House Tarly
Chapter 28
House Tarly
The journey to Oldtown continued. Hermione and Robb spent their days riding and camping at night, sometimes playing games before bed or sitting outside to watch the stars, and the young lord would point out the constellations and tell the young witch all the stories behind their importance. Grey Wind often rotated between spending the night in one or the other's rooms even if there was very little space on their cots for the ever-growing direwolf. Sometimes Hermione solved this issue by dropping her blankets and pillows on the floor to better snuggle with him, despite the aches she got the next morning. Since the bandit attack, Hermione had also suggested she and Robb sword practice together. That had been a surprise for Robb to learn that she already knew a bit about the sword, thanks to Jon's regular lessons with her. Even with her urging, he had been hesitant about it at first, but once she showed him that she knew what she was doing, he took up practice with her without further argument. It also allowed him to keep his own skills sharp, as he hadn't had an opportunity to really practice since leaving Winterfell.
The days proceeded traveling down the Roseroad, which would take them directly to Oldtown. One day, though, at a fork in the road, they came across a procession that greeted the two of them by name. There were two banners that they flew. One was of a brown deer, bound and slung on a pole on a field of white, and the other was a field of green with a red archer in the center of it.
“Lord Stark, it is good to make your acquaintance,” a weighty man with a plain face and brown hair proclaimed from the lead horse.
“Do I know you?” Robb asked.
“My name is Horrace Hunt. I’m a captain of the guard to House Tarly and I’ve been sent here to escort you and your lady to Horn Hill to sup with Lord and Lady Tarly at the request of their son, Samwell.”
“Oh my,” Hermione stared. “He made the offer, but I didn’t expect to be met by an escort.”
That wasn’t actually true. In all honesty, she didn’t expect the raven to arrive on time or at all and they would end up passing Horn Hill altogether because it seemed rude to knock on the door and expect food and lodging merely because they had met their son on the road. Of course, that also seemed rude to admit out loud, so she devised her first response quickly.
Horrace responded to that with no emotion. “Lady Tarly sent us ahead to wait for your arrival a day ago. I am pleased to have met you earlier than expected.”
“Indeed,” Robb responded. “We are grateful for Lord and Lady Tarly’s foresight and welcome their offer of hospitality.”
“It is a good coincidence you arrive now, Lord Stark. My lord and lady are celebrating their daughters, Roslyn and Evelyn’s, nameday. They are sixteen, my lord, and unmarried.”
That seemed a little bold to say. It was then that Hermione realized the captain was not speaking directly to her at all, and was adamantly looking only at Robb, as if she didn’t exist to him. She felt a twinge of annoyance to that, made more apparent with the mention of Lady Evelyn and Lady Roslyn’s coming of age.
Robb didn’t seem to react at all to the hint and proceeded just as politely. “We are grateful for your escort and look forward to celebrating with the House of Tarly, if they would have us.”
“Indeed. There is to be a joust in celebration and if you would care to participate, my lord has decreed that the proper equipment could be provided to you.”
“That is quite generous of him. I wasn’t planning to joust on this journey, but I will think on it.”
“As you wish, my lord. If you will follow us, we shall take you to Horn Hill now.”
Both Robb and Hermione exchanged a nod with each other and they proceeded to follow the Hunt and Tarly escort. Hermione felt less assured however and wondered if perhaps they should have just kept going without this detour. In the back of her mind though, it was an excellent opportunity for Robb to build connections and allies in the Reach, a necessary part of being of noble birth. Perhaps if he negotiated correctly, he would even find a betrothal in it for himself.
At the thought of that, something that felt like a spoon carving a hole in her chest twisted about. Without realizing it, her hands tightened over the reigns and she rode on without looking at anyone.
The road to the keep was a winding one that took them through the thickly wooded foothills of the Red Mountains. Off in the distance they could see the grand seat of House Tarly sitting on an eponymous hill. It was a handsome structure made of fine pale stone and red clay rooftops. Its layout reminded Hermione of what ancient Roman structures might have looked like in their prime and carried a robustness that easily made her believe such a place had bred only the best soldiers in the whole Reach. Around its perimeter was a slew of tents and pavilions of all colors.
They arrived at Horn Hill three hours before sunset and were greeted by none other than Lady Melessa herself. She smiled when they came through the gates and introduced herself with a curtsy once they had dismounted from their horses. There was quite a great deal of activity in the castle already in anticipation of the nameday festivities. Knights and lords were being admitted by the dozens by grooms who directed them to the barracks or to the yard where they could set up their pavilions if they had them.
It seemed strange that Robb and Hermione would be welcomed by none other than the lady of the castle herself, especially when it seemed like she would be far too busy with other preparations, but here she was all the same. Perhaps though, she was greeting all the lords and ladies that were arriving as they were far from the only one in the retinue of visitors. “Lord Stark. Lady Granger. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Hermione inclined her head in a returning curtsy and Robb lowered into a bow. “Lady Tarly, we are honored by your hospitality.”
Just then, Grey Wind decided to break from their sides and went right up to Melessa to greet her with a playful nudge of his nose. To their surprise, the lady did not flinch away but knelt and pleasantly welcomed the wolf pup with affection.
“Hello, my furry lord. This must be the direwolf I’ve heard so much about.”
Both of the visitors were surprised that Sam had written about the wolf as well. “Yes, indeed.”
“He’s just as Sam described. I’m so glad to hear he met someone pleasant on the road to the Wall. You made quite the impression on him, Lady Granger.”
Hermione felt her cheeks heat up a bit by that. So, maybe it was not such a mystery as to why the lady of the castle had specifically greeted them, after all.
“Did I? For one conversation?”
“You’d be surprised by how powerful one conversation can actually be,” Melessa proclaimed.
“Oh, well then I suppose that makes sense.”
