Interlude - Moments in Time

The Shipbuilder

​5th Moon 136AD

"Master Polliver?" 

Graham had an irritated look on his face as he looked up from the ledgers that he had been reading that showed all the dealings that had occurred over the last week. Peeking his head through the door was the useless head of his nephew, a sop that he accepted from his sister's begging. He was beginning to very much regret that bit of business.

"What?" He tried not to be rough with the boy, he was still family after all, but with the way the boy flinched some and how he gulped, Graham figured that his tone had been quite rough indeed. "What is it Addam?"

"T-There's a-a," the boy stuttered, searching for the words. "There are some sers to see you master."

The old man frowned, not at the boy, but at the news. The boy didn't know that though with the way he reacted. By the old gods and the new, the boy jumps at anything! "We are closed for the day. Tell them to come back tomorrow."

"They seem rather important, master." 

"'Important' how?" he asked.

"One of them introduced themselves as night." Addam took a moment to swallow down his throat. "I think they be lordlings, uncl-master."

Graham blinked for a moment before quickly rising to his feet, knocking over the chair that he had been sitting on. "By the seven boy! You could have said that earlier! Do you know how rude it is to make the highborn wait? They can lop me and your head just for the slight!" he was yelling as he rushed round his table and towards the door.

"I'm sorry!" Addam squealed as he moved out of the way lest he find himself knocked over by the larger and more powerfully built man.

Whatever platitudes his nephew had to tell him didn't matter. At the moment, what mattered was getting down to the workshop floor and seeing to the highborn. Graham Polliver had not risen from just a lowly apprentice all the way to the guild master to just lose his head because his nephew had been a complete and utter twat. No! He wouldn't let that happen!

And he was a guild master! Surely they wouldn't kill a guild master?

That would get all the guild masters out there to stage some sort of protest! There were certain protections given to people of his station!

Graham could have ran, but he was trying to maintain some dignity with some of the other workers still about the shop. So instead, he raced towards his destination with great big, lopping strides. Behind him, he could hear the pitter-patter of feet as Addam did his best to keep up. With one last turn, he found himself in the shop floor and out of the offices that were located in the back.

By the gods! They were truly lordlings. They wore the fashion that had recently come into style some years back amongst those with the means and wealth to acquire such clothing. Graham would admit he owned quite a few of the pairings of such clothes, for the social functions someone of his status was invited to. It would only do to follow the clothing that was in fashion today.

His wife insisted on it.

There were two of them, quite young Graham would guess. Perhaps still in their twenties or early thirties, their youthful looks making it difficult to give an accurate grasp of their age. He cursed that, give him a ship, some wood and he would be able to make a better guess than any to the age of both the ship and its wood. Hell, he could even make a guess as to where it was built with enough time inspecting it.

Nearing the two men, he slowed down and opened up his body in greeting, a smile on his face. "My lords," he began, easing into a bow when he caught their attentions. "Apologies for making you wait, how can I be of service to you?"

"Are you Master Graham Polliver?" One of them asked. "Guildmaster of the Maidenpool Shipwrights?"

"Yes," he confirmed, rising from his bow. "That would be I."

"I am Ambrose Coxley and my companion here is Ser Grant Rivers. His Grace, King Edmyn has need of you and your guild."

Graham blinked, royal patronage? A royal charter? By the gods, that would be excellent for business! Immense! Building warships alone would bring in a hefty amount of coin. Especially if the charter is for a century, then he would be able to use the prestige such a charter would bring him to nominate his eldest for his position when the time comes for him to step down. 

The old ship builder smiled. "How can I be of use to the king, my lords?"

"Do you have somewhere where we could talk, Master Polliver?" the one called Ser Grant asked.

He nodded. "Ah yes, please follow me. Addam, please prepare some drinks for our lordly guests here. Only the best." he instructed his nephew who had been standing behind him in silence, most likely flabbergasted about what was being offered to them.

With Addam running of to get the drinks for the nobleman and bastard, Graham was left to take them to the back of the workshop where his office was located. Leading them inside, he offered the two men seats that were sat in front of his desk before he himself finally set down. By all accounts, things seemed to be going quite well and it didn't seem like anybody was losing their heads today.

