The Shadow Lord

[RYDEN]

The night air was filled with celebration, voices were carried by the cool summer breeze up to the Lord's balcony where he stood looking down upon the many people who had come to witness the union between his son and the eldest daughter of the Lord of House Rathmore. Ryden Grayer stood with his arms clasped behind his back feeling oddly mixed about the wedding that had just taken place in his Great Hall. He was tall and his face was handsome, though now it was lined with age, his dark hair was heavily streaked with bands of gray causing several of the visiting lords, with all their drunken cleverness, to call him Lord Ryden the Grayer.

Cameryn Rathmore, the father of his daughter-in-law, found it particularly funny and laughed harder and harder every time he heard it said aloud with every cup of Dornish Red he downed. Even among the many drunks and winos that had come to the wedding Lord Rathmore had outdone them all at the celebration, yes he was losing his daughter to another house but that house was also much greater than his own in both wealth and nobility.

Yes, I would be celebrating like a fool too if I had fared as well as he had today. Ryden thought as guests began to pour out of the Great Hall and into the courtyard, laughing and twirling to the music of equally drunken minstrels and bards.

House Rathmore clearly got the better of the arrangement, they would receive a discount on the high-quality weapons and armor that House Grayer had based its wealth on over the last thousand years and the ability to ask House Grayer to use its influence to pressure other lesser houses in the North into accepting whatever deals they were negotiating with the Rathmores. The only thing that Ryden and his house got out the marriage was access to the large military force of House Rathmore which stood just under one-thousand men, which would bolster the already massive force that Ryden had at his command. House Grayer had an army of seven-thousand men, each highly-trained and suitably armored with quality weapons and armor. Should the Lord of Winterfell ever call upon the full strength of his bannermen, House Grayer would be one of the largest forces to answer.

Despite his loyalty to House Stark, no representative from the Warden of the North had arrived to observe the wedding, nor had any other house of significant nobility. Instead it was mostly lesser houses looking to arrange a marriage between Ryden's only daughter Renna or his second-born son Wyllam with the lowborn son or daughter they felt was worthy of such a union. It was almost like they were spitting in his face, they felt that if one lesser lord could snake his way into a more powerful house then maybe they could do it too. He would never let Renna marry into a lesser house and he wasn't about to let another lowborn woman grab hold of his second-born son. With that said though Alessa Rathmore was a decent girl, gracious and elegant and she boasted a mind that was sharper than most Valyrian swords. And she was definitely a woman who was easy to look at. She was tall with long dark red hair that she often wore in two strands that were braided tightly to her skull. She had a slim but curvaceous build, a full chest, smooth pale skin and piercing green eyes.

Alessa held herself as a true lady of the North despite having a boar of a man for a father, and that was the only reason he had consented to the marriage between her and his firstborn son Edwen. Ryden smiled at the thought of his eldest son, who was his spitting image at age twenty-five. Tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair and pale-blue eyes, Edwen was solid muscle and already one of the better swordsmen in Ravenhold, the land in the north-west of the Wolfswood that had been given to House Grayer by House Stark long ago. Edwen was quiet and thoughtful and never made a decision on a whim. Ryden had made him study all the major military campaigns of the last few decades as a boy, making him observe the tactics used by each side and how certain outcomes of critical engagements may have changed if someone had done this instead of that. Should there ever be another war Edwen would be a valuable asset. Yes both Edwen and Alessa were smart and Ryden couldn't help but smile at the thought about how clever his grandchildren would be.

"I wondered where you had got to," A soft voice said from behind him. "Are you done celebrating already?"

Ryden smiled broadly and looked over his shoulder. "Unlike most of the other lords partaking in tonight's festivities who think they are twenty years younger than they actually are, I know enough to admit when I'm too old to dance drunkenly through a courtyard."

Lady Nataleya smiled at her husband and moved up beside him on the balcony. "Even at your firstborn son's own wedding?"

"Especially at my firstborn son's wedding." Ryden laughed. "The last thing I would want to do is make myself look like a drunken, senile old fool in front of him!"

