But history did not favor House Darry again.
Just south of this inn, on the banks of the Green Fork, the decisive Battle of the Trident took place—where Robert Baratheon's forces clashed with Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's royalist army.
In that battle, Robert smashed his warhammer through Rhaegar's ruby-encrusted breastplate, killing him. Three brothers of the current Lord of Darry, Raymun Darry, also fell that day.
With the Targaryen dynasty's collapse, House Darry lost most of its lands, wealth, and power—even their comital title.
Thus, all major nobles around the northeastern Gods Eye were either extinct or on their last legs, soon to perish in the coming War of the Five Kings.
*(Considering the southwestern shore has no great houses either—maybe it's not Harrenhal but the Gods Eye itself that's cursed?)*
"Right... no great lords here," Ian conceded awkwardly, smoothing his hair. "So who holds these lands now?"
"After Darry and Harrenhal's decline, the northeastern shore was divided among forty landed knightly houses," Foster explained. "The greatest hold minor castles and manors—like Ser Wylde Reg, Ser Varys Wydell, and our lieutenant Ser Harrison Garth. The smallest own just a mill."
*So they're in the same boat as Littlefinger.*
"Since Lord—*ahem*—Ser Raymun Darry lost interest in governance, the dominant forces became our Black Hawk Company and Ser Wylde's knightly alliance."
"But this well-armed, trained bandit cavalry disrupted that balance."
"You couldn't face such foes alone, so you sought allies?"
"Gods, you *do* know everything," Foster said, no longer surprised by Ian's prescience. "We sent ravens to Harrenhal, Darry, and Ser Wylde at once."
"None replied. We weren't about to fight elite cavalry for free. Though the Whitewalls band had just twenty-odd men, and we numbered over two hundred, we're sellswords—not fools."
"By the next moon, Kingsroad raids increased. Our escorts suffered heavy losses. We had to act—Father summoned the captains again."
"We decided to consolidate—abandoning contracts to defend our base. Only core members got this protection; lesser affiliates still worked, since we didn't pay them."
"Then, out of nowhere, Ser Wylde came to us."
Foster drained another cup before continuing:
"He brought shocking news—these bandits were linked to the *Blackfyres*."
Ian straightened. *Here we go.*
"Ser Wylde recounted an encounter near Doman Village. Returning from a King's Landing tourney, he sought shelter there at dusk."
"That night, raiders attacked. Awakening to a burning village, he charged out armed—"
"Wait, he gave detailed testimony, but I've forgotten most. Anyway, he chased one bandit into a hut, fought him, and slashed open his surcoat—revealing the black three-headed dragon sigil on his breastplate."
"Noticing plate armor, Wylde switched tactics—targeting joints until he severed the man's forearm, disabling him."
"But hearing reinforcements approach, he fled rather than finish the kill."
"You said you forgot details? That sounded eyewitness-vivid." Ian smirked.
"That part stuck—Wylde demonstrated 'half-swording' techniques for fighting armored foes. As I'd never faced plate, it impressed me."
"Go on."
"Wylde's claims seemed so outlandish that Father doubted him," Foster said.
"With Maelys Blackfyre slain in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, sudden 'Blackfyre remnants' do sound far-fetched." *Hell, I don't buy it either.*
"Exactly! But Wylde swore on his honor. Combined with the Whitewalls connection, it gained credibility."
"Eventually, they agreed to joint action—proof of Blackfyre ties could earn royal favor."
"Enough for many sellswords to earn knighthoods," Ian noted.
"The operation united every available mercenary band under Wylde and Father's banners. We even re-petitioned Harrenhal and Darry, citing the Blackfyre angle."
"Lady Whent of Harrenhal ignored us again. Darry sent a token force—one sworn knight, four spearmen, and four crossbowmen—to fulfill feudal duty."
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**(End of Chapter)**