The door to his office opened and in stepped Addam with a tray of wine and accompanying glasses and Graham nodded at the swiftness of the boy's actions. Perhaps there was hope for the little bastard yet.

"Thank you for the hospitality." the bastard said as he took a wine cup whilst the other kindly refused the drink offered to him. Addam proceeded to pour some river red into the held out cup of the bastard. "I know our presence here is out of the blue, and mind you, we did not mean to catch you so late in the day."

His companion, Ambrose nodded as he pulled out a rolled up parchment of paper from a satchel that he had been carrying. "His Grace, King Edmyn the First of His Name is holding a competition between all the shipbuilders of the land."

"A competition?" Graham repeated in confusion as Addam went to stand at the side. He wanted to shoo the boy away, but he felt that his attention should be focused on the men in front of him at the moment. "What kind of competition milords?"

"A shipbuilding one, I'd suspect." Ambrose replied, entirely in deadpan as if the answer was obvious.

Perhaps it was, considering who they were talking to and why they had asked for him specifically. Graham felt the urge to be embarrassed and he could feel the slight flushing of his cheeks but he was able to hold himself together. By together, he coughed some to distract from the redness that was creeping over his cheeks, though he did have to flash a look in the direction of his nephew. The little shit happened to have a little smirk coming across his face.

"Ah yes," he coughed once more. "I suppose that would make sense."

The king's man ignored him and proceeded to pass on the parchment to him and explained as Graham unrolled the parchment for him to read, taking note of the Royal Seal on it. "His Grace wants a ship. A ship that is able to cross the narrow sea in a matter of days, a week at the most. This ship should be powered by nothing more than the wind. He doesn't really care how long it takes for the such a ship to be designed and built, but for the first guild to create such a ship, then they would receive a generous royal charter from His Grace."

Graham looked up from the royal parchment of paper that he had been reading to regard his two guests. "You have approached another guild?"

"Of course," Ser Grant Rivers remarked blithely. "It wouldn't be much of a competition now if it weren't so would it?"

"No," he coughed once more, feeling embarrassed. What was wrong with him today, it felt as if he was some sort of little stripling who didn't know how to act. "No it wouldn't milords."

The two king's men then continued to go into finer details about the competition that the king was holding. Graham learned and made notes of what the king was looking for, and when he asked questions regarding the sort of specifications that the king wanted, the king's men were vague and unsure, something that he accepted for they did not know the intricacies of the trade that he worked in.

But nonetheless, he learned as much as he could, discussed and it felt like hours had passed before the king's men finally left. 

"Addam!" his nephew jumped when he came back from leading the man away. "I hope you are well rested for the foreseeable future, cos me thinks that we shall be very busy in the coming days!"

*****

The Officer

​8th Moon 136AD

Everyone knew about Harrenhal's Bloody Court. 

The sight where Harwyn Hoare had massacred every single rivermen that had been working on his father's castle when the king had led the charge into it's depth. It was said that the entire court around what had come to be known as the Tower of Dread had been drenched red with the blood of every single worker than Harwyn and his ironborn had been able to get their hands on.

It was said that King Edmyn had vowed revenge on Harwyn for the unspeakable brutality that he had come across.

A lot of people said a lot of things about the king. He hadn't met the man himself, but from what had been said about him, he must have been some larger than life character, straight out of the stories from the Age of Heroes. 

Actually, a lot of people did say that King Edmyn was some reborn soul of a hero from that age. Like Benedict Justman. Someone the gods sent, either the old or the new, no-one really knew which, to rescue the rivermen and lead their new kingdom into greater glories in the coming future.

It wouldn't be so bad to serve someone like that. 

Well, that's what Lewys told himself anyway. 

That's why when he was only four-and-ten years of age, he came to Harrenhal, to become an officer in the King's Army. He had thought about joining the Navy, but the few times that he had sailed on the rivers near Old Harridan's Keep, his stomach had been queasy, so he had decided that sailing was not for him and he would prefer it if his feet were firmly on the ground.

