Rydan I

“Get yer backs into it boys! Me gran can carry far more than ye and she’s one and seventy!” The Secretary of Regulations and Enforcement shouted at the slackers. He pointed at many groups of people. “You! You! You! I want those chainmail, red tunics, swords and spears loaded into those carriages by the end of the hour!”

The harbour was packed with volunteers. Men who were given the taste of wealth, by Petyr, were willing to fight to the very death for more. After months of working with Petyr, he noticed he wasn’t as innocent as he seemed at first glance. The dishonourable actions he took nearly reminded him of his old friend. Though he was glad Petyr was less bloodthirsty and less focused on his House. The boy had a grand vision of what society was going to be. His planning and scheming would achieve this, by any means necessary.

Honestly, he couldn’t believe it. He always believed the nobles were arrogant and dismissive of the smallfolk. Even little Gerry sometimes fell for the trap. But not Petyr. The young man actually believed they held importance for his vision. Rydan dismissed it at first for what it was – a young man’s idealism and naivety. Slowly, he saw what Petyr envisioned in the smallfolk. The poorest and the most damned in society were given a chance to uplift themselves through those fancy schools Petyr set up. Baelish called it ‘social mobility’. Most chose to join his department as most of them knew nothing but jabbing with their fist before going to school.

By the gods, they were the most motivated. Most focused and most talented. The smallfolk who worked for Rydan’s fancy department accomplished the most and lacked the haughty arrogance merchant kids had. Perhaps the ideology Petyr espouses had some possibility of succeeding. The meritocratic idea. If it was a religion then the boy must’ve worshipped it every day. Yet he had his doubts. He may not be an expert in history as that traitor, Stephas, but he knew how most of the nobility originated. They descended from famous knights who accomplished great feats, and through their merit, were rewarded through ennoblement. Then their kids became nobles then their grandchildren. Then several generations later you have little shits running around and looking down upon more humbler folks.

The nobility was the same and he held great hatred towards them. His hatred eventually grew to rage when he saw his mother being raped and then killed by non-other than the ‘chivalrous’ and ‘honourable’ knights. To this day he wouldn’t know what house they came nor the family they pledged their fealty to. Perhaps it did him well. No use having grudges that will weigh you till the end of your life.

Instead, he realised to prevent abuses upon himself and his future family he would gather as much wealth as possible. Through money comes power, surely.

Young and stupid he enlisted as a cabin boy for one of the ships docked in Gulltown. He didn’t realise they were pirates until they set sail till he couldn’t see the city anymore. Afraid out of his mind, he did things that he would regret to this day. But they paid so well. And so, despite the enormous amount of guilt, he continued.

But his sins were eventually his downfall. It was a routine day. Raiding a ship full of Northern ironwood but it was a trap. Suddenly, three ships came out of the fog bearing flags of red and black – the colours of house Grafton.

Their ship was boarded and those who fought back were routinely killed. Those who surrendered, including himself, were put in chains and shoved to the damn brig. He remembered how rat-infested it was and how he contracted a disease that would make his foot rot from the inside.

Fortunately, the trip back to Gulltown took only a few days and the prisoners were offloaded for judgement. They all thought they were going to die. Maybe they were given a choice to serve the Night Watch and freeze their balls off at the Wall. Neither were particularly pleasant.

To his utter surprise, the lord at the time gave them pardons. In exchange, they would man his ships and act as his personal raiders – ‘Privateers’ the eccentric lord called them.

He was never a bright child. Only hard work and the ability to shake off his morals got to where he is now. He stupidly raised his hands.

The guards behind him clobbered his head causing young Rydan to fall to his knees. He tried to hold back a sob but failed.

“No. Leave him alone.” The boy lord came in front of him and helped him stand up. The lord was shocked at how young he was. “By the gods. You're about the same age as me!”

“I am five and ten, milord.”

“It’s my lord. And I’m four and ten! Just a year younger than you. So, why did you raise your hands up?”

“The guilt my-lord. I’m sick of making money from doin’ horrible things to people. I want to live an honest life. I regret what I’ve done for the past two years. If you must, then I’ll take the Black.”

The boy lord was surprised at the display. “What’s your name?”

