Lessons with Maester Rowen followed. High Valyrian first, then Bastard Valyrian, drilling dialects until my tongue ached. Tyroshi lilts, Volantene formality. One hour every day in his little room near the top of the Maiden's Tower. It was boring and repetitive, but I learned eagerly.
If all went as I remembered, the king would demand a Valyrian bride for his son in a couple of years time, and the Baratheons would be sent east to find her. A timely invitation could see them stopping at Tarth first, considering we were quite literally in the way, and I meant to weasel my way into their company for the trip.
The Free Cities called to me still. Trade, travel, danger. What else could a man want in life?
Tiny little islands like Tyrosh and Lys were incalculably richer than Tarth. Hell, one of them might be richer than the whole of the Stormlands, and I wanted a slice of that pie.
That meant making connections. I would go personally to meet with dockmasters, dine with officials, and charm some magisters. The whole package.
And if I could change the Baratheon's travels along the way, at the very least having them stop at Tarth on the way back, then perhaps they would not drown in Shipbreaker Bay in plain view of their sons. One stone, many birds.
After the lesson, as the bells rang the hour, I saddled Smoker again and rode inland toward the mountains that cut through the middle of northern Tarth.
Most days, I had my morning practice right in Evenfall's practice yard, where our master-at-arms, Ser Goodwin, ruled with an iron fist of endless drilling, discipline, and a damn near dogmatic belief that a man became a knight through being corrected a thousand times until he stopped being wrong, not some fancy oaths.
But recently, I had started to train with my men once a week or so instead, to Ser Goodwin's enduring displeasure.
The road here was narrow but well-kept, packed earth bordered by hedges and the occasional stone marker bearing the crescent moon of Tarth. It took no more than thirty minutes at an easy pace to arrive.
To my left, the road branched off into an expansive, hedged estate once owned by a distant cadet branch of our house that died out some two generations before. It had sat empty and ivy-stricken ever since, so it had not been hard to convince Lord Selwyn to allow me to use it for my own purposes.
Thirty foot high walls rose after a long, oak flanked road, sheltering behind them a spacious courtyard and a broad, squat manse of the same pale stone that erected Evenfall Hall.
I heard the lads already hard at practice before the lone guard above the open gate saluted me with fist to heart. Steel met steel in sharp, ringing bursts. Voices shouted counts and corrections. Gravel crunched underfoot.
More than forty boys filled the yard when I passed Smoker over to a groom. They were spread across the breadth of the estate in groups: some shot arrows at packed straw figures beneath the wall; another bunch drilled with spears in a tight line of infantry; more still sparred with sword and shield under Jack's watchful eyes
I watched for a while without interfering. A lord who could not trust his captains would soon find himself managing everything and mastering nothing. I would command their honor and loyalty, but I'd leave the everyday stuff for my most trusted men.
The boys here ranged from as young as eleven while the oldest ones were just now in their twenties. Most leaned about my own age and older, but we were expanding rapidly and taking in boys of all ages. They trained in similarly-aged cohorts, with the oldest and more experienced of the men under my command stepping in to help the younglings.
After a few minutes, Jack spotted me watching from the sides, and he halted the drilling with a shout and a call to form up. The boys organized themselves in well-spaced columns and rows, all saluting in the same manner as the guard, fist over chest, as I stood before them.
"Well done, lads," I told them. "Hope you won't mind me joining you for today again."
They murmured excitedly, smiles breaking over their faces. Jack was quick to rein them back in.
"You heard Lord Galladon," he called out. "Back to your stations now, go on." He turned to me as the boys rushed back to what they were doing. "You want to take this, my lord?"
I shook my head. "All yours, my friend. I'll be under your care."
He nodded, and soon I was sweating under a padded gambeson like all the other boys around me, listening to Jack shouting out instructions, correcting form and footing, fixing up low guards.
I paired up with one of the older boys, a tall, brawny lad who'd been with us for years now. An orphan like many here, Codin had worked as a farmhand around the area since he was young enough to wield a hoe before he joined up to take the sword.
And he was good at it. Aside from Jack and myself, he was the best warrior we had, so I tried to foster that talent by practicing with him whenever I could. After him, I cycled around to spar with every boy in the group, even the young ones.
I only gave advice when I thought appropriate, making sure to leave most of the work to Jack. It was a strong message to the boys that I was willing to go along with Jack's drills just like they did. One day, he would be my right hand in commanding the general troops, and they needed to respect him enough to follow him.
