Chapter 64: Chapter 63 - The Pact of White Harbor
124 AC
The first day of the twelfth moon
Addam Pov
As the ship gently rocked into the port of White Harbor, I couldn't help but be struck by the city's unique charm. The houses, constructed from whitewashed stone, stood proudly with steeply-pitched roofs made of dark grey slate. The contrast between the bright exteriors and the somber roofs gave the city an elegant yet timeless feel.
Once we were securely docked, Ser Ulf emerged from his cabin, his face now wearing an expression of pure relief. He had suffered from seasickness ever since we departed from Gulltown, and his transformation from misery to contentment was a sight to behold.
Mushroom, always quick with a joke, couldn't resist poking fun at Ser Ulf's expense. Ser Harlon and Ser Hugh joined in the laughter, creating a jovial atmosphere on deck.
Stepping onto solid ground, I found myself admiring the city's impeccable orderliness. The wide, straight cobbled streets made navigation a breeze, a stark contrast to the chaotic nature of life at sea. White Harbor was a place where order and cleanliness reigned supreme.
The harbor itself was divided into two distinct sections: the inner and outer harbors. The outer harbor was vast, but the inner harbor offered superior anchorage and protection, flanked by the city wall on one side and the imposing Wolf's Den on the other. A formidable mile-long wall, adorned with watchtowers every hundred yards, stretched along the jetty that separated the two harbors.
One feature that couldn't be missed was Seal Rock, a colossal stone formation that commanded the approach to the Outer Harbor. Its presence added to the city's grandeur and served as a reminder of the natural beauty that surrounded White Harbor.
As we continued to explore the city, the conversation among my friends and companions turned to our plans for our stay in this picturesque place. We discussed our objectives, the places we wished to visit, and the people we hoped to meet. Ser Ulf, now recovered from his seasickness, eagerly joined the conversation, his earlier discomfort all but forgotten in the excitement of our new surroundings.
White Harbor had a sense of history and mystery that beckoned us to explore its every corner. It was a city that promised adventure and intrigue.
As we stepped into the bustling tavern filled with sailors and merchants, the aroma of Lamprey pie hung tantalizingly in the air. It was a scent that would usually have made my mouth water, but today, my appetite had deserted me. I was consumed by an overwhelming sense of guilt and unease. It was as though a shadow loomed over me, a reminder of what had transpired in the Vale, and the nagging feeling that I had let Ser Ulf down.
While my companions chatted and seemed to relish the hearty smells and jovial atmosphere of the tavern, Ser Ulf's absence gnawed at me. He had left our company to seek some fresh air, unable to stomach the scent of the Lamprey pie, and I couldn't help but interpret it as a reflection of his lingering discomfort with our recent voyage and what had happened.
Sitting there at the table, my mood was somber, and it didn't go unnoticed. Ser Hugh, perceptive as ever, leaned in and asked with genuine concern, "Why do you look so sad, boy?"
I hesitated, the weight of my emotions making it difficult to articulate my thoughts. "I failed him," I finally managed to admit, my voice heavy with regret.
Ser Hugh's expression softened with understanding. "It was not your fault, Addam," he reassured me, his eyes reflecting the shared burden of our collective guilt. "Even I wished I could turn back time and force Ulf to take me with him."
Ser Harlon and Mushroom, usually full of mirth, wore grave expressions, underscoring the gravity of our feelings of responsibility.
But then, Ser Hugh's tone shifted, and he leaned closer, his voice taking on a more determined note. "But," he said, and my ears perked up, desperate for a glimmer of hope, "the next time something like that happens, I will not fail him. What about you?"
His question hung in the air, a challenge and an opportunity for redemption. I met his gaze with newfound determination, pushing aside my melancholy for a spark of resolve. "I too will be there with him," I replied, my voice more resolute. It was a silent vow, a promise to myself and to Ser Ulf that I would not let my fears or doubts stand in the way of protecting and supporting my knight.
As I made that commitment, a faint glimmer of hope pierced through the dark clouds of guilt that had shrouded me. I knew that I couldn't change the past, but I could certainly shape the future, ensuring that I would stand by Ser Ulf's side when he needed me most.
