1B, 77AD

The lord's chambers at Iroanoaks were a stately affair, modeled after the ancient styles of the Andals and bearing traditional flourishes. To the untrained eye, it would seem that they must have come from the time of the Andal invasions, perhaps even from Andalos itself. While the Waynwoods prized their dignity and ceremony above the many houses of the Vale, few traces of their deeds go back to the days when the Andal adventurers first landed on Westeros. Whether they belied a heritage far newer than the Waywoods would lead on was something few could say definitively. For Harlan, they were invisible as his father's cough pierced uncomfortable silence.

Lord Artys had taken to bed for over a week, and the maester had tried a bevy of herbs and tinctures, which had come to clutter the great table in the solar where the family took its meals. The vials and jars lined up like a formation of soldiers with their performance in battle uncertain. In the end, the cough was only silenced by the milk of the poppy and whatever rest it could provide. The maester made his way from the bedchamber to the fire in the solar, where an uncertain Harlan awaited him.

"How goes it Maester Gerald?" Harlan smiled tentatively, as one does in anticipation of grave news.

"My lord, your father is a strong man who is fighting whatever illness he has with all the might he can muster. I will try to aid in that fight," he paused, "but the Stranger always wins wars of attrition. If your father does not begin to show some signs of improvement, I fear that there may not be more that can be done but to call your family to his side."

Harlan sighed heavily. The son of every lord was prepared from birth for the day that the mantle would pass, however briefly, onto his shoulders. "I see, do you think that he will live?"

"My lord, I will use the knowledge at my disposal to do what I can. My duty to your house demands nothing less. I have written to some men that I studied with at the Citadel for advice," he trailed off seeing that this was not having the intended effect. "Do not call the Silent Sisters yet ser, but it may be time to consider sending ravens to bring the family here. I have hope, and so should you." The maester bowed politely and made his way back to his chambers, leaving Harlan to contemplate the fire alone.