Harrenhal

[Horas]

Constructed before the Conquest by King Harren the Black, Harrenhal is larger than any other stronghold in Westeros, with high walls and forbidding towers that nevertheless were burned by the dragons of Aegon and his sisters. The massive castle sits on the shore of the lake known as Gods Eye, and consists of five massive towers and an equally monstrous curtain wall. The castle is said to be haunted by the ghost of King Harren, and any house who possesses it soon falls into misfortune.

[Horas]

The host of the Riverlands sets in to the task of manning the walls and preparing for the long siege. Food is strictly rationed. In an effort to keep morale up, Lord Terrence Blackwood declares that he will take no more food than any other man, highborn or low. Many other lords follow his example.

[The Smith]

Ser Desmond Derry finds Lord Blackwood, "We are in for some hard times, Terrence. The King just sent 2000 men north."

[Horas]

"Less men besieging us should be a good thing, Ser Desmond." Terrence smiles wryly. "Do you know what those men are doing?"

[The Smith]

"I would imagine screening this force from our Northern Allies." Derry turned to look at Blackwood, "We should attack tomorrow. We will starve before any ally reaches us. And have you ever heard of victory coming from the defenders of this keep. There may not be ghosts, but there is a dark magic residing in the black walls of this keep."

[Horas]

Terrence looks grim. "I have written to Lords Dondarrion and Hightower, to impress upon them the urgency of the situation. Not all hope is lost, Desmond. We should wait for their replies, at the least, before an attack."

[The Smith]

"It is as you say. Every day we grow weaker, will the King sits out there. Summoning more men. I tell you we can not win inside the walls of Harrenhal." Derry turns away and walks away.

[The Smith]

Fredryck Grell stepped up on a crate and began to shout to all in the crowd, "The evil of this place is corrupting us. I saw the ghosts last night... they kept me up all night." The squire's voice was high and panicky, "We must flee this place. We should surrender or Fight... but we must leave."

A man throws a rock, and it crushes into the boy's face, and he stumbles down to a knee. Soon more rocks are being thrown his way. Bloody welts, and dark bruises soon cover his exposed skin.

[Horas]

"HALT!"

A voice cuts above the din. Lord Terrence Blackwood steps forward, an arm raised for silence. A stray rock intended for the boy pings off of Blackwood's breastplate, but then the assault ceases.

Terrence's breastplate is battered, and the new scar above his eye lends a harsh, warlike cast to his face. "Young Fredryck is frightened. Maybe many of you feel the same. We have been beaten, pushed back to this castle, while Rodrick's forces surround us and bay like a pack of curs. But there is no shame or dishonor in fear -- it is how we carry ourselves, despite that fear, that makes us men."

"Remember!" Terrence roars, his voice taking the cadence of what he would use on a battlefield, "We are all Riverlanders! We are all sons of the Trident! We will NOT surrender of flee. We will show them our steel is sharp!"

Terrence raises his other hand. In it, a handful of parchments flutter in the breeze, stamped with the sigils of various lords. Blackwood's voice quiets slightly, his tone becomes more serious.

"In this hand, Gentlemen, I bring hope. Lords Hightower and Dondarrion have promised aid, and will ride to relieve us. Ser Scot Royce, the famed brother of the Clankiller himself, rides from the Vale, an army at his back. Soon! Soon they will be here, and the Lecher King will be trapped like a cornered rat. And on that day, we will ride forth, and I promise that we will have vengeance for every father and every son, every brother and every friend, that died at Skiff's Vale."

"But until then, we must wait. We must remain resolute and unified. We must not squabble amongst ourselves, nor let superstitious fear cloud our judgment. We are Riverlanders, and the gods are watching. May this be our finest hour."

Blackwood looks among the assembled men for a moment, then walks over to the injured squire, helps him to his feet, and walks him to the infirmary.

[The Smith]

Slowly men who had thrown locks looked to the ground, their faces red. Others who had cried out for the attackers, now looked like they had eaten sour pudding. The men bowed their heads to Blackwood and returned to their duties.

[Horas]

Terrence lets the boy lean on him as he limps away. "You are a Grell, are you not?" Terrence asks. "Who do you squire for?"

[The Smith]

"My older brother... well I did... but he was left behind when we ran from the King." Fredyck replied.

[Horas]

Terrence nods solemnly. "A squire must have a knight. Your older brother taught you how to scour the rust from mail and keep his weapons in good condition?"

[The Smith]

Fredrych nodded, a drop of blood trailing down his face and falling from his nose to the ground.

[Horas]

"Good. You will be my squire, Fredryck. Once you have healed from your injuries I will expect you to attend to your duties. Until then, rest and heal."

Terrence leaves the boy in the care of the maester.