling over the Brackens again. Seems rather taken with you, that one."
Blackwood? Wylis pondered the name. Lord of Raventree Hall, quite an old house with a colorful history. Further, they still followed the Old Gods, as they were once seated in the North, ruling the Wolfswood.
"I'll do that."
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