Melessa straightened then and called for a servant at her side to take the lord and lady to their guest rooms. There would be a feast tonight so they would need baths and formal attire. With that declaration, Hermione began to sweat. She had all of her belongings, including her gowns, tucked inside her beaded bag at her side, but Robb had only what he had found from White Harbor. He had no attire for a grand feast at all. Would it be impertinent to ask to borrow something?
Before following the serving maid inside, Hermione felt a pair of eyes on her. Snapping to where she felt them, she looked up to meet the gaze of a lean, balding man with a short, bristly grey beard while he leaned against the crenellation of the nearest tower, looking down on the arriving guests with contempt and displeasure. Such severity could have been accepted by no one higher than the Lord of Horn Hill himself. Randyll Tarly. In that one look, Hermione wondered if all of this fuss was not at his pleasure but more at the behest of his wife and society norms. Perhaps he didn’t appreciate all this merriment. He seemed especially scornful when he looked at her, though she wasn’t totally sure if that wasn’t just how his face rested.
Either way, in those few seconds of interaction, Hermione wished she had just followed the maid without pausing, because when she looked up into those eyes, she could easily understand why someone as gentle and timid as Samwell, would leave a grand place like Horn Hill. Having those harsh, judgmental eyes constantly probing him must have been a nightmare.
The maid took them first to where Hermione would be staying before escorting Robb to his own chamber. She was left to explore a generous room that had a pleasant view of the forest and the visiting pavilions. She watched the small people move about below her for a moment before her attention brought her to tour the room she was granted. To her astonishment, it came equipped not just with a large and comfortable bed, covered with furs and soft sheets, but a wooden tub was already prepped, minus the bathwater, and in the corner, there was even an ornate silver mirror, too.
Mirrors were quite the luxury in Westeros. Winterfell had only a few in their whole keep which were exclusive to the lord, his lady, and their eldest children.
Hermione hadn’t had many opportunities to really study her reflection for a long time, but as she looked at herself, she observed the girl who looked back at her. She had been fourteen when she first arrived in Westeros. She had been so awkward in those days, riddled with the pressure of school exams, peers, bullies, and puberty. Everything had felt like an uphill battle in those days. Her hair had been so bushy and unkempt, washed frequently but managed horribly, usually taken up in a ponytail most days because she couldn’t be bothered with it when there were more important things to worry about. It seemed ironic, considering she had always believed the cosmetics she had access to were a lot more high-quality than what she had scraped together herself in this place. Now, the natural curls were more defined and held a glossy texture to them. She also took time to observe her eyes. Those grey circles marking her exhaustion caused by school were gone and her skin had a healthier glow than it used to.
She bared her teeth, which were straight and clean. She used to sleep with a retainer at her parents’ insistence, even as she had explained to them time and again that she could have corrected it herself with one simple spell. Yet now there didn’t seem to be a need for either of those options somehow. Her overbite had corrected itself. That alone was especially odd. Perhaps she had just finally grown into them, though that explanation sounded weak in her opinion.
Her whole transformation from girl to woman seemed very strange.
Was this normal for witches or girls just in general?
If only there was an adult witch or wizard here. If only they had managed to save Sirius before breaking that stupid time-turner. Then maybe they would have at least someone to help them navigate this transition. Even as Hermione knew she shouldn’t have been complaining, she still felt like this development went far beyond anything she understood. She tried to think about Harry and what he may have been going through. Had he changed just as much?
She pictured a younger him, verses an older him. Perhaps he was taller and broader, maybe even his features were more chiseled, but that could just be the effects of puberty as well. It made her want to find him to compare their experiences. She hadn’t thought to record their physical changes because it hadn’t seemed that important, but now… she wasn’t quite sure.
Her attention turned to the room and the embellishments that adorned it. Namely the tapestry of an archer with his hounds as they hunted down a boar and her thoughts turned to their hosts.
She wondered about the two girls that were becoming women today and her arms crossed as she thought back to the captain’s words.
“They are sixteen and unmarried.”
A violent sting drilled into her chest with those words. To her dismay they continued to rumble around in her mind, forcing the sting to grow much worse. Just suddenly, she hated that captain for saying something so careless. What business did he have with mentioning that? So what if they were sixteen. So what if they were unmarried. What did they want—a medal?
In the back of her mind, she knew what they really wanted. Robb must have looked the very picture of an eligible high lord to them. A fitting prize for any noble lady looking for a husband.
She wasn't jealous, just annoyed. Hermione loathed admitting it, but she had gotten used to his presence while on the road. He was a good travelling companion, and if he was to be swept up by some preening noble lady, Grey Wind would follow him, too. She didn't like the idea of losing either of them but losing both at once was sad. She wanted to groan openly. Why, oh why, had she let him follow her? Now she had gone and gotten attached, and she didn't know how to fix this.
Just then, a knock came to interrupt her thoughts.
She opened the door and found two maids standing there. One carrying two buckets of steaming water and another carrying a fine dress made with light purple fabric.
"Milady, we've been sent to assist you with your preparations for this evening. Lady Tarly took note of your sparse belongings and has allowed you to borrow a dress."
"Oh, um..." Hermione was taken aback by this development. All of her belongings were kept in her beaded purse, but obviously from an outsider's perspective, it would look like she had nearly nothing, despite the long journey across the continent. She hadn't been expecting this generosity as she truthfully hadn't needed it, but there was no way to refuse the two of them without being both rude and suspicious. "Yes, of course. Come in."
The maids came inside and began their preparations.
She felt bad for taking up the services of two whole servants, especially when they labored over carrying bucket after bucket of hot water up the winding stairs towards her room to fill the endlessly large tub. Her compassion soon won out, when she managed to get both of the maids out of her room long enough to fill the rest of the tub herself, making the next trip the last one for them, to their collective confusion yet abundant relief. Though they said nothing about it, they must have rationalized that they had just lost track of their trips, and gladly began with less strenuous preparations.