So the Army of the Trident it was.

Mother had been crying when he left and father had nodded at him as well. Father had also given him a hug and told him to be well. He would have rode with him to Harrenhal, but father had a bad leg from fighting in a tourney that made riding difficult. So instead, his older brother had been the one to travel with him, along with a small retinue of guardsmen.

It wasn't really needed really. 

The roads have always been safe. Even father admitted that some wench could walk from their little keep to Harrenhal naked as the day she was born and not be accosted. Mother had been horrified at him using such language in front of him and his younger siblings, even though he knew what a wench was.

On the journey, Cley had also made sure that Lewys knew the taste of a wench as well.

"It's the only thing I can do." Cley had laughed at the inn as he called over one of the serving girls that he had been stealing glances at every now and then. She had been wearing this dress that showed the tops of her breasts and that stirred something in him. "I've seen you looking at her." Brother had said, laughing. "She's pretty, might as well have this before you sign yourself to the king's coin, yes?" 

A flush had come across his face fiercely. "C-Cley!" he had stammered at his brother who only continued to laugh. "What if I father a bastard on her?" the thought struck him, of him fathering a child without his knowing?

"So?" his brother had asked with a shrug and air of nonchalance around him. He picked up the mug of ale that was set on their table. "I'm sure this place has more than enough supplies of moon teas to stop that from happening. These women are professionals little brother, they know what they are doing. A child to them means less coin they earn in their profession. Now stop your whining and go become a man!"

His brother had laughed as the wench led him away from him and towards a place of more privacy.

That was three years ago, now Lewys was seven-and-ten, more than a man grown, having tasted more wenches from that time (it came as a surprise to him that Harrenhal held a large area reserved for the pleasure of the troops, inns, brothels and gambling dens among other things) and now close to becoming an officer in the king's army. He only had one more year left, an apprenticeship before he could get his commission with some regiment or another.

"Apprentice Otley."

Oh wait, that was him. "Ser!" Lewys replied as he stepped forward after his name had been called. 

The older officer took not of him before pointing to one of the older man standing at the side. "You'll be underneath the supervision of Lieutenant Towers."

"Understood, ser!" he replied and marched off to join the lieutenant along with the rest of the apprentices that had been placed underneath him. With a single look, he noticed that their were two of them. 

He hadn't seen them before, but then again, his own class had been large so it wouldn't be a surprise that their would be more people that he had yet to meet. Hells, they could have very well come from other military schools from around the kingdom. If he wasn't wrong, their was another school in Riverrun wasn't there? Well, that's what the rumours around his fellow trainee officers had been talking about.

Harrenhal just wasn't the only one.

Another apprentice officer joined them before they were finally dismissed from the Bloody Court. Lt. Towers led them away from the Tower of Dread towards the other sections of Harrenhal were their regiment was barracked. Years of walking around the great castle of Harren the Black, sometimes as punishment for some misdeed or another had made him essentially not notice the distance or time it took to get to their assigned barrack.

"If you were listening, I'm Lieutenant Danwell Towers of the 3rd Riverrun Foot." the lieutenant said, pausing for a moment to look at them all. He was an older man, but not too old and if he was to hazard a guess, Lewys would think the man less than seven years his senior. "That means infantry, little lordlings. In other words, the actual branch of the army that does all the hard work. In other words, this isn't going to be easy for you. I know some of you might come from some prestigious family, higher than mine in wealth and status, but it doesn't matter. None of that will matter. What will matter is that after we are done with you, if you are up to standard you will be deemed capable of leading good men in the service of His Grace. If you don't make the cut and are not up to standard, don't go running home to your mother and expecting her to help you out. Is that understood apprentices?"

"Yes ser!" they all replied as one.

Lt. Towers allowed a smile to come across his lips, though Lewys noted that the smile didn't at all reach his eyes. "Good little lordlings. First of all, you are going to introduce yourselves to the regimental commander and then after that, you shall be split to my fellow regiment officers and they will in turn assign you tasks that you shall have to be expected to carry out as an officer. You will learn from then and maybe, just maybe, you might be of use to the king after your year with us."

