The golden lion banner fell dejectedly, and the plowman banner flew once again atop the walls of Darry.
"Uncle, I have reclaimed Darry for our house."
Martyn watched the soldiers moving supplies and the wounded, re-garrisoning, and repairing fortifications, feeling incredibly uplifted.
He clenched his fist and knocked twice on the battlement.
Footsteps approached, and Munda ran over to report the casualties.
"We had two knights killed and one injured. Additionally, fifty-seven spearmen were killed and eighty-three injured, mostly minor injuries... Also, the southwest wall seems a bit damaged; we need to repair it."
Listening to Munda's report, Martyn frowned but quickly relaxed.
The casualties weren't small, but they were acceptable.
Achieving such a result was largely thanks to the two hundred archers sent by Roose Bolton.
Their "fire support" had played a crucial role when storming the walls.
Martyn said:
"Alright, I understand. Block the breach with rammed earth and fences for now; the Westerlands army shouldn't be back anytime soon. Also, let everyone rest and recover. We're going to see Ser Bolin."
Bolin was the retainer sent by Bolton, commanding the two hundred archers.
Martyn and Munda soon met Bolin.
He was directing soldiers to recover usable arrows.
Seeing Martyn and the others, he smiled immediately.
"Lord Martyn, Lord Munda."
"Ser Bolin."
The three exchanged greetings, and Martyn expressed his gratitude to Bolin and Roose Bolton.
"It's nothing. Now that the Riverlands and the North defend the same crown, there's no need for such formalities."
Bolin cleverly stated their unified stance, reminding Martyn and Munda of Jon's arrogant declaration at Riverrun.
Jon was now the only person in the entire North and Riverlands who didn't recognize Robb's crown.
Soon, the three returned to the castle of Darry.
Fortunately, even though the Lannister army had occupied Darry, they hadn't harmed the cooks and kitchen staff.
Now that the Westerlands army was driven away, the kitchen staff continued to serve them.
They were like the "software" or "wetware" of Darry; no one noticed them, and no one harmed them.
Of course, if The Mountain came, that might be a different story.
This time, not only Martyn and Munda, but Lyman was also brought along for the meal, mainly to express gratitude.
At Martyn's signal, Lyman raised his goblet and stood up. But he was so short that there was little difference between him sitting and standing.
"Thank you for your help, Ser Bolin. House Darry will forever remember this friendship."
"Lord Lyman is too kind."
Bolin didn't take the little earl seriously at all, merely lifting his rear slightly from the chair in acknowledgment.
Little Lyman grimaced from the spicy wine, causing the others to laugh.
He was currently a mascot with zero authority.
Fortunately, he didn't realize it himself.
Bolin suddenly spoke:
"Here's the situation, my lords. Since House Darry has reclaimed the castle, I must return to report to Lord Bolton. I intended to leave these arrows for you, but as you know, King Robb appointed Jon as Quartermaster, but Lord Bolton and Jon..."
Even before leaving, Bolin didn't forget to stir up trouble between them and Jon.
"I understand your concerns. I will find a way to write to King Robb explaining the situation."
Seeing his objective achieved, Bolin smiled slightly.
Although the meal wasn't lavish, the hosts and guest enjoyed themselves.
The next day, Bolin led his troops away.
After Bolin left, the three brothers, including Lyman, headed straight for the Darry family cellar.
Seeing that the cellar hadn't been destroyed, all three let out a long sigh of relief.
The cellar held a secret House Darry had buried for over a decade.
Martyn took out a key, opened the cellar, and ordered men to bring out the contents.
The secret of House Darry turned out to be a collection of portraits.
When the black cloths covering them were lifted, they revealed portraits of people.
But these people all had silver hair and purple eyes, possessing extraordinary beauty.
These were portraits of past Targaryen kings!
House Darry's feelings for the Targaryens went beyond simple loyalty; it included unparalleled adoration.
Their ancestor once said: Dragonfire clears the land, the plowman tills the earth; we were born to stand with the Dragon Kings.
Although the Dragon Kings were gone, their loyalty had never faded.
Compared to other Riverlands nobles, they were anomalies.
Martyn ordered servants to move the portraits to a ventilated area.
House Darry had just suffered heavy losses, and a Baratheon sat on the Iron Throne.
Restoring them would be troublesome.
Lyman watched from the side as the servants moved the portraits.
Suddenly, he saw a familiar face.
"Wait."
Lyman waved his hand to stop them. Munda looked surprised.
"What is it?"
"Look at this portrait."
Lyman walked up to a portrait of a Targaryen royal.
No, this wasn't a king; it was a portrait of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.
Back then, everyone thought Rhaegar would be the next king after the Mad King.
Lord Darry had eagerly commissioned a secret portrait of Rhaegar.
"Doesn't he look like someone?"
"Who?" Looking at the only portrait that wasn't a king, Munda couldn't see the resemblance.
"I can't say, but he just looks like someone."
Munda didn't take it to heart, assuming Lyman had just seen too many people at Riverrun.
---
Lyman didn't stay in his own room as usual but moved into the room of his father, Earl Raymun Darry, who had been killed by The Mountain.
But Raymun's room was too big, and Lyman wasn't used to it.
And there was a smell in the room.
Not his father's scent, but a strange, pungent odor.
Needless to say, the Westermen must have left it.
Although the maids had cleaned and scrubbed, Lyman felt the smell lingering at the tip of his nose.
He tossed and turned for the first half of the night, only falling asleep near dawn, when he had a dream.
In the dream, he saw fire and blood everywhere in Darry.
Thick, crimson blood flowed down the battlements and stairs.
The smell of blood and burning flesh permeated the castle.
The cries for mercy outside gradually drowned out the sounds of fighting.
Lyman was too scared to run.
He stayed in his room, but the door was smashed open.
With a crash, a roaring, bloodthirsty beast charged in.
He hid under the bed, but someone grabbed his ankle and dragged him out.
The fear felt tangible.
When Lyman woke up, he found the bed beneath him soaked.