When they instructed her to disrobe so they could assist her, she was words away from flat refusal but managed to bite her tongue in time. Her lessons on etiquette with Sansa and Arya had taught her that it was a sign of great honor when a lord or lady sent their own servants to assist a visitor with their baths. Refusing it was both disrespectful and warranted great suspicion. Hermione had never had anyone assist her with her bath, or at least, not one that stayed in the room with her while she was soaking, and the experience made her feel twice as naked. Thankfully, the servants were well-trained and they made no comment about her state of undress. They provided oils and salts to the bathwater, though Hermione insisted she would use her own concoctions for her hair as she had now learned how to manage it.
"Allow me," one of the maids said, as Hermione took a handful of shampoo from the jar and prepared to run it through her hair. The young woman relented and handed it off to the maid. Okay, so she could admit that having another massage it into her scalp was quite nice. Both the maids' eyes widened as it soon became frothy and strangely satisfying to work through. Then when it was time for conditioner, they couldn't keep their eyes off of the visual difference there was in how her hair looked both sleek and silky, as well as the delightful fragrance of the honey and lavender combination.
Even as Hermione could tell their interests were peaked, they were disciplined enough not to ask questions about things that were potentially confidential; that included the strange cosmetics of visitors.
Soon she was finished with her bath, and they were wrapping her in a soft robe and seating her in front of the large mirror to dry and style her hair. The maids must not have had experience with curls as abundant as Hermione's as they were only able to manage taming it into a half-braid that pulled the top layer back and out of her face but left the majority of her thick curls free. Hermione was satisfied with it just the same and soon turned to the dress they had produced for her. It was made of a violet satin with long, sheer sleeves, that were tight along the arms though puffed out at the shoulders. Along the bodice and sleeves were embroidered patterns of silver shooting stars and moon phases. Though it had obviously been made for someone else, the maids had a good eye for estimating a lady's size and pallor for what colors would complement their complexion best. To finish the garb, she reached into her bag and fished out a pair of pearl earrings that had been gifted to her by Robb on her own sixteenth nameday.
She remembered the look Lady Catelyn had when he had presented them to Hermione, and she couldn't help but smile a little wickedly at the memory.
Hermione had to admit that she looked quite the beauty when she gazed back at her reflection in the mirror. As a final touch she belted her beaded bag on her hip, as the value it contained inside was far too great to simply leave lying around in a guest room that was accessible to anyone.
By the time they were done with preparations the evening was falling over them and there was a knock at the door.
Robb stood on the outside, clean, groomed, and dressed in grand borrowed clothes of his own. He wore a white shirt beneath a grey jerkin that was sparsely embellished with elegant motifs of bright white weirwood branches, paired with patterns of their crimson leaves. On his breast was fastened the direwolf pin that was a permanent part of his wardrobe, now that he understood its importance.
While Hermione was taking in the sight of Robb, trying not to dwell on how robust and handsome the clothing made him look, his own eyes gazed at her as if he was seeing her for the first time.
"You look lovely," he said, following the design of her dress. "I've always liked that color on you."
"Thank you. You clean up rather well yourself."
Robb offered his arm to her. "May I escort you to the Great Hall, my lady?"
And like that, Hermione forgot all about her thoughts and annoyances from earlier as she took his arm and allowed him to accompany her while a servant guided them through the winding halls.
Horn Hill's Great Hall was as grand as its guest rooms, made of the same stone as the exterior with beams of oak and maple to hold up the roof, while sconces and chandeliers made of antlers illuminated the otherwise dim space. Six long tables filled the room, three on either side of a wide stretch of space that was meant for the dancing, while a seventh was raised on the dias in the far back of the room, no doubt for the house's family and their most honored guests.
Upon entering the Great Hall, Robb and Hermione were promptly announced by the herald, whose voice boomed through the massive room.
"Lord Robb Stark, first born son and Heir to Winterfell and Warden of the North escorting Lady Hermione Granger, Ward of House Stark."
It seemed the hall grew quiet at the announcement of their arrival and numerous eyes followed the pair and pup as they were shown their spots on the dias with the high tables. It gave the impression that the two of them already had some kind of reputation and left Hermione feeling nervous during the slow journey across the room. Their seats put them near their hosts, though there were more important guests to come as they waited their turns to be filed inside one by one. Hermione sat beside Robb as lords and ladies and decorated knights took their places in the hall. She watched as the houses of the Reach were announced and seated and was even surprised when it was discovered that some houses from the Westerlands and Dorne were even in attendance. She sat through the introductions of House Westerling, Fossoway, Meadows, Oakheart, and even a knighted lord from House Dayne. Some were seated at their own high table though they were too far from the Northerner's spots to have a conversation with. Wonder of all was when House Tyrell and Wardens of the Reach were announced.
Hermione followed the gaze of everyone as Lord Mance Tyrell with his mother, Lady Olenna, eldest son Lord Willas, and only daughter Lady Margery were admitted and shown to their seats, which wasn't far from where Hermione and Robb sat. All of them wore fine clothes intricately embellished with the roses of their house though they varied in shades of green and gold. Their seats put them right across from the two Northeners and it wasn't long before all of them were sizing each other up.
Lord Mance was portly though handsome, he had curly brown hair and cut his beard, which had white and grey specks in it, into a triangular shape around his round cheeks, which held evidence of a regular smile. His mother was a short woman who walked with a cane, and though she was aged and her eyes were sharp, she still carried traces of the beauty she had been in her youth. Willas, like his grandmother, walked with a cane as well, though that was because his leg was cast in a metal brace and betrayed the knowledge that he was crippled from an injury that was years old. And down the line was Margery, who had thick, softly curling brown hair and large brown eyes, though not as curly nor as thick as Hermione's. She had a slender but womanly figure with smooth and unblemished pale skin with lively eyes. When she turned her attention to Hermione and Robb, they found that she also had a sweet smile.
Hermione returned the smile and waited for them to speak first, since it was courteous to let the true lords and ladies begin the conversation if they chose to.
