Lord of Stone Hedge: The Stallion

Laughter seemed to be extinct in just about every part of the Riverlands. The oppressive Hoares seemed to bear down on the entire region and reduce smiles to ash, gales of laughter choking in peoples' throats. This was untrue in Stone Hedge. That was because their lord was Lord Ryman Bracken.

The lord let out a whoop as he tore off the grass towards Crossbow Ridge. His auburn-brown hair flew behind him like a flag streaming in the morning, his head thrown back. Maester Myle shook his head fondly and rubbed his forehead, several smallfolk standing with him. Off they went, Lord Ryman and his steed, his uncle and brother a bit behind him as they raced to the ridge.

The maester chuckled a little when he saw the lord throw his arms up towards the end, holding on by his lean legs. Myle knew he had taken after his mother - Lady Sava Piper. The old Lord Bracken had been approaching his late fifties, and his wife had given him no son. His brother looked likely to succeed him as Lord of Stone Hedge. In the span of three years, his first wife died (some Waynwood or another), he married the Piper maid, and she gave birth to Lord Ryman. Ever since he'd been born, the atmosphere was lighter.

The three trotted back towards the small assembled group. The smile on Ryman's face was wider than Myle had seen for quite some time - the lord enjoyed his time with his horses, after all. A few years back he had gone with the young lord to the North to purchase six horses from House Ryswell in the Rills. The trip had been cold, and weary - they'd stayed nearly a week in Gerald Frey's castle to get warm after downpours in the Riverlands.

As Ryman threw his leg over the side of the stallion and landed on his feet, Myle couldn't help but have a bit of despair rise in him. He was born a Florent of Brightwater Keep, he had a fair bit of despair in him. The Bracken lord was comely, with that supple auburn hair, broad shoulders, toned arms and legs, and he stood above six feet. Any lady would be lucky to have the Stallion as her lord husband. Myle was just worried that the young lord would have delusions of grandeur - kingly ambitions like the Bracken Kings of old.

"My good maester," That twinkle in his eye did help as well, the Bracken slinging his arm around the older man. "Anything to report this afternoon?"

"Besides the ever-present crowing?" Myle gibed lightly.

"That would be the fault of our Blackwood friends," Ryman replied as the two set off for a walk down to Greenhill. Friends was a much more pleasant term than what Ryman truly meant.

"I actually do have something." Myle fished the letter out of his grey, worn pockets. "I wasn't going to give this to you until later, but seeing as we are alone now, no time is like the present, aye?"

Ryman groaned as he trotted down the hill, running a hand through his flowing hair. He threw his hands up jokingly and turned to the maester as he walked backwards. "I suppose not, but you seem intent on ruining my day." He grinned at him and waited for the news that Myle was going to procure.

"A raven came this morning." He handed him the letter with the unbroken seal. "From Harrenhal."

The jovial Bracken's face became dour, and he broke the seal himself and began to read. Myle waited patiently beside him, knowing that the lord, while learned, was not exactly the most intelligent man he'd been with. Myle was used to reading the letters aloud for the young lord, and was surprised when Ryman went to read it himself.

"A wedding," Ryman glanced over at Myle. "That's what it is?"

"I suppose, my lord." The maester shrugged as they stopped to overlook one of the small streams near Greenhill.

Ryman thought for a few moments by himself, his face screwed up in concentration. It didn't take anyone too smart to figure out that Harrenhal, while a large castle, would be filled with people. Lords and ladies were invited from all the Seven Kingdoms to attend - a celebration of Hoare power, Ryman knew. It was also the best opportunity to showcase Riverland discontent with foreign powers watching. He knew it was possible for the Riverlands to shake their Hoare overlords, but they could only do it by themselves if they were unified. Ryman knew he wouldn't command unity. With Gardeners, Durrandons, Starks and Lannisters watching, they could make a statement.

"They know something's coming." Ryman decided, folding his arms across his broad chest and staring across the small brook.

"Most likely," Myle agreed, the maester glancing over to his lord. "And is something coming?"

Ryman just smirked and patted the old maester on his shoulder. "Most likely." He replied coyly, winking. The maester smiled and rolled his eyes a bit.

"You had best be careful. The Hoares are not a forgiving people, nor are any of their allies. If you're caught...you would wish you were dead." Myle spoke gravely. He knew his lord would rather fight than shrink away, but sometimes it was best to let others fight so openly. Ryman, he knew, would not favor that option any way it was presented.

