Raymun Darry (2)

Darry's forces settled in an open area near the river and began to rest.

As the sun set, the soldiers gathered around the campfires, polishing their gear and discussing the coming battle.

But inside Lord Raymun Darry's tent, the atmosphere was unusually tense.

Lord Raymun Darry sat upright on a plain wooden chair, having summoned his vassals and principal knights.

He was only twenty-four, and beside his much older, weather-beaten vassals and knights, he seemed far too young and far too quiet.

Most of the vassals and knights around him regarded their young lord with a hint of contempt.

They sat in a circle, but instead of waiting for Raymun to speak, they launched into a heated argument among themselves.

They were discussing the slow pace of the march. Everyone was eager to reach the battlefield sooner, slay Ironborn, and earn glory so they could receive rewards from Duke Tully and King Robert, far away in King's Landing.

Their voices rang out in such a loud, chaotic din that they completely ignored their lord, Raymun Darry, as if he were nothing more than an unimportant bystander.

"In my view, we should march at once and get ahead of the other lords. Why are we stopping here?" shouted a bearded knight.

"Exactly! Whoever gets there first will be the first to earn glory!" agreed another knight in plate armor.

The noise and arguments inside the tent grew louder and louder.

Then Ser Joseth—a short, stout man with a shrill voice—spoke up loudly!

It was hard to imagine that someone so fat could have such a shrill voice. Everyone in the tent turned to look at him.

Seeing that all eyes had shifted to him,

he showed no mercy with his words. "Hmph! House Darry sided with the wrong cause in the rebellion against the Mad King. You were royalists, enemies of His Grace King Robert!"

He paused and looked around. No one contradicted him.

His voice grew louder still. "Your lordship's three elder brothers were steeped in sin. They all fought King Robert on behalf of the Mad King's son, Rhaegar, and perished together at the Trident."

Then he turned directly to Raymun Darry and shouted,

"And now is the time for House Darry to prove its loyalty to King Robert and atone! Why, then, does your lordship act so affected?"

But he failed to notice that the mood in the tent had grown strange, even oppressive.

Some of the knights who had been speaking so freely fell silent, their uneasy eyes darting between Ser Joseth and Raymun Darry.

Several soldiers who were clearly loyal to Raymun Darry had quietly placed their hands on the hilts of their swords.

Their chests heaved as they panted heavily, dangerous light flashing in their eyes.

They looked to Raymun Darry, waiting for his word so they could cut off the fool's head.

But Ser Joseth noticed none of this—or perhaps he simply didn't care.

He kept on chattering.

In a callous, gloating tone, as if the matter had nothing to do with him, he said, "Oh, and Lord Raymun's sisters, too. They married the old Frey's younger sons to ensure the family's continuation?"

"Let me think—which sons of old Frey were they? That man has so many children, it's impossible to keep count. Hahaha!"

Seeing the situation in the tent deteriorate in an instant, with tempers flaring and hands ready to draw swords,

Ser Ronald of Fruitwood, Raymun Darry's knight commander, hurried to his feet.

In an authoritative tone, he cut Joseth off and addressed everyone present. "That concludes tonight's meeting! Everyone, return to your tents and get some rest. We'll need you all to stay fresh for the march ahead."

His sharp gaze swept over Ser Joseth, full of warning.

Faced with Ser Ronald's firm stance, the vassals and knights left the tent one after another, still seething with unresolved anger.

Only Ronald and Raymun Darry remained.

Ser Ronald turned to look at the young lord sitting there.

Raymun's expression was unchanged, as if those words had not affected him at all.

He merely lowered his head slightly, as though deep in thought.

Ser Ronald let out a soft sigh.

He stepped forward and spoke in a low voice. "My lord, you needn't take that fool Joseth's words to heart. Still, hanging portraits of the Targaryen kings through the ages in the castle is dangerous. It will only expose us to danger, and it won't change what has already happened. If the wrong person sees them and reports us, well..."

He trailed off.

After a pause, he continued in a more somber tone. "What's more, House Darry has been secretly aiding the two young dragons of House Targaryen. We've already sacrificed enough for House Targaryen! Joseth was right about one thing: we have to make a show of contributing to this war. That's the only way to better conceal our true intentions and protect ourselves."

Raymun Darry still didn't answer. His gaze remained lowered, as if he were completely absorbed in his own thoughts.

Seeing that his lord had nothing to say, Ser Ronald sighed again.

He was about to say more when a thought suddenly crossed his mind. He recalled what he had learned while speaking with the sixteen-year-old noble earlier, when he had gone to verify the young man's identity.

Ser Ronald spoke again, his voice gentler. "My lord, Suleiman of Foulkeep and his two guards recently passed through Seaguard. They also took part in a battle to repel an Ironborn landing."

"Suleiman's father and two elder brothers were all killed in that battle. His two guards are veterans who have fought the Ironborn on the battlefield."

Raymun Darry raised his head slightly, finally showing a reaction.

He slowly lifted his gaze to Ronald, the corner of his mouth curling in an inscrutable smile. "That sixteen-year-old boy?"

A flicker of faint interest appeared in his eyes.

He was twenty-four years old, the youngest son of House Darry.

Before him, his three elder brothers—Damon, Desmond, and Rodland—had all gone to war at younger ages than he had.

Damon had died at the Trident at the same age Raymun was now—twenty-four. Desmond had been only twenty, and Rodland even younger, just eighteen. They had all died for Prince Rhaegar.

But he, Raymun Darry, had never taken part in a real battle.

Now he heard that a young knight of Foulkeep, much younger than himself, had not only gone to war but also lost his father and elder brothers. It stirred a strange sense of kinship and interest in him. He suddenly felt intensely curious about this odd young man, whose behavior seemed so eccentric.

"Summon Suleiman of Foulkeep," Raymun Darry said mildly to Ser Ronald.

"Lord Suleiman, Ser Ronald requests your presence in the lord's tent."

A soldier from Darry found Suleiman as he queued with the other soldiers for food by the campfire and respectfully delivered the message.

At the words, Suleiman was instantly stunned. His head buzzed, and the wooden bowl of meat broth in his hands nearly hit the ground.

Summoned? Lord Raymun Darry wants to see me?

A sudden wave of intense nervousness washed over him. His heart began to pound uncontrollably, as if he were about to be caught doing something.

It's over. They found out I've been freeloading, eating my fill and taking food with me? Are they going to kick us out?

"Eat a few more bowls!"

Suleiman said this to Lushen and Roslyn, who were still eating heartily and hadn't reacted at all.

Lushen and Roslyn immediately got up and went to queue again.

They didn't understand why Suleiman wanted them to eat a few more bowls, but they trusted him completely. If Lord Suleiman said to do it, they would.

Suleiman sighed and could only make his way anxiously to Raymun Darry's tent.

As he walked, he came up with countless excuses in his head, things like:

"I was just helping you store it—keeping it safe for you!"

"I couldn't finish it, and I didn't want it to go to waste. Taking it away is a fine family tradition!"