"Hello," Margery began. "Who might we have the pleasure of being seated across?"
Robb pushed back his seat and Hermione followed him, lowering into a bow and curtsy respectively as they introduced themselves.
"Lady Margery, it is a delight to make your acquaintance. I am Robb Stark, and this is my traveling companion and foster sister, Lady Hermione Granger." She wanted to frown with the title, as she was no lady, but Robb had introduced her as such, so it wasn't right to correct him.
The Tyrells returned with their own bows and curtsies though all their interests had peaked at the revelation of who they were seated across from, and a few of their eyes now spotted the recognizable direwolf pin on his tunic.
"The delight is all ours," Lord Mance proclaimed. "We've already heard so much about you two."
Hermione and Robb had similar looks of surprise to that news. "Re-really? We had no idea we already had a reputation."
"We heard about your trouble along the Rose Road," Olenna explained. "Six bandits, we heard."
"Yes," Robb confirmed.
"Is it true that you dispatched them yourselves?" Margery asked, her eyes sparkling with interest. "Both of you?"
"And Grey Wind," Hermione added. "He was quite the fierce protector."
"Though Hermione took care of three of them all herself," Robb clarified with a proud smile.
"Truly?" Margery looked starstruck. "How did that occur?"
Hermione and Robb had already established a story between them that would spare any details about her magic and instead spun a tale about dropping a hornets' nest on the bandits, which incapacitated three of them while Robb and Grey Wind were able to take the three remaining, just as they had in the true telling of it.
"How resourceful," Margery proclaimed. "Did you get stung yourself?"
"Only twice," Hermione decided to add, because it may have been too suspicious if she hadn't.
"We heard from a raven sent by Lord Meadows of your heroism," Mance confirmed. "It would seem that band has been troubling his territory for some time now. As Warden of the Reach I thank you kindly for ridding the Rose Road of the threats, Lord Stark and Lady Granger. The Reach is indebted to you."
"Please, the realm's security is all our responsibility. It wouldn't do to have ruffians beginning to think that they can do whatever they like on the roads."
"True indeed," came a voice that turned all their heads. Hermione was suddenly craning her neck to look into the face of a man who stood over her. It was a handsome man, in his late twenties who had a clean-shaven face with an aquiline nose, high cheekbones, dark purple eyes, and a strong jaw. He had collar-length thick silver hair, divided by a streak of midnight black. To Hermione's bemusement, he reminded her strongly of Professor Snape. However, his pallor was easily healthier, and he lacked the greasy hair and deep tired lines under that grim professor's eyes, but the resemblance was still strong enough to believe he could have been a strange, robust, silver-haired relation, possibly one that shared blood with the Malfoys.
"Ser Dayne," Mance said, recognizing the newcomer almost immediately. They all moved to rise into bows or curtsies, but he held up a hand to keep them seated.
"No need for formalities, I know who everyone is here, especially you, my lord." He gave a deep bow to Robb and all in attendance could feel the mockery in it. "I heard that a Lord Stark was gracing these halls. It is my pleasure to meet you, though I had harbored some hope that I would see your father here."
"And you are?"
"I am Ser Gerold Dayne, the Knight of High Hermitage. I believe your sire dueled my cousin, Ser Arthur Dayne. He also knew his sister, Lady Ashara Dayne, quite closely, from what I understand."
A chill ran through the entire table with those words and Robb's eyes went wide while he stood shakily. "My Lord, I did not expect to see you."
"Nor I you. Though again, I would be most interested to see your father Eddard someday."
"I... I will inform him of your desire, ser." It was the most neutral thing he could think to say.
Hermione understood well enough for his surprise. Rumor had it, that Eddard took six men to face three kingsguard led by Ser Arthur Dayne to the Tower of Joy, where his sister Lyanna had been taken hostage during Robert's rebellion. From what they understood, Lord Eddard and his friend, Lord Howland Reed, were the only survivors.
With the promise made, Gerold bluntly forgot about Robb as his attention turned to Hermione. "Well, I suppose I did know everyone here, except for perhaps you, my lady." He took Hermione's hand just then and lifted it to his lips. "Who do I have the pleasure of sitting next to this evening?"
"Hermione Granger, ser. I'm pleased to meet you." Though that honestly had yet to be seen. With the cold way he had addressed Robb, it seemed she was less likely to warm to his company.
Gerold smiled, and she couldn't help but feel like it looked very strange on him. "I see you have dressed in the colors of my house."
Hermione looked down at her garb and realized with horror that he was correct. She even had the shooting stars of his banners to sport it. Ser Gerold himself was dressed in a coat of deep purple with designs of black curls and silver stars. She felt horrified and uncertain about how such a blunder had been possible.
"I-I did not mean... this is a borrowed garb, ser. I assure you, this was not by my design."
"Then I will forgive you for this transgression, provided you are a pleasant neighbor this evening."
Robb's head snapped towards him, and Hermione could feel an expression of indignation cross over him for that. Her own cheeks had heated up, and she groped for a response to those words that would have been appropriate.
She was saved from that when banging from the herald's cane echoed through the chamber as he drew everyone's attention to the doors. It was time for the members of House Tarly themselves to be introduced. A hush rippled through the great hall as everyone stood to their feet to welcome their hosts. Just as Hermione expected, she saw the same severe man that had been assessing her and all the other guests from the ramparts. He accompanied his wife who now seemed to be a bizarre inversion of himself as she was bright with a kind welcoming disposition, compared to his cold eyes which he threw around the room. Behind them came their children, who all looked blessedly a lot like their mother. First was their son, Dickon, who was lean and tall for his age of thirteen and then their three daughters, Talla and then the twin girls Evelyn and Roselyn, who were sixteen that very day. The pair was dressed in identical gowns, fashioned in the style of the Reach and very lovely. Though their house colors were dark red and forest green, they wore paler, pastel shades. One was bedecked in a coral shade, while the other wore a mint green, each embellished with motifs in the color of their counterpart.