He looked at them then, this time, his smile reaching his eyes but by the gods, was it fucking terrifying. "I think we are all going to enjoy spending time and coming to get to know each other over the coming years."

*****

The Martin

​12th Moon 136AD

​It was a rainy night, with the rains and wind battering at the shutters that kept them at bay. Somewhere in the distance, the howl of a wolf could be heard amongst the winds and lightning and thunder. The last he had seen of it, the moon was a great large one, a hunter's moon.

Suitable really, for in this very room, several hunters intrigued amongst themselves for the future of their houses and dynasties. Perwyn Grell was more than happy to be amongst those very same hunters.

"There have been a lot of sellsword companies flocking towards the stormlands of late," Germaine Shawney said in the light of the solar. "With little to no wars to be fought between in the Freehold, they have all either been flocking towards the Slaver's Bay or to the trouble happening in the stormlands."

Otho Neyland eyes darted towards Germaine. "Are you suggesting we hire sellswords? They may very well betray us to the king of our plans!"

"Do you have any other ideas then Lord Neyland?" Lord Quentyn Joxwell asked, a hand gripped around a great mug of red wine. Lord Quentyn had been drinking quite a lot this evening, far more so than in previous meetings. "Between us, we are far too stretched and thus easily defeated in the field of fire without our forces joining together. But if we hire some sellswords to strike at the south, perhaps that will give us more than enough time to use the confusion to gather our forces, meet and strike straight for the capital. Edmyn wouldn't know what is happening until its too late!"

Otho Neyland was taken aback for a moment as he thought about it. Eventually, he came to slowly nodding his head. "I see...that course of action does have its merits."

Perwyn decided to make his own voice heard amongst the gathering of malcontents. "Could we not somehow sneak men in and take the king and his family without the need of sellswords?"

Lord Quentyn Joxwell frowned as he shook his head. "Unfortunately not so my lord. The company the king surrounds him is too vigilante in their task and its difficult inserting our own men into their ranks. Edmyn is no fool, he vets the man he trusts to guard his family for any vested or unwanted loyalties. All of them are Tully men through and through."

It had become too much.

Aye, Perwyn would admit that Edmyn had done the riverlords many a favours by breaking them from the yoke of Harren's black rule. Many good houses and families had come to an end because of Harren. He could very well remember that the land was filled with riverlords warring amongst themselves every now and then, with Harren doing nothing to quell the fighting down unless it impacted his blasted castle.

Now that he thought about it, it was all another way for him to control them. He knew he couldn't take good river steel in the field and thus let the old habits of the riverlords rule them as they fought each other, conspired against each other. 

He knew that, but at least, Harren respected the old order.

Edmym...Edmyn though. 

It was just too much. Too many changes. Things were different from how they were supposed to be. The smallfolk thought better of themselves now, constantly questioning their betters in matters that solely did not concern themselves. In times past, a little show of force would have been enough to quell such thoughts, but even then, it was difficult nowadays as word spread quickly.

Only just some months back, Old Gorrin Shires had been arrested by a marshal of the king for breaking his laws over some bit of nonsense that Old Gorrin had partaking his lordly rights with some of the womenfolk. Rights that Edmyn had rendered illegal with that seven damned codex of his.

No more.

That was what he and his fellows in these very chamber had decided. Edmyn had done much for the realm, but it was too much. 

"So it's decided then?" Lord Quentyn Joxwell asked, looking around the room. "We are too hire some sellswords then?"

Perwyn nodded along with Otho Neyland, Germaine Shawney, young Christoffer Shires, grandson of Old Gorrin himself, Gertrude Smallwood, Rafford Lychester along with more than a dozen other lords and ladies. Perwyn at a guess would say that in this very chamber, their was probably nearly two score of such highborn who shared similar views to him.

And with what Lord Quentyn Joxwell had been saying, their was more than likely a couple other like minded groups of highborn, brought together by common cause of the fate of the future that they were heading in.

"I still fear that some of these sellswords might mean to betray our cause." Perwyn said later on. He looked towards Ser Ryger Pearlwood, the Knight of Pearlwood. "You spend some time with a free company in the east, good ser, surely you must know some companies worthy of secrecy?"

