HAROLD
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Lord Godrow meant to plant his head on the cluttered table but settled instead for his sore palm. The oils on his forehead squirmed between his heavy thoughts and the morass of growing debts and dwindling options that bared on him from the desk. Harold and his men were in the castellan's office. The sun was just up, but they had been there a while and had not put out the candles which still warmly lit the room. The Godrow coat-of-arms hung upon the wall – two halves featuring ore-veined mountains, silver on crimson and gold on black. Harold stared at it morosely through his fingers. Across from him sat the Castellan himself, Vordrick Noye. He was an elderly man, with a bear-like stature and a white beard from chest to sideburns and spiky hair. He was writing up another letter which would request financial assistance. Noye wrote in a strange manner, unblinking and with his head slightly cocked. Suddenly, he screwed up his eyes in disgust and tossed the letter on the ground.
"Damn it all!" Noye growled.
Harold sat up.
"I just cannot believe the Bank of Oldtown would yet again lend us such support." Noye complained. He faced Harold with a rueful expression, "Do you truly believe our credit has not strayed into reproach?"
Harold sunk back into his hands, grunting, "I don't know."
After a pause, Noye threw him an idea. "The faith, my Lord." Harold looked up at him, squeezing his dark moustache. "It is an avenue we have not tried," he suggested.
Caspyan Sephare smirked. The man stood beside Harold reading a directory.
Noye rounded on him sarcastically, "Oh, does our very own Master of Whisperers know something we do not? Tell us a secret then, Sephare!"
Caspyan tried to begin but was interrupted.
"What secrets they are, too, that can be discovered simply by asking!"
Harold sighed.
Casypan laughed it off. "I am sorry, my lord, I did not mean to offend. It is just that the High Septon has shown to be the stingiest lender in the Seven Kingdoms. The truth remains that the crown has been reliably generous. If you would but reconsider my debt purchase arrangement? Unless, of course, you would be willing to borrow from the Lyddens, my lord? They would start us with excellent credit I think."
Harold bristled, "Not the Lyddens." He crossed his arms tightly. "I will not ask Lord Lewys for what I cannot repay him. They are our only real ally and have stood by us for many years. I cannot alienate him."
Gods knew he had turned so many others against him. It began as a simple deferral of the crown's taxes, to result in nothing more than late traffic down the Blackwater. The temporary dip in mine yields proved not to be temporary at all, so they borrowed a large sum from the Lannisters to pay the expiring deferrals. To date in 293, they were borrowing whatever they could get from several lords, knights, merchants and banks to pay back the Lannisters. If that did not carry enough potential to harm the family's reputation, he had given into everyone's pressure to sell lands to vassals to deal with continued taxation. Changing colours rattled louder than poor numbers in a ledger.
Ser Tarlan Grey, who had been by the door talking to one of his men, came over, and sat opposite the castellan. Ser Tarlan was a gruff man, like the Castellan, though of his thirties like Harold and Lord Sephare. When he spoke to most people, he was loud and biting. Still, he had the grace to attempt to reign it in when talking to his peers. "My Lord of Godrow speaks the truth of it. But my men complain of being underpaid, and much of our equipment goes without repair or replacement."
"And Raynald's tower needs to be rebuilt." Noye added. Harold was aware – in its current state, the fortified tower bordering Tallhammer's lands would not be very difficult to breach. Harold tried not to think about the day such a thing might occur.
"Regardless," Harold said as he raked his fingers through his short hair, "even if the crown were to grant our request, it would take a long time. An envoy would need to travel to King's Landing, and the crown's unique processes must take their course." He slumped in his chair. "And I must say, one lowly bannerman's struggle to pay his debts is sorely likely to animate the crown's treasury these days. That poor soul Jon Arryn, I would not blame him for such. I have felt for years that the generosity of times past has been overshadowed by extravagance in that city. We shall arrive and needs ask, 'Which way to the king? The throne room or the lists? Or somewhere else, dare we suggest?' Gods, the queen might insist to Robert that Westerlands vassals pay for themselves! We would sooner win the King's next tourney." A sullen silence eclipsed the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Harold could see Caspyan pouting. "And our next repayment must be made in eight days." He said with finality.