Hermione gaged the family, thinking of Sam. As she thought of her brief friendship, she couldn't help but be reminded that he ought to have been up there with them. What in the world would have prompted him to leave such a fine home for black cloaks and desolate ice? The thought was sad, but she put it away as she watched the crowd lowering into curtsies and bows one by one as the family passed through to their seats at the same table as Robb, Hermione, Gerold, and the Tyrells. Them being the highest houses in attendance, they took up the highest places with their host family.
The family came round the table and their chairs were pulled out to issue their spots. Brief introductions were made as they were passing, then to her dismay, Roslyn or Evelyn (she didn't know which one) was seated right beside Robb on his left side while her counterpart was seated right across from Lord Willas. It seemed their spots had been strategically placed to put them between the two most eligible lords in the room and it wasn't missed by Hermione nor anyone else who understood this game.
Lord and Lady Tarly took their seats and a silent wave from Randyl had everyone lowering into their own.
"A toast to my daughters, Roslyn and Evelyn, on the day that makes them women," Randyll said, lifting his goblet to his guests, whom all lifted theirs in turn. It was meant to be a jovial proclamation, but Randyll's expression remained so grim it was like he was toasting to their funerals instead of their nameday. Just the same, everyone toasted at his command. It seemed he wasn't much for speeches though and after that brief announcement, the feast began in earnest.
The dishes were succulent and tasty, and they came in frequent courses, though Hermione noticed that the best was readily reserved for the high tables, while the salt, like the visiting hedge knights on the lesser tables, were given plates of meat, bread, bowls of fruits and vegetables, and hunks of cheese to sustain them. In the meantime, the high tables were treated to a delectable roasted swan, aged venison, baskets of breads, platters of meat pies, cheese boards, salads of sweetgrass topped with chopped nuts, curtains of grapes, figs, melons, citrus fruits, cakes, and a rainbow of marzipan sweets.
Music filled the room while they supped, and Gerold Dayne seemed to have his full attention on Hermione, much to her surprise and maybe even a bit of annoyance. When he offered to serve her, she waved the courtesy off and politely informed him she was capable of serving herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Robb smirk to her blunt rejection. But while she seemed to have caught Gerold's eye, Evelyn or Roslyn, (whichever twin was wearing the coral) turned her attention to Robb at her side. With dismay, Hermione realized that the color of her dress could have matched the weirwood leaves decorating his tunic.
"Lord Stark, what brings you so far south to the Reach?"
"I am accompanying Lady Granger to the Citadel."
"Really," said the twin in mint. "Whatever for?"
"I have urgent business to discuss with the Archmaester," Hermione conceded. "It's of great importance."
"Really? What kind of business?"
Hermione hoped she wasn't the only one who thought that was a bit impertinent to ask. "I'm afraid that's confidential," she said as sweetly as she could.
"Oh, well now I must know," the young woman pushed.
"Roslyn," the harsh tone of Lord Randyll startled the girl and had her bowing her head in submission. "It is none of our concern. You do not interrogate our guests."
"Yes, Father. My apologies, Lady Hermione."
The frightful tone of that man now made Hermione feel much more sympathetic to his children, and she couldn't help but think of poor Sam. Did he go to the Wall to get away from Randyll? Her heart clenched at the thought. In that short moment, she decided to try and be a little nicer to the girls.
"No offense has been taken," she decreed, and the matter of her future affairs was put to rest. However, she herself was not entirely forgotten about.
At her left, Robb was taken into a conversation by Evelyn about what Winterfell was like, while Gerold on her right drew her attention to him instead. "Tell me, Lady Hermione, what kind of family is House Granger?"
"Well..." Oh, how was she going to answer this? "Granger is a somewhat newly established house in Lorath. Our family raises doctors."
"Doctors?"
"It's our word for healer or even maester. There's great honor in becoming a doctor and they are very prosperous in Lorath. I have a lot of family who have become doctors. My mother and father are both accomplished ones themselves, though their primary focus is on teeth, so we call them dentists."
"Really? What is your coat of arms?"
She had to think quickly, since she had never given thought to something like that. So, she went on to describe the caduceus, a winged staff of ancient Greek mythology that had two winding snakes wrapped around it and had been carried by the god Hermes. It worked well since she had been named for the god by her mother and it was a symbol used for both medical practices and the staff could also symbolize a magic wand, though she didn't tell him that.
"Of all the free cities, I hear that Lorath is the most exclusive and secretive, so meeting a true Lorathi is of great interest to me," Gerold said.
"What is Lorath like?" Margery asked, propping her elbows on the table and her chin up on her hands, giving Hermione her full attention now. Hermione had always feared this question, so she had searched the Winterfell library high and low for any and all information about the secretive nation she and Harry had been using as their presumed country of origin in this world. On the off chance that they crossed paths with a real Lorathi or someone who had visited for an extended period, they didn't want their own stories to be contradicted by the truth. The little bit that she had found of its modern importance was in a volume called The Free Cities of Essos and had only a single page dedicated to Lorath. What the author had divulged was that the city had very little trade, focusing on salt, cod, walrus tusks, sealskins, and whale oil, and they traveled rarely out of the circle of their trade routes, which were maintained among their neighbors of Norvos, Braavos, and Ib. The city was surrounded by a treacherous maze that protected the inhabitants from invasion, and they were ruled by a trifecta of princes that were selected by popular vote and were known as the Harvest Prince, the Fisher Prince, and the Prince of the Streets. And that was sadly about it, so she was forced to fill in the blanks with what she made up on the spot while mixing in what little she could reveal about her true country to make it believable.
"Don't your people have more than just walls to protect you?" Randyll probed, in a voice that was nearly a sneer. He had been eavesdropping on their conversation, though it wasn't like he had been the only one. Many of the table's occupants were listening to her, eager to learn more about the mysterious land of Lorath. "Haven't they an army?"
