Grymer stood by the walls of the Black Tower, shivering a little in the wind. Udyr was dead, with little to remember him but the death of the Queen and the vast, jet black tower that towered over him, Udyr's adition to the manse. His position was now threatened - Grymer had seen things, things that would make you shiver in the night and your toes curl, but this new Lord may have no need of him. Perhaps he was the prudent sort, and Grymer's pension for his service would be a dagger in the night.
Then again, from what Grymer had heard of young Valdemyr, he didn't have that level of prudence and caution. He was Udyr's son by his third wife, and to hear the old Lord tell it, a useless fop without a single bone of strength in his body.
"A skinny little runt," he used to belch into his wine, "A bloody dissapointment. Should have done with him what I did with his damned mother, but I needed a heir. Pity this one won't do though," he'd grunt.
Grymer heard the low thrum of hoofbeats. He straightened himself, as the party of riders came through. At their head sat a laughing young man, clad in black and red. Handsome, in his own thin, skinny way, with pronounced cheekbones. He had a high collar, almost to his ears, and behind him billowed a long, black cloak, in a way that reminded Grymer uncomfortably of a bat. Behind him rode several men of the North - hairy, ugly brutes, grinning wickedly as if sharing some private joke that the manservant was the butt of.
"My lord," Grymer said, falling to his knees.
Valdemyr dismounted, and stood before the manservant. "I see my father had you trained well. I am Valdemyr Catullus, Lord of the Catullfort, Duke of Tryndamere. Who are you?"
"My name is Grymer, my lord. I was your father's manservant and valet."
"Excellent. I do not have a valet." The young man cast Grymer a disdainful look. "You will do, I suppose." He turned back to his companions. "Begin unpacking my things. Bruto, begin searching around the town. I shall have need of new servants."
"My lord," Grymer gasped, "your father kept several servants, who are still happy to work for you..."
"I have no doubts as to the loyalty of your service, Grymer - after all, experienced valets are hard to find. However, the rest are better when they are young and fresh. After all, what you really need in your maids," Valdemyr said, grinning wickedly, "is young blood."
Grymer shivered, in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.
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