Raventree Hall
1st moon, 279 AC.
The journey to Raventree Hall had been long, but Hosteen Mudd had not minded. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of damp earth and falling leaves, and as his party neared the ancient seat of House Blackwood, the land seemed to grow darker and more solemn. The towering trees of the Blackwood lands whispered with the wind, and the sight of the great weirwood—its branches vast and white, its leaves a deep crimson—was a reminder of the Old Gods and the deep-rooted traditions of the Riverlands.
Raventree Hall itself stood firm, its black stone walls marked by time but unyielding, a relic of an age when the Riverlands had been ruled by kings of their own. For a moment, Hosteen allowed himself to wonder if his own line, the line of the Mudds, might one day reclaim such prominence.
Lord Tytos Blackwood greeted him in the great hall, his expression composed but filled with quiet curiosity. Though Hosteen was no king, he had made a name for himself—growing his lands, fostering prosperity, and forging alliances. Tytos Blackwood was not a man easily impressed, yet even he regarded Hosteen with a measure of respect.
"Lord Mudd," Tytos greeted, his voice deep and steady. "Welcome to Raventree Hall."
"Lord Blackwood," Hosteen replied, offering a small but respectful nod. "Your hospitality is most generous."
Tytos gave a small smile, though his dark eyes remained ever observant. "Come. You must be weary from the road. Let us sit and speak."
The great hall of Raventree was warmed by a roaring fire, the banners of House Blackwood hanging high above. Over a private meal, Hosteen and Tytos settled into their discussion. The meal was modest but well-prepared, a roasted boar at the center of the table, surrounded by root vegetables and dark bread. Wine was poured, though neither man drank too heavily—there was business to be done.
Tytos took a sip from his cup before setting it down. "I am pleased you accepted the match with my sister, Alysanne. She is young, but she is of sharp mind and strong will. She will make you a fine wife."
Hosteen inclined his head. "I have no doubt. It is a good match for both our houses."
Tytos studied him for a moment. "Yet you have requested that we wait two years before the marriage."
"Alysanne is still young," Hosteen replied. "She should have the time to grow into her role, to prepare for the responsibilities of marriage and rule. And I have much to see to in my own lands before I can properly welcome a wife into my household."
Tytos nodded slowly. "A wise decision. Though, I trust you will not delay it beyond that?"
Hosteen met his gaze. "I will not."
The lord of Raventree seemed satisfied, though he did not move the conversation forward just yet. Instead, he took another sip of wine, considering the broader implications of their arrangement.
"This union will strengthen the bond between House Mudd and House Blackwood," Tytos said at last. "It will be good for our people, for the Riverlands."
Hosteen agreed. "And yet, it will also draw the ire of the Brackens."
A shadow of amusement passed over Tytos' face. "Perhaps. Though, when have the Brackens not found reason to resent my house?"
"Even so, I have business with them yet," Hosteen admitted. "I have yet to publicly announce the betrothal, and I would ask you to do the same—for now. It is best that I handle my dealings with Lord Bracken first."
Tytos was silent for a moment, then gave a slight nod. "You are pragmatic. That is good. I will hold my tongue for now."
There was no love lost between the Blackwoods and the Brackens, and Tytos would not mourn any hardship that befell them. But he was not a man to move without thought. He understood Hosteen's reasoning and had no desire to jeopardize their arrangement before it was secured.
The night deepened, the fires in Raventree Hall casting flickering shadows along the ancient stone walls as Hosteen Mudd and Lord Tytos Blackwood sat across from each other, the remnants of their evening meal between them. The weight of history lay heavily upon the hall, the great weirwood outside its walls standing as an ever-present reminder of the old ways and the gods that watched over them.
After discussing the betrothal, the topic shifted to matters graver still—the realm and the uncertainty that loomed over it.
"The King is losing himself," Lord Blackwood said at last, swirling the wine in his cup before taking a slow sip. His voice was measured, careful, as if speaking too openly might conjure unwanted ears. "His cruelty is well-known, his paranoia growing by the day. The lords whisper of his madness, and yet he sits the Iron Throne still."
Hosteen nodded, his fingers steepled in thought. "Aerys is not a young man. If his mind is as weak as they say, the realm will soon face a great decision."
Tytos leaned forward, his expression unreadable. "And when that time comes, where will you stand?"
Hosteen studied the lord carefully before answering. "I am but one lord among many. War has not yet come, and I have no wish to choose sides before the first swords are drawn. But should the tides shift, I will not let my house be drowned by them."
Lord Blackwood smiled slightly, appreciating the answer for what it was—a careful evasion, but an honest one. "Wise," he murmured, before glancing around the hall and lowering his voice. "Yet you must think on it. The lords of the Riverlands will not be able to remain neutral forever."
"And which way do you lean, my lord?" Hosteen asked, his gaze steady.
Blackwood exhaled softly, looking toward the great weirwood outside. "House Blackwood has always been loyal to the Targaryens, but even I cannot ignore what Aerys has become. I ask myself daily—is there still honor in supporting a king who has lost his way?" He looked back at Hosteen, his dark eyes sharp. "Many speak of rebellion. The Lord Paramount's have grown strong, and if war comes, the Riverlands will be forced to choose. Some will follow their liege, House Tully. But Hoster Tully has ever been close to Lord Arryn, and Lord Stark who in turn have connections to Lord Baratheon who is said to have garnered hate for the Dragon dynasty after his father's untimely death."
Hosteen absorbed this quietly. The political landscape was shifting, and he knew Lord Blackwood was testing his thoughts, weighing his worth as an ally.