"I don't fear Harrenhal." Ryman replied, pointing across the brook towards where a castle rose far in the distance. "Harrenhal will not be our biggest problem. Nor will Casterly Rock, Highgarden or Storm's End. It is there that our trouble lies. Beneath that rotting tree, those Blackwoods would rather see Hoares on the throne than bow to a Bracken."

Maester Myle knew better than to ask the question, but he desired to, if he wouldn't have known Ryman better. Are they so different from you? Ryman Bracken would have his legs chopped off at the knee before he would bow to Arthos Blackwood. The two were near in age, but history would tell that they would never be cordial. Their personalities didn't mesh either. Blackwood was a calm, quiet leader. Bracken was prone to drinking with his friends and making a ruckus. Myle preferred Ryman, but he knew others did not.

"Generations of Brackens and Blackwoods have feuded. There has been peace between the two houses before." Myle broached the subject carefully.

"And the peace has been broken before. Countless times," Ryman ran his hand over his face. "You think I would not prefer peace? Ages ago, we were kings who ruled the Red Fork. Our traitorous Blackwood vassals sold us out. They still think we poisoned that hideous tree." He shook his head. "Not that I'd care, even if we did. Those ravens shit from Greenhill to Honeytree, all over Bracken land."

Greenhill, Honeytree, even Crossbow Ridge was disputed between the two sides. He didn't need to tell his lord, but they were stepping on Blackwood land currently. "Then how to aim to defeat not only the Hoares, but the Blackwoods as well? Both will have an armada of allies."

Ryman Bracken just smiled and put his arm around his maester. "Then we shall do what we can. Get allies."

Lord of Raventree Hall: Quiet Ravens

Lord Arthos Blackwood was aware of the trespassing Brackens on his land. His maester had just informed him as much less than half an hour before. This time, the Lord of Raventree didn't care. He had far more pressing matters on his mind - foremost was this dreaded wedding, and a letter received from Winterfell when the ravens had come at dusk the night before.

The Brackens were loud and boorish in his mind - pleasant enough people at festivities, but annoying to deal with. They were an obstacle, but just that - an obstacle. Not an impenetrable force, nor one that would never move. Playing the long game with the Brackens was the best move he could make.

He got up from his solar and stretched. Like most Blackwoods, he was tall, standing 6'2, two inches taller than his compatriot from Stone Hedge. The raven from King Stark had sent his mind wandering - mostly to unpleasant things that the future held. His wife would almost assuredly be a Stark, though that wasn't necessarily unpleasant. The conversation upcoming with his sister was one of them.

Alysanne Blackwood (or Aly, as she was prone to be called) was much more like their Bracken neighbors than her brother. Spirited, fiery and passionate, they shared few traits but one he knew for sure: a hatred for the ironborn. Her name was derived from a Princess of New Valyria - a kind hearted one who spent much of her time helping people. They were born nearly at the same time, as fortune would have it - Alysanne Blackwood came a year later.

Where Alysanne was going to go, Arthos had no idea. In all honesty, he was waiting for King Stark to come south before he did much of anything. Through the years, Arthos had cultivated a list of allies - sons, cousins, brothers of lords all over the Riverlands. From Maidenpool to Pinkmaiden, from Atranta to Darry, Blackwood friends could be found. The hand of Alysanne Blackwood would matter much in the wars to come. He just needed to see if a wedding to a Stark was required before he made a decision.

Some would wonder if Stark influence bothered the Blackwood lord. In all honesty and truthfulness, that answer was no. Alaric Stark had met him years ago, and they shared a love and piety for the old gods that was rare in the world. That friendship was about to yield him an army of northmen, one that could have the strength to take down the Hoares. Unlike other high lords and ladies, Arthos did not feel he had any right to rule over others. Instead, he made his foundation with his faith, and that if the gods wanted him to rule, he would.

"Come in," His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Alysanne poked her head in, having darker hair than her brother and soft grey-hazel eyes. "Morning, brother." She entered the solar. "You wanted to see me?"

Arthos nodded and gestured for her to sit across from him. Other lords put their trust in maesters, brothers, uncles and all of the above. Arthos trusted his sister. Where he was quiet and deliberate, she was fiery and scoping out potential problems.

"The wedding is approaching quickly," Arthos said, pushing a copy of the Riverlands map onto the desk between them. "No doubt that after it, there will be a period of quiet before the storm comes. Once I meet with King Stark, I am sure his daughter will become my wife. If he desires you for his own, or his kin, we will hold a wedding here at Raventree at the soonest convenience."

