Chapter 18
~Hugh Hedge~
To think a month ago I was complaining that life was boring, the gods certainly have a twisted sense of humor.
The Hedges were on the southeastern edge of land sworn to the Dreadfort, often being the last ones to receive news from their liege lords. They had completely missed the Rebellion, never receiving a call to arms, only finding out about it when they had been informed that the Boltons were all dead and they were now sworn to a new house, the von Carsteins. Hugh hadn't entirely believed it until his heir had returned from the Dreadfort to turn over the yearly collection of taxed goods. Harry hadn't met their new lord, but he had confirmed that the Dreadfort was no longer under Bolton control.
Hugh had been indifferent to that. Roose Bolton hadn't been a terrible lord, his taxes were reasonable and he seemed to place a high value on keeping the King's Peace, but he hadn't done anything to inspire loyalty either. Hugh had offered a prayer to the gods that Lord Bolton's soul might find peace and then moved on with his life. He had duties as the head of House Hedge, land that needed to be patrolled in case of wildling raids, training the young men in how to handle themselves in battle, and settling disputes amongst his smallfolk.
Though I'm really hating that particular responsibility right now.
Hedgerow, the town the Hedges were in charge of, was several days' horse ride south of the nearest neighboring town, Clodsdale ruled by the Clods, at the mouth of the Weeping Water. Hedgerow was small, Hugh knew every person who lived in it by name, and most of his people could likely make the same claim. It was because of the close knit nature of the community that his current problem was such a headache.
Lyarya was the eldest daughter of Ronald, the blacksmith. Ever since she had flowered she had grown more and more beautiful to the point that every unmarried man in Hedgerow had made an offer for her hand. Several men from Clodsdale had as well. Ronald had refused them all, though for what reason nobody knew. A few days ago she had been found murdered, her neck broken and left in a ditch next to the road. While Lyarya had been desired by the men, she had been liked by the women. She had been a sweet girl, always smiling and helpful. So it had been no surprise that the town was in an uproar over her death.
Unfortunately, there had been so little evidence to go on, no murder weapon, no suspect, no motive. Ronald had eventually pointed the finger at Brandon, the owner of the house nearest to where Lyarya had been found. Lacking a better suspect, Hugh had ordered the preparation of a trial. Unfortunately, this had divided the town. Half were convinced it had to be Brandon because they wanted someone punished for Lyarya's murder and the other half thought Brandon was clearly innocent and only being accused because Lyarya's body had been left next to his land. To make things more complicated, Brandon was Hugh's goodbrother, the older sibling of his wife. So, depending on how the trial went, Hugh might end up being called a kinslayer or accused of letting a murderer go free just because he was family.
He had sent his sons out to find any evidence to prove or disprove Brandon's guilt. Harry had a friendly smile and a quick tongue, if someone had seen something he could have talked them into revealing it. Heff was good with a bow and a superb hunter, he could have tracked a man that had fled the area after killing Lyarya. But neither had returned with anything.
So Hugh slowly ate his meal as he tried to think of a way out of this. It was a good meal, roasted chicken with diced potatoes, though simple. His wife wasn't in much of a state to cook anything fancy, her brother might be killed at his say-so after all.
There was only so long he could stall this way. The whole town knew that this morning, after everyone had broken their fast, Hugh would start the trial.
Maybe Brandon will take the black. Take it out of my hands.
It was possible he could ask for a trial by combat but the number of smallfolk that did that was incredibly small, Hugh had certainly never seen it happen before and only heard about it from people who had heard about it, never from someone that had seen it.
He won't do that, he's expecting me to find him innocent.
Hugh was pretty sure that Brandon was innocent. Brandon wasn't just married, he was happily married to a woman he clearly adored, they had five children together and the entire family got along. Of the many men who had desired Lyarya, Brandon hadn't been one of them. But it wasn't like Hugh had any idea who did kill Lyarya, he couldn't just not punish anybody. Someone needed to hang.
When he had first sat down to break his fast, the only sounds coming in through the windows had been the occasional bleat of animals, carried on the wind, as they were fed their morning meals. Now though, Hugh could make out numerous voices. He couldn't make out any specific words but he knew there was a crowd gathering outside of his home.
Better get this over with. He quickly scarfed down the rest of his food while Donna continued to pick at hers.
"You don't have to come," Hugh said as he stood up. "I understand if you don't want to witness this."
"No. I have to be there for my brother." Donna's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. She pushed the plate of food away, half of it still uneaten.
"Very well, let's-"
He was interrupted by a frantic banging on the front door and a man shouting, "Hugh! Hugh! Shit. M'lord!"
