With Ser Gerold in tow and the wounded father fastened safely to his saddle. Robb, Edwyn and Gerold rode back to Gorehall with great haste. They knew the condition of the man was bad, so they did not wish to delay his recovery any longer than was necessary.
Once they rode up the spiralling path leading to the main gates, a sentry spotted the inverted Black Chimera sigil of Edwyn, recognizing him as the Bastard of Caragore, the sentry called out for the main gates to be opened, allowing the men to pass on through without incident.
As they halted before the steps leading to the great hall and seat of House Caragore, Robb called over a local stableboy and told him to get ahold of Bran, the stablemaster. Once the boy ran off, Edwyn calmly made his way up the steps with his hand resting on the hilt of his braavosi blade.
Later Gerold and Robb made their way inside, with the wounded man in tow, of course Gerold seemed more concerned with reporting into Lord Eorlanas than helping Robb carry the man up the steep steps to the Maester’s quarters on the far side of the castle.
Once the old man was safely in the hands of the Maester, Robb returned to the great hall, overhearing Gerold and Eorlanas talking about what seemed to be a Tournament in the Crag. No doubt he meant for House Caragore to be represented and Robb of course could not let the opportunity pass him by. There was always a chance…a small one…but a chance that in the lists. He might find the sigil he had been looking for, for three gruelling years of search.
Later that same day Robb and Ser Gerold rode out from Gorehall and made their way towards the Crag where they rode through the night well into the early hours of the morning, only ever stopping to either feed and water themselves and their horses, or to answer the call of nature.
It was not until the early morning after that Robb and Gerold arrived at the Crag. As they calmly rode into the small town. According to Ser Gerold, the noble in charge of the Crag was Ned Westerling. What his house lacked in many respects, they made up for in how they were one of the oldest houses in the Westerlands, if not Westeros in general.
Upon entering the town and watching the people readying the Crag for the festivities that were set to follow over the course of the next few days, Robb could see that despite the poverty of the people, they seemed to be in high spirits. A tourney no matter how small, was a great way for people to attract commerce and trade.
Robb called over a nearby paige to take his horse as well as Gerold’s to be stabled, the boy seemed more than thankful for the meager silver stag he was given for the task.
“Alright then, time for some grub, what do you think Gerold?”
“We should try the Inn, food and drink in the same spot is more efficient than wandering to two different stalls” he said as he made his way inside. “I guess you make a good point” Robb said before joining him.
The Inn was small and nearly empty despite for a few locals sitting at the odd tables here and there. As Gerold and Robb found themselves a table, they ordered up two large mugs of ale and mead as they sat at their table and waited. Robb and Gerold engaged in mutual conversation, although it was brief. Ever since he took up the role of Sell sword, Robb might have lost a bit of his skill when it came to the art of conversation, even after spending three years at Gorehall many of the men with whom he called “friends” or “comrades” seemed like perfect strangers to him.
An hour or two passed before Walter, Kasheen, Erryk and the others finally arrived at the Inn where Ser Gerold greeted them with high merriment and Robb raised his mug of ale (still his first).
“Hail brothers, we were hoping to find you here” Ser Gerold spoke out proudly.
“Ser Gerold? Ser Robb? What a surprise to find you both here” Erryk replied as he and his party made their way to the table. As he did Robb noticed that the barman and a young girl, possibly his daughter made work to serve them as quickly and as efficiently as they could. Perhaps Erryk preceeded himself?
“We came from Gorehall after our mission at the behest of your father. He told us of this tournament and asked us to win in honor of House Caragore” Robb stated.
“Yes, we heard a similar tale from the Lord of the Banefort. I must say he seemed rather hesitant to help us, we did not really learn of this tournament until we pressed him on the matter”
“Highly suspsect? what manner of man is this Lord?”
“The Craven Kind” Cregan called out as Robb noticed him eyeing up the girl as she began to ask them what she would like to drink. Once the orders were made, she turned and yelped as she felt as strong masculine hand grasp her tight little arse. Of course when she saw that it was Cregane, she did nothing to show offense and walked away as briskly as she could.
“Craven lord…well I hope his daughter is worth all this bloody trouble” Gerold said.
“She wasn’t there, although a little birdie told us that she might be at this tournament. It will be up to us to see if we cannot find her and “impress” her…All for the benefit of my father of course"
“Your father went toe to toe with the Sword in the Morning. I doubt us courting some spoilt Westerland brat is going to amount to much” Robb said as he finished his ale and stood up.
“Anyway…” he said as he grabbed his sword and shield.
“I took the liberty of getting some spare rooms, just in case you lot decided to drop by. There’s supposed to be a feast at the Westerling’s hall this evening. Perhaps you will find your princess there” he said before moving away from the table and heading upstairs.
“Will you not be joining us then Lord Stonecrow?” Walter called out with a smug looking grin.
“A sellsword has no place at a Lordlings tables. I will be at the fairgrounds this evening if you need me. Unless you’re about to get cold steel rammed up your arse don’t bother me” he said before making his way upstairs finally and entering his room to catch up on missed sleep from the night’s ride.