The room turned to look towards the aged knight who was still more than sprightly enough to put down any young knight if they so wished. "Aye, I have." he said with a nod. "Made some fellows over there, learned which ones were more likely to keep to an honest contract and which ones were more than likely to break a contract. Thing is though, if a free company is to betray their contractor, it ruins their reputation and reputation is near everything for a free company."

Lord Quentyn Joxwell looked hopeful. "So we have no fear of betrayal?"

"Unless the captain of the company or someone of suitable rank to know of their employer is captured, no, we do not have much to worry about." 

The grin on Lord Otho Neyland's face could very well have split his face in two. "Excellent, then we best get the coin then and make contact with some of these so-called 'free companies'."

After that, it turned into how much coin each highborn in their conspiracy would put to the cause. Some of the more wealthier highborn wanted the others too put in coin that could very well ruin, him amongst them, but eventually, Lord Quentyn Joxwell was able to come to an agreement that suited everyone. 

Going round the room, Lord Quentyn Joxwell took the names of each highborn and how much they were giving in coin to their cause. Little Christoffer Shires made him smile by how he all but put all the wealth of his house into the coffer for the sellswords.

Lord Quentyn Joxwell nodded as he stood by the door, taking in the parchment and he smiled. "Thank you my lords, my ladies. And believe me, I am not at all sorry for the betrayal that it is to come."

Perwyn guffawed. "It's not betrayal if it is to save our traditions and way of life."

"No..." Lord Quentyn's voice was surprisingly quiet as he stood by the door, hand to the handle. "No matter what it is, betrayal it still is." And with that, he opened the door and Perwyn's smile dropped.

Standing in the doorway was man dressed in the familiar half-plate armour of men serving in the king's army, though the trout on their armour was black instead of the usual silver-grey that every men of the Army of the Trident wore. In his hands was a crossbow and behind him were several more men, perhaps dozens, dressed much as he, weapons and shields drawn.

"Lord Quentyn, what is the meaning of this!?" The little voice of Christoffer Shires crying out as he fumbled for a blade that he did not wear.

"Betrayal." Was Lord Quenytn Joxwell's quiet reply.

The man with the crossbow stepped into the room, taking the parchment of paper that had been in the hands of Lord Quentyn, tucking it underneath his breastplate, behind him, more helmeted men filed into the room, taking positions around them. Perwyn noticed that they all held clubs in their hands They mean to take us alive, bloody and bruised if need be, but alive. He realised quickly.

"Lords, ladies," their leader, the one with a crossbow spoke, his voice cheerful and courteous as he did so. "You are all under arrest. Please, don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"Quentyn, you fuc-." Ser Rygar Pearlwood meant to charge someone, Lord Quentyn or the crossbowman in front of them, which one was difficult to know as a quarrel had quickly found itself lodged into the knight's chest. He looked down, a silent look of 'Oh' etched on it before he fell, dead.

"As I was saying, our orders are to take you alive for trial, but if you put up an unnecessary resistance," the leader continued to say, his voice still affable and cheerful. "I can't promise any of you shall be received by the king in good health. So, anybody else want to be brave?"

Perwyn frowned as he glared death at Lord Quentyn Joxwell as fetters were clasped around his hands. "You'll pay for this my lord, one way or another."

Lord Quentyn looked abashed as fetters were placed on his own hands as well. "You wouldn't understand...they have my family..." 

"Right, search the room for any other documents for evidence. Leave no stone unturned!" Perwyn had the crossbowman order his men as he was led out in fetters into the corridor.

As the voices of the soldiers in the solar drifted long behind him, he couldn't help but think to Malcom, his friend. At the very least, Perwyn had not brought his old friend down with him.

*****​

AN: Figured I might as well expand on the happenings inside the kingdom and a plot thread from some time back. I plan to leave no stone unturned and no plot thread unforgotten!

And cookies for anyone who can guess who the crossbow wielding soldier is, he's turned up before, as a minor character in a chapter some time back. Tip: He went castle raiding.