"Ah, yes, fuck me hard me lord. I live only to be fucked. I am a dirty whore." As I take her from behind, the bitch's moans and her dirty words only sickens me. She was but one of hundreds of servants in my lord's service. I am not the first to take her but I know in my heart I will be the last. "Take me, my lord, take me with you to your keep. I want to serve you alone. Make me your bitch and take me every day." As I gave her my last spurt, I pulled out and said cooly: "That wasn't the worst fuck I've gotten, but it certainly wasn't the best. As for bitches, I've got more than I could count back in my keep. Another one wouldn't do me any good."
As I dressed myself, her face turned from desire to despare and then to anger. Viciously she howled at me, "You are nothing but a fucking hound, a lap dog of a loser of a lord. What are you good but a corpse! Go and die in a gutter..." Her sound disappeared in the distance as I walked into the court yard. She won't live past tonight, what a pity, to be burned alive is such a horrific way to die, I wonder if I should inform her.
The next morning, as I rode away with three hundred men under my command, the Castle Cawthorne was still burning in the distance. The howling wind mixed with the crys of men, women and child. The smoke has reached far into the sky. Such a pity I had to burn the servant girl, but others will take her place. The provisions burned was a dear price to pay, but we have no way to bring them all to Starpike and leaving them for the Yelshires was out of the question.
"My lord mayor, we have take care eveything as you ordered. I have also picked a hundred of your most loyal men as you ordered. I fear however they won't listen to anyone except you and me." A man need loyal servants more than he needs trusted friends, such was my philosophy and Borus the Boar was such a loyal servant. A butcher by trade, he was but a commoner in the market of Bingfield when I spoted him cleave straight through the ribs of a two hundred pound boar. Talent is such a terrible thing to waste and I spared no effort to find him a place in my lord's service.
"Borus, I leave you here with your brave company of a hundred. You will be my eyes and ears in these parts. More importantly however, you will be my strength in these parts. I will rely on you to make sure Lord Yelshire will make no trouble for anyone except himself."
"By your orders, Sire. Do I have full power to do as I please?"
"As far as I know, you are a common bandit, your actions reflect on no lord, and you do as you please."
Starpike looks not much worse for the wear, the Great Halls still as dreary as ever, the servants even more sullen faced than I last saw them. The great hall of Starpike was great only because of a lack of chairs and tables. A frugal man, Lord Gormon forbit them as a luxury we could ill afford in these troubled times. Without the banners of house Peake decorating every corning, one could hardly distinguish this hall from anyother room in the castle. As I walked away towards the council chamber, Petyr Manderwell, the weasel of a scribe caught up to me. Breathless, he barely squezzed out his words: "my lord... lord mayor... there is some thing... something I MUST tell you, before... before you see Lord Gormon."
"Calm down, Petyr, you are pale like death itself. Calm down and tell me everything."
"Its the debt we owe the Iron Bank of Bravvos. When my lord joined Daemon Blackfyre he demanded that I come up with enough coins to fund the entire army of the Blackdragon. I raised taxes on the peasants, nobles even the septons. I cut half the pay of the household and even sold my lord's family heirlooms. I even did as you commanded Lord Binkledge, and sold debt to in the name of Starpike to Bank Merchants within our realm but it wasn't enough, I had to borrow ten thousand gold dragons from the Iron Bank to cover the shortfall. But, but now that Daemon lost and his supporters scattered, none of the other lords want to compensate us for the provisions we have given them, we are stuck with this debt ourselves, what are we to do! Lord Gormon would have my head!" Petyr was sobbing and slobbering before he even finished.
Considering the situation for a moment, I gentlely comforted Petyr. : "There, there, no use crying over spilt milk. Things are not as dire as they might seem. Thanks to Redgrass Field, our house has unprecendented prestige in Westeroes as well as Essos. We command such respect that I have already gotten in contact with Lord Bittersteel across the sea in Volentis. He agrees with me that the thousands of nobles and knights under him must be put to use lest they lose their edge and desire to restore the Blackdragon. Summon the representative of Iron Bank to me as soon as you can, I am sure I can convince him the various benefits of the goodwell of our House and see profit in our connections. As for the debts to those within the realm, what of it, we owe what we owe and they would be fools to try to collect those debts lest they find themselves face to face with me. Ha!"
The meeting with lord Gormon passed without much incident except for the stupity of that oaf Hartwell. For someone with the fearsome countenance of a Demon, he has the personality of an ass. His notion of honor and nobility will be his downfall, but then again my Lord Gormon might have use for such brainless brawn - after all SOMEONE has to die on the field of battle and it certainly won't be me. Mayhaps I could utilize Hartwell's stupity to my advantage? Hartwell's undeniable loyalty to House Peake could certainly come in handy if the Septons and the Nobles were to hear of next years' new taxes...