"Why is that?" Nataleya asked wrapping her arms around her husband's much larger one and peering down at the large crowd building up below them.

"Edwen has two things that are rapidly eluding me." Ryden said looking down at her. "Strength and youth. Making a fool of myself might only make him think I'm no longer fit to rule Ravenhold."

Nataleya laughed. "I think your youth eluded you quite a while ago my dear." Ryden furrowed his brow but the smile remained on his face. "And neither of our sons would ever think of usurping you. Edwen and Wyllam would pummel any man who ever so much as voiced the idea you were unfit to rule."

"I suppose you're right my lady, but I'd like to think that Edwen would use his brain to deal with such things. A lord must know when to wield force and when to stay it. A man must not be judged by what he says in the midst of a night of hard drinking."

"I would think that talking of usurping the lord would warrant a forceful response." Nataleya said.

Ryden sighed. "Yes, depending on the circumstances. A man who's boasting to his friends in the tavern that he'd make a better lord after too much wine doesn't deserve the same fate as a man conspiring quietly in the corner of the same tavern. I would hope that Edwen would understand that and react accordingly, Wyllam on the other hand...he always prefers the heavy handed way of dealing with things."

Nataleya smiled. "Wyllam is always happier when he's doing something destructive...or something that he knows will infuriate you." She stood up on her toes and and craned her neck to look at the far edge of the crowd below the balcony.

Ryden followed her eyes and immediately found what his wife was looking at. The long brown hair of his second-born son was easy to spot amongst the crowd dancing in the courtyard. The woman he was twirling around like a leaf was also very identifiable, bearing the features of House Rathmore; dark blood-red, hair, pale skin and green eyes. Wyllam had managed to find Lord Rathmore's bastard daughter Chelsie. Ryden let out a half-growl, half-sigh and gripped the edge of the balcony tightly in his huge hands. It was not unknown that Wyllam and Chelsie fancied each other, and Lord Rathmore was more than thrilled with the idea of marrying his bastard daughter into House Grayer and further strengthening his ties to Ryden's political ties and money. Ryden wasn't as sold on the idea of a marriage between his only other son and the daughter of a whore from Rathmore's holding in Goldspire. In fact he outright disapproved of the idea.

And Wyllam knew that.

"I told him to stay away from her!" Ryden rumbled.

"You didn't always listen to your father if I remember correctly." Nataleya said. "You seem to ignore the fact that there is a lot more of you in Wyllam than you care to admit."

"I will not have my son marry the bastard daughter of Lord Cameryn Rathmore!" Ryden said. "Alessa was one thing, but Chelsie Snow is entirely different."

"Have you spoken with the girl?" Nataleya asked. "She's very much like her sister."

"I don't care," Ryden said turning from the balcony and heading inside. "Her mother was a whore, and I will not have my son mixing our blood with that kind of lineage."

"No one knows who her mother is." Nataleya called after him as she tried to match her husband's larger stride. "You just assume her mother is a whore because you don't like her father."

"Who else could her mother be? Lord Rathmore's whoring is second only to that of King Baratheon himself!" Ryden said. "And while we're talking about bloodlines I think Wyllam gets his need to infuriate me from you."

"That isn't entirely improbable." Nataleya smirked as she caught up with her husband. "Where are you going?"

"To see Henrick." Ryden snapped.

"The swordsmith?" Nataleya asked perplexed. "Why, are you going to run Wyllam through?"

"As much as I'd sometimes like to, no." Ryden rumbled as his fury calmed a little. "I'm checking on the progress of an item I commissioned as a gift for Edwen."

"At this hour? When did you commission this gift?"

"When the wedding details were finalized." Ryden said descending a set of winding stairs.

"That was a year ago and Henrick still hasn't finished!?"

"Swords take time to make, and I've been rather exacting on this particular piece of Ravenhold Steel." Ryden said.