“Rydan, my-lord.”

“No last name?”

Rydan scoffed which caused the guards next to the lord to raise the butt of their spears but was waived by the young lord. “Only rich folks and nobility have names, my-lord.”

“Well, you best choose a last name. I can’t have someone in my retinue not have it.”

“What?”

“You heard me perfectly, Rydan. I admire your courage and bravery to stand up for what you think is right. You know that quality is sorely lacking in many nobles. I need someone like you.”

Young Rydan gulped and thought furiously for a name. “I like the sea my-lord. For half of my life, I lived in the port of Gulltown. I’ll choose Porter as my last name.”

“Nice name, Master Porter!” He slammed his arms to his shoulders. “My name is Lord Marq of house Grafton. Nice meeting you.” He held his palms open which Rydan grabbed and shook.

Rydan was shaken out of his nostalgia and hurled abuse at his men once more. In just a blink of an eye, an hour passed and dozens of carriages carrying weapons and armour slowly snaked across the cobblestone streets of Gulltown towards the city centre. Normally a bustling market but due to the looming conflict, it was abandoned by traders. The market stands were requisitioned by the Customs Office and remade into recruitment stands.

The slow crawl towards the central square gave him the opportunity to witness Petyr’s bout of insanity. Criers frolicked across the city shouting various calls for mobilisation and yelling about the virtues and advantages of the future Civil Service.

“The Arryns have betrayed you all! They seek to strip you of your valuables to give them to their friends! Their greed knows no bounds!”

“The Seven-Who-Are-One shall bless those who choose to fight for Lord Petyr! Their cause is just!”

“The Civil Service shall work for the people! So no one starves. Everyone shall have a roof above their heads! So rally up and support Lord Petyr!”

He struggled to remember what Petyr called this - ‘propagander’?

It was heartening how the crier’s plea often provoked a positive response from the denizens of Gulltown. A holler, applause and cheer from the windows were enough to iron his will and continue to carry out Petyr’s orders. Gerold will be displeased with him but house Grafton shall benefit from this. For Marq.

The carriages were further slowed down by overeager men who joined their march. By the time they arrived at Central Square, it was packed. He saw men around the square and at the balconies of houses equipping their chainmail. Then overlaying it with a scarlet tunic. A kettle helm was the final piece of this newly created army. Petyr was quicked to call this army the ‘Red Coats’. Not to be confused with the Lannister Red Cloaks. Rydan shook his head at that and hoped the Red Coats won’t ever engage with the Lannisters any time soon. Otherwise, it’ll be a confusing mess.

True to Petyr’s prescient prediction – nearly 3000 people answered his call to mobilise. Due to the bureaucratic and administrative reforms, Petyr put into place, this was done in under half a day. The logistician in him marvelled with the speed of it. Such numbers should’ve taken two to four days to assemble at the very least. Another reason why he prays to the gods for giving them Petyr.

Speaking of the devil – Petyr shakily strode on a horse. He was embellished with castle-graded steel plate with pauldrons that covered his shoulders and upper arms. He held his helm in his left whilst adjusting his midnight black tunic. A red and gold sash enveloped his right shoulders and was wrapped tightly at his hips. He once again fidgeted but this time took care to properly place his vambrace.

“You look like the Warrior incarnate. Goin’ to slay hundreds are we?”

Petyr rolled his eyes at him. “Oh shut it you! I’m trying!”

“Then you best try harder.” He pointed at his veteran sergeant-at-arms as they struggled not to laugh at Petyr. “The men here will gladly fight and potentially die for your vision. They need to see you as a man who will fight with them.”

Rydan was pleased that Petyr looked ashamed. “I understand. But I know how to fight. Taught by the Blackfish himself!” He shouted proudly causing the men near him to cheer.

Rydan rubbed his nose and came closer to Petyr. “If he saw this then the legendary Tully will be embarrassed.”

“Oh, shut up. Anyhow. I got a speech to make.”

“Always the grandstander, aren’t ye?”

Petyr coughed and cleared his throat before pulling out a queer cone-like object. He roared at the cone and Rydan was surprised by how much louder he sounded.

