The Eagle and the Crown
2nd moon, 279 AC.
The banners of House Mallister fluttered in the cool autumn wind, the silver eagle of Seagard bright against the deep purple fabric. The retinue approached Hammerford in disciplined formation, their armor polished to a fine gleam, reflecting the waning afternoon sun. Jason Mallister, Lord of Seagard, rode at the head of his party, his sharp blue eyes sweeping across the landscape as they neared the keep of House Mudd.
Hammerford had changed since his last visit. Where once there had been little more than a modest stronghold overseeing a river crossing, now there was a growing settlement. The village beyond the keep had expanded, with new homes, shops, and a bustling marketplace filled with craftsmen and merchants. The air carried the sounds of industry—the hammering of blacksmiths, the sawing of lumber, and the calls of traders peddling their wares.
Jason's gaze lingered on the road they had traveled. He had passed through Oldstones on his way here, and the sight had been impressive. The ruined castle, long a ghost of a forgotten kingdom, now bore signs of renewal. Scaffolding clung to its ancient stones, and workmen toiled to restore its grandeur. What had once been the seat of House Mudd was rising again, under the careful stewardship of Hosteen.
At the gates of Hammerford, Hosteen Mudd stood waiting, his cloak billowing in the wind. Though not clad in the finery of the southern lords, he cut a striking figure—broad-shouldered and imposing, his dark hair pulled back, his features sharp with a quiet intensity. His men stood behind him in neat ranks, a sign of discipline and order.
"Lord Mallister," Hosteen greeted, stepping forward as Jason dismounted.
"Lord Mudd," Jason replied, gripping his forearm in a warrior's greeting. He allowed himself a small smile. "It seems I barely recognize your lands. It was not so long ago that Oldstones was nothing more than a shell of history. Now, it seems to be rising again."
Hosteen inclined his head. "I have no desire to see the past buried. This land has more to offer than ghosts."
Jason chuckled. "That, I can see. I passed your builders on the way—diligent men, hard at work. And here in Hammerford, I see prosperity where once there was only a lonely ford."
"Prosperity takes time," Hosteen admitted, "but I do not intend to let my lands wither."
Jason's expression darkened slightly. "There are those who would see them wither, though."
Hosteen did not need to ask what he meant. The banditry plaguing the region had been worsening. Jason had sent word ahead that some of these raiders had even begun to threaten his lands near Seagard. The Pemford pretender's forces were more than mere outlaws; they were too well-armed, too well-funded. Someone was backing them.
"Come inside," Hosteen said. "There is much to discuss."
Together, they entered the hall, the heavy doors closing behind them.
The great hall of Hammerford was lively that night. Braziers burned bright, filling the space with warmth, while the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and spiced wine filled the air. Minstrels played soft melodies in the background, and the long tables were filled with Hosteen's men, drinking and eating in good spirits. The hall was no match for the grand feasts of Riverrun or even Seagard, but there was a strong sense of camaraderie here—soldiers, craftsmen, and nobles alike sharing in the bounty of the land.
Jason and Hosteen sat at the high table, their cups filled with strong Riverlands wine.
"I see your hall has grown in number," Jason remarked, watching as Hosteen's men conversed and laughed. "It is good to have men who believe in what they fight for."
"Men fight best when they know their lord has their interests at heart," Hosteen replied. "If my people prosper, so do I."
Jason nodded approvingly. "A wise view."
Their conversation soon turned to Oldstones and the great project Hosteen had undertaken.
"It will take time," Hosteen admitted, "but Oldstones will be restored. Not just as a seat of power, but as a center of commerce. The Riverlands have long relied on ports like Seagard and Maidenpool. My lands must also have a gateway to trade."
Jason tapped his fingers against his goblet. "And that is where your port near the Blue Fork comes in."
Hosteen gave a short nod. "With the port established, Oldstones will not just be a castle—it will be a center of trade, a stronghold of wealth as much as of war."
Jason leaned forward. "I will not lie, Hosteen. I had hoped that you would consider aiding me in the construction of a port near Seagard sooner rather than later. But I understand your reasoning."
Hosteen exhaled, rolling his cup between his fingers. "If I were to divide my resources too thin, neither project would succeed. I cannot afford that risk. My people have placed their faith in me."
Jason tilted his head, considering. "Then allow me to make you an offer. I will send builders, stonecutters, and laborers to aid in the construction of your port and the restoration of Oldstones. With my men working alongside yours, your projects will be completed faster. And in return, once you have secured your holdings, you will aid me in mine."
Hosteen met his gaze. "That is a fair offer."
Afterwards they have retreated to Hosteen's solar, to speak about the details of the deal.
Jason took a sip of his wine. "There is one matter to resolve first, though."
"The Pemford pretender," Hosteen said grimly.
Jason scowled. He leaned forward, elbows on the oaken table, a goblet of wine in hand. "This pretender," he began, his voice low but edged with frustration, "has been nothing but a thorn in my side. I thought this was your problem alone, but my scouts report that his bandits have begun to bleed into my lands as well. Raids on villages along my southern and eastern holdings, small but effective—livestock stolen, stores of grain burned, a few good men killed."
Hosteen nodded solemnly, setting down his own cup. "It's no longer just an isolated issue," he admitted. "My own patrols have engaged them multiple times, but they are well-equipped and organized. Too much so for simple brigands." He paused, meeting Jason's eyes. "I suspect the Freys."
Jason exhaled sharply, leaning back. "The Freys? It would be like the old weasel to sow discord, but why back a pretender with such a weak claim?"