Resisting the urge to snap at the man, Hugh hurried to the entrance of the house, knowing something must have happened to result in such a reaction. Donna trailed behind him.
"What is it, Bren?" Hugh asked when he pulled the door open, revealing one of the few full time town guards.
"M'lord," Bren panted, clearly having run here.
That alone made Hugh realize the seriousness of the situation. While Hugh was the ruling noble of Hedgerow, he preferred to avoid the use of titles in the majority of his daily interactions with people. He felt it just stretched the conversation out when he had better things to be doing. Life in the North was hard enough without adding additional pomp to what should be a straightforward discussion on the price of wool, for example. So Hugh only insisted on being called a lord when engaging in official lordly duties, something everyone in Hedgerow knew.
"M'lord," Bren repeated, having gotten his breathing under control. "A large group of horses approach from the north, their banner is a white skull and crossbones on a black field. I think it's the von Carsteins."
Donna gasped behind him while Hugh tried to process this information. He had no idea what his liege lord was like, having not been required to come to the Dreadfort to swear allegiance, and also had no idea why the man would be coming here.
This is a complication I don't need right now! I have a trial to oversee, I don't have time to kiss his. . . wait. This was a possible solution to Hugh's problem. If he made a decision that divided that town he'd be forced to constantly interact with people that hated him for it. But if his lord made the decision then the results, whatever they might be, would be out of his hands. Anytime someone was upset about it, Hugh could rightly point out that it hadn't been his decision.
"Bren, notify everyone that the trial will be postponed till after I meet with the visitors," Hugh barked and then spun in place. "Donna, go fetch some bread and salt."
Hugh glanced down at himself as Bren and Donna hurried away. Not my best outfit but good enough I think, I doubt there's time to change given how hard Bren ran to get here. Indeed, he could already make out the sound of approaching horses.
He took a steadying breath and stepped out of his home. The street was not packed exactly, but there were noticeably more people out and about than would normally be this early in the day. Most of them looked just as frazzled as Hugh felt and they were scrambling to appear presentable. At least they understand the importance of this and aren't arguing for the trial taking precedence.
The pounding of hoofbeats grew louder and Hugh barely made it to the middle of the street before the riders became visible, quickly moving past the hedges that served to mark the town's borders.
Smaller group than I'd have thought. Maybe it's not the lord? Lord Bolton always traveled with more guards.
This group didn't even number a full dozen, and that was counting the fact that one of the horses carried two men, a guard in von Carstein livery and one of Hugh's smallfolk, a hunter who lived a day's walk north of Hedgerow.
The hunter, Theo, scrambled off the horse and loudly proclaimed, "Presenting the new Lord of the Dreadfort, Lord Torrhen von Carstein!"
Everyone immediately bent their knees and lowered their heads, Hugh included.
"Enough of that," a deep voice boomed out. "The ground still looks muddy from the rain we had yesterday, don't dirty yourselves on my account. Feel free to stand."
As Hugh got to his feet, he examined his new lord that was getting off a horse. He was dressed oddly, his black doublet was unbuttoned and stretched down past his knees, displaying grey trousers and a white tunic underneath it. A black veil covered the lower half of his face but the part of the outfit that most grabbed Hugh's attention was the black hat with a positively enormous brim. It wasn't just the size that made it stand out (though it was big enough to completely shade Lord von Carstein's head as well as parts of his shoulders) but also the level of craftsmanship in the hat. The hat had white loops sewn around the edges of the entire thing and the brim curved upwards, presenting images of human skulls with intricate designs and colors underneath, each one unique.
That's the sort of wasteful spending I expect from southerners. . . or some of the pomps in White Harbor. Harry said he was a sellsword, I guess now that he's got land he's throwing coin around. Hope that doesn't fuck us at the worst possible time, raising taxes in the middle of winter because he can't afford food or something.
When Hugh met his lord's gaze, he couldn't help but stare. If this had been a song and he a young maiden it would have been love but this was the real world and the reason for Hugh's behavior was because Lord von Carstein's eyes were completely white, not a hint of color in them. He's blind? But how does he ride and move so effortlessly?
"You look like the man in charge around here," Lord von Carstein said.
"Yes, my lord," Hugh responded quickly, glad that his voice had been steady. "I am Hugh Hedge, lord of Hedgerow."
"Glad to meet a bannermen of mine, which is the main purpose of this visit. I'm touring my holdings, meeting my people, taking their measure and having my measure taken in return, learning about what resources are available, that sort of thing. Hopefully at the end of this you and I will part ways on good terms." He paused and glanced around at the crowd. With a wiggle of his fingers, he said, "Ya'll don't need to stand around if you have work or whatever that needs doing. I don't want to cause any delays in your duties with my presence."
