The rain had finally stopped. Garry Kamber had been waiting all day and half way through the night astride his horse in the southern Barrowlands. Everything was wet now, and it would stay this way until the sun shown, if the sun would show, it was never certain in the North. Garry combed over his hair by hand, pushing some of the rain off his face, and wondered if that was the last of it.
The Barrowlands was a vacant expanse of rolling hills and sporadic green skinned trees. At night nothing moved and there was no sound except for the driving winds that haunted it. When it rained, and it often did, it was always a slow, sad, but relentless drizzle. Garry questioned if it really was about hiding from dragons, as the small folk tell, that the peoples of the Barrowlands made their homes deep in the dirt all those centuries ago or was it really about the horrible weather.
Where Garry was born, more north of where he was now, the overland was called The Green, and the tunnels, niches, and chambers beneath were called the Wayward Downs. It was a place where true Barrowland lived and Garry called home.
Garry was donned with a dark green cloak snapped together by two silver rabbits, entwined, at his neck. On his back, the cloak displayed two white rabbits chasing each other in a circle on a field of green. It was the sigil of House Kamber, the Lords of Wayward Downs.
The old stallion that he rode was a pathetic looking creature that's chestnut skin had began to tighten to it's bones, it's mane had become more white than blond, and it's boney knees looked like they might just buckle under the weight of a rider. The King of the North had taken all the good horses for his war and this was the only horse left in The Green. Much like it's master the horse would dose off while it waited, then jolt awake when it's master gave a sharp cough. Garry gave the horse's head a gentle pet whenever the beast was startled, "It's okay Lucky. It's okay." Garry would say calmly. Garry's cough had become worst and worst through the night. Soon we will both fall and sleep in the dirt, Garry believed.
The Black Cough had taken Garry as so many that made a life in Wayward Downs. Normally it's a faster death; two, three maybe four days for those who don't know about the dirt. For those that were born under the The Green and know of the dirt, they could last up to ten days, maybe longer if they were strong. Garry Kamber was a Lord of Wayward and he, like his father, and his father's father, was born in the dirt. So Garry knew it would be a long and painful death as chances go. It was possible but rare, at least for the people of Wayward Downs, to resist and to survive it. His own grandfather had done just that forty years ago, and that was the only reason why Garry did not take his extra, and last, dose of the Milk of the Poppy when it was offered to him by his Maester. There was hope you see, a bitter hope, but still one.
Garry studied the low rolling fog as it emerged, and watched it slowly surround the nearby trees and rocks. His eyes were getting heavy and his thoughts began to drift. When he slept, he dreamt. He had been dreaming a lot lately, of the hills of The Green and the tunnels deep below. This was when Garry was at peace, when he didn't feel any worry, and he didn't think about the coming of death. He wished he could sleep forever, along with the dirt, and whatever might be down there.
A beating sound elevated from the night. Garry raised his head. Through the woods and through the misty haze, four mounted horses thundered into view.
The first and most fierce rider rode up to a hard stop, in a splash of mud, and a tight jerk on his reins. He wore chain mail from neck to wrist and had a chopped black beard hanging from his face. On his chest was the twin towers of his house. Black Walder. Garry's heart beat fast.
The second two, also of House Frey and armored, but less aggressive, came up on the second rank, followed by a lady rider, dressed all in blue and donned with pearls under a cloak of grey. Her amber brown hair curls poked out of her hood. The lead rider yanked up his hand and forced a sudden halt of all the horses.
"Lord Kamber," the black bearded man announced, "I have brought your betrothed," He then spit to his side then gave an intentionally sour face. "…Finally."
Garry's voiced cracked, " Finally, my lord." Garry then weezed.
Garry knew Black Walder, he was the blackest of Freys, well so they say. He was definitely a man of black humor, and Garry knew this from experience.
On their first day of marriage postponement, his family received just a raven with a short indifferent letter. Garry had just succumbed to the Black Cough so the wedding had to be put off. After the third day, they received a gift. Up rode Black Walder on his warhorse with a wicker basket. Callously and deliberately, he dropped it to the ground then shouted it was a wedding gift as he rode away in a huff. Inside were rabbit skins, and that's all. His family got the message. Rabbit skins for the Rabbit Lords.