"Rebellion is one thing," Hosteen said carefully. "But others speak of a different solution. Prince Rhaegar has the love of the people—if Aerys is unfit, why not see the son replace the father?"
Lord Blackwood gave a dry chuckle. "Rhaegar Targaryen is the realm's silver prince, yes. But for all his beauty and supposed competence, no one truly knows what he wants or if he is of sound mind at least no one here in the Riverlands knows except maybe the Darry's. Some say he desires the throne, yet he does not act. If he were to step forward, to claim the realm in his father's place, then perhaps he could unite us."
"Unless Aerys sees that as treason and strikes down his own heir," Hosteen countered.
Tytos inclined his head slightly. "Just so."
For a moment, the hall was silent except for the crackling of the fire. Then Lord Blackwood spoke again, his voice lower, more cautious.
"There are whispers," he said, "of another option. A different claimant, one long thought dead. You know of the Blackfyres, of course?"
Hosteen frowned. "A dead house. The Blackfyre Rebellions ended in ruin. The last pretender was slain on the Stepstones, some 50 years ago."
"Was he?" Tytos asked. "Some say a Blackfyre still lives, hidden in Essos, waiting. If that is true, he may have a claim that some in Westeros will rally behind."
Hosteen remained quiet, considering the words. A Blackfyre resurgence would throw the realm into deeper chaos. And yet, if Aerys fell, if Rhaegar did not act, if Robert Baratheon rebelled—perhaps a forgotten Blackfyre could emerge as an alternative.
"Interesting," he admitted. "But unproven."
"Indeed," Lord Blackwood said with a slight smirk. "For now."
The conversation shifted then to other matters, but the thought lingered in Hosteen's mind. The realm stood at the precipice of great change, and war loomed on the horizon. When the storm came, the Riverlands would be caught in the middle.
The evening was growing late, and the dim candlelight cast flickering shadows on the stone walls of Raventree Hall's great chamber. Hosteen Mudd had spent hours discussing the state of the realm with Lord Blackwood, the weight of politics and war pressing heavily upon their shoulders. But before their meeting ended, Lord Blackwood steered the conversation toward a matter closer to Hosteen's own lands—the trouble brewing in the Riverlands, the claim of the Pemford pretender, and the shadow of House Frey looming over it all.
Lord Blackwood leaned forward slightly, his fingers drumming softly against the ancient wood of the table.
"There have been whispers, Lord Mudd," he said in a hushed tone, as if the walls themselves had ears. "Your suspicions about the Pemford pretender are not unfounded. He is no mere rabble-rouser; there is coin behind him, and steel as well."
Hosteen's expression darkened. He had suspected this much, but hearing it confirmed from a man as well-connected as Lord Blackwood lent the threat more weight.
"You have proof?" Hosteen asked, his voice edged with concern.
"Not proof," Lord Blackwood admitted. "Not yet. But my men have been watching, listening. Someone is equipping him, ensuring he does not simply fade into obscurity like so many failed pretenders before him."
Hosteen let out a slow breath. "Frey," he muttered.
Lord Blackwood studied him for a moment, nodding slowly. "Your guess aligns with my own suspicions, but Walder Frey is no fool. He would never move so openly. The old weasel is cunning, always weighing his options, ensuring he backs the winning side."
Hosteen clenched his jaw. "He sees me as a threat. He wants me weakened, distracted."
"Likely so," Lord Blackwood agreed. "And yet, if it is Frey, he is not yet fully committed. The pretender is being supported, but not openly declared. There is hesitation."
Hosteen exhaled sharply. "Then I must root him out before he becomes more than a nuisance."
Lord Blackwood nodded. "I will put my own men to the task. If there is a connection to Frey, we will find it."
There was a moment of silence between them, the weight of the conversation heavy in the air. Hosteen knew that if Frey was involved, it was not just his lands at risk—this could be a broader ploy, one that could shift alliances and tip the balance of power in the Riverlands.
For three more days, Hosteen remained at Raventree Hall, taking the opportunity to further solidify ties with House Blackwood. His time was spent not only in council with Lord Blackwood but also in the company of Alysanne, the young woman who would one day be his wife.
She was sharp-witted and well-spoken, a keen observer of courtly matters despite her youth. Hosteen found himself impressed by her intelligence and composure. She did not shy away from discussions of war, politics, or history, and she spoke with an air of confidence that suggested she would be a strong and capable lady of his house.
During one of their walks through the castle grounds, beneath the ancient weirwood tree whose roots ran deep in Blackwood history, Alysanne turned to him and said, "You do not seem the type to bow easily."
Hosteen arched a brow. "And what type do I seem?"
"A man who carves his own path," she replied with a small smile. "One who does not follow simply because others demand it."
He chuckled at that. "You are not wrong."
"Then I am glad of our betrothal," she said, her gaze steady. "I would not wish to be tied to a man without ambition."
Hosteen found himself regarding her with newfound respect. She was young, but she was no mere girl. She understood the game they were all playing, and she was not afraid to stand beside him in it.
When the time came for Hosteen to take his leave, he did so with gratitude. Lord Blackwood had been a gracious host, and more than that, he had provided him with crucial insight into the growing threats in the Riverlands.
"I thank you for your wisdom and your aid, Lord Blackwood," Hosteen said as they stood at the gates of Raventree Hall.
Lord Blackwood clasped his forearm in a firm grip. "And I thank you for yours. We are stronger together, Lord Mudd. If the realm fractures, we will both have choices to make. Choose wisely."
With those words lingering in his mind, Hosteen set off on the road back to Hammerford. His thoughts were troubled—about war, about Frey, about the future. But he also carried a sense of purpose. His house was rising again, and he would ensure it stood strong against whatever storm was coming.