As the day rolled on, Mushroom, ever the jester, took it upon himself to entertain the merry patrons of the bustling tavern. He sang a medley of lively songs, each one more spirited than the last. With a twinkle in his eye and a mug of ale in hand, he regaled the eager listeners with tales of heroic knights and epic adventures. The air was filled with laughter, and the mood was contagiously joyful.
Mushroom's performance reached its peak when he sang a whimsical ballad about the Knight and the Maiden, a tale of chivalry and romance that had the tavern patrons clapping and cheering with delight. His voice soared as he sang, filling the room with the spirit of adventure and love.
But the real spectacle occurred when Ser Ulf, our valiant knight, made his grand entrance into the tavern. The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and applause, their voices raised in boisterous celebration. Mushroom quickly adapted his song to incorporate the heroics of Ser Ulf, and the crowd joined in, singing loud praises in honor of our esteemed knight.
However, the revelry was soon interrupted as a group of knights bearing the sigil of House Manderly made their entrance.
"Is the White Knight here?" a knight in the Manderly colors asked as he surveyed the room. Ser Ulf, ever vigilant, rose to his feet and answered with a firm, "I am."
The Manderly knight nodded in acknowledgment. "Lord Manderly wishes to see you, and we have been tasked with bringing you to the New Castle."
With a sense of duty and anticipation, Ser Ulf left the tavern in the company of the Manderly knights, and we followed closely behind.
The New Castle, the grand seat of House Manderly, awaited us on a hill within the protective embrace of the city walls. Its imposing presence loomed ahead, a testament to the wealth and power of House Manderly. The castle's architecture was a blend of practicality and beauty, with sturdy stone walls and majestic towers that reached skyward.
As we ascended the hill, I couldn't help but be awed by the sight. The New Castle was not only a symbol of House Manderly's influence in White Harbor but also a piece of the city's rich history. Its imposing structure seemed to guard the secrets and stories of generations, and I couldn't wait to step inside and discover the mysteries it held.
The journey to the New Castle was not just a physical one but also a symbolic passage. It marked a turning point in our stay in White Harbor, a moment where Ser Ulf's presence and honor were recognized and called upon by the House that ruled the city of White Harbour.
As we entered the grand hall of the New Castle, known as the Merman's Court, I couldn't help but be struck by the sheer magnificence of the place. The hall was a masterpiece, a testament to the craftsmanship and artistry of the people of White Harbor. Its wooden planks, expertly notched together, formed the walls, floor, and ceiling, creating a warm and inviting ambiance.
The decor was a celebration of the sea in all its glory. Intricate carvings and paintings adorned the wooden surfaces, depicting a vibrant underwater world. Everywhere I looked, there were creatures of the deep, from crabs and clams to starfish, all intertwined with twisting fronds of seaweed and even the haunting remnants of drowned sailors. It was as though the very essence of the ocean had been captured within these walls.
At one end of the hall stood the entrance, and at the other, an elevated dais with a grand, cushioned throne that exuded authority and grace. The floor was a masterpiece in itself, with painted crabs scuttling, clams nestled, and starfish clinging to the painted seabed, all amidst the hidden mysteries of seaweed and the eerie relics of those who had met the sea's embrace.
The walls of the Merman's Court were equally captivating. Pale sharks seemed to patrol the painted blue-green depths, their presence both intimidating and awe-inspiring. Eels and octopods slithered amidst rocky outcrops and sunken ships, adding an air of mystery and intrigue to the hall. Shoals of herring and massive codfish swam gracefully between the tall, arched windows, as if frozen in an eternal dance beneath the waves.
As my gaze rose higher, near where old fishing nets hung from the rafters, the surface of the sea was artfully depicted. To the right, a war galley rested serenely against the rising sun, a symbol of triumph and hope. To the left, a battered old cog raced before a storm, her sails in tatters, a stark reminder of the sea's unforgiving nature. Behind the dais, a kraken and a grey leviathan were locked in a fierce battle beneath the painted waves, their struggle a testament to the untamed power of the ocean.
Standing in the Merman's Court, I felt a profound connection to the sea and its mysteries. The hall was not just a place of grandeur; it was a living storybook, where the tales of the deep unfolded before our eyes. It was a place where the past and present merged, and I couldn't help but wonder about the stories that these walls held—stories of sailors, adventurers, and the enduring spirit of White Harbor.