"Actually, my lord, they are here because, prior to your arrival, we were going to hold a trial this morn."
"Is that so? Tell me more."
So Hugh did, he explained what had happened to Lyarya and who was accused of killing her. Given the presence of the crowd, Hugh tried to be as neutral as possible as he spoke but he was still able to notice angry grumblings and shifting feet at his words.
At the end of it, Lord von Carstein was stroking his face, pulling at the veil he wore as if it was a beard. "I am your liege lord and therefore have the authority to make decisions on law that you have to abide by-"
Yes!
"-I am also new here and don't know your people like you do. I wouldn't want to throw my weight around and create resentment."
No!
"So how about I sit alongside you, acting as co-judge during the trial. If we have a disagreement on the outcome then you and I will confine ourselves to a room to argue it amongst ourselves."
Yes? Wait, that means everyone will know I agreed with whatever he decides on, damnation!
Keeping his frustration from showing on his face, Hugh said loudly so the crowd could hear him, "Very well, the trial shall begin in one hour's time." Quieter, he said to his lord, "My wife should have bread and salt in the house for you if you'll follow me."
After giving him guest rite, Hugh was able to explain in the privacy of his home to Lord von Carstein why the trial was so important and so divisive to everyone. Hugh stressed how, regardless of what decision they went with, there would likely be long term resentment in Hedgerow for years to come. Hugh knew that some lords wouldn't have cared about that, saying that it was his duty to keep order not theirs, but Lord von Carstein seemed genuinely sympathetic to Hugh's predicament. Despite that however, he gave Hugh no indication of which way he planned on ruling or what could be done to mitigate the town's anger. If they had had more time Hugh would have pressed his lord for more, but as it was he had barely finished explaining everything before Bren came and notified them that an hour had passed.
Originally, Hugh had planned for the trial to take place in the center of the village but at Lord von Carstein's insistence, they had moved it to the burial ground outside of Hedgerow. 'So that Lyarya may witness us and we her' was the reasoning and Hugh didn't see a reason to argue against it.
Hugh and Lord von Carstein were seated on a pair of chairs atop of a large table that had been set up so that they were visible to everyone.
Ronald was the first person called. He gave a loud, tearful speech about how Lyarya was the best daughter the gods had ever given to a father. Hugh's heart went out to the man, he himself hoped to never know the pain of losing a child. However, Ronald's retelling of how he had been looking for a man suitable for Lyarya was interrupted by Lord von Carstein.
"The purpose of this trial is not Lyarya's life, but her death. You are the first of several witnesses that we must hear from today, please get to the point. I wouldn't want to have to throw out your testimony because you took too long to give it." Ronald, as well as a number of people in the crowd, didn't seem to know how to take that. Confusion was evident in their faces. Lord von Carstein sighed quietly, Hugh doubted anyone else heard it. "Who do you think killed your daughter and why?"
Ronald rallied himself quickly. "I name Brandon, son of Russ as the murderer. Lyarya was found by his house and he had been furious after I rejected his offer to marry her to his son, Edd!" Ronald followed up his accusation with tales of Brandon threatening him and his family, something Hugh didn't believe for a moment but he held his tongue. He couldn't appear to take sides and if Lord von Carstein wasn't going to speak up, he wouldn't either.
"Very well," Hugh said when Ronald finished. "Bring forth the accused."
Brandon was nervous as a guard led him to the front of the crowd. Hugh was mildly surprised no one did anything to him, not a punch or thrown rock or even someone spitting. Mayhaps they don't want to misbehave in front of our lord. If he wasn't here I have no doubt they'd be more rowdy.
Brandon's testimony was short and to the point, he admitted he had approached Ronald to offer Edd as a husband to Lyarya, but denied ever threatening anyone after the offer was rejected. He said he had no idea how Lyarya's body ended up by his house. He added that he was just as saddened by Lyarya's death as everyone else in the village and that he hoped her real killer would be found. Lord von Carstein had no questions so neither did Hugh.
What followed was a series of character witnesses, all swearing that Brandon was either the nicest man in the North or so vile the Others themselves would reject him. Lord von Carstein was silent throughout the entire ordeal, leaving Hugh to decide when someone's time was up and to call the next person. The last witness called was the only person with anything substantial to say, which was Heff, Hugh's son, who explained that Lyarya was not killed where her body had been found. However, he did not know where the killing had occurred.
"Thank you, Heff," Hugh said with a nod. "If that is everyone-"
"Actually, there is one person we have yet to hear from," Lord von Carstein interrupted. "I wish to question Lyarya, daughter of Ronald."
