With that, Wylis left the bechamber. He wanted to explore the castle too, after all. It was pretty big with two large courtyards, one just after the entrance, and the second one in the middle of the main keep, the most guarded part. Currently, the second courtyard was overgrown with grass and whatnot.
Seeing how private and enclosed it was, Wylis planned on turning it into a personal garden with a small fish pond, flowerbeds, some modern playground items like a see-saw and swings, and a pavilion to sit and relax. It would provide a good place for the women to gather in the future and kids to play. He did plan on having a lot of them.
As he walked around, he soon reached his main solar, the word they used for office in this world. It was on the top floor of the central tower, the highest one. The entire solar was circular and large, with multiple windows carved in the stones, and glass windows added. The floor had a large, round carpet, and the polished table sat in front of a massive, semicircular bookcase. The table had multiple thick books and some writing materials as well.
There was also a fireplace nearby. The walls on each side of the entry door were covered with ornaments, armor helmets, and exotic daggers nobody used in Westeros. The ceiling held a small chandelier that used oil to burn its multiple tips.
"Not bad." He muttered and took the seat. Brennard was clearly using the place for himself. "Let's see…"
He checked the large books. They were trade accounts, nothing too detailed. It was more basic than basic. Simple entries of how much was earned and how much was spent. No details about where the money was spent or how it was earned. Not to mention, the written amount was pathetic. It said that Ramsgate was earning mere ninety golden dragons a year. But Tyrant's Fief has written one hundred and ninety-two.
In the end, Wylis closed the book and checked the others. The large bookcase was mostly empty, save for a few tomes about history, plants, and one storybook.
Eventually, he wrote the letter for Lord Wyman and left the solar. He liked the fact that just outside his solar, a few steps down, there was a privy. As much as he disliked it, he could at least sit on it. He had plans to solve it, but not right now.
Right as Brennard had said, he went to the absolute top of the same tower, and before reaching the door that would let him reach a ladder and trapdoor to the top, he found the secret stash. It was substantial. Why money was missing from the accounts now made sense.
He found slightly over a thousand gold dragons there.
More seed money. Sweet!
He repeated the same and soon found the secret stash in the guardhouse. While not as much as Brennard, there were nearly five hundred gold dragons, a few gold jewelry pieces, and some other expensive items.
After pocketing it all, he finished roaming the castle, checking each room. The castle itself had four floors, while the four towers had five floors, and the largest, middle tower had six. There were six main rooms, the largest ones that could house Wylis as the lord and more nobles. They were all either on the ground floor or the first floor. Then, there were two dozen rooms of varying sizes. Most were small, others large. He planned on expanding them later.
On the ground floor, other than the lord's bedchamber, there were two more large bedchambers, a smaller solar for quick work, a great hall, storerooms, buttery, pantry, kitchen, guest chambers, and servants' quarters near the kitchen.
In simple words, the castle was fucking huge. Nothing on the scale of the Red Keep or Winterfell, but in its own right, it was massive. More than what Wylis was hoping, and he loved it.
Finally, after finishing his tour, he left the castle and went to the small Sept in the town. Yes, there was a Sept, to Wylis' dismay. Manderlys were a Northern house, but their origin was from the south. They still followed the Faith of the Seven, and since Ramsgate was theirs until a few weeks ago, the town had a Sept.
Single storey, two rooms, and one small hall. That was the sept. Not even a septon was appointed to it, just a single septa. No, she wasn't beautiful. In fact, she was a local, wrinkled up and hunched.
With her help, he sent a raven to Lord Manderly.
After that, he got busy gathering people.
Men at arms, blacksmiths, carpenters, the whole package. The first goal was to make a ship, because he really needed one to save Rhaella from Dragonstone.
####
Ramsgate Town,
Chett was a nobody, just a young man of one-and-twenty, doing hard labor for the castle steward who liked to be addressed as lord.
He was among the men tasked with chopping down trees. He'd been doing it for five years now, and he really had no complaints. While his friends and colleagues cursed the castle steward and his seven generations, he didn't. In fact, he loved the work because it was so fucking simple.
Chop trees, get food, and if you're lucky, some coin. He had a mother and a little brother at home, both doing their best like him. They worked for the local weaver, earning enough to eat.
"Seven hells!"
But it all changed when he saw that beast of a man kill six armed soldiers like they were little twigs. Then he watched the man drag three by their legs. He learned that day that his employer was no longer in charge. The true Lord of Ramsgate had arrived.
At first, Chett was anxious. He didn't know if he'd get to work again and earn some food. He was no learned man, so he asked the Septa Elma about it. The old woman was the most intelligent person he knew.
It was then he learned that their new lord was the same man he'd been hearing stories about for the past year or so. The stableboy who won, the Tyrant of the Trident, Champion of the Rebellion, Wylis Kaiser.
Not just Septa Elma, but everyone else in the town regained some hope. Hope that someone who rose from their own ranks would understand their problems.