He and his wife descended lower into the depths of their hold into the large foundry that was responsible for the production of the armor and weapons House Grayer supplied to other houses throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The forges had been built by Ryden's ancestor Belgrin Grayer after being given a trio of goldmines as thanks by another house who had asked him for aid. Ryden scowled at the thoughts of the Bellistars, they had once been good allies of House Grayer but greed had driven them apart and eventually to war. The war had not ended well for the Bellistars who had been stripped of their lands in Goldspire, which had passed hand through several houses and was now ironically ruled by the Rathmores, and moved to the desolate coastal holdfast of Blackpoint where even the summers were as bitter and cold as the lands north of the Wall.

The Cold Forges, as the smiths had come to call them, were built within a massive cave network that Ravenhold had been built upon. Even the massive flames and heat from the seven pits could not warm the caves entirely. The cold and damp of the forges always made his knees ache as he descended the large staircase. The sounds of hammers on metal echoed monstrously throughout the caves and it smelled horribly of sulfur and molten rock. Racks upon racks of finished swords and battle-axes lined the smooth walls of the caves as smiths and their squires and apprentices hurried about carrying items from one place to another. None of them seemed to pay any notice to Ryden or Nataleya as they proceeded deeper into the caves. Ryden glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the amazement on his wife's face.

This was not a place for a Lady of Ravenhold, and she had seldom been down here. This was actually the first time he could recall seeing her in the forges in the last two decades.

"My Lord!" a voice called from up ahead. A well muscled man covered in dirt and soot and sweat approached them with an equally dirty boy no more than the age of seven padding behind him. "You've come for the blade?"

"Aye Henrick, if it is done." Ryden said coming to a stop at arms length from the smith.

"It is m'lord, finished it this morning." Henrick said as he tapped the boy on the forehead and beckoned him back the way he came. The boy furrowed his eyebrows but padded off back towards the farthest forge. "I have to say it is a fine blade, the finest I have ever crafted Lord Grayer."

Ryden smiled. "If that is to be true, you shall be greatly rewarded." Henrick bowed deeply. The boy came jogging back with a long black scabbard in his arms. The sword was twice as tall as he was and it kept throwing him off balance as he moved, swaying to the right and left until he could regain his center.

"Hurry it up lad, the Lord doesn't have all night." Henrick growled. The boy huffed annoyingly but managed to catch his footing and make it over to the trio. Henrick grabbed the scabbard and presented it to Ryden with a satisfied grin. Ryden grabbed the scabbard gently and examined it. It was made of fine black leather and accented with bands of silver near the weapons hilt, towards the middle and down at the point. Ryden nodded approvingly and then drew the longsword from the scabbard. Nataleya gasped. The sword was truly beautiful. It wasn't Valyrian steel, but it gleamed brightly in the darkness of the forges as silver as the hair on the Mad King's rotting head. The cross-guards at the weapons hilt were encrusted with silver and onyx bands and an onyx gem had been placed where hilt met blade on both sides. "Lord Grayer I present you with Grayfang."

"Ryden, it is gorgeous." Nataleya said running a finger up the flat of the blade.

"Aye it is, a proper lordly sword." Ryden said sheathing the longsword. "Definitely your best work Henrick. How can I reward such craftsmanship?"

Henrick grinned crookedly, "Lord Rathmore brought a very friendly bunch of handmaidens with him, I wouldn't mind having the company of one of them for the night."

Handmaiden was a stretch. Rathmore had tried to dress up his brothel on wheels, but had fooled no one. Ryden sighed. "If that is what you wish then I shall make it happen, but work like this may be worth the company of two or three handmaidens."

"You are too kind m'lord!" Henrick said with a bow.

Ryden slapped him on the shoulder. "Up you fool and clean yourself and come and get drunk with the rest of the House. I will have my ward find you something to wear."

Henrick bowed again. "Thank you Lord Ryden," He looked to Nataleya and bowed again. "Lovely to see you again Lady Grayer."

Nataleya dipped her head with a smile as the smith hurried off to his quarters to wash the ash and soot from his body, which seemed like an enormous task for only a single person to undertake. Ryden smiled and tucked the longsword under his lavish black fur cloak.

"Come my lady, its time we made a lord of our son."