"Only a small battalion," Hermione made up, "though it's not entirely needed as the dangers of the maze dispatch the majority of trespassers."
"That's a lot like Highgarden's defenses," Margery informed. "Between the outer and middle walls is a famous briar labyrinth which serves to entertain as well as slow invaders just as Lorath's is meant to. I'd be so delighted to show you it someday."
"I'd be honored," Hermione decreed.
"Walls can only do so much," Randyll remarked, once again offering an opinion no one had asked for. "The true strength of any country is determined by the effectiveness of a large army. Any man worth his salt knows that strength is in size."
Due to the fact that she was rapidly disliking Lord Randyll with every word he spoke, Hermione just couldn't resist her next words. "Have you heard of Maester Freud, Lord Randyll? His views upon the male's preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you. Though, perhaps that's a topic your wife knows more about?"
Across from her, Margery giggled into her wine goblet, and her grandmother's eyebrows rose with knowing amusement.
Randyll was only confused by her remark, but from the reactions of the women he could understand enough that what she had said was an insult he wasn't privy to. To that knowledge, he purpled with rising anger. "And what would any woman know about the importance of size?"
Olenna already had her response loaded. "Lord Randyll, every lady knows that it's not the size that matters, it's how you use it. And in case it's flown over your head again, we're no longer talking about armies."
This time, it wasn't just the women who understood, but the whole table was stifling chuckles while Randyll's face grew even more severe, if it was possible.
"On a different topic, I want to know more about the beast they discovered in the Riverlands," Willas interjected, saving them all from the temper of their host.
"Oh yes!" Roslyn clapped her hands, eager to leap onto the conversation with Willas. "The griffin or other that the king found on their way back to the capitol."
"It wasn't a griffin; it was a hippogriff. An eagle-horse hybrid."
Hermione's fork dropped from her hand the same moment her head snapped towards the Tyrell heir by that, eyes bulging and heart in her throat. "What did you say?"
"Oh, yes. I heard your other Lorathi ward was tending to it himself," Willas informed the Northerners. "Lady Hermione, you wouldn't happen to know more about such a creature, would you? I'd like to make a journey to King's Landing soon to view it for myself, if at all possible."
Hermione's head was reeling with the news. Could it really be true?
"Um, Lord Willas, you wouldn't happen to know the name of the creature by any chance? Or even its coloring?"
He nodded, eyes sparkling with wonder at the thought of what was of obvious intrigue to him. "The minute I learned that such a creature existed, I wrote back to King's Landing and grilled them for more details. Apparently, it's coloring is stormy grey, it is approximately the size of a small elephant, and its name is Buckbeak."
Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. Aside from being apparently the size of a small elephant now, having confirmation of his name abated any doubts Hermione could have had.
Buckbeak was alive. It was almost too good to be true. And he was with Harry, who was no doubt protecting and caring for him in earnest. Hermione was overwhelmed with happiness towards the news.
"You look relieved enough to cry," Margery noted. "Was something wrong?"
"Excuse me then, it's just, I never believed I would ever hear about Buckbeak again. I first assumed he was lost or dead. To hear that he is safe and whole is a miracle." Not to mention the fact that he had passed through the portal with both of them. It stood to reason, what else could have come through?
"So, you do know the creature," Willas proclaimed, eyes practically glittering. "Are hippogriffs native to Lorath then? Are there many? Perhaps ones that are crossbreeds of other birds, like ravens or falcons? What does their diet entail? How is their cultural impact to your society as a whole? Margery, trade seats with me so I don't have to shout across the table."
Hermione couldn't help but feel dizzy by the barrage of questions and beside her Robb was looking both equal parts horrified and amused. "Gods be merciful, there's a male version of you."
Down the table there was a brief argument where Mance told his son to sit back down and that no one was trading seats. Willas looked briefly disappointed before he called down the table and promised to ask more on the subject later.
In time, dancers soon crowded the floor, and Hermione almost jolted at the sight of a hand invading her vision. She looked up to see it was Gerold offering it to her.
"My lady, would you care to honor me with this next dance?"
Hermione would have rather not as it might have sent the wrong message, especially since their garbs matched too well. But again, manners.
She took his hand, and they strolled to the floor as the band announced their next song. She got into position and looked behind her briefly to see that Robb was following them, now escorted by Lady Evelyn. As Hermione took in the pair, she was dismayed to realize that their clothes matched each other's even better than hers and Gerold's did. It cemented the horrible impression that their borrowed wardrobe had indeed been chosen for this specific design.
She understood why Lord and Lady Tarly might have wanted to pair Robb with Evelyn, but what was the point with pairing her with Gerold? Maybe there was no other point than to get her out of the way. That seemed to be the best scenario, so she leaned more on that. Well, it wasn't like she cared. She and Robb were traveling together but they were not together-together. They were not married nor even really courting. The importance of advantageous marriages among nobles was an inescapable reality, and even if Robb was flighty, he understood what was expected of him. A union with House Tarly or House Tyrell would do wonders for the North. More than she could ever do.
The women took one side of the floor, while the men lined up on the other, all facing their partners. The music started and they stepped into a dance that involved moving in continual grace, which gave the dancers an illusion of floating. It was one dance that Sansa herself had often requested whenever they gathered for lessons. Hermione did her best with it, though she had at least enough skill now not to trod on anyone's feet anymore. Though, with the way Gerold kept pushing for her attention, maybe a bit of foot trodding was in order.
The first rule of dancing was that one needed to keep their eye on their partner, yet Hermione was finding that rule to be very difficult as all she dearly wanted was to escape the piercing purple eyes of Gerold, whose gaze never released her. His expression was so painfully similar to Professor Snape's that she couldn't help the familiar sensation she got that made her think he was reading her mind. To put it plainly, he unnerved her. But as much as he made her uncomfortable, she also found that she had questions for him. From his earlier words, they came to find that Lord Eddard may have had some brief relationship with his cousin, this mysterious Ashara Dayne.