The young man went about in his speech which was just parroting what the criers said. He droned on and on until Rydan nearly fell asleep.

“- now we march to the Falcon Castle! Remember you will be adequately paid! Rape and pillaging will not be tolerated! Do I make myself clear!?”

“Aye!”

“Good.” Petyr signalled for the march and a group of trumpeters started to blow a tune that he hasn’t heard about. Drums started to sound out as the mass of disorganised soldiers fanned out of the square and marched towards the castle.

Petyr looked at the display and sighed. He gestured for Rydan to come closer to him. “We’re going to have to work on their discipline and marching technique. Because this is a mess.”

“By ‘we’, you mean me and my dockyard sergeants?”

Petyr ignored his reply. “Some of Maribelle’s men are former mercenaries, they can help out too.”

“You mean your men.”

“Porter! You’re being witty!”

Hopefully, my wit will see me through this war.

Isembard I

The Arryn Patriarch shivered in fear at the sight of the red mob ascending his hill. His spies have proven useless. Not once but twice have they failed him! That filthy sword-swallowing maester said Littlefinger doesn’t have the political will and the boy’s permission to move against his family. He was a fool for believing it. It completely took him off guard how the snivelling rat chose to go behind his master’s back. It took only a few hours after he ordered the Falcon castle maester to send out dozens of ravens proclaiming the heresy happening in Gulltown and called for help in suppressing it. He wanted to punch himself for that as he physically cringed. The problem was he sent it to major houses like the Royce of Runestone. Families that wouldn’t interfere with each other. Even worse, Yohn Royce and his family were followers of the Old Gods. They weren’t even loyal devotees of the Seven! How he wanted to put his maester’s head on a spike for that.

After a few hours, his agents reported slander being hurled across the city. Decrying him and house Arryn of conspiring against the Graftons and Lord Petyr. They charged him with treason and called for everyone to sign up to be recruited under the ‘Red Coats’. To bring him to justice, they cried.

It was increasingly becoming clear that the snake was building up an army. An army that could easily be run over by the Chivalry of the Vale, or at least the knights he controls.

Due to his early mistake, the number of ravens was dangerously low. Low enough to only order the mobilisation of half his retinue. Unfortunately, the runners that he sent were being blocked by gate guards. His agents were promptly subdued leaving him in the dark. I got outplayed. Hard.

But he still held out hope. The manse was heavily fortified that some of the smallfolk started calling it a ‘castle’. They were heavily stocked up in supplies that would last them for many months. He also had a garrison of 300 and it would need an army of at most 2000 to siege and take Falcon castle.

He scoffed at that. Such an army would take a week at least to form up. It was perfect. His army of knights will destroy this peasant army any day. They’ll come and relieve us. And once they do that, we can sortie out and crush them from behind.

It should’ve taken a week to assemble that army. He confirmed it through years of studying warcraft and logistics. His incompetent spies also confirmed it. He was wrong. His spies were wrong. The only thing he could do was look in shock as the red mob came towards them.

An arm suddenly enveloped him. “Ice! What shall we do?! They’re surrounding our keep!”

“Not now, Eleanah!” He shoved his wife away from him. “This is not good!”

“What shall we do, my love? Should we surrender? Surely they’ll parlay?”

Isembard erupted in rage and backhanded her wife causing her to stumble to the floor. “They’ll be no surrender! I’ll not have Littlefinger and Marq’s get have their way with us. We’re supposed to be the rulers of Gulltown by now! The Graftons were dragon sympathisers! Traitors! They should’ve been hanged! But… Noo. The stag showed mercy.” He slumped down at the railings of his balcony and sobbed. “Years of scheming swept down like a whirlpool.” He wiped his tears away and looked at Eleanah. “There’s a secret passage leading out of the city. We’ll take that. Robar should’ve received my orders to call the banners! We’ll leave and take our garrison with us.”

A blue-clothed man interrupted them. “My lord, my lady! They’re asking for a parlay! Lord Petyr is waiting for you.” He steadied himself as he took a deep breath.

Isembard grinned. “Tell them I’ll receive him in an hour. I deserve that much at least.”

“At once, my lord.”