Hosteen drummed his fingers against the wood. "It's not about the claim. It's about destabilizing my rule before I become too strong. Before my alliances you and the Blackwood's become something they cannot control."
Jason rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "It is a risk, throwing their lot in with a bastard-born nephew of a dead lord. If it's them, they're playing a deeper game."
Hosteen nodded. "Or they expect no one to suspect them, seeing as there is no proof."
Jason let out a sigh. "I'd rather not accuse the Freys without solid evidence. But you may be right." He took another drink and set the goblet down. "Regardless, we need to act. My lands suffer just as much as yours."
They turned their attention to a map spread across the table, where Hosteen's master at arms, Ser Edric Fisher, pointed out patterns in the raids. "They move quickly," he noted. "Their strikes are precise, and they disappear before our forces can react. They must have a hidden camp somewhere."
Jason tapped a region on the map. "They wouldn't dare hide too close to my lands, and moving into the Blue Fork basin would be too exposed. That leaves…"
"The forests along the Frey borders," Hosteen finished grimly. "A perfect hiding spot, with the crossing nearby for quick escape if needed."
Jason clenched his fist. "This must end. We need to flush them out and put this pretender down, like the mad dog he is."
The following morning, Hosteen and Jason gathered with their captains and most trusted men in the war room of Hammerford Keep. A large map of the Riverlands lay spread across the table, markers denoting potential locations where the pretender and his bandits could be hiding.
Hosteen took the lead. "We will not act rashly. If we send our entire forces blindly into the forests, they'll see us coming and scatter. We need to be precise, calculated."
Jason nodded. "Agreed. We must assume they have spies watching us."
Ser Edric, ever the tactician, traced a finger along the forests between Seagard and the Blue Fork. "These are the areas with the most frequent attacks. It is likely they have multiple small camps, moving between them to avoid detection. If they have been receiving supplies, it means someone is funding them, but also that they have a supply line that can be disrupted."
Hosteen gestured to three key locations. "We will divide our men into smaller search parties. We will have three primary groups moving through different regions."
The Western Scouts: A force of fifty men will sweep the dense forests between Seagard and the Blue Fork, focusing on tracking and locating signs of a main encampment. They will avoid direct engagement unless necessary, acting as forward scouts.The Frey Border Watch: Another fifty will position themselves along the border of Frey lands, watching for movements that might suggest hidden supply lines or bandit trails leading toward the Twins.The Central Force: The largest group, one hundred strong, will remain hidden but ready to strike once a solid lead is found. They will be stationed in strategic locations, prepared to mobilize at a moment's notice.
Jason studied the map and then looked at Hosteen. "And if we find them?"
"We do not let them escape," Hosteen said, his tone firm. "If we confirm their location, we will send a raven back here and mobilize a larger force. We end this threat once and for all."
Ser Edric added, "Speed will be key. If we act too slowly, they will disappear deeper into the Riverlands or cross the Green Fork."
Jason smirked. "Then we hunt them like the dogs they are."
The meeting concluded with a final agreement: the search would begin at dawn. Each force would depart quietly, using local guides where possible. The captains were given strict orders to minimize disturbances and prevent spies from catching wind of their movements.
As the men dispersed, Jason turned to Hosteen. "This will take time, but I have faith we'll find them."
Hosteen clasped his arm. "And when we do, there will be no mercy."
Later that day as they sat across from each other, a half-empty flagon of wine between them, their retainers having dispersed to their chambers or to prepare for the coming hunt. The weight of their discussion still lingered in the air, unspoken yet palpable.
Jason was the first to break the silence. "Things are changing too fast," he muttered, turning the goblet in his hands. "The Riverlands have always been restless, but now… there's a storm coming."
Hosteen met his friend's gaze, nodding solemnly. He had felt it too, the subtle shifts in power, the tightening grip of fear and ambition across Westeros. "Aerys grows madder by the day. The lords whisper of rebellion, of choosing sides."
Jason exhaled sharply through his nose. "I've heard it too. Some speak of Rhaegar, some of war. And then there are the rumors of old ambitions stirring in exile."
Hosteen did not reply immediately. The implications were troubling, not just for the realm but for his own house. He had spent years rebuilding, clawing back the dignity of House Mudd from the ashes of history, and now the realm itself teetered on the edge of chaos. Would his efforts be swept away in the coming storm?
Jason leaned forward, his expression earnest. "We must be ready, Hosteen. If war does come, the Riverlands will be forced to choose. And if the Riverlands fracture, we will suffer more than any other kingdom."
Hosteen nodded slowly. "That is why we must secure our lands first. The pretender and his backers must be rooted out before they fester into something worse. We will not be caught unprepared."
Jason smirked, though there was little humor in it. "You always were the cautious one."
Hosteen raised an eyebrow. "Better cautious than ignorant my friend"
Jason chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough. But caution or not, when the time comes, we must stand together."
Hosteen reached for the flagon, refilling their cups. "Together," he agreed. He raised his goblet, waiting for Jason to do the same.
Jason lifted his cup, eyes glinting with determination. "To order and justice in our lands."
They drank deeply, knowing that the days ahead would be filled with uncertainty, conflict, and perhaps even war. But for now, at least, there was purpose, there was resolve, and there was brotherhood.
The embers in the hearth crackled softly, casting long shadows against the stone walls of Hammerford. Beyond them, the Riverlands stretched vast and restless under the moonlight, waiting for the storm to break.