The name sounded familiar, but Hermione couldn't recall if she knew anything about the woman, other than that she was apparently the sister of the famous Arthur Dayne and Gerold's cousin. Her mind went to Jon in that moment. Could she be...?
"So, Ser Gerold, what kind of a house is Dayne? I've studied heraldry in earnest with the Stark children, but I can't always keep track of the bannermen sometimes. A falling star crossed with a sword on a field of Lilac, correct?"
"That is for the Daynes of Starfall. I am Darkstar so my banners are black with a lilac sword and a falling star instead. My branch of House Dayne dwell in Dorne's part of the Red Mountains a few weeks' south from here in a keep called High Hermitage."
"I see. Did you grow up there?"
"No, I was raised by an apothecary who took to experimenting. From time to time, she would test her elixirs on me as a boy. She was prone to experimenting a lot with harmful substances, specifically venomous animals like serpents."
Well, Hermione certainly hadn't been prepared to hear something like that. "How terrible." And she really meant it.
Gerold only shrugged. "In truth, she did me a favor. I have a higher tolerance for poisons and venoms due to that."
"Well, that may be useful, but still, she shouldn't have done that to you. It must have been a very difficult way to grow up."
"Not as difficult as you may imagine. It was informative. I may have been raised on venom, but I suckled it gluttonously until I grew an iron stomach that could bear it."
She wasn't sure the visual was necessary, but she accepted the reasoning politely. "I see."
"Out of curiosity, are you really unable to share what you are traveling so far to the Citadel for?" Gerold asked as they pressed their hands together and twirled about with the other couples.
"Yes, I'm afraid it is a confidential matter, ser. One best discussed with an expert."
"Are you certain the archmaester is that expert then?"
"I shall make my start there and if he is of no use, then I will proceed with other options."
"Would those other options take you across Dorne?"
"I'm not certain, ser. It all just depends."
"Of course. Should they happen to take you across Dorne, you might find yourself in High Hermitage. It's a generous castle, for all purposes, and we mainly raise fields of ice cactus and creosote, along with greenhouses of various exotic plants we cultivate for medicine."
"I will remember that, ser. I'm grateful for your offer of hospitality."
Despite her initial suspicion of him, and the striking resemblance he held for a teacher she never liked, Hermione was beginning to grow strangely warm to him after all.
The dance ended and the pairs faced the musicians to applaud their skill. Then like that, someone's hand was on Hermione's shoulder, and she turned to see Robb standing at her side.
"Excuse me, ser, but the next dance is mine."
In truth, she was a little disappointed. She had completely forgotten to ask more about Ashara and her relationship with Lord Eddard in favor of wasting the opportunity to talk about Gerold himself.
Before she could turn her attention back, Robb was whisking her away just as the band began a jaunty tune called Floral Dances and they were frolicking into a lively farandole. She would admit that where she was more interested in picking Gerold's brain than enjoying the dance, Robb's focus was on lifting her spirits. Maybe she also felt somewhat evil about Evelyn Tarly being abandoned by him. Whatever the case, Hermione soon found herself forgetting about all the rest as she moved and twirled and held his hand to the happy tunes that filled the hall. In time, they had shared three whole dances together and neither was any more interested in trading the other off for different partners. Before the fourth dance could start, though, someone put a stop to that.
"Lord Robb," they both turned to see Mance Tyrell approach with a smiling Margery at his side. "Would you do my daughter the kindness of honoring her with your next dance?"
Robb may have hesitated, but Hermione released him, adorning a smile of ease. She had only traded a few interactions with Margery so far, but if Hermione was going to relent him to anyone, she preferred doing so to the friendly rose. "Might as well, I need to sit down for a bit. He's all yours."
"I'll have him back safely in no time then."
The exchange between girls was light enough, but Hermione had a bad feeling just the same. Of course, Robb wasn't allowed to share every dance with her. There were many noble families here, so it was hardly prudent for her to take up all his attention. She turned about to make her way back to her spot at the high table, when she nearly collided into a body. To her shock and a bit of fear, Randyll Tarly was standing right in front of her. His grim expression was the same as it had been all night and now it was turned entirely on her.
"Might I have the next dance, Lady Granger?"
Hermione felt a rock drop into her stomach with the request and she suppressed the urge to tremble. There was no one in the whole room that she wanted to dance with less. But their host was asking, so it would have been beyond rude to refuse.
Damn manners again.
"You may, Lord Tarly."
As tired as she was and as badly as she wanted to sit down now, she allowed him to take her back to the dancefloor, where she traded a bemused look with Robb who stood on the other side of the floor with Margery. She also looked just as confused when she saw that Hermione was being escorted by the grim Lord Tarly. Hermione only shrugged to them and then the music started. It was a slow and severe tune with a dance to match the beat. One that reflected the lord of the house's temperament.
For one brief moment, it baffled Hermione that someone as joyless as Lord Randyll would even know how to dance. Nobility or not, his character lacked all amusement.
She was proven right to assume he wasn't a dancer, because while he knew the steps and the choreography well enough, there was no grace or enjoyment to his movements.
"So, you are off to the Citadel, Lady Granger?" Randyll began.
"Yes, my lord. I am quite eager to reach Oldtown and have my questions answered already."
"Hopefully by that time, your loyal dog will have kicked his habit of panting after you."
Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. "I beg your finest pardon?"
At least now she knew why he had wanted to dance. It wasn't out of some strange whim, it was so he could lay down the law. "You are aware of the reality of things," he went on, urging her back to the dance.
"Explain what you mean, Lord Randyll," Hermione demanded, with an identical coldness.
"It's no mystery that I intend to secure a match with the North at the end of these festivities."
"I gathered as much, but Robb is a man grown and more than capable of making his own decisions."
"I harbor a guess that he has given little thought to the consequences of those decisions. I doubt you even realize that you two have become the laughingstock of the entire Seven Kingdoms at this time. Or more specifically, his family has become the laughingstock of the Seven Kingdoms."