He held his arms out for his wife. “Now, to the tunnels. This is Littlefinger’s victory. But by the gods, we’ll win this war.”

“I hope our children will be fine after this.”

“They’ll be more than fine. They’ll win us this war and Robar will hold the title ‘Lord of Gulltown’ after I die. It’ll be glorious. We’ll not be mocked by our Arryn cousins anymore.” He leaned out and kissed her forehead.

Petyr V

“It’s been more than an hour and we ‘aven’t heard a reply yet.”

“It seems your right, Master Porter.” Petyr pointed at the murder holes. “See those over there? Not a single soul is behind those walls.”

“You mean - !”

“Yes. They must have a secret tunnel allowing them to exit the city. And it’s not the newly built sewers. I’ve had some of my men scour them just in case one of Isembard’s agents managed to infiltrate the labourers and engineers who built it.”

“If it’s not the sewers then where?”

“I don’t know. Order the scouts to sweep the countryside clean. They couldn’t have moved three hundred soldiers without making some noise.” Petyr sighed in defeat. “My hopes of ending this conflict within a day failed. So much for all my planning.”

Rydan patted his back. “You’ve managed the impossible, lad. Mobilising this many people in half a day is nearly an impossible feat. On the bright side, we’ll have enough time to further mobilise a thousand more people.” He punched his fists together. “And for goodness sake, have them trained up.”

“Good luck with that. I have Gerold to deal with.”

This caused Rydan to tense his muscle and respectfully nodded at Petyr then ordered his horse to gallop away from him. Coward. What is he afraid of? A boy whose voice is still cracking?

He signalled to one of his guards – former sergeants of Ryden. “Derrick, be a good soldier and order that castle be stormed. Please.”

The man looked confused with the order. “Now my lord? We haven’t finished making the battering rams and the ladders yet. We’ve yet to finish the trench to completely blockade them in.”

“Don’t worry about any of that. Prioritise on the battering ram and break the gate and portcullis down. Perhaps use a ladder to open it from the inside. You choose which one. Time is of the essence! I want that castle breached in less than a turn of a sandglass!”

“But my lord! That’s an impossible feat! Hundreds will die!” Petyr ignored him and sped down the hill and swerved his stallion towards Grafton Keep.

He was let in by the garrison and dismounted his horse at the stable.

He raced towards Gerold’s solar and knocked at his door. “Come in.”

Petyr opened the door and sat in the chair, opposite Gerold.

“Did I tell you to sit?”

“No.”

“Then why did you sit?”

“To bring you news of treason and rebellion. I’m afraid some of your distant cousins have become the vultures and may side with Isembard.”

“Ahh…” Gerold stood up and opened the door to his balcony. “Treason is it? I definitely saw treason. But not from Isembard. I saw a red mob under an illegal order to assemble who are about to participate in the looting of a noble’s castle.”

“Rydan leads the men. I’ve seen them work. I and he can vouch for their discipline. I assure you, the ones who committed pillaging shall be swiftly punished.” He gave a half-truth. They weren’t disciplined but Petyr designed a guide for how punishments are meant to be meted out.

“Punished? How?”

“The Judiciary Tribunals shall decide their fate. I, as a humble Civil Servant, do not have the power to convict them. But to answer your question, if they’re found guilty then their punishment is likely to be community service. The duration is how severe their crime is.”

“How about death?”

“Death for the rapists. But for pillaging and looting, you’d lose your people’s loyalty pretty quickly. Many of the people below fought for you.”

All of sudden, as if the Doom occurred again, Gerold slammed his fist at the desk. “Do you think I’m blind and deaf, Petyr? Or should I call you Littlefinger?”

“You can call me anything you wish, I’m a grown man – I couldn’t care less. But yes… The criers were saying to fight for me.”

“Who said anything about criers?”

“You did.”

“I only asked if I was deaf and blind.” Gerold deadpanned.

Petyr couldn’t help but feel a twist in his stomach. I dug myself into that. “You’re not happy with what I’ve done?”

“You’ve gone behind my back and called my banners. You tell me if I’m happy about that.”