Alysanne gave a brief nod. She was not opposed to betrothals and marriages, she just wanted to make sure her brother chose correctly. "If he does not...the Tully's would shore us up to the south and west. The Mootons are wealthy." She advised.

Arthos showed her a separate note - one that his maester had compiled. A few men were traveling past Raventree the night before, having come from Harrenhal itself. It was of houses they knew were going to attend the wedding. At the top was Houses Gardener, Lannister and Durrandon.

"We may have company." Alysanne realized, tracing the scribbled letters with her finger. "Each has a flock of daughters and sons. If other realms get involved…"

"The higher chance that the Hoares pull it out." Arthos finished for her. If each kingdom sent in great portions of their army, it was no doubt that fighting would happen between them. That would mean that the Hoares could retreat to Harrenhal and sit, before taking it all back before long.

Arthos put his head in his hands and rubbed his face tiredly. He had barely slept since he'd gotten the letter, dreaming up all sorts of possibilities. The gods couldn't help him go to sleep, it would seem.

"Then we must act first," Alysanne surmised, poking her hand on the map. "If we wait, we become one of a number. If we go first, we are one of two options - Hoare or Blackwood. I know many Riverland houses would prefer Blackwood of those options."

Arthos sighed and looked at Alysanne. In his mind, the odds of Starks bringing their whole army south was slim. The time it took to rally the Northern forces dwarfed that of the other kingdoms. "If some Gardener princess finds her way into Ryman Bracken's bed, we're doomed." He said dimly.

Alysanne shrugged, and the two lapsed into silence for the first time since the conversation had begun. The crowing of ravens, the spare few that had stayed till morning, could still be heard through the windows of the solar. The sun was out over the Riverlands, and had an allure of a merry morning. That mirage was broken when they heard a great crash outside, and some yelling.

Arthos got to his feet and jogged down towards the castle gates, passing smallfolk in the hallway that were equally as curious. He tried to get past the throng of people trying to make their way outside, but it was hard for a man who didn't want to push them. Once he finally got outside, there was more room. People were fanned out in a line across from where a wooden wagon was tipped on its side, having run into a portion of the stone walls. The horses which had been pulling it were squealing on their side as well.

Lord Blackwood hurried to the cart, pushing aside the flap to look inside. A man was in there, an arrow in his back and a letter in his shirt pocket, dried with blood. His hands were still on the reins, which Artos had assumed was what led them into the wall. He carefully picked up the letter and looked inside. It only had one word. Maidenpool.

"King" of Oldstones: History

The ruined stronghold sat upon a hill, slightly above the Blue Fork of the Trident. From the top you could see the disrepair, with slopes of craggy ash, elm and oak trees coming together. Over the years, smallfolk had grabbed pieces of the ancient castle and ran off with them, tokens that they had been to the otherworldly castle. Tristifer IV Mudd's tomb had been one of the few remaining items that was easy to see in Oldstones. Tristifer V Mudd, or so he believed he would be, had begun a process of cleaning up the old castle.

Tristifer Mudd sat on the edge of a ruined floor of the old castle, looking out at where the moon rose over the hills. His hair was as bright red as the Tully red was, but his grey eyes marked him of the blood of the First Men. He felt tranquil sitting there, as ravens cawed and birds sang their songs, flying south for the night past the ancient castle.

Oldstones would never again be a true castle, one like Riverrun or Highgarden or Seagard. Not unless he turned out the winner of all of this. Tristifer and his loyal followers were simply trying to make the area livable, where they could stay even in the most blinding rain and heavy snow. He would never have asked his friends this task if he didn't have a good reason for it.

At one time, his followers had been a small group of angry men, whose wives, sons or daughters had been killed by the ironborn. Turning them into a true fighting force had been Tristifer's first true success. They didn't have much back then, and thinking about it put a smile on the man's face. They could just harry the ironborn, win a skirmish every now and then, and retreat back to Oldstones or wherever they'd been hiding for the night. Everything had changed when Tristifer was knighted.

He had the right name, but no one among them was a knight. Plus, he was a follower of the old gods, just as his family had been for ages before then. It wasn't really a thing for them to be knights. That was until Ser Lucan Tully met him in a battle (when, admittedly, Tristifer had made a mistake near Tully lands), and the Mudd had won. The man knighted him, and more flocked to his banner than any before. That included the Tully knight, uncle of the current Lord of Riverrun.

"Tristifer?" The question came from the red-haired Tully knight now, standing beneath him on the complete floor on level ground. "I've assembled the most strategic minds I could find."