That provoked quite a bit of murmuring from the crowd and Hugh barely restrained himself from doing the same. Instead, he simply turned to look at his lord. "You wish to question. . . Lyarya?"
"Yes." Lord von Carstein pushed himself out of the chair and stood tall. Atop the table he loomed over the crowd; his hat, covered in artistically designed skulls, suddenly didn't seem so farcical anymore but instead ominous. He raised a hand and Hugh saw a dreadful red light swirling around his lord's closed fist.
By the Gods, he's a sorcerer!
Hugh was shocked, he couldn't tear his eyes away. The crowd was equally cowed, they weren't shouting, they weren't running away, they seemed stuck in place, watching, waiting to see what would happen.
It started quietly, so softly that Hugh thought he was imagining it at first, but eventually a young woman's wailing could be heard. The crowd suddenly parted, people scrambling to get away from a specific spot, and Hugh could see the ghostly form of Lyarya rising out of the ground. She was not in the dress they had buried her in but instead the breeches and tunic she had been wearing when she died. Her hands were clasped to her face as she continued to shriek. Lyarya's hair drifted around her head as if she was underwater, unaffected by the wind.
Lord von Carstein's deep voice was like the crack of thunder. "Enough."
Lyarya ceased screaming immediately and dropped her hands to her side, though her hair continued to float around her. She looked up at the table where Hugh and his lord were with a blank expression on her face.
"Lyarya," Lord von Carstein continued. "We are holding a trial in regards to your murder. Do you have anything you wish to say?"
"I would name my killer." Lyarya's voice was different, Hugh could only describe it as a mystical echo.
"Who are they?"
Lyarya turned and pointed. "I was killed by my own father, Ronald the blacksmith."
That was the droplet of water that broke the dam. Prior to her pronouncement, everyone assembled was quiet, no one wanted to call attention to themselves, this was an unprecedented event taking place before them. But now everyone seemed to be attempting to shout at once.
"Be silent!" Lord von Carstein shouted and clapped his hands. A wave of red light burst outward, traveling across the crowd, a sickly miasma seemed to hang in the air as the magic passed over everyone. "Lyarya, please explain what prompted your father to do such a thing."
"I had grown tired of his constant refusals of all the offers for my hand. I had always desired to be a good daughter but I had my limits, I was seven and ten, I wanted to be married, so I confronted him. He said with my beauty I could grab the attention of a noble, that I could provide a better life for the entire family. There were no unmarried noble men of an appropriate age for me to be betrothed to but he either wanted me to seduce a married one or travel further away to find one. I refused to dishonor another woman's marriage bed and we could not afford to go to White Harbor at the time. We argued until he struck me, I fell backward and hit my head against his anvil."
"So Brandon is innocent of your murder?" Lord von Carstein asked.
Lyarya nodded. "He is. Killing me was an accident, I can accept that Father did not mean to do it. But he falsely sought another man's death to protect himself."
The ripple through the crowds at Lyarya's words was visible. Some people were happy that Brandon was innocent, their vindication clear. Others, those that had believed Ronald, were angry and their emotions had one available target: the source of the false accusations. Hugh was sure the only reason the crowd hadn't broken out into a brawl was the presence of Lord von Carstein.
"Do you have anything else you wish to say?" Lord von Carstein asked.
"While Father deserves to be punished, I only wish that my mother and siblings do not share in it."
Even in death, she is the dutiful daughter.
"You have my word that they will be treated fairly, I will find work for them in the Dreadfort if that is what is required," Lord von Carstein said.
"Thank you." As soon as she finished speaking, Lyarya began to disappear. It started on her edges, tiny bits of her vanished like snowflakes melting away. Within minutes she was gone.
Lord von Carstein sat back down. "Based on that testimony Brandon, you are free to go. Ronald, you can choose the black or the block."
~Willem Darry~
Seven Hells Jacq, why didn't you listen to the warnings?
Willem looked down at the corpse, lamenting so many things. Willem was sad that Jacq had lost his life of course, the boy had been a good lad with a reasonable head on his shoulders. But Williem was equally concerned because, being in Braavos, there were very few people he could say he honestly trusted given how important his charges were.
He had had four men with him on Dragonstone when they had broken into the nursery to rescue the royal children before the garrison could reach a decision on turning them over to the rebels. Four loyal men.
But Jon had refused to leave the island. He had a sick mother and a younger sister depending on him for support. He helped smuggle the Targaryens away to freedom, but he wouldn't do more than that. While Willem had hated losing the man but he understood the desire to stay and hadn't begrudged Jon for the decision. But then Maff had died during the trip across the Narrow Sea, tumbling over the railing during the storm. And now Jacq was dead, killed in a duel over the 'honor' of a prostitute.