Petyr knew he was going to tread carefully with this. Answering in a convoluted way would destroy the trust he built up with the young man. But answering bluntly would only incense him. “Not your banners. I’ve read from the Book of Laws by Maester Jocier that ‘banners’ can only be called by a liege lord to order their vassals to muster. I can assure you, there were no nobility, no knights in the Redcoats.”

“Red Coats, is it? Fancy yourself a general now?” Petyr was about to respond when Gerold held his finger to his mouth. “You were my friend. I really did think you were my friend. Got me drunk when I was mourning my dad. Then you swore your fealty to me and became my vassal. In return, I gave you whatever you wanted. I gave you power. I gave all that to you because…” Gerold sighed. “Because I trusted you. What next? Do you also fancy yourself the Lord of Gulltown?”

“Gerold… Care for another lecture?”

The Grafton’s seething immediately stopped replaced with confusion. “Whatever you say, Littlefinger, isn’t going to affect the tremendous amount of trust I’ve lost in you.”

“A master has given his three servants golden dragons. The first servant was given five golden dragons, the second was given two and the third was given one. The first and second servants went behind their master’s back and immediately spent the money. Whereas, the ever-loyal and dutiful third servant was afraid of the temptation to spend his one golden dragon so he buried it out of sight. The master came back and rewarded the first and second servants but punished the third. Why?” Petyr gestured towards Gerold. He was thankful that he had the Grafton’s attention.

“It relates to your lecture on investment right?”

Petyr preened and looked like a proud parent. “Exactly. The first two servants invested their money and doubled it by the time the master arrived.”

“But you said investments are risky. Some may succeed and some may fail. What happened if they failed? What happens if they lost all their money.”

“It’s a good thing they haven’t.”

“You haven’t answered my question, Petyr.”

Oh good! Making progress! He’s saying my first name. “Would you believe me that the master would still reward them for their effort?”

“Absolutely not! The master would’ve fired them and called them fools.”

“Well, it’s a good thing their investments managed to rack up profits then. Similar to mine.”

“I get the profits. Petyr, you have a knack for filling up my treasury. But how on earth would you call that ‘not a failure’.” He pointed at the Falcon Castle but was surprised by what he saw. Petyr’s Red Coats breached the gates and started to storm the castle.

“Expect Isembard and his wife Eleanah to be apprehended soon. I’m about to give you your political rivals on a silver platter.” Petyr lied. “This should ensure the supremacy of the Graftons over Gulltown.”

Gerold sat in his seat with his mouth wide open. “I can’t believe it. That castle should’ve lasted for a couple of weeks.”

“Rydan’s ability to wage war shouldn’t be underestimated, Gerold. With him, on our side, we could take the fight against your revolting cousins. In fact, this time I won’t go against your back, will you give me permission to mobilise the levees surrounding Gulltown? Time is of the essence.”

Gerold ignored his request and went back to Petyr's lecture. “Do you know what I would’ve done if I was the master in your story? Especially if the first two servants failed?”

Petyr tilted his head at that but remained quiet and motioned for him to continue. “I would’ve ordered them to pay me back.” Gerold spat.

“And that relates to my situation?...”

“I would’ve asked you to give me your plans for Gulltown. I would’ve asked you to draft me several plans for reforms regarding governance, stewardship, economics and dispensing justice.”

“I’ve already done that though.”

“Exactly. Then you would have nothing else to give but your life.”

Frantic knocking at his door interrupted their conversation. A haggard-looking messenger looked out of breath. “My lords!” He bowed to both of them. “The traitorous Arryns have fled! They’ve dishonourably broken the sacred laws of parlay and committed perfidy.”

“How?” Gerold calmy inquired.

“It seems they’ve used a secret underground tunnel to escape during the parlay. Lord Petyr gave them an hour to unconditionally surrender.”

“Why did you give them an hour?”

“Because I wanted to avoid bloodshed and hoped they would see reason.”

Gerold pinched his temples. “Fine. Mobilise them!” He ordered Petyr. “As for me, I’ll call my banners. 250 knights should heed my call.”

“As you say, my lord.” The messenger responded and then sprinted towards the communication tower.

Gerold was about to leave when Petyr told him to sit down. “Your wrong by the way.”

“About what.”

“That I’ve got nothing else to give.” Petyr walked out of the room.