personal7

"It's intentional I tell you." 

Malcom fought back the urge to go for the brandy that just sat outside his reach. He would just have to move a little and the drink will be his, and its taste and effects would be more than a little enough to try and fight back the urge to curse at Perwyn as he grumbled about something quite ridiculous as far as he was concerned. 

"You are giving too much thought to the words of some dissatisfied lords." He said, amidst the sounds of dancing, music, singing and laughter. Even then, he made sure that his voice was kept quite low amidst the revelry that was being taken in the celebration of Princess Cirilla's wedding to Jon Harroway. 

Malcom would agree that the wedding was something grand and that Princess Cirilla looked like a goddess of beauty that had taken to mortal form. Even when she passed near him as she walked down the aisle, he could not help but look. 

Was there any lady in the realm that was half as enchanting and beautiful as her? No, in the entirety of Westeros? 

He had heard tales about Sharra Arryn, but she was old now and must have lost much of her great beauty, but even still, he would say that Cirilla Tully was someone that would surpass the fabled beauty of the Dowager Queen of the Vale. 

Her husband was someone who seemed equal to the sort of awe that the princess emanated. Tall, dark and handsome, Jon Harroway was the sort of person that Malcom would admit he would want as a son. The majesty of the two had been almost blinding for someone of his worth. 

Perwyn Grell scoffed as he ripped the leg of the capon that had been set in front of them. "He knows what he's doing, that's for sure." 

"Who?" Malcom asked, cutting away at the steak in front of him. "The king?" 

Perwyn made a sound that was further punctuated by a firm nod of his head. "Riverrun would have been good a place as any for the wedding to be held. But it wasn't held there. No, instead it was held in the shadow of Harrenhal. A castle that is firmly underneath the control of House Tully and a symbol to their power." He at least had the good graces to look around to make sure that nobody was listening to them as he leaned in close. "What better way to quell a couple of malcontent voices amongst the lords and ladies of the realm than to remind them of what he is capable of? This is that reminder, I'm sure of it." 

His friend's words made him pause for a minute to think about it. 

Perhaps Perwyn did have a point in his words, but Malcom kept himself and House Terrick out of the game the nobility made a habit of playing. The gains might be many, but he would have far more to lose if he took a single misstep. 

All he wanted to do was be a good bannerman to his lord and raise a respectable family, something that he would say that he had been doing well upon. 

But that did not make him a fool that some of his fellow lords, minor and greater had been voicing some thoughts that could be considered... treasonous in coloring. The wealth and prosperity that Edmyn Tully had brought to the people and lords of the Riverlands had been more than enough to blind many lords to some of the changes that he was bringing about. 

That prosperity and wealth still blinded many more and had even bought him loyalty from the lowest of the noble houses, but there were some malcontents that had started propping up here and there. 

Some of them had even been his own fellow bannermen. 

Like his old friend, Perwyn. 

"Do you know the smallfolk are now starting to question their betters?" Perwyn was asking, shaking his head. "Us! Question us! Can you even believe that? Back in the day, something like that wouldn't even be allowed! And then there is this nonsense with the maesters!" 

Malcom nudged him in the side to make him quiet down and he thanked the gods that no-one was paying too much attention to them, instead their attention taking by the fire-eater that had been providing entertainment to the beating of loud drums. 

"Quiet you fool!" He sighed. "Does it truly matter what the smallfolk are doing? Let them question us, they can do nothing about it." He could remember enough about his maester's lessons to know that many smallfolk uprisings were always violently put down. Actually. "What is this about the maesters?" 

Perwyn's face dropped as he took a chalice into his hand. "Allen is dying, Mal. That old bastard is dying." 

"Oh," was the only sound that came out of his mouth. "I'm sorry." 

He knew more than enough to know that his old friend held his maester in great esteem. The man had been the closest thing a father Perwyn had ever had. Although he would admit the relationship between the two wasn't proper, but he would not be so discourteous to say that now. 

The head of House Grell took a long drink from his chalice before he spoke. "It's not so bad. We all have to die some time do we not? What is it the Valyrians say, Valar something? The thing is though, I had a letter sent to the Citadel months back and I have yet to receive a new maester to help Allen with his duties." 

"So?" He asked. "What does this have to do with the king?" 

"I had Allen write to Lord Olyvar about our lack of a maester. How am I supposed to do my lordly duties without a maester? So, another letter was sent to him about Allen dying and he said he shall write to the Citadel and the king. Well, the Citadel gave him the same reply I received." 

Malcom couldn't help but frown. Something was afoot here, but what he didn't know. His own maester was still quite young and thus he had no need for a new one, but even he knew how vital a maester was to the running of a noble household and lands. 

Without Qoren, he was sure that he would find himself at a loss of what to do with many of the duties required of him. 

"Then the king replied," Perwyn continued to say. "He didn't offer a maester, but he offered some of his 'civil servants' to help with the running of my household." He shifted some uneasily in his seat. "Civil servants that have sworn to serve the king and not the castle. That just cannot be done." 

Malcom would admit the thought of helping anything other than a maester help with the intricacies of running his fief would be... unsettling to say the least. Maesters have been an institution that has been used throughout Westeros for countless centuries, millennia even. The thought of their vital function being taken upon by another was something completely foreign to him. 

So foreign that he couldn't help but dismiss it. 

"Perhaps the king offers them to help Allen?" He suggested. "Until whatever business with the Citadel is over and done with." 

Perwyn scoffed. "I'd rather deal with Allen as he is now than let any of those coincounters into my own halls. They aren't loyal to House Grell but to the king. Who knows what they would be doing in my halls without making a vow to serve the castle and its lands only? No, I don't trust it one-bit, old friend." 

"You are being too paranoid." He said. 

"I think not," Perywn said in reply. "I don't like all this change old friend, did you know, Edgar plans to send his sons to the Riverrun College or whatever it's called." 

Malcom raised an eyebrow at the mention of Perwyn's son and heir. "Truly?" 

"Truly." Perwyn replied with a nod, a look of distaste coming onto his face. "They might not wear chains like the maesters, but they might very well be the same. And not to mention that the likes that attend this college are nothing more than merchants, farm boys! Not a place where those of noble and pure blood should find themselves in." 

Malcom sipped at his own drink, the fire-eater now having replaced for the day's entertainment by dancers. This was not exactly the sort of wedding he was used to, but it was mostly certainly something. "Surely they must some people of noble blood attending the college." 

His old friend scoffed some more. "The littlest of lords with no pride in their name or bones. The sort that would sell their son and daughter to the coincounters." 

Malcom frowned at the thought. What was a noble without pride in their name and house? Certainly not the kind of people that he would willingly associate with. 

"So not much then." 

"Aye," Perwyn said with a grunt. "Not much." 

"But still some." 

"Some that I wouldn't want any grandchild of mine cavorting with. I won't have any of it! None of it I tell you!" 

They might have been middling nobility, but they still had their pride. And if Edgar had any sense of pride in his name, he would drop the ideas of sending his sons to Riverrun. And if what Perwyn was saying about this being a show of power from the king, then there would be no need for Perwyn to find himself hamstrung with his grandchildren being held within the influence of Riverrun. 

Without thinking about it, had the riverlords traded in one tyrant for another in a different coat? 

No, that was a silly thought. One that reeked of nothing more than vile treason. Edmyn had done good by the realm. And just like any man in a position of power, not everyone was going to like him, even with all of the good he had done. So he pushed away the thoughts of Edmyn a tyrant and decided to ignore the words of his friend and enjoy the entertainment.

Today was supposed to be a day of celebration and he intended to do just that.