When the group had first arrived in the city and Willem presented himself to the Sealord, he had been warned about some of the differences between Braavos and Westeros. One of those being that 'courtesans' were much more highly regarded here and that they shouldn't speak ill of them lest they wished to start a fight, something Jacq hadn't taken seriously.
And now, because of your behavior, I only have Stefan.
Stefan wasn't a bad man, Willem knew he was loyal beyond any doubts, but Stefan was old. If his claim of being born during the Third Blackfyre Rebellion was accurate then Stefan was nearing seventy. Many a noble would consider themselves blessed to reach such an age, that a smallfolk guard had reached it was nearly a miracle.
Maybe it is a miracle, the gods saw fit to give me someone I could depend on when I most needed someone loyal.
"Ser?" The city guard asked.
"Oh, right. My apologies, I was just. . . overcome with grief. That is Jacq, he was one of my guards," Willem said.
"Very well, what would you like done with the body?"
Willem thought for a moment. "His family is back in Westeros but I can't afford to send him back. What are the local traditions?"
The guard scratched at some pox scars on his face. "For those with little coin? Rocks are placed in their clothes and they are dropped in the sea, just past the Titan. Helps attract fish."
I'm sorry lad but I have to be miserly with coin until we locate allies. "Do that."
Willem contemplated his situation as he walked back to the manor they were renting. While the Sealord and the Iron Bank would not oust the Targaryens from the city, they had both refused to help them. The former because he didn't want to drag his city into the losing side of a war that was nearly over, the latter because there was easier money to be made with the Baratheons. Apparently the Stags had already sent a representative to negotiate the Iron Throne's financial situation with the Bank.
If I came across whatever money-grubbing ponce of a noble that got stuck with that job, would I be able to control myself or would I try to kill them where they stood?
As cathartic as it would be to slay a toadie of the Usurper, Willem knew such an action would be folly. Even if he somehow successfully escaped the scene, it would only call attention to the Westeros situation in Braavos and risk exposing the Targaryens. The Dragons' presence was an open secret in the city but it still was, ultimately, a secret.
I do wonder what happened to the Spider. Was he loyal to the King? To someone else? Was he playing his own game?
The fact that Willem hadn't received any messages from the eunuch implied he couldn't depend on any help from the not-man but King's Landing had been sacked so Williem was willing to wait a bit more, it was possible Varys simply wasn't able to send a message from wherever he was.
If he's still alive that is.
Willem could only sigh. While there were plenty of Houses, groups, and people that could be potential allies, the number that could openly declare such was an ever shrinking group. Probably none of whom still resided in Westeros. He had paid to have a letter sent to Dorne but he should have received a reply by now.
The Martells are goodfamily to the Targaryens, they should be reliable. It's possible the pirates of the Stepstones inadvertently stopped my message or the reply. . . but what if they didn't? Would Prince Doran truly just ignore us? Has he so little honor?
A voice that sounded remarkably like King Aerys sounded in the back of Willem's mind, that of course the Prince couldn't be trusted because he was Dornish. Willem ignored the creeping doubts and focused on the present.
Mayhaps I can assemble an army of sellswords. Their only loyalty is to gold though so I would have to hire them while we still have some. Willem stopped walking to momentarily rub at his eyes. But given the severity of our situation, I can't rush into anything. One wrong move will see us all dead.
He took a deep breath and resumed his trek home.
I'm sure there are a number of magisters and wealthy families in the city that could be enticed to assist us, but what would that assistance cost? And what happens if the Stags make a better offer? I need to find someone who knows the Free Cities, knows the people that live here, knows who is trustworthy and who is a snake. But Willem was well aware of the problem that that created. There was no guarantee that the person being used to determine people's trustworthiness was, themselves, trustworthy.
Why did it fall to me? Willem lamented. I was just the master-at-arms in the Red Keep. Now the survival of the last two Targaryens depends on me. No amount of training could have prepared me for this. Reclaiming the Iron Throne. . . it's the final goal, certainly. But it comes secondary to making sure Viserys and Daenerys live to see it.
Willem was so caught up in his thoughts he barely noticed that he had arrived back at the manor. And he certainly did not notice the man standing on the street outside waiting for him.
Sloppy, Willem chastised himself when the redheaded stranger called out to him by name. Who is this man and how does he know me?
Before he could give voice to his thoughts however, the man bent down to one knee. "Hello ser, my name is Jon Conninton and I seek to pledge myself to the last of the Targaryens."