"Good." Tristifer hopped down and brushed dust off his leather plate. "Thank you, Ser Lucan."

They walked together through a light rain, to a huge round table made of stone. Half a dozen men sat at it together, their faces worn and weary, but their eyes shone when Tristifer approached. With some of the coin they'd gained over the years raiding ironborn supply, he had paid a stonemason to make an outline of the northern parts of the Riverlands in the table. With relatively little cover and constant rain, paper maps would do them no good.

Tristifer examined the men before him. Lucan of Riverrun had the most experience among them. There was a bastard of Pinkmaiden, a fourth son of Gerald Frey of the Twins, two landed knights, and two competent smallfolk warriors. It made for an interesting group - exactly what Tristifer liked about it. Highborn lords missed things that smallfolk didn't sometimes.

"My father got an invitation to the wedding at Harrenhal," The Frey said first, pointing towards the Twins. "If he got one, every lord and lady in the Riverlands will be making the trek south."

"And not just the Riverlands," One of the smallfolk, a woman, with grey hair and fierce blue eyes stated. "I saw ravens flying north, too."

"Everyone will be there," Tristifer murmured as he perched above the table, his hands resting on the mossy stone. His red hair drifted by his cheeks, and his grey eyes flickered to each of those in attendance for further ideas.

"We could get in," Ser Lucan offered, poking Oldstones with a stick. "It'd be quite a trek from here to Harrenhal, and getting in undetected would be a whole new kind of challenge, but I think we could do it. It would help us leap into the next tier. You could get talking to actual lords and ladies, even kings and queens that could turn this around."

The thought was a good one, but Tristifer had a better one on his mind. Some day, he would take a wife, that was true. But he needed to find the best ally, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to just find one at this wedding, where they were all toasting the Crown Prince but plotting behind his back, in their very halls. And if Tristifer was found, he had no family name, no castle to protect him. To the Hoares, he was an outlaw and a ghost of a past they thought was gone. He hoped to prove otherwise.

"We won't go," Tristifer said, grabbing his own stick to point to Oldstones. "We are here. Everyone…" He dragged the stick down to where Harrenhal would be. "Is going here. No ironborn would want to miss the wedding of their crown prince, no matter to whom it is. The whole Iron Fleet...rests here." He pointed the stick to a place on the Cape of Eagles, just south of Seagard itself. "Their men will all be heading to Harrenhal, which leaves their ships open. If a war is going to happen...I need to show that I was doing something, not dining in Harrenhal."

Admiration glowed in the Tully's eyes as he nodded. It was a risky plan that required quite a bit to go right. But if everything went to plan, it would be not just a morale boost for their weary forces, but everyone in the Riverlands would instantly know the name of Tristifer Mudd. Just knowing his name would recall the ancient Mudd kings who once ruled the Riverlands. The stage was set, now they just needed to act.

"King" of the Rivers and the Hills: Money Talks

Unlike most others who were intending to put forward their names to become King of the Riverlands (or were taking steps towards it), Manfryd 'Teague' (as he called himself), was in a spot decidedly west of the main action. Years and years ago, his family had ruled in Maidenpool, alongside (and above) the Mootons that reigned there. Manfryd had set up his little camp in Duskendale, south and west of Maidenpool. Not only that, but he wasn't meddling much with the affairs of lords and ladies - most didn't like him anyway.

You see, Manfryd was only loosely related to the Teagues of old. His mother had told him that her line was descended from a bastard of a Teague. Since he'd learned that, he had always thought himself one of them. He had even taken to calling himself Manfryd Teague, and the name had sort of just caught on with him.

Also unlike some of his riverland compatriots, he had caught on playing the merchant game out of Duskendale. Namely, trade with New Valyria. More profitable than Manfryd would have ever dreamed, he got into the business at the right time. They had just settled a war with Volantis, who, although boasted about their closeness with Valyria in the first place, seemed reluctant to join a New Valyria they weren't in charge of.

Spices and clothes and glass and anything you could imagine was flowing west. The most profitable went to Oldtown, where it could be disseminated in the largest region - the Reach. But Duskendale was a way to get across a broad part of the continent quickly - to Casterly Rock, Highgarden, Riverrun and Lannisport. So, when a young, crafty man with a memorable family name came to offer his services helping these Valyrian goods make their way across Westeros, who were they to refuse?

"Good morning," Manfryd greeted a few smallfolk passing by him on the street. A smile was blossoming across his face, and it wasn't just because of the sunshine bursting in the sky above them. Cunning and intelligent, Manfryd's day was about to become a whole lot better.

