If life was a game, Lord Godric Grimm was its key player. He had collected the pieces he needed to, arranged them perfectly into place, and now all he had to do was make his moves. A warm breeze blowing over Southshield gusted gently through the bedchamber, sending a sheet of paper cascading away from the desk towards the cold stone floor. He was alone this evening, with his lady wife Elinor having gone on one of her visits to the sept as she seemed to do every night since their wedding. Godric bent over to pick the sheet up, and placed it back where it belonged, but not before taking a moment to read it over one last time. *Hewett legitimisation, Pylos and bastard, regency, drunkenness,* it read, somewhat cryptically, but the words had plenty of meaning in Godric’s mind. The events of the wedding feast seemed so clear. Godric recalled how Lord Mathis Hewett had shared with him his plan to continue the almost extinct Hewett line by legitimising his bastard son and daughter, the latter of which had been sharing lustful glances with Ser Pylos Chester, the man now acting as regent for his cousin young Lord Amory Chester. But it had been Lord Tristan Serry who had really grabbed the hall’s attention when he drunkenly refused to allow Godric to take away Elinor. Yet Godric had worked that to his advantage, painting Tristan as a fool and convincing Pylos that the man had been cruel to his beloved bastard of Hewett. All the pieces were falling into place now, and Godric knew exactly what he had to do. Night was tightening its grip on the Reach, but it was a fresh new dawn for House Grimm, and for the Shield Islands as a whole. Godric’s ambitions were great, and his plans infallible. The planning was done, and now it was time to act. Godric Grimm threw the incriminating piece of paper into a brazier and pocketed a small vial of clear liquid, before hobbling his way out of the door towards the chambers of Lord Mathis Hewett. The old man was bent over his desk when Godric entered, supposedly sleeping, but he perked up at the sound of the door creaking open. “Forgive me, my lord,” he murmured as he came to. “I seem to have dosed off.” Godric smiled disarmingly. “No, forgive *me*, Lord Mathis. I should have let you sleep.” *Aye, but you will be getting more than enough sleep soon.* “I am here on rather informal terms, you see, but if now is not convenient…” “Now now, Lord Godric, I have all the time in the world. Come, sit.” The elderly lord of Oakenshield gestured towards a tall oak chair, to which Godric shook his head. “I shan’t be long, I was just wondering about your plans to legitimise your twins. As much as it pains me to say this, my lord, I fear for the future of House Hewett should your letter of legitimisation fail to be written soon.” Lord Hewett chuckled lightly. “Do not fear anything, Godric. It would seem I am one step ahead of you.” Reaching into his robe, he revealed a sealed piece of parchment and held it proudly in one hand. *The legitimisation. Thank you for making things easy, my lord,* Godric gloated as Mathis went on. “The future of my House is right here in front of you. My son Mathis is a good lad, I assure you, and Mia will make a fair wife one day. Mayhaps she will even forge a bond between our houses, eh?” Godric forced himself to laugh. “I hope so, Lord Mathis. The Shield Islands are stronger united. May I have a drink?” Leaning over, Godric grabbed hold of a bottle of wine and served himself a glass. While the bottle was still in one hand, his other hand hovered over it for a split second, just enough time for a few tiny teardrops to escape the vial hidden in his sleeve. They dropped into the wine, and Mathis Hewett was none the wiser. “Lord Mathis,” Godric began politely, “I apologise, I should have served you first.” He poured, and Lord Mathis Hewett drank, and so his fate was sealed. “Forgive me Godric, but I feel rather weary,” the old man said after a few minutes of meaningless small talk. “Would you help me into bed?” And so Godric did, offering a shoulder for him to lean on as Lord Mathis limped to his bed, oblivious to the fact that he might never wake up again. Godric lingered to toss a certain sealed letter into the fire, before making his way out, content knowing that when Mathis died, House Hewett would die with him. The Lord of Greyshield sought out a servant, and found one lighting candles in a dim hallway. “Please fetch Lord Tristan and take him to Lord Hewett. Tell him that the poor old man is looking for him.” Had he not been hunchbacked and deformed, Godric would surely have had a spring in his step. The plan was blossoming like a flower in spring, and it was almost complete already. Tristan Serry, drunken and depressed, would arrive at Lord Mathis Hewett’s chambers to find him at rest in his sleep, and no-one would ever know of his plan to legitimise his bastards. Lord Grimm found Ser Pylos Chester in the practice yard, hacking at a dummy illuminated in the pale moonlight. The man was as tall as any knight, but light and lithe, with a quick temper and a dim-witted nature. *Just the kind of man that men like me need.* “Pylos, how good to see you.” Godric opened his arms in an amicable embrace. He and Pylos had known each other a great deal of time, having both spent most of their lives on Greyshield. “I come bearing good news for you!” The knight’s head swerved round, eager to hear what Godric had to say. “M’lord, what’s the matter?” “Nothing is the matter, Pylos. It’s quite the opposite, in fact. You are getting married!” Pylos looked blank for a moment, consumed by terror and dread. “Lord Hewett plans to legitimise his daughter and marry her to you. He told me such himself.” The knight’s eyes lit up with joy and a ridiculous grin appeared on his gaunt face. “Mia? I’m marrying Mia? M’lord this is fantastic news! She’s so beautiful, even if she is a bit shy, but I really do like her, m’lord!” *I know you do.* “I am very happy for you, Pylos. It would seem that becoming your cousin’s regent has carried with it its fair share of advantages.” The two of them went inside to share a glass of strongwine, but soon a glass turned into a bottle and a bottle became a cask, and before he knew it Pylos was drunk out of his senses, while Godric sat patiently sipping his second glass. He left Pylos there, swaying in his seat as he contemplated his false marriage to his beloved bastard girl, and made his way back up to Mathis Hewett’s chambers, only to be told by a hysterical maid that his lord had died in his sleep. Godric made sad noises and acted surprised, but as soon as he could he made his way back down to Ser Pylos. *From here on I am playing a very risky game, but the reward is too sweet to resist…* “Pylos, my friend,” Godric said as he sat himself back down. “I have just heard some very disturbing news. Lord Mathis is dead.” Pylos reeled in his seat as if he had been hit by a mace, but he kept his silence. Godric continued, “Lord Tristan found him cold and lifeless, and sent for help, but here is where the tale truly becomes strange. Nobody could find the letter of legitimisation for his twins Mathis and Mia. I fear that House Hewett no longer has any heirs, and Mia could hardly be suitable marriage material for you since she is still a bastard.” *Now act, you drunkard.* That seemed to do it for Pylos. He shot to his feet and drew a dagger from his belt. Half a foot long, the sharp steel blade glinted a lusty red in the candlelight. “This was bloody Tristan Serry’s work!” he shouted, slightly slurred. “You said it yourself m’lord, he used to beat poor Mia and doesn’t want her to go away and marry me. Maybe he… he must have destroyed the legitimisation to stop her from getting married, the bloody bastard. He’ll get what’s coming to him, I swear!” His blade still in hand, Pylos stormed towards the door. *Excellent Pylos, let your anger take hold.* Feigning worry, Godric hobbled swiftly to block the door with his body. “Pylos, please do not act rashly. There are other ways to settle this, other ways to take revenge.” *Yes, only there aren’t. Realise that this is the only option, Pylos. Please do this for me.* “Out of my way,” Pylos shouted drunkenly as he pushed past and began to make his way upstairs towards Lord Tristan Serry’s quarters. “The bloody bastard will get what he deserves, once and for all…” And that was the last thing Godric Grimm heard him say before a servant hurried down to tell him that Lord Tristan had been murdered in a fit of terrible drunken rage by Ser Pylos Chester.