When the next day came, he was there to report at the town square, much like all the other men. Lord Wylis came himself to recruit new men-at-arms.
"Ugh…" He annoyedly sighed when he realized he wasn't first in the line. Many others had arrived before him.
Nonetheless, Chett stood like a soldier. Never moving an inch. He just watched as Lord Wylis moved around and met others. He recognized the blacksmith's son, just a year older than him, who ran the shop as the old man had fallen sick. He recognized the old carpenter and his team. He recognized many of them, and while he couldn't hear them, they were all smiling and laughing, with Lord Wylis patting their shoulders once in a while.
As the crowd started to thin and hours went by, he noticed some men had left the line meant for those wanting to be men-at-arms. He scoffed, knowing why they left. But it didn't bother him; he was used to standing for hours and chopping trees, swinging his mighty ax.
When the sun peaked in the sky, the line thinned out even more. From the middle of the line, he found himself closer to the front.
And at last, he saw Lord Wylis sending away the last of the town's people. He felt the tall, noble lord's gaze measuring the line. He noticed the slight nod and quickly straightened his back as much as he could. He wanted to appear the tallest.
"You! The stiff one!"
"Me?" Chett confusedly looked around, patting his chest. He wasn't at the front of the line, so he didn't expect to be singled out.
"Aye, you. Come here."
Chett believed that he was fearless. But at that moment, he felt scared. He felt anxious about being sent away. But he followed the order and mechanically walked over to the lord.
"What's your name?"
"I… I'm called Chett, m-my Lord."
"How old are you?"
"One-and-twenty, my Lord."
"What did you do before?"
There, Chett frowned a little, worried that his profession of a simple lumberjack was too low for the position of men-at-arms. But he chose not to lie. "I'm a lumberjack, my Lord."
"How many trees do you cut in a day?"
For that, he answered proudly. He felled the most, after all. "Eight, when the weather's kind. Six if the rain comes, my Lord."
Chett felt confused when the lord seemed surprised. Fearing that the lord might think he was lying, he tried to clarify. "B-Begging yer pardon, my Lord, but I ain't lying. I were the best with wood and axe both. None cut near as much as me. They gave me fine meals for my work, Gods witness."
"Have you heard the talk about Brennard? They say he's been stealing coin, beating on the folk, and raping young women."
Chett frowned, his jaw clenched. He looked down for the first time, shedding his confident, strong demeanor. "Aye, my Lord… I heard tell of it. Old Harwin's lass, she was a gentle one, never spoke ill of none. She was taken… came back broken, purpled, and dead. Brennard swore she tumbled down the stairs. He… he never raised a hand to me, even slipped me coin at times."
"It was true. Brennard defiled her, then slew her, as he has with many others. Did you know that?"
Chett clenched his fist, never to straighten his back with pride again. He stared at his boots, his temples heavy. "I… I begged Gella we should run, my Lord. She wouldna' heed me. Said she'd not leave Old Harwin to fend alone. S-Should've dragged her with me… she'd still be breathing."
"Did you love her?"
Chett nearly let a tear slip. He kept his eyes on the ground, even when the lord set a hand on his shoulder. "Aye... I meant to marry her, my Lord."
"You knew the truth all along?"
Chett nodded weakly.
"Then why didn't you do something? You're only a hand shorter than I am. With the power you carry, you could've made a difference."
At that point, Chett's clenched fist began shaking. He felt his nails dig into his palm. He gulped a heavy swallow. "I… I'm…"
"A nobody? A lowborn? Does that strip a man of his right to justice? Were that true, I'd still be mucking stables. Do you know why I killed Rhaegar and the Mad King?"
Chett shook his head.
"They were cut from Brennard's cloth. Rhaegar wanted to rape a trueborn woman, and King Aerys… did it all his life. Chett, hear this well, be it mutt or monarch, once madness rules, the just path is to end them. Their station carries no weight against it."
Chett nodded, but he felt confused. He looked up at the lord's face, wondering why tell him all that. Why bother with him?
"In a few days, Brennard will be executed. And you'll swing the blade. Do it not only for yourself, but for all those who suffered by his hand."
"M-My Lord?" Chett frowned. "I've nev—"
"Get used to it. There is much filth to be cleared from these lands. Men like Brennard must be erased from the North. Report to the castle at dawn, you will begin training as my men-at-arms. Serve faithfully, and I will make you a knight in my service."
With that, Chett watched Lord Wylis walk away. He stood in the same spot for a very long time. He saw Lord Wylis speak with a few more men, the men he recognized. Just like him, they were wronged, though not all suffered the fate of total loss. Some women do return from that castle, though not much different from a wraith—lost, silent, lifeless dolls.
In the end, Chett returned home. For years, he thought he'd long surpassed the old grief. It was beneath him to act like a sad maiden, beneath a six-foot-five man. His little brother said that, at least.
But that night, in anger, helplessness, loss, hope… Chett cried.
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