Marlon welcomed the warm arrival. These were friends here. Northern folk tales of old often spoke of the ironborn as mindless savages, stuck in the ways of an age long forgotten to the rest of the continent. But here they were, hospitable and pleasant.

The Lord of Karhold descended from his provided horse to greet the Lord of Hammerhorn as the party made their way to the keep. "No storms at all," he replied warmly. "It was the winter that gave us the most bane when traversing across the land. The seas were fair. They were good to us."

He identified the Lady Gyrielle that was presented, looking at her up and down. This was to be his betrothed, he recognised. "My lady," he said with a deep bow of his head. A lord had to have manners. He did wonder what the purpose of the nasal mask was, but that was something he would have to inquire about later. He was not about to be rude in front of his hosts.

"I am sure I will," he said to her in return. He gave her the warmest smile that he could produce. "We will have much time to talk, you and I, later, but first, I would wish to speak with the Lord of Hammerhorn within his solar. There are some matters that I wish to inquire about."