It always came down to time. So much time Harold had spent looking, searching in the name of his late brother's quest. So little progress had been made, and now calamity threatened to bring this house down in the lifetime of its third generation. He thought of his daughters and considered all they have been through. They may not have always performed their duty ideally but were nevertheless coming into their own as remarkable young women. He thought of his only son, so cruelly taken away by a spiteful old man. He even thought of Tybold's bastards, the care for whom had been charged to Harold before his brother left for war. He would fail to hand Hollowtop over to all of them.
He knew what must be done. "My lords, we will make this next payment. Thank you for your counsel."
They looked at him strangely, then picked themselves up and bowed. The castellan's servant entered and saw to cleaning up their cups and the candles. Grey and Noye went outside and talked, while Sephare waited for Harold to collect and pocket some key documents.
"If you have something to say Caspyan, speak your mind."
"My lord you've decided?" His tone was patient, but Harold caught an expectant look.
Harold responded, "To marry her to Tallhammer's nephew? No."
"Secrets, my lord. Else I cannot offer counsel," Caspyan insisted.
"You offer a great deal, and I am thankful for your service." Harold faced him. "I will have need of it soon, you have my word." He was sincere.
Sephare got that look about him as if he were listening to a greater conversation no one else could hear, and then curtly nodded. Harold solemnly hit him on the shoulder and left behind him. Outside, Harold pulled aside Tarlan, and asked him if he could send a man to find Cynthia and take her to the Roxburgh room.
He nodded and sent Addam, who had been guarding the door with another.
"Ser Tarlan," Harold said.
Tarlan turned around as the others left.
"If I asked you to storm Casterly Rock, do you think we could do it?" Harold asked.
The knight did a double-take.
"Holy septon! My lord, I – well, I'll need to construct siege equipment, a great deal of it. I'll need Sabrick to get the horses fed and watered, refit their armour..."
Harold felt disturbed when he realised Tarlan was serious.
He went on, "And – oh fuck, the climbing equipment! The miners had some, I need Calstan-" Then he screamed, "BERON!"
Beron was the other guard, standing right behind him.
Harold held a hand to his shoulder and said, "Peace, Tarlan." The captain flinched. It made him feel particularly unintelligent to have to explain, "I do not mean to attack Casterly Rock."
After a short hesitation, the man replied "...Of course."
As Harold parted, he spotted on Tarlan's confused face the faintest hint of disappointment, which made him even more uncomfortable.
"Now to find Leura..." Harold said to no one in particular. And bring my children together. He would try her room far back in the third terrace. The west wing was where the family found their quarters, whilst the east wing was relegated to the broader household –though the barracks was separate and built into the curtain wall across from the courtyard Harold now descended to. Several rows of men-at-arms were drilling in the courtyard. Under the castellan's office was his family's quarters, which seemed empty beside the staircase as Harold passed. He rounded the intensely focused men, receiving a hastily bowed head from the master-at-arms. Harold had mixed feelings about the household guard. They were unable to prevent the theft of his only son, and in the intervening years had existed to him as complaints and the occasional crime ordeal, be it dragging in petty brigands or becoming outlaws themselves. Still, for his edge of eccentricity, Ser Tarlan had recommended the right man in Ser Otto Baxton, to grind out the poor discipline and sharpen them up. That the men called him 'the Back Stone' attested to this. Harold entered the main hall up a short stone flight and made for Leura's room.
Harold held his fist in front of her door, unable to proceed. He had not figured out what he would say. He wanted to bring her in person, to first talk in private after their last contentious standoff. He hoped it would bring an understanding between them and make the family conference easier. He knocked, once. Then he knocked again properly. He waited for a long minute, fearing she knew it was him and did not even care to acknowledge him.
He finally spoke, "Leura?" sounding authoritative out of habit. Part of him wondered if she was elsewhere, and he dared to open the door, slowly.
Leura was standing facing away from the door, looking out the bright row of windows. Her room was tastefully decorated, if somewhat untidy.
"Leura." His voice was soft. "Have you been well, my daughter?"
She remained silent, and still.
He gingerly approached. "No more... horrible dreams, I hope."
No response.
He stepped up beside her, "Look, Leura, my flower, -"
Harold was startled when her head twisted around awkwardly, to reveal a child's dirty and obscenely grinning face. It was Tybold's bastard, Gabbielle, wearing the wig Harold's wife had fashioned when her hair started falling out. She and another burst out laughing, jumping out of the gown to reveal the other baseborn twin Tydren underneath.
