Led by a young attendant, Ian and his group stepped into the main hall of House Ward's castle—if one could call it that. The structure, built from rough-hewn timber and crumbling adobe, was even shabbier than the Black Falcon's mercenary fort. The air inside was cool and smelled of damp earth.
"Welcome, Ser Lucien Lannister."
Ian had sent Jenny Hyde, the niece of the Crossroads Inn's proprietress, ahead to announce their arrival. The castle's master was already aware of his supposed identity.
"I am Ser Wilder of House Ryger."
The first to speak, however, was not the lord of the castle, but the man said to be the local knightly leader—the one who claimed to have seen the three-headed dragon sigil on the bandits. He was an older knight with a neatly trimmed gray beard, yet his frame was as solid and powerful as a man in his twenties. One look was enough for Ian to know he was not a man to be underestimated.
After introducing himself, Ser Wilder gestured to the grim-faced, middle-aged man beside him. "And this is Ser Willy Ward, master of this castle."
Ser Willy's eyes met Ian's for a brief moment before he gave a stiff, almost imperceptible nod. He said nothing.
As cold and welcoming as in the histories, Ian thought with a flicker of annoyance.
"A pleasure to meet you both." Since Jenny had already provided his name, Ian skipped his own introduction and moved on to his retinue. "These two are Old Dog and the Mute," he said, pointing to Rohr and Keith respectively. "Civilians from the Westerlands. My attendants."
He then gestured vaguely toward the entrance. "And the two men outside are my attendants' attendants."
A sharp, shared intake of breath hissed from the two knights standing before him.
"Jenny must have told you the purpose of my visit, correct?" Ian asked, pressing forward without giving them time to marvel at his perceived status.
"Of course, Ser," Ser Wilder replied, his tone enthusiastic but his words a clear dismissal. "It is just… your journey may have been in vain. Our operation has already concluded."
Ian had instructed Jenny to say he'd come to offer aid after hearing they were 'recruiting foreign knights within the week.' Wilder was now shutting that door.
Ian's gaze swept the hall. It was empty save for the two of them. On his way in, he'd noted that Ser Willy's manor held no more than a few squires and perhaps twenty guards. There was no sign of a military buildup.
Wilder's claim was plausible, yet Ian found it hard to believe. How could any large-scale operation have occurred without him catching wind of it?
"So, what exactly was this operation?" Ian asked, choosing to confront him directly.
"My apologies, but that involves our secrets," Wilder said, shaking his head.
Secrets? Ian narrowed his eyes.
"You have me make this trip for nothing, and you won't even grant me the courtesy of an explanation?" Ian's voice rose, his face flushing with the performative arrogance of a young, slighted Lannister. "Am I to take this as a personal insult?"
Ser Wilder's brow furrowed. Gods, why did we have to attract a pampered lion cub? Just as he was trying to think of a way to placate 'Ser Lucien,' Ian spoke again.
"I had heard there was a bandit group nearby—one you call the 'Ghosts of Whitewalls'," Ian said, his neck stiff with feigned anger. "Looking for a treasure left by the old Earl for the descendants of Blackfyre."
He took a sharp breath. "I thought, since you were seeking aid, I would offer my cooperation. But instead, you dare to humiliate me!"
"We do not, Ser Lucien," Ser Wilder insisted, forcing the corners of his mouth into a smile. He resisted the urge to simply throw the boy out. "I made that request to Martha several days ago. The operation has long since ended. This can hardly be considered a slight against you, can it?"
"Since you clearly do not welcome my presence, I suppose I have no choice but to ride for Harrenhal and send a message to King's Landing," Ian said, speaking as if Wilder hadn't said a word. "A raven will have my letter in the hands of my uncle, Ser Kevan, in less than a day."
He let the threat hang in the air. "Elite men of House Lannister will arrive here within five days. If you cannot find this so-called Blackfyre treasure by then, it will have nothing to do with you at all."
Ser Wilder's face instantly darkened.
"Wait, Ser," he called out as Ian turned to leave. He stopped him with a hand on his arm. "My apologies. We misunderstood your intentions. The operation I asked Martha to find men for has indeed ended, but if you wish to join our alliance to search for the Blackfyre Treasure, we would be more than welcoming."
"Oh?" Ian stopped and turned back slowly. "And what would be my share?"
"If we find the treasure," Wilder said, gritting his teeth, "you will receive twenty percent of the proceeds." He spoke as if the words were being torn from his throat.
"This is blackmail!" Ser Willy finally exploded, looking at his ally in shock. "When we worked with the Black Falcon Mercenary Group, we only offered them fifty percent, and they had two hundred men! This boy gets twenty percent for five?"
Ser Willy's temper was notoriously short. Wilder had specifically told him to say as little as possible to avoid offending anyone, and he had managed until now. This time, he couldn't hold his tongue.
Ser Wilder shot him a look and shook his head slightly before forcing another smile at Ian. "As you can see, this is the greatest concession we can make."
"Twenty percent," Ian mused, nodding with satisfaction. "If I were to report this to my family, my own reward would likely not be much more than that."
A wave of relief washed over Ser Wilder, but it was short-lived. Ian's next words made his breath catch in his chest again.
"But, Sirs, I am not pleased that you were dishonest with me."
"What do you mean by that?" Wilder's smile was now a pained grimace.
"If I am not mistaken," Ian said, his voice losing its petulant edge and becoming sharp as steel, "the operation you asked Martha to find knights for… it hasn't actually started, has it? And this operation involves the key clues that lead directly to the treasure."
"Why would you possibly think that?" Wilder couldn't even manage a fake smile now.
"Because of your attitude."
"My attitude?"
"The Blackfyre Treasure is no secret in these parts. Every sellsword at the Crossroads Inn knows the stories. Yet, when I asked you about your specific attempt to recruit 'foreign knights,' you told me it was a secret. If that mission didn't involve crucial, hidden clues to finding the treasure, why would you need to keep it a secret at all?"
"That…" Ser Wilder swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Isn't that a bit… far-fetched?"
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