He had a good friend in Duskendale, well at least a few. It started out with Lord Darklyn's brother. A few nice gems from Myr and soon he was good friends with the Lord Darklyn himself. Not too long later, and money was flowing into Duskendale itself because of the ventures that Manfryd had set up. He was now popular among smallfolk and the ruling Lord of Duskendale - a good thing for a man whose ambition led even higher than just a wealthy merchant in Duskendale.

He was due to meet with the lord, and not just on economic prospects for the city. Manfryd had made the lord more popular as well - and it was time to get ready to cash in on what he'd done. The Teague stepped up the steps towards Duskendale's castle, which was a bit smaller compared to other great castles of the realm. Manfryd thought it was homey, better than other areas he'd visited before.

"Lord Darklyn," Manfryd said with a thin smile, stepping forward and shaking the burgeoning man. A few years ago they had been about the same size, but as wealth flowed to Duskendale, as did the food. The Darklyn had clearly enjoyed that.

"My good friend Teague," He chortled and led him into the table they always sat at - a small table that usually had some game or another on it. One that Manfryd would inevitably win at.

"As you know," Manfryd said, leaning back in his chair as he looked at Lord Darklyn. "My life will bring me to bigger places than to Duskendale. I love this place, but my house deserves to have its name put back into the annals of history."

Lord Darklyn gave a nod, looking serious for once as he gravely looked to his merchant friend. "Ah, I understand. Duskendale will always be your friend, Manfryd. We are no fearsome castle, but we do have some men, money and food. There are worse places to start than that." He took a drink out of a goblet that sat to his right.

Manfryd smiled and nodded along. He let Lord Darklyn have the impression that he was allowing this, when in reality, Manfryd would do whatever he wanted. The people of Duskendale liked the money that came in through Manfryd's ventures. If it dried up, they would hold no loyalty to Lord Darklyn. The foolish man was smart enough to know that.

"I do have some news to pass along, though. It may be of interest to you before you truly get going on whatever, uh…" Darklyn threw his hands around a bit as he searched for the word. "Quest you're going to go off on, my young friend."

Manfryd waited for the man to speak, who seemed to like to hold the attention of the room. He truly didn't dislike Lord Darklyn, quite the opposite. They had been friends for a while now, but if the lord ever thought he could cross him, he would find out how little that friendship meant at that point.

"There's been a...uh, completely dreadful series of events in Maidenpool, from the sounds of it." Lord Darklyn cleared his throat, looking a bit uncomfortable for the first time since Manfryd had known him. He didn't have the strongest stomach for it, no, but still, it was unlike him to look so green in the face. "We had some riders come down from there today…"

Manfryd could throttle the man with how long he was taking, but he kept a thin smile upon his lips. He nodded and raised an eyebrow.

"The ironborn…" Lord Darklyn shifted in his seat. "They set the town ablaze. They say they took Lord Mooton's daughter with them - that she's to be wed to the prince. Maidenpool weeps, they say."

Manfryd himself was troubled. Never before had the Hoares taken interest in this part of the Riverlands - Maidenpool was nearly as far west as they were. And to take a daughter of Lord Mooton's back to Harrenhal itself was likely to start a fire under the riverlords. Things would be happening quicker than Manfryd had thought - and it gave the careful planner a tighter rope to walk than what he was used to. He'd need to find a way to get into Harrenhal while the lords were assembled - and talk to someone about his family past.

Author's Note:

Thank you all for reading this last intro chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it, I enjoyed writing it. The POVs were a bit shorter than I'd like because we had 4 rather than 3 (I was trying to get in an intro for our Teague :) ). I'd like to thank TheStormHunter for Ryman Bracken, AZW330 for Arthos Blackwood, Luke5921 for Tristifer Mudd and TheShadowofZama for Manfryd Teague.

This last set of intros was a bit difficult for me to do. It's hard to do chapters when you're working with just one character or so, in my opinion. That's why this will be the last one, and the proper part of the story will begin with the next chapter, which is something I am excited for. Thank you to those of you that are reviewing, I truly appreciate it and I love knowing what everyone is thinking about the chapters.

We're doing very good on characters, to the point where I am considering closing the SYOC altogether soon. What I need most right now is probably sisters to Riverland lords or the spare Riverland lord we haven't gotten. A Reyne would be nice too, as well as a prominent Northern lord. But, we've done great and I'd like to thank everyone who's submitted to their heart's content. See you soon.