They were used to it, as long as the rein of dragons, they have dealt with it. All the Lords, North and South, had bullied them and those lords have always sent them rabbit skins.
They sent a raven back to the Twins, pleading their case, their honest case. The Freys said they would bring Garry's bride themselves, and make the match happen as the Lord of Wayward had promised. Garry could not deny them, like the King of the North had done, Garry had his lord father shadowing over him from his root chair. He was to marry the Frey girl, and it didn't matter that he was dying.
The blue dressed girl, close to twenty name days, walked her horse next to his. She lowered her hood and revealed a buttery white face and earthy red lips.
"Here is Liddy Frey, my Lord." Black Walder said with no smile.
She bowed her head then looked up with cautious eyes. "Pleased to meet you , my Lord. Not dead, I see."
Garry analyzed her. What sort of woman is she? She was thin but not frail and she was attractive enough for what it was worth, but so what, she was a Frey. This was not a match a Northman would be proud of. But what choice do I have? The Frey girl's eyes were more grey than blue, this is not what he had been told about her, he was told her eyes matched the blue sky, but Garry lived in the North, and in the North the sky was always grey. Garry realized that she would at least be a fine fit here with her eyes.
Garry said nothing to her in return. He had barely the lungs to try. He just nodded his head in approval and tried to calm his heart.
Garry noticed Black Walder held tightly to the pommel of his sword with his off-hand. This was always a tell, Garry knew, when a man was jumpy for some reason. Garry was sure before he came that the Freys might have concocted some wicked plot against him, for they seemed to believe the Kambers were delaying on purpose. Black Walder's face gave nothing away though, it was a stone, the same face he had as he first rode up but his hand told a different story. Something was a miss, Garry deduced.
Then Black Walder droned, "Very well." Then freed his hand and signaled into the air. Three more riders, two clutching crossbows on their laps and another dressed in brown robes, came pounding out of the dark. Did he think I might hatch a plot against him?
Garry's heart was racing but he didn't want it to be known. He had always been a nervous one, even as a child. He avoided any kind of excitement especially the dangerous sort. His older brother Shaun was the opposite. His brother always liked risks, his brother always sought danger and he always came out unscaved. Poor Garry knew he didn't have his brother's luck, it's been this way since they were little. When Shaun jumped a ditch, Garry fell into it. When Shaun kissed a girl, Garry just got slapped. When Shaun was healthy, Garry was sick. Their lives always moved in opposites. Garry loved his brother though, he was never jealous, and Shaun always waited for his brother and was always kind. Even with their differences, they were true brothers all the same. Garry felt his heart slow a bit, when he thought of his brother.
Garry thought he should try some humor, that's what his brother Shaun would have done when things were uncertain. In this situation, what else could be done? Garry wished Shaun was here.
"Oh, the rest of the wedding party finally made it." Garry said looking for a smile. A little smile would have been good enough for Garry but the Frey men shown none. Black Walder's face seemed to grow even colder, if that was possible. Yet he spied a slight grin on the girl's face. At least he had that. She then quickly darted her eyes towards Black Walder then back at Garry, then gave a subtle eye roll that only Garry could see.
Black Walder motioned for everyone to dismount as he scowled, "Let us be quick about it."
Garry moved to dismount but a stuttering cough sent him falling from his horse, straight into the mud with a cold splat. A shiver of laughter erupted from the riders. Finally a laugh, but at my expense. Liddy Walder giggled for a moment too. The only one who didn't was Black Walder, he just stared down at Garry.
"Well," Garry said pathetically, "I beat you all down."
Liddy shot up with a hard laugh, rolled in her saddle, and nearly fell herself.
Black Walder asked with a cool tone, "Are you a bloody fool or a noble lord?"
Everyone then stopped, their faces went cold. Not even a small smile was left, not even on Liddy's.
Garry stood up, smacking the mud off his clothes, "I am a Lord of Wayward, my good lord."
Black Walder huffed to himself, "A lord of mud. It seems."
Garry held his hand to his chest to feel it's tremor. Black Walder's heart must be made of ice, Garry thought. I will never break it. Neither could Shaun. Garry straightened himself, removed his hand, and tried to look less nervous, then said, "let us proceed."