We spoke a little longer. I asked how Cersei was faring at Casterly Rock. Myrcella corresponded with her mother often and was aware of the news from there. Cersei herself had taken offense at me—seriously and for the long term—and had not sent a single letter. I had written to her a couple of times myself, sharing minor news and inquiring after her health, but there had been no reply, and there most likely never would be…
Myrcella shared the latest news from the west. Though, thanks to the Lannisters, their bannermen, Qyburn, and the Crown's Guards, I was already fairly well informed. I had hoped that Cersei might reveal at least a portion of her plans to her daughter. But she either hadn't—or Myrcella had chosen not to say.
Well, so be it. After saying goodbye until the evening, I went off to train with the Lord Commander.
Two new stewards entered my service. Twelve-year-old Colin Estermont, the grandnephew of Lord Estermont and the younger brother of the heir to Estermont Isle—a quiet and calm boy with blue eyes and a perpetually surprised, cheerful expression.
The second steward deserved more attention. He was Mavyr Clegane, newly arrived from the west—the only son of Gregor and the heir to their castle and lands.
The boy had only recently turned ten, yet he looked closer to fourteen. The Cleganes were true warriors, and this boy had been trained almost from infancy. Even now he knew a great deal, had an excellent understanding of weapons, and wore both a sword and a dagger at his belt. He was taciturn, easily offended, possessed of a poor sense of humor, and had a foul temper. But the Cleganes were reliable and loyal. True, they recognized only one kind of hand—the master's hand, firm, authoritative, and heavy. And now it was necessary for me to ensure that the young Clegane came to respect me—and even fear me a little. I needed to raise him into a true fighting hound. I just hoped I wouldn't botch it and would manage to do everything properly. Ah, what a shame that Tywin, with all his wisdom and advice, was no longer with us. He understood many things and very well knew how to command respect, how to put a person in their proper place, and how to arrange matters so that they would even feel indebted for it.
Meanwhile, Tarly had crossed the Trident and, in a hard-fought battle, driven the enemy back. With a rapid march, he reached the Crossroads, fortified his camp, and remained there for several days, bringing up supplies and putting his army in order.
The Master of the Whisperers and Orm reported that things couldn't be going any worse for the enemies. The Boltons and other northern lords had completely lost faith in the campaign's success and had withdrawn, eager to return behind the Moat Cailin as quickly as possible. Walder Frey followed them with his forces. The Blackfish had quarreled with Littlefinger—he had even said he no longer gave a damn about anything and that the only thing he desired was to die honorably in the next battle. At present, Brynden Tully had shut himself up within the Bloody Gate.
By this time, we had assembled a new fleet in King's Landing. Not as large as before, but it should be enough for us. It consisted of roughly two hundred vessels. Some had been captured by Randyll Tarly from the Golden Company, some purchased in the Free Cities by Estermont, and others provided by the lords and castellans of the Stormlands, Driftmark, and Dragonstone.
One vessel, however, deserved special mention. It had been sent from the Arbor by Paxter Redwyne.
This vessel was a three-hundred-oared galley, the Lion and Rose. When I stepped aboard, I was simply struck by its power and grandeur. It was enormous—three hundred rowers, two hundred sailors, thirty officers, and the capacity to carry up to two hundred and fifty warriors.
The ship's captain — Ser Owen Bulwer, uncle to Alysanne, Margaery's lady-in-waiting—was a taciturn and stern knight of thirty, whose sigil bore a most fitting emblem: a bull's skull upon a bloody field.
After he was introduced to me, Bulwer gave a thorough tour of the galley, leading me across the entire ship—from stern to bow, and from keel to masts. It was clear the captain took pride in his vessel and considered it an honor to serve aboard her.
I did not spare the effort of stepping into one of the sailors' quarters, looking over the many cabins, and even climbing the rigging up to the first mast top. I went no further, lacking the necessary skill, but even what I saw was more than enough.
The galley looked magnificent—the polished deck and sun-glinting bronze fittings, the broad captain's bridge and richly adorned helm, the scent of varnish and hemp, the many shrouds and pennants, the discipline of a warship and its well-trained crew… None of it could leave me indifferent. And when, at the stern, I was shown a richly furnished cabin with wide windows protected by wrought-iron grille to prevent boarding, I felt an overwhelming mix of emotions. It became clear to me why so many people love the sea and traveling with such passion and selflessness.
Jaime, Lord Aemon Estermont, and I stood at the bow of the Lion and Rose. Nearby was Turquoise—she did not seem particularly fond of the sea. The captain and a couple of officers stood close at hand, along with my guards. From our feet, stretching forward and upward, ran the bowsprit, where two men clung and unfurled a sail. Below, protruding from the water, was the tip of the ram, fashioned in the shape of a sharpened lion's head.
(End of Chapter)
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