Harold was taken aback, "You little...!" His dismay seemed to increase their laughter. If some part of Harold found the humour in the situation, that part itself could not be found under his anger. "What are you doing with that?" He tried to snatch the hairpiece away from her, but she deftly ducked and scurried away. He gave chase for three paces, then realised the futility of his actions and stopped. He spun back around to seize Tydren, but the boy apparently had no trouble vanishing without a door.
From behind Harold's teeth broke forth an aggravated sigh, "Wild creatures..." When his brother had brought them back from King's Landing, they were even more diminutive and impossible to pin down, disappearing sometimes into the village down the mountain and the surrounding woods. Harold had, with some trepidation, agreed to raise them when Tybold went off to put down the Greyjoy rebellion. Maegryn had just recently miscarried for the second time, and Tybold claimed it would let him continue his dream of raising a large family.
Harold was not to waste time, however tempting it might be to dwell on the past. He stormed out into the hallway and paced about, looking for anyone to ask if they had seen Leura. He might try the Septa or the Maester, either of whom could be expected to teach morning classes, but Leura was averse to schedules, and often impulsively found something else to do. By some strange luck, he heard the Castellan distantly raving and made his way down to find him. The great hall was empty, save for the amiable Ser Percy Sheffield, who had been sharing breakfast with Noye. Harold hardly needed to ask for guidance as he entered the kitchens, interrupting Vordrick as he reprimanded the cook for ordering and using expensive venison.
"I would say she is with my daughter perhaps," Noye told him, "In the gardens, or the gallery – I will send Ser Percy, my lord. He should be finished anyway."
Harold finally made for the Roxburgh room, taking him far to the back of the castle. As he crossed the paved middle courtyard, quadrangle looming around him, he found himself thinking more about his brother. At the time, Harold thought he saw something else behind Tybold's strange request, a change of heart before his final departure. It was as if he sensed he would meet his end in this campaign. A braggadocious, loyal, and brutally fierce warrior, he suddenly began to care about things which held no stock with him before. Harold approached the enclosed passage to the final terrace. The short stone stairway featured no decorations and led up to and into the side of a lonely hallway. Tybold had also confided in Harold the family quest, and his long dereliction of this charge. It now lays in tatters before me, Harold thought again, although he himself was not dead, and had never given up. Until now?
Inside the hallway, Cynthia was leaning over the handles to a set of great doors. As Harold nodded to the guard to return to his duties, he noticed she seemed to be fiddling around with the lock, and when he approached beside her, he was shocked to see her working a key around it. "Cynthia!" he warned.
She did not look up. "Father, yes, it is your key," She replied in her presumptuous monotone. "I examined the room too."
"You broke into my study and stole this?"
"I did."
"How? After Leura's delinquent episode, I locked it in a strongbox, and the key to that I wear on me!" Harold produced a small scratched key from a string around his neck.
She turned and pointed, "Only the gods know what that unlocks. I quite resourcefully fashioned that counterfeit from what I could find in your table, and swapped it in the night for the original."
Harold could do nothing but gawk at his daughter and the redressed key in his hands. Who has taught her this low cunning? He breathed through his aggravation and held his hand out expectantly. She stepped away from the door and gestured at the lock with the key in it, but Harold persisted. She sighed and handed him the strongbox key, which he pocketed, and he pushed open the doors. A short passageway led to another, identical set of doors.
"This one needs a-"
"-Different lock, yes, I know," He went to unlock it. "Cynthia, for the rest of this conversation, you're not to talk out of place, or there will be dire consequences." He stopped and turned. "Do I make myself clear?"
She glowered for a moment, but eventually relented. "Yes, father."
"Good." He swept open the doors, revealing the marvellous Roxburgh room. Harold made straight for the desks along the side. He had planned a more solemn and grand introduction for Cynthia, but in light of what he had just learned, he instead lazily gestured at the statue on the central plinth and found he did not even care to explain that.
Harold collected documents while he collected his thoughts. Cynthia will have pieced much together, and even Leura too. He was waiting until she arrived, then they could begin.
"May I ask, father, why we are waiting?"
"I need a moment."
