Tyrek Lannister
"You won't believe it, ser, but Littlefinger is in the Vale right now. He's been declared an outlaw. The Arryns refused to hand him over and have raised their banners. The ironborn and the Freys have joined them. We're at war."
"It'll be a hot affair," Lothar added quietly.
"All the better." Tyrek bared his teeth in a predatory smile. "I'll slit his throat myself. Take me to the capital, sers, so I can see my family."
"That's our order as well. We'll deliver you to King's Landing without delay—King Joffrey has inquired more than once about the progress of your search. We'll have to wait for nightfall, though. These waters aren't safe. And we've only one ship—not the strongest, but fast. So, welcome aboard. I think you should get some food and put yourself in order a bit."
"So we shall. Lead on." Tyrek drew a deep breath. Well then, Littlefinger would pay for his crime. And he would pay a hundredfold. But first, he urgently needed to regain his strength—the young man tensed his arm and once again felt how badly he had wasted away. Nothing for it. Proper food