ASOIAF: The Rise of House Ashenblade.

Loras reined in between FireStorm’s shields and the advancing Caron spears. His twenty white-cloaked riders spread across the street without lowering lances, forcing both formations to acknowledge Storm’s End before either could move through him. ”When did Lord Renly authorize House Caron to take Arlan Ashenblade into private custody?”

Elton inclined his head. ”Ser Loras. The decree speaks for itself. I received evidence of treason and acted to secure the accused for Storm’s End.”

”Then give me the decree.”

Auston looked toward Elton before dismounting. That glance mattered more than the bow he offered. He carried the parchment to the midpoint and held it until one of Loras’s men took it from him with gloved hands. The crowned stag seal was genuine. Loras did not stop there. He checked the cord, the cuts where wax had been lifted, the folds pressed into the parchment, and the line where a fresh blade had trimmed one edge. A white-cloaked clerk opened a leather case and produced another document bearing the same dispatch marks.

”This is Lord Renly’s copy,” Loras said. ”It summons Arlan Ashenblade to answer the complaints against him and authorizes local officers to prevent flight from the Stormlands. It does not deliver him to Nightsong.”

Elton’s reply came without haste. ”A clerk clarified the authority after the copy left Storm’s End.”

”The clerk appears to have clarified it with different ink.”

The altered line had been inserted above Renly’s closing formula. Its hand imitated the main text well enough for a public reading; under close inspection, the quill cut deeper and the final letters leaned another way. The seal had been warmed and reset after the addition, leaving a broken grain of older wax beneath the new impression. A murmur moved behind the shutters. Men who could not see the ink understood the difference between a disputed interpretation and a document physically opened after sealing.

Loras raised his voice. ”Renly’s courier was found beside the eastern road yesterday. His horse had been killed, his message case cut away, and his shoulder opened by a sword. He lived.”

Elton looked toward Gareth. Gareth looked toward nobody. The replacement dispatch had gone out after the wounded courier reached a Storm’s End patrol. Loras followed it to Rainwood because the stolen message concerned Arlan and because reports already placed Caron troops around the market. East of the town that morning, a relay rider from Ser Alistair had placed a preliminary Black Pine report in his hands while the prisoners and original evidence continued north. He had brought the damaged leather case with him: one strap cut cleanly, the other torn when the courier fell, and rain dried beneath a smear of blood along the flap. The courier remembered two riders, one wearing a Rainwood guard cloak over mail and another with no visible colors. Neither description named Elton, but both made the altered paper part of an attack rather than a harmless correction by a clerk. The courier’s survival had brought Loras to the stolen dispatch.

”I ordered no attack upon a courier,” Elton said.

”Then you will assist Lord Renly in discovering who delivered the altered paper to your hand.”

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The courtesy left no safe answer. Loras sealed both versions separately and gave them to different riders. One clerk recorded who had held the altered decree in the square; another took the names of the Caron officers assigned to its use. The message had passed from a Rainwood gate captain to Auston, and from Auston to Elton’s household before returning to the street. Each man gave the name of the person who placed it in his hand. Auston attempted to describe himself as a tax official following commands; Loras entered that answer beside the chain instead of arguing with it.

Arlan remained behind Wayne’s shields. The arrival of Storm’s End did not make the forged accusations harmless, and it did not erase the fact that his goods sat inside a Caron warehouse while Harlan remained detained. It only removed the authority Elton had tried to borrow for an immediate arrest. Loras turned toward him. ”You will still answer Lord Renly’s summons.”

”I intended to.”

”Intentions are difficult to enter into a record. Arrival is simpler.”

Arlan bowed. ”Then I will arrive.”

Elton pointed toward the scattered accusations on the street. ”And those? Will you ignore an armed vassal corresponding with Dorne because one line on a dispatch was copied badly?”

”No.”

Loras ordered the papers collected rather than debated before the crowd. Each received the place it had been thrown, the visible seal, and the name of the Caron officer presenting it. The supposed Bloodhand alliance would be compared with prisoners already under Alistair Florent’s custody. The weapons inventory would be checked against FireStorm’s lawful rolls and the period in which its information appeared to have been taken. The Dornish letter would require a messenger, route, and matching seal beyond a copied Ashenblade mark. ”None of that permits you to decide the case with three hundred men in a market street,” Loras said.

Elton’s jaw tightened. ”Rainwood is under Caron protection.”

”Rainwood is within Lord Renly’s peace.”

The distinction settled over the soldiers. Loras began naming immediate orders to specific officers. The western gate captain would reopen the portcullis. Archers would leave the side streets. The thirty spearmen nearest FireStorm would return behind the Caron line. No Ashenblade guard would move until the separation was complete. Discipline, not sympathy, ended the standoff. Caron soldiers obeyed because the commands carried the authority their own lord had claimed minutes earlier. Wayne kept FireStorm’s shields locked until the last archer left the roofs.

Loras then ordered the jointly sealed warehouse kept closed. Its goods, seals, disputed valuation, and contracts would be examined before any cargo moved. The three existing key-holders would remain present, and a Storm’s End seal would be added without replacing theirs. Harlan remained under guard for the moment, but his detention record, the hour of arrest, the goods taken from his house, and every charge added afterward had to be produced before sunset.

”Ser Loras,” Elton said, ”you treat a local customs matter as though I were a thief.”

”I treat every sealed object as though somebody may later lie about what was inside.”

That answer reached Arlan more strongly than any declaration of friendship would have. The square slowly opened around them. Merchants did not rush into the street; they watched from thresholds while Storm’s End men collected documents and assigned guards. The apples remained on the cobbles, bruised beneath hooves but no longer between two advancing lines.

Loras looked from the warehouse to the closed house where Harlan was held. ”We begin with the cargo. After that, the prisoner. Then every account Lord Elton and Master Ashenblade believe will make the other look criminal.”

Harlan’s guard shifted at the description. Elton did not. The dispute had escaped the street without ending. It now belonged to men who intended to count before condemning, which was precisely why both sides had reason to be uneasy. Elton could no longer turn speed into judgment; Arlan could no longer rely on the crowd seeing one altered line and forgetting every accusation beneath it. The next part of the quarrel would be written carefully in inventories, injuries, and names.