She paused. "Would it help if I asked you what I do not already understand?"
Outside, he heard the first set of doors open. Harold held up a diagram crowded by writing. "You have read these." He meant it as a question. When she nodded, he continued, "Then you have half the story, and an inkling of the great import of this room and its contents. But you do not know of the mission, a mission passed down generations of Godrows, which now, I am afraid, will come to rest on the shoulders of both of you."
Cynthia looked confused, "Both of us?"
The doors creaked open, and Leura came out. She was exceptionally beautiful, outshining even the memory of her mother. Her gentle features had a subtle impression of nervousness upon them, but she approached gracefully, nevertheless.
"What is she doing here?!" Cynthia cried.
"Did you close the doors behind you, Leura?" Harold asked.
She nodded.
"Then we will begin." The girls stood at a wide berth between each other. Cynthia stared at her father with a look of disappointment on her face, and Leura averted her eyes. "I have made no secret to you of our deteriorating financial status. I have closed the Godstream Mine recently, and that follows the several you have witnessed these last few years." He began to slowly pace towards the plinth. "It will come as no surprise to you that the Roxburghs were unaware of this impending crisis, and in their vanity, constructed this beautiful and superficially pointless room." He ascended the manticore's tail. "However, what was for their family excess and pretension, for us presents opportunity. There was a secret built into it." He stroked the groove of the arm where the gauntlet had been. "All we know of this secret is that it holds something tremendously valuable, something that could save our house."
He watched their reactions. Cynthia crossed her arms and held her chin, scanning the ground with her thoughts. Leura had eyes affixed to the statue.
She spoke up, "Do you mean... Is there some great horde of treasures, hidden within Hollowtop?" She seemed to have temporarily forgotten herself.
Harold shook his head. "I believe it to be a set of maps, detailing extraordinary prospects for new mines to be opened up."
"But that is impossible," she said, "the Roxburghs were terrible at reaping wealth from the ground. You said it yourself."
"So did my father and his father before him. Cynthia, do you remember when I had you look into our historical records for liquid assets at the time of Cedric Roxburgh?" Cynthia slowly nodded. "Besides what we inherited, there were never enough jewels, trinkets, or coin at Hollowtop to stash away like some Myrish pirate. This gave me the idea of sending Maester Oedwyn to inspect some of the older shafts. He tells me they show the markings and layout of efficient extraction, at times even superior to our practices. It is not what one would expect from a family incompetent at managing subterranean resources. Why they hid the maps, we can only speculate."
Cynthia took up the offer, suggesting, "Perhaps they lacked the means to open new operations, or maintain them?"
Harold took a long shrug. "Or," he noted solemnly, "they weren't the owners of the land described in the maps."
Leura crossed her arms and asked, almost softly, "I don't understand what this has to do with the statue and the gauntlet."
Harold held a finger up to her and took a deep breath. "Nevertheless, the secret is hidden behind a lock, though this is no ordinary lock. Instead of a key, like the one both of you managed to find and steal," Harold paused to let them squirm, "it is unsealed by attaching thirteen pieces of armour and weaponry to this figure here- Cynthia, you look surprised. Did you not read the parts about the statue's mechanism?"
"I skimmed." She sounded defensive. "I was looking for details about the gauntlet specifically – are you implying they contain clues about the location of the missing pieces?"
Harold glared at the documents in his hand. "Apparently so." He started back down the plinth. "The Lord of Hollowtop, ever since my grandfather, has been resolved to find the missing pieces. He himself had the closest connection to the Roxburghs, or perhaps the greatest luck; he unearthed the right gauntlet." Harold made for the tables. "My father did not recover any pieces. It is not that he did not take the quest seriously, but he found other issues of more immediate concern." Sounds familiar, he realised. The girls seemed to be absorbing everything well enough. Thank the seven, he thought. He wanted to get this over with quickly.
"As you could probably expect, your uncle largely ignored this discreet and vexing duty in favour of soldierly duty. Though, if he had known of a piece laying within King's Landing, he would have been the right man to kick in doors and find it." Perhaps that is the kind of straightforwardness this mission requires. He wished his son was here to help. "That leaves us, and I can tell you, though I have not acquired any new pieces, I have narrowed the search and brought up some promising leads." He threw down the papers on the desk, turned around, and leaned on it. "Now, my clever daughters, do you have any questions for me? About anything?"