Upon the grand cushioned throne at the far end of the Merman's Court sat a portly and elderly man adorned in the distinctive colors of House Manderly. His presence demanded respect, and his attire reflected the authority that he held within White Harbor.
As we stood before him, a maester, his chains glinting in the ambient light, stepped forward and spoke in a voice that echoed through the hall, "You stand before Desmond Manderly, Lord of White Harbor and Warden of the White Knife, Shield of the Faith, Defender of the Dispossessed, Lord Marshal of the Mander, a Knight of the Order of the Green Hand. In the Merman's Court, it is customary for vassals and petitioners to kneel."
However, it was Ser Hugh who broke the formal silence, bursting into laughter at the maester's words. "You called us here, and now you expect us to kneel?" he retorted with a wry grin, his defiance clear in his tone.
The tension in the room palpably increased as Lord Desmond Manderly regarded Ser Hugh with unflinching composure. His demeanor was one of authority, and it was clear that he was unaccustomed to such boldness in his court.
A man standing beside Lord Desmond, adorned in the colors of House Manderly and emanating an air of fierceness, spoke up, demanding to know what had been said to his father.
Ser Ulf, standing tall and unwavering, took it upon himself to defuse the mounting tension. "I apologize on behalf of my fellow knight, Lord Desmond Manderly," he began, his voice steady and respectful, "but I cannot kneel, for I am a Knight of House Targaryen and not of House Manderly."
For a moment, the tension hung in the air, and the room seemed poised on the precipice of conflict. But then, to the surprise of all, Lord Desmond Manderly broke into laughter. His booming laughter filled the hall, dispelling the unease that had settled among the guests.
The man descended from his ornate throne and began walking towards the grand chamber's entrance, beckoning us to follow. Ser Ulf, ever respectful, led the way, and the rest of us fell in behind him, curious and eager to hear what Lord Desmond Manderly had to say.
As we stepped into his private chamber, I couldn't help but be astounded by the sheer size and opulence of the room. It was a testament to the wealth and stature of House Manderly, with its intricately carved furnishings, tapestries adorning the walls, and a massive hearth that radiated warmth and comfort. The chamber's grandeur was matched only by the commanding presence of its lord.
Lord Desmond took his seat in an imposing chair, his eyes fixed upon us. His voice carried an air of authority as he began, "These are my sons," he said, gesturing towards two men who stood nearby. "This is Ser Medrick Manderly, my eldest and heir," he continued, indicating the man who had spoken up back in the Merman's Court. Ser Medrick's demeanor was stern, a reflection of his role as the heir to House Manderly. "And this is my second son, Ser Torrhen Manderly."
Ser Torrhen, standing beside his father, had a presence that was in contrast to his brother's. He appeared more approachable, though still bearing the unmistakable air of nobility.
With introductions complete, the room fell into a contemplative silence, and we awaited Lord Desmond's words, eager to hear the reason he had summoned us and the nature of the conversation that lay ahead. The chamber's opulence and the weight of House Manderly's authority hung in the air, creating an atmosphere that demanded both respect and attention.
Lord Desmond Manderly, the venerable ruler of White Harbor, leaned forward in his imposing chair, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on Ser Ulf. His deep voice resonated with genuine curiosity and respect as he recounted the tales that had reached his ears.
"I have heard your tales," Lord Desmond began, his words carrying the weight of the stories that had preceded us. "Of how you defeated the treacherous Arryn and saved the maiden of the Vale. And how you fought a thousand men of the mountain clans to protect them, taking the lives of each and every one of them."
The room fell into a momentary silence, broken only by the echo of Lord Desmond's words. His eldest son, Ser Medrick Manderly, initially chuckled, but a stern glance from his father swiftly silenced him. It was clear that Lord Desmond was genuinely intrigued by the legendary exploits attributed to Ser Ulf.
"You are said to be blessed by the Seven," Lord Desmond continued, the words hanging in the air like a question mark.
In response to Lord Desmond's inquiry, Ser Ulf remained humble and grounded in his sense of honor. "I am just a man who does what I believe is the right and honorable thing to do, Lord Desmond," he replied, his tone firm and resolute. "But in the end, I am just another man, made of flesh and blood."