Hermione's chest clenched at the harshness of those words. "What do you--"
"Don't be so naive," he said, briskly cutting off her predictable question. And just like that, he was roughly taking her arm and leading her off the dance floor to an alcove drawn by curtains that connected to the great hall and provided privacy for their conversation. A couple was already out there, but with a quick glare from him, they scuttled back into the hall. Hermione tore herself out of his grip and faced him as he continued with his rude words. "As if the heir of the whole North is going to run away with a lowly foreigner and not be spurned. And to add salt to the wound, he had the nerve to do it while the royal family were guests of your keep. The one thing he can do to save his family's good name is to marry well to a powerful house. An alliance with my family will repair a good deal of the damage that he's done, so I'd advise you not to interfere in that."
"I had no intention of standing in the way, but only if that's what Robb wants for himself."
"A young wolf that is taken to flights of fancy likely thinks he's above the obligations of his status. Imagine, if you can, the rumors and gossip that has already spread about Robb Stark running away with his Lorathi whore. It's anyone's guess that you have likely become used goods, Lady Granger, and have few if any prospects."
Before, she had been angry, but now with those offensive words, she was positively seething with rage. "You think I'm here seeking prospects?"
"When the maesters eject you from the Citadel (which they will, because they do not accept women into their ranks, no matter how special they may imagine they are), you will be out in the cold with no options. I would suggest you think carefully about your future in this land and ask yourself what lord or knight is going to line up to pick up the scraps left by another man. If you promise to abandon all your ideas of being the Lady of Winterfell, then I will secure a match for you with Gerold Dayne, and your future will be assured."
There was a faint ringing sound in Hermione's ears all while he had been speaking. Then a rage came on her like nothing that she could ever remember feeling. It took everything in her not to slap him.
She decided then and there to lay down a law of her own as she stabbed a finger at his chest. "Let me explain something to you, Lord Randyll; it might boggle your small offensive mind, but shockingly, it is not my mission to seek a man of any status here or anywhere. That is not the ever-waking concern of every woman who's ever lived. You are not my lord, and I am not one of your subdued daughters. You leave my friend and the Starks out of your twisted scheming and keep your council where it is not wanted, or you will find one day you have stepped into a hole of your own making, to which there is no digging yourself out of. Now, if it pleases you, my lord," she poured every ounce of disgust into the word as she could, while giving him a curtsy that was every bit as mocking as Gerold's bow had been to Robb. "I will be returning to my companion."
She swatted the curtain aside and reentered the hall, fuming with rage. Oh, she ought to have cursed him for that, not given him a lecture!
The musicians finished their song, and her eyes scanned the dancers, looking for Robb. Margery stood beside him smiling her sweet little smile, and Hermione felt an unwanted sting of hatred for her and all the other ladies in the room. She shook her head though, trying to banish that unfair thought. Margery wasn't responsible for the offensive language of Lord Tarly, nor was any other lady in the room. But as much as she wanted to forgive them, she couldn't help but also resent them for being cogs to this backwards scheming game that looked at Robb like he wasn't a person, but a fine piece of meat being fought over by dogs.
She approached her friend, trying to breathe and speak calmly before she took his arm. "I'm sorry, but may we go?"
"Are you tired? The festivities have only just begun."
"I want to go now," she stated without further explanation. Confused, his eyes swept over her face and then flitted to a point behind her.
"Did something happen? Why were you speaking with Lord Tarly?"
She didn't answer. She was too angry to talk of it here or look at the lord that was lurking behind her. Robb was quick to understand so he followed her away where they could speak more in private.
They moved towards the exit, but as they were approaching, the doors burst opened without warning, and a band of guards poured in, half-carrying half-dragging a man who looked as if he had been beaten within an inch of his life. From his forehead was a deep cut that bled profusely, and his right arm sported a bloody stump, clumsily wrapped, in place of his hand. The sight of him had them reeling in shock and the two backed away hastily while the men supporting him stumbled further into the room.
She was frozen with shock for all of five seconds, before her body was moving into action, pushing one of the men aside to reach the injured man. "Don't just let him bleed to death on the floor!" She reached into her beaded bag at her side and pulled out bandages and medicine for pain and infection. Kneeling, she took the man's arm and began to tend to his injuries, not caring if she got blood on her borrowed dress.
"What is this?" Randyll demanded, looking to his men furiously for this disruption.
"My lord, I'm sorry, but Huntsberry is gone." There was a choir of gasps around the room to the harrowing news. Hermione's earlier troubles were entirely forgotten about as she listened with horror as the injured man went on, sobbing. "They came--rogues. They attacked the town, took the women and... and the rest... they butchered the rest. My son... my son... they killed my little son."
There were more gasps, and Hermione almost froze as she was tending to him.
"How many?" Randyll asked.
"Sixty, maybe more. They sported black banners with a green skull on a red apple."
Lord Tarly cast a look behind him to a lord at one of the lesser tables, who shifted uncomfortably under Randyll's gaze. "So, the Bad Apple has returned."
Randyll didn't take long to figure out what to do. He began issuing orders to his men and calling for a garrison to be organized and ready to leave immediately. His wife handled their guests, though a few came forward to offer to go with Randyll and bring the rogues to justice. Robb was among those, who would also be bringing Grey Wind with them. Randyll considered him, before agreeing to the young lord's assistance.
Hermione didn't protest, though Robb looked at her warily when he caught the look in her eyes. A maester was there in no time, to take over her task of treating the man and he was whisked away to his turret.
"I'm coming with you," she declared lowly to him. He already knew that nothing he tried to say would have dissuaded her, though he was reasonably worried for her safety. They also doubted that Lord Randyll would welcome her company or her help, and if she tried to impose it, he would be unkind. So, Robb came up with a solution.
"Come in your direwolf form. Meet me in the forest by the lake."
She nodded and disappeared among the pandemonium.