Weylan

The weather had held for the Cockshaw party as they traveled up the Kingsroad. It was warm and mild with a breeze for a couple days, but as night approached today, the wind had kicked up and clouds were gathering on the horizon to the Northeast. Weylan could smell rain. His bones ached a bit as well.

The journey had been tedious, so far. The young lord had felt it necessary to croon and pipe on his flute for our "entertainment." Weylen felt like stuffing the damn thing up his ass. That would give him something to croon about. And then there was the Crow and the kid with him, nervous acting lad. The cart was slowing them down, with its awkwardness and iron manacles. Crows made Weylan feel uneasy. They were like dark specters sent to take you to a cold, bitter Hell. And this one -- this Greenshield -- he was a real exacting sort. Stingy, too. He never once has offered to buy a drink -- always asking for receipts and writing expenses down in a ledger.

Weylan wondered as he rode into the gentle rain why he agreed on this trip in the first place. Lady Evangeline has paid him well for his services, but this trip is not to his taste. He could have just said no and given her notice.  He worried over it and wondered if he'd lost his edge.

He reflected on what they knew of House Bartheld, the people who were holding this Waterman fellow. Brom Bartheld and his sons joined Robert's Rebellion and distinguished themselves in battle. Two of the four sons died at the Trident. As a compensation, Robert granted House Asrig's lands to the Barthelds. House Asrig had been loyal to the Targaryen's in the war and the males were all killed in battle.

Since Brom was stripped of his titles and sentenced to death, the House Bartheld has been run by Brom's grandson Davain. Davain's wife, the Lady Ayleth, is a celebrated beauty in the Riverlands. He has heard her hair is so light blond, it appears white, like snow. She's also known as a "very generous hostess." Weylan suspected this meant she was easy. He didn't care about that. He was more interested in there Maester's wine distilling abilities, which were famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

He also has heard rumor of the leader of House Bartheld's forces. A hater of Targaryens, Rowan Clay had asked Brom Bartheld after Brom offered him a job if he would be a "good lord or a great fat pig fucker like Leofrick Asrig?" Clay sounded like a good sort to Weylan.

Weylan was jostled out of his reverie by Berowne stopping Starshine Immaculate and raising his hand. "Halt!" he hissed. "You all hear that?"

Weylan heard sounds of metal on metal and grunts of exertion. He quickly dismounted and approached Berowne. "I'll walk around through the trees on the side of the road ahead," he said quietly.
"I'll come around the other side," said Treyton from behind him.   Mistrustful Crow! I know my trade.

Berowne looked at them vaguely, saying "yes, yes, ok..." --- Then "Charge!!"

Treyton looked at Weylan and shook his head. They headed quickly into the trees on either side of the rode, in case the young lord had gotten himself into a mess of trouble. Fortunately, the others on horseback were following Berowne into the fray.

As Weylan crept up to the site of the battle, Berowne had of course already arrived. He stopped and was talking to a large young man. He may have been 18 y.o. The young man was outfitted like a hedge night with a large polar bear sigil. There were four bodies lying around him. Weylan stepped on a twig and the young man turned to look into the woods. It was then that Weylan noticed the horrible claw mark scar on the other side of the boy's face.

Weylan stepped out of the shadow of the trees and bent to examine the bodies. He looked up at the young knight, "Come at ya out of the wood, eh? Wanting money or your armor I imagine?"

"Uh, I guess... yeah." He had a surprisingly quiet and nervous voice.
"Well, I did some traveling through the Riverlands some years back and these look to be Black Serpents, one of the many gangs that prey on nobles and the like. Though I've never seen them be so bold as to wear a black snake sigil on their shirts," Weylan reported. He looked at the young man again. He's oddly shaken about this for a hedge knight.  He turned to Berowne, "Mi'lord, ahead is the light of the Inn at the Crossroads. Masha will give us a warm welcome. And you," he pointed at the knight, "could use an ale."