They exchanged glances, and Leura said, "Cynthia mentioned that the gauntlet was dug up out of Cedric Roxburgh's grave. Have we tried all the graves?"
"In the lichyard, yes I'm afraid so. With the Septon's permission."
"I meant… all the Roxburghs. The whole line."
"We don't have the whole line."
There was an awkward silence.
"Gods be good, they're folk tales, nothing more! Helban closed the mine for the same reason we're closing ours – it's barren."
Leura looked sheepish.
"Now, if you've no more questions about that-"
"I do." Cynthia interjected. "If this is the secret quest that is supposed to save our house, why are we giving the gauntlet away for a marriage?"
Harold cringed. "Cynthia, you are aware we have substantial debts outstanding, and few options to sustain ourselves into the near future. I am no longer sure marriage to the Tallhammers is even possible, given our current means, though I am assured it could remedy many of our problems." He steeled himself. Neither of them would like what he was about to say. "That is why I have decided to sell the gauntlet, presently." He saw a vindicated smile come across Cynthia's face, while Leura was horror-struck.
"You can't!" She cried.
"Leura, you-"
She came running across to him, becoming distraught, "You can't do this to me!"
Harold was becoming weary of being interrupted. "LEURA!" he yelled at her. It bought him some breathing space.
He made his way closer to Cynthia, and she seemed to anticipate what he wanted to discuss, saying, "I've already organised the sale, to a Stoney Sept merchant."
Somehow, Harold had half-expected she would take the initiative like this.
"Which one?" He wanted the responses snappy.
"Brennan-"
"Good, when will he arrive?"
"Seven days from no-"
"Perfect. Listen, I'm going to send Caspyan Sephare to trail the merchant when he leaves. We will be able to track the gauntlet's movements and recover it more easily at a later date." He put a hand on her shoulder and managed a slight smile. "We may be down for now, but we're not out of this yet." She returned the half-smile, and an approving nod. Behind him, he could sense the upset growing further in Leura, and quickly turned to her.
He took her by the hands and tried to push through a gentle explanation, although Harold had a feeling the news was not as bad as what she was imagining. "My flower, I know you are close friends with Tyella Lydden."
She looked up and nodded with a slightly confused expression. The dampness of her coral eyes glistened.
He went on, "How familiar are you with her youngest brother?" Harold could not read her reaction, but she seemed to be catching on to what he meant. "Lord Lewys has offered to match you to Larris Lydden before, with no dowry asked for. I intend to take him up on that offer. He's not heir to the Deep Den, but it is still a good match, and you will be able to spend a lot more time with Tyella soon." Harold had expected to see clearer-cut emotions on her face, but she seemed almost muted.
Cynthia piped up smugly, "Well there you go. It turns out father does know best."
Harold turned back to her and said, "I am glad you feel that way, Cynthia, because you will be marrying a Frey."
Her smile instantly dropped. A look of shock and disbelief fell onto her face.
"I cannot tell you which one," he went on, "I have yet to decide. Likely, whoever most desires it.
She opened her mouth, presumably to say something, but Harold was having none of it. He cut in, "Cynthia, do not try and run through this all again, my decision is final," and stood unblinking, as he meant it.
Looking uncharacteristically flustered, she blurted out, "So the Godrow women must marry for the good of the house, but no woman is good enough to marry Lord Godrow?!"
She seemed to instantly regret saying it, and from the corner of Harold's eye, he could see Leura brace for what was coming.
But Harold knew that it was a reasonable question. He had known for a long time, but only now did he believe he had the courage to admit it. He turned away and breathed a deep sigh, burying his eyes in his hands. I'm sorry, Maegryn. He looked up, and stared at the light streaming from the ceiling, catching all the dust particles of the old, familiar room. He could picture her telling him it's okay my love, I understand.
Finally, he replied resignedly, "I will need to find a match as well." His voice was drained. "Whoever offers the biggest dowry. Bronwyn's eldest, most likely." He could not see his daughters, but he knew anyway how they would be looking at him. He turned and made directly for the exit. "Lock the doors behind you," he reminded them.
"Father? Where are you going?" they called haphazardly from behind.
"To get some sleep," he replied, wondering if it was finally possible.