Lord Desmond nodded, his expression content, as if he had found a kindred spirit in Ser Ulf's humility and sense of duty. "It is good that you are not like the other fools prancing about in the South," he remarked, a subtle critique of the arrogance that often characterized the southern nobility. In those few words, Lord Desmond conveyed his appreciation for Ser Ulf's authenticity and practicality.
Lord Desmond Manderly leaned forward, his piercing gaze fixed squarely on Ser Ulf, as he posed a question that hung heavy in the air, laden with intrigue. "Do you know the reason why I have called you here?" he inquired.
Ser Ulf, ever composed, responded with candor, "I do not know."
A wry smile tugged at the corners of Ser Ulf's lips as he continued, "I am rather impressed by the fact that you knew I was coming here, despite not even a full day having passed since my arrival in White Harbor."
Lord Desmond couldn't help but grin in response. "My spies tell me everything that I need to know, Ser Ulf," he admitted. However, the jovial atmosphere shifted abruptly as he continued, his countenance growing somber. "But the news they bring from Winterfell is dire indeed."
Lord Desmond's concern for the happenings in the North became evident as he probed further. "What do you know about the goings-on in the North, Ser Ulf?"
Ser Ulf, displaying his deep knowledge of current events, began to recount the situation. "I know that Lord Rickon Stark has passed, and he was succeeded as Lord of Winterfell by his thirteen-year-old son and heir, Cregan. Rickon's brother, Bennard Stark, has taken on the role of regent."
Lord Desmond looked genuinely impressed with Ser Ulf's grasp of the situation, urging him to continue.
"The reason for your worry, if I am correct," Ser Ulf continued, "is because Lord Cregan Stark, now sixteen, should have ascended to the throne of Winter and gained the power to rule the North. However, it appears that his uncle, Bennard Stark, is reluctant to relinquish the power he acquired as regent."
The room seemed to hold its breath as Ser Ulf delivered this information. The shock on the faces of Lord Desmond Manderly and his sons was palpable.
Lord Desmond Manderly leaned back in his chair, a knowing glint in his eyes, and a wry smile played upon his lips. "The rumors were not entirely accurate," he admitted, his voice carrying a tone of intrigue. He regarded Ser Ulf with a newfound sense of admiration.
"They forgot to account for your intelligence, Ser Ulf," Lord Desmond declared, and as he said those words, the room seemed to crackle with a newfound sense of respect.
Ser Ulf's voice was resolute as he inquired, "What task do you have for me, Lord Manderly?"
Lord Desmond Manderly leaned forward, his eyes aflame with determination as he delivered his command. "I want you to go to Winterfell, along with my son Torhen," he began, his voice echoing with the weight of destiny, "and obtain definitive proof that Lord Cregan Stark is being held against his will. This evidence will be the catalyst for me and the other lords of the North to take action against the traitorous Wolf who dares to usurp his nephew's rightful place."
"In short," Ser Ulf summarized, "you want us to embark on a perilous mission, infiltrate the strongest and most heavily guarded castle in the North, seize a letter from the lord held under the watchful eye of his treacherous uncle, and then send a raven back to you."
Turning to his companions, Ser Ulf sought their input, their resolve mirrored in their unwavering expressions.
"I'm always up for a challenge," declared Ser Hugh, his voice tinged with the thrill of adventure.
Mushroom, always quick with humor, added with a sly grin, "Well, I'm fairly certain I'll be the shortest intruder in Winterfell's history."
Ser Harlon, his hunter's instincts honed, spoke with unyielding determination. "A hunter never backs down."
And as Ser Ulf turned to me, I met his gaze with unshakable confidence. "I will follow wherever you lead, Ser Ulf," I affirmed, ready to stand beside him as we ventured into the heart of Winterfell.
Hearing the unwavering commitment of his companions, Ser Ulf smiled with a sense of unity and purpose. "Well, Lord Desmond, you have your answer," he declared, raising his hands in a gesture of unwavering resolve.
In that moment, a pact was sealed—an oath to defy the odds, to infiltrate the formidable Winterfell, and to uncover the truth that would shake the North to its core. We were bound not only by loyalty toward each other but also by a shared purpose, a united front ready to confront the epic challenge that lay ahead. As we embarked on this audacious quest, I could feel the weight of responsibility on our shoulders, knowing that the fate of the North rested in our hands.
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