A few minutes later, Pate stood opposite to me with sword and shield in hand, nearly tripping over his own feet in his eagerness. He'd already grown taller since I plucked him from the Lannisport stables, but he'd proved himself a quick study with arms despite his occasional clumsiness.
Since he came here, I'd put him on a crazy regimen of training, studying, and eating. That's all the boy did now. He would ride a trusted donkey here early in the morning every day for the morning drills, then he'd go back up to Evenfall Hall to spend a few hours in the library learning his sums and letters.
In the afternoon, he'd join either myself or the guards for more exercises, this time focused strictly on combat than the more broad training the lads did here at the manse. I'd make a knight out of that boy yet.
Later, after the drills broke and the boys scattered toward the long tables set beneath the awning, I ate with them as I always did. Bread, cheese, a thick stew heavy with onions and barley and some game they had hunted themselves. The new ones still stared, some openly, some from the corners of their eyes, unused to the lord of the place taking his meals elbow-to-elbow with them.
It was a fine line to keep, building up a rapport with the men while still keeping my distance. I understood well what the image of a lord was as much a source of power as castles and gold, and I intended to wield it to my advantage.
To foster military discipline, the boys did most of the work themselves, everything from preparing the meals, keeping their rooms and clothes clean, maintaining their equipment in good order, all of it.
I had still brought over some trusted servants whose families had worked for the Tarths for generations to help around the manse. Mostly older, matronly women, since I did not want to introduce young women to a house with fifty something boys. That's a problem I don't want to invite through the front door.
Since I knew them from working in the castle since I was young, I had chosen them for their temperament, kind and gentle but firm. Typical hard grandmas who could give you a hug when you needed and clout you over your ears when you deserved. They had also been a good hand in teaching the boys some more practical skills like sewing and cooking.
When the meal ended, I took Jack upstairs to the solar where Grey and Jace were already waiting for us. The room had once belonged to some long-dead cousin whose name I didn't remember, but now it held maps, ledgers, crates of recently ordered gear, and a table scarred by long nights of planning and candle wax spills.
At my prompting, Grey gave his report first.
"The boys are learning fast, milord," he said, fingers calloused from swords and ink-stained from pens. "They are still as eager as they were when I picked them. I only fear we'll run out of books and parchment before long."
I nodded. Grey had already taken five boys under his wing, the cleverest of the bunch who didn't mind taking a few hours from the yard to sit around hunched over books and scrolls.
For now, he'd be going over the basics with them: reading, writing, and numbers. But if things worked out, they'd be some of the first lads I'd send over to Oldtown, and I felt especially confident about that plan now that I had an in with the Hightowers.
"Good," I said. "I'll bring over some more books for them next time I come. For the parchment and anything else, write up what you need, how much of it, and how much it will cost, then I'll go over it as soon as possible."
Grey slid a paper over the table to me. "Already done, milord."
I gave him a bright smile. Ah, the joys of working with efficient underlings.
Putting that over the side for later, I moved on to another of my long term projects. Last month, I had given Grey over some rough sketches and a book's worth of the scattered details I remembered about the process of distillation: malting grain, sealed pots and alembic heads, coils of copper cooled in water, slow fires, discarded first vapors, anything at all that could help.
"There's a craftsman who works with copper in Dawnrest," he told me. "I went to see him this past week. He seems a competent man, and willing to take commissions. I've spoken with Maester Rowen as well. He's intrigued enough to help."
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I knew that I was looking at almost a decade of work before something came of it, if it ever did, but if I aimed for the stars and reached the mountaintop, I'd be more than happy for it.
Jack went next with no surprises in his report. He was responsible for the general training of the lads in arms, archery, and anything else we could cram in their heads.
This afternoon, he would be taking them down to swim in the ocean, followed by a long trek that would see them swing northeast and skirt the mountains before they returned back to the manse. Tomorrow it would be tracking and hunting in the forest, and the day after they would leave to camp in the valleys for a few days.
It took a decent amount of coin to feed, clothe, and arm all these boys, but I'd be damned if they wouldn't be the best trained guerrilla force in Westeros.
Then Jace elbowed his brother on the ribs, and his eyes lit up. "Oh," Jack said. "That's right. Milord, remember you told us we needed to come up with a new name for our group?"
I gave him a wry look. "I didn't want to have to flog you for referring to us as the Tarts of Tarth again."
"Well now." Jack raised his hands in apology, chuckling awkwardly. "That was just an idea I had, nothing more"
"After going to the brothel," Jace commented.
Jack shrugged. "It's where I do my best thinking." Then he grinned. "But aye, we all came up with something better. Milord's name is Galladon of Tarth, yes? Like Galladon of Morne. And you have said we are to be your sword and shield and—"
"Just Companions," Jace cut in, drawing a huff from his brother. "Like Galladon of Morne's sword, Just Maid. We will be the sword you wield against your enemies, my lord."
Grey nodded, and Jack said, "Aye, what he said."
"The Just Companions, huh?" I spoke it outloud, tasting the words. "Not bad. Not bad at all. I like it."
The lads grinned at each other, Jack shoving over his brother after he caught another elbow to the chest. I couldn't help smiling along.
With my presence sending butterflies everywhere I went, I didn't know what would come to happen in Westeros. But whether it was rebellion or dragons or ice zombies, this was not a world of peace, and when war came knocking, I would not be taking the field by myself.
Afterwards, when Jack and Grey went about their duties, Jace and I stayed back in the solar. His role in the newly named Just Companions was a lot more discrete than those of the other two.
"There are two boys I believe will become problems," he said. "They're new ones. Older too, nine-and-ten and twenty. They don't train badly, but they don't listen unless Jack is watching. And one of them, Tom, roughed up a girl in Dawnrest last week."
My eyes narrowed. "A whore?"
"Yes."
"One of… ours?" I asked.
Dawnrest was growing now, with inns, alehouses, and new brothels popping up. This was only the second brothel in town, and I decided to make an early investment into it.
Men talked when drunk and men talked in bed. Drunk and in bed with a beautiful woman? That's when you got the juiciest bits. I had Petyr Baelish to thank me for the idea, and Jace for accepting the less glamorous role of being my spymaster.
For now, his network extended only as far as Dawnrest and some of the neighbouring villages, but he had a talent for it. Whores, dockmasters, innkeepers. Being able to throw my name around, and the coin I gave him, also helped.
Just earlier this month, he had caught wind of a smuggling ring from a mouthy sailor bragging to one of the whores. Bribes to inspectors. Messages going out with ships, sometimes even with ravens.
Overeager, I took twenty of my own men and went down on them hard, which had been a mistake. We moved too fast and spooked them, and most of them got away. We captured two guys in the operation, but they were clearly just hired muscle and nothing else came from it. A beginner's mistake, but one I was determined to learn from for next time.
"Aye," Jace said. "She's a quiet girl. Young. But the others noticed and spoke to the matron. She came to me with it."
I clicked my tongue. That was not the kind of man I wanted under me, and one bad apple could spoil the bunch.
"What do you suggest?" I asked. I was glad he was telling me about it now, but at some point this would be the kind of decision I wanted him to take for himself.
"Some silver, food for a week, and a one way passage out of Tarth," he said. "Gulltown, mayhaps, or White Harbor. I'll make it known they are never to return to Dawnrest and what will happen should they ever step foot here again."
That was good enough for me.
"See it done," I told him.
xxx
By the time I rode back from the manse, the sun was sinking low, the sky painted in streaks of copper and rose. A rider had come with a message to me from my lord father, so I did not head to Evenfall Hall.
At just over some ten thousand souls, Dawnrest was quite far from being a city. Stout wooden walls surrounded a town of timbered houses and smoking chimneys; a single cobbled street served as its spine, running from the landward gate to the sea. Along it stood the town's better inns and shops, the latter closing now as the sun dipped low.
Signs of expansion lay everywhere: old buildings being torn down, piles of timber sitting at worksites next to stone foundations, new construction gleaming with fresh coatings of white limewash. And nowhere was that more visible than at the docks where new wharfs stretched out into the bay.
Unlike the rest of the town, the waterfront still stirred with sailors and merchants coming ashore. Torches were being lit along the quays, and alehouses and winesinks filled with noise, song, and the clatter of cups. The lighthouse at the end of the narrow promontory just north of the docks burned bright, its fire stark against the darkening horizon.
Lord Selwyn Tarth stood waiting at one of the new stone wharfs. He had brought a large retinue with him, some two dozen guards and a small army of clerks and stewards, along with a line up of dockworkers lingering by the quay.
"When were they spotted?" I asked once we stood side by side.
"Two hours ago sailing up the coast," my father said, looking out to sea. "Ser Jaddon Kellington sent a raven with the details. It seems you are in for a surprise."
I raised an eyebrow at that, but kept my silence as we waited.
It took no more than fifteen minutes before the first of the ships rounded the headland. A beautiful carrack, its sails full and proud, cutting through the waves like a sword.
Behind it came the others. Another two carracks sailed into the bay, followed by four cogs riding lower in the water. The red and gold of Lannister still flew boldly up on their masts, though hopefully not for long.
And then the galley appeared.
She was magnificent. Long and lean, her oars rising and falling in perfect rhythm. At her prow, carved deep and newly painted, her name caught the dying light.
Pride of Tarth.
My breath caught, and for a heartbeat I could only stare. I turned slowly to my father, half-expecting to find him as stunned as I was. He was not. Selwyn Tarth watched me instead, lips quirking up with quiet satisfaction.
"What is that?"
"Lord Tywin sent a message just after you arrived with new terms for your deal, and I wished to surprise you. An acknowledgement of your valor, he said, and a reminder that Lannisters pay their debts." He lifted a hand and pointed out over the water. "Look."
Another trio of ships trailed the galley at a respectful distance. These lingered farther out, sails slackened, as if waiting for a signal before committing themselves to the harbor.
"So many?" I gaped, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice.
"Not quite," Selwyn replied. "Three carracks and four cogs instead of two and three. Two of the carracks are newly built, had been coming out of the shipyards to join the Lannister fleet. As with the galley."
I felt my heart race in my chest. I had thought the extra carrack and cog sailing into the bay were meant to ferry the sailors on their trip back, but it seemed that's what the ships further out in the water were meant to do.
"That's… a lot of ships," I said, shaking my head as if the sight might vanish if I blinked.
Just last month, Prince Doran had paid for a crew to row the captured pirate galley up to Dawnrest, its broken railings fixed and its sails restored.
Despite my own contribution to the fighting, I had thought the galley to be rightfully Ser Gerion's as the Western Will's master, but the message that came with the ship said the Lannister knight had insisted I get the ship.
"Aye," Selwyn said, a note of weariness slipping into his voice at last. "Finding the men to sail and captain them has kept me occupied these past few moons." He placed a heavy, familiar hand on my shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze. "It's not a half-bad fleet you're building for yourself, Galladon."
"For Tarth," I corrected.
He snorted. "Let an old man have some pride in his son."
Selwyn Tarth was a man barely into his thirties. It was not my fault he had gone and had children when he was still one himself.
"You're about as old as a babe still, my lord," I joked, unable to keep a grin from creeping in.
He laughed at that, the sound low and warm. "You should tell your mother that. She insists my hair is mostly white now, just pretending to be golden."
"You're both the same age," I said. "She's just worried you'll leave her for a younger woman now."
Lord Selwyn shook his head. "That's as likely to happen as a Blackwood loving a Bracken," he said. His voice softened then, losing its teasing edge. "I have had few certainties in my life, Galladon. Very few. That your mother is the only woman I'll ever love was the first one. I knew I'd marry her as soon as I saw her."
I groaned and dragged a hand down my face. "I think I've heard about the famed Felwood Feast more than I've heard my own name."
My father only grinned, entirely unrepentant. It was his favorite story: gathering the courage to ask my mother for a dance, being refused, then asking again, only this time for her hand in marriage despite being already betrothed to another girl. Addison Wylde had laughed, startled, but agreed to a simple dance before anything so absurd as a wedding.
According to him, and he told it with unbearable smugness, by the time the dance was over, she had agreed to marry him.
"I have a surprise for her too," Selwyn went on, nodding toward the bay. "Look at that carrack there. The second one. It brings ill fortune to change a ship's name after its first voyage, so I wrote back to Lord Tywin as fast as I could to request it."
I followed his gaze and read the name painted along the hull.
Dear Addison.
She was a beautiful carrack, with graceful lines and polished timbers. Lanterns glimmered along her rails, reflecting in the water like scattered stars. Fit for a lady worthy of being immortalized.
"She'll love it," I told him.
A month and a half later, my mother left Tarth on that same ship, heading toward the Weeping Town where her old friend Lady Lenora Whitehead, along with her old husband, Lord Elmar Whitehead, waited to host her.
Another week after that, Arianne came bursting into my room after midnight, frantic and in tears, mumbling of a terrible dream she had about our mother.
xxx
This is one 6.2k words long chapter I'm breaking up into 2.
POWER STONES!!!!
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