Swearing fealty!

Davion's tone grew firm. Before Vereword could refuse, he thrust the gold dragons into his arms.

"And I promise you, there will be more gold dragons filling your pockets!"

"One day, you will become a landed knight, with lands and subjects of your own!"

"You may even build House Ward into a great house of standing in the Riverlands!"

"I swear it on the honor of House Whent."

Vereword clutched the gold dragons to his chest as though they were his most precious treasure, afraid he might accidentally drop them.

Scalding tears welled from his eyes, ran down his cheeks, and dripped onto the gold dragons.

The sworn knight in his twenties flushed scarlet with excitement.

He carefully set the gold dragons on the carriage seat.

Then he solemnly rose, went down on one knee, and pressed his right hand to his left breast, looking at Davion with unwavering eyes.

His voice carried through the carriage and out over Harrenhal.

"With the Seven as my witnesses, I swear upon my knightly honor and steel!"

"I, Vereword, willingly pledge my fealty to Lord Davion Whent, Earl!"

"From this day forth, my sword shall strike for you, my shield shall stand for you, and my life shall be yours to command!"

"I shall serve my lord with reverence, fulfill my duties, obey your commands, and harbor no disloyalty!"

"I shall resist your enemies, defend your lands, and safeguard your honor and dignity!"

"I shall plot no treachery, hold no divided loyalties, forsake you in no hardship, and yield to no temptation!"

"This oath shall endure until death, with all the gods as witnesses!"

Vereword clenched his fist and struck his left breast hard, producing a dull thud.

Even when it aggravated the old injury to his ribs and left him trembling with pain, he did not so much as furrow his brow. His eyes remained resolute.

He had spoken these words once before.

Back then, he had sworn his oath to Davion's mother, the Countess of House Whent.

But at the time, he had been nothing more than a sellsword knight with nowhere left to turn. He had sworn fealty merely to keep himself fed, with little sincerity in his heart.

This time, however, was different.

Davion's trust and promises had kindled hope in his heart.

This loyalty had nothing to do with his livelihood or personal gain, only a knight's honor and his lord's kindness in recognizing his worth.

Vereword steadied his excitement and slowly lowered his head, intending to kiss Davion's boots.

This was a tradition in Westeros, a way for a knight to express absolute submission to his lord.

It meant that from this moment onward, he was Davion's vassal, his life and death for Davion to decide.

But Davion did not want this upright knight to perform such a humiliating act.

He caught Vereword by the shoulder and held his right hand out before him.

Vereword respectfully extended both hands, carefully cradled Davion's right hand, and bowed his head to press a reverent kiss to its back.

The carriage finally stopped in Harrenhal's central courtyard.

Pia rose and first arranged for Harrenhal's hobbling groom to lead the carriage's eight horses back to the stables.

Once the horses were settled, she sent the driver on his way.

Only then did she turn and join Vereword in carrying the pork and beef Davion had bought at the market into the kitchen.

Davion glanced around the empty courtyard and said:

"Tonight, the three of us will dine in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths."

Pia and Vereword both froze for a moment, then nodded.

The Hall of a Hundred Hearths was Harrenhal's main hall, and had once been the liveliest place in the castle.

The hall was said to be large enough for an entire army to dine within.

At the height of House Whent's prosperity, it had been brightly lit every night, with laughter and cheerful voices carrying throughout the castle.

Now, however, only emptiness remained.

When they entered the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, the vast chamber stood empty, the tapestries on its walls long since faded and torn.

The entire hall seemed especially cold and desolate.

Davion went to sit at the head of the table. Vereword stood beside him, hesitating before taking a chair at the table, while Pia sat somewhat awkwardly on the other side.

Soon, sounds came from the kitchen.

After briefly tidying up, Pia brought out beef stewed until tender and great, glistening pork knuckles.

Steam laden with the aroma of meat instantly filled the empty hall.

Pia and Vereword stared fixedly at the meat on the table, their throats bobbing involuntarily as they swallowed again and again, their eyes full of longing.

They could no longer remember the last time they had eaten meat.

Perhaps it had been a year ago, perhaps longer.

Seeing their expressions, Davion's lips curved into a smile:

"Dig in."

Pia immediately picked up a table knife, intending to come over and cut up the pork knuckle before Davion, but he stopped her with a wave.

"Don't mind me. I like gnawing on it!"

As he spoke, he reached out, grabbed the great pork knuckle before him, and tore off a large mouthful with his teeth, heedless of appearances.

Grease trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he paid it no mind as he chewed heartily.

Seeing Davion's unrestrained manner, Vereword abandoned his knightly reserve as well.

Following his example, he reached out, grabbed another pork knuckle, and began tearing into it, making satisfied chewing sounds.

Pia was still somewhat restrained at first, carefully cutting the meat into small pieces with her knife and slowly bringing them to her mouth.

Before long, however, their manner proved infectious, and she forgot all about propriety, picking up a pork knuckle in both hands and gnawing on it.

This was, by all accounts, the finest meal the three of them had eaten in over a year.

After a long while, Davion picked up the napkin beside him, elegantly wiped his hands and the corners of his mouth, and slowly spoke:

"Pia, tomorrow, contact the nearby swineherds and shepherds. Have them deliver one pig and one sheep to Harrenhal every two days, and one head of cattle every week."

"Also, hire a few more maids and servants! Harrenhal is far too quiet as it is!"

Pia was wiping her mouth when she let out an involuntary burp. Her cheeks instantly flushed scarlet, and she hurriedly covered her mouth.

She hastily replied, "Yes, my lord Earl. I'll see to it first thing tomorrow morning."

Davion nodded, then turned to Vereword:

"Ser Ward, now that we have gold dragons, we can no longer leave a castle this large without anyone patrolling or guarding it."

"Starting tomorrow, recruit some guards. Twenty will do for now. These gold dragons will still be enough to support them."

Vereword immediately straightened his back and replied respectfully:

"Yes, my lord Earl! I will choose carefully and find the strongest, most loyal men. I will not disappoint you!"

Davion stood, tossed his napkin onto the table, and patted Vereword's shoulder.

"I trust you, ser."

He headed out of the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, speaking to Pia as he walked:

"Pia, in a little while, ask Maester Tosmiu to come see me in my room."

Davion still felt a trace of embarrassment as he said the words "my room."

Harrenhal was in ruins, and its former study had long since fallen into disuse.

There was no helping it. For now, his bedchamber was the only place where he could receive visitors.

In Westeros, a maester's profession was a very unusual one.

Every noble house with lands of its own would employ a maester to serve the family.

They were like the castle's all-purpose stewards, filling multiple indispensable roles.

They could act as their lord's private advisers, offering counsel, drafting letters, and handling dealings with other nobles.

They could also serve as physicians, treating injuries, delivering babies, and attending to all manner of difficult ailments among the castle's inhabitants. They could even prepare medicines to ease pain.

They could also act as teachers, teaching noble children to read and write, as well as instructing them in etiquette and scholarly knowledge.

Beyond that, they could serve as administrators, helping their lord manage the castle's accounts and supplies and attend to various miscellaneous affairs.

In short, a maester's profession was both complex and important, making him an indispensable member of a noble household.

One reason Davion wanted to summon Maester Tosmiu was to ask him about the precise state of House Whent's lands.

The body's original owner had known nothing about the affairs of his lands all these years. Now that Davion wanted to restore Harrenhal, he first had to understand their true condition.

The second reason was to test just how much loyalty this Maester Tosmiu still had toward him and House Whent.

After all, he had not seen the man once since waking from his coma!