chapter 188 part 2
Tyrion clutched his stomach, cackling. After a while, he finally managed to stifle his laughter, though he was still out of breath.
Glyn passed the wine cup to Tyrion with a small smile. He took a deep breath and gulped down a large mouthful.
Glyn lightly patted Tyrion's arm. "Tyrion, my friend, don't put too much pressure on yourself. You are not alone."
...
...
Crackclaw Point, The Whispers.
With a flutter of wings, a raven from King's Landing landed lightly on the wide windowsill. A pair of plump hands untied the letter from its leg.
...
The door to Maester Al's study was pushed open, and the large, stout figure of Samwell Tarly appeared. He panted, "Maester Al, a letter from the Red Keep."
After delivering the letter, Samwell, who was rumored to have lost two pounds while training in the Westerlands, wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead.
Maester Al looked at the seal on the wax and unfolded the letter with a solemn expression.
Samwell saw that Maester Al was staring at the letter, completely motionless. He asked cautiously, "Maester Al, are you all right?"
Maester Al first dabbed the corner of his eye with his thumb, then looked up and said tremulously, "My boy, House crabbe is now the de jure ruling house of Crackclaw Point."
"Gods be good," Samwell said, his face alight with joy as he took the letter from Maester Al's hand.
As he read, Samwell couldn't help but read aloud, his voice growing louder and louder. "Lord of Crackclaw Point... Protector of Crackclaw Point... Warden of Crackclaw Point... This honor to be inherited for all generations, never to be usurped!"
Samwell was ecstatic. "Maester Al, our Lord Glynn is truly too, too, too..."
Maester Al instructed calmly, "Sam, go find Steward Herschel. Go now."
"Yes, yes, yes..." Samwell, having temporarily lost the ability to think, just habitually followed the order.
After Samwell left, Maester Al hummed a traditional song of Crackclaw Point and hobbled over to the bookshelf, pulling out the book that recorded the history of House crabbe.
Sitting back at his desk, Maester Al opened the book to a new page. He picked up a quill and dipped it in ink.
After thinking for a moment, Maester Al gave a knowing smile. The quill in his hand began to move... *In the year 298 AC, in Westeros...*
...
...
A small port in Essos.
Jon Snow thrashed like a trout, kicking his back leg viciously into the groin of the man holding him. A miserable cry came from behind him. Once free, he drew his sword and strode toward the other man who was rummaging through his pack.
"Stranger, I advise you to stop at once."
Jon's eyes blazed with anger. "I gave you both a chance."
"You... you... what are you going to do?"
With a soft slash, Jon's sword moved swiftly, and fresh blood sprayed. He then twisted aside, dodging an attack from behind, and plunged his longsword fiercely into the thief's body.
Jon frowned and glanced at the two wretched men tangled up behind the boat, then looked up at the sky. It was nearing dusk. The sun began to sink, staining the clouds with a ring of pink and orange, like a flower in full bloom.
In a tavern by the port, Jon heard others discussing the true dragons. Rumor had it that if you kept heading south, you'd find a city-state called Pentos, which was now ruled by a true Targaryen dragon.
Viserys Targaryen... Daenerys Targaryen... Could they be the two survivors from the great war over a decade ago?
His father's brother and sister... Should he go see his kin?
No! He was still a bastard. No one would treat a lowly bastard as their own family... Perhaps he was destined to be alone.
Jon closed his eyes and slowly took a breath. If he was truly destined to be alone, then he would turn that loneliness into strength.
When Jon opened his eyes again, the sorrow in his heart was gone. He picked up the pack that had fallen on the ground and slung it over his shoulder.
His eyes looked to the west. On this strange continent, he would cast off his past self and begin a new life.
Jon started walking. As he walked, he thought... Does he need a new name? What would be a good one?
"Not bad skills you've got there, stranger!"
A young man's voice suddenly called out. Jon stopped in his tracks, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, and looked cautiously in the direction of the voice.
Two figures appeared in Jon's line of sight. One was slender, the other tall and sturdy.
Jon stared at the two approaching him and calmly assumed a fighting stance.
The young man chuckled and opened his hands. "We mean no harm."
The young man who spoke seemed to be about his own age. He had a head of blue hair and a gentle smile on his handsome face.
Beside the blue-haired youth stood a slightly older man with fiery red hair and a thick beard.
The blue-haired youth explained patiently, "This is our first time here too. We happened to see two shady characters following you, so we came over to have a look..."
He glanced into the distance and said with a smile, "It seems you've already taken care of your little problem."
Jon's hand left the hilt of his sword. "They were robbers."
The big man with fiery red hair said in a rough voice, "Good riddance. They deserved it."
The blue-haired youth nodded. "I agree. I feel the same way."
After a pause, he added, "Let's introduce ourselves. I am Young Griff. I've been traveling with my strict father since I was a child, and recently, I've been training and broadening my horizons as he required."
The big man with fiery red hair spoke up next. "I am Rory. I'm a smith's son, and now I'm Young Griff's hired sword."
"I am Jon, from Westeros. I came here to... train?" Jon's voice became uncertain at the end.
Young Griff couldn't help but laugh. "Give it some time. Perhaps you'll figure out what you're supposed to be doing, Jon."
Beside him, Rory let out a hearty laugh.
"Perhaps you're right." Jon looked at the two of them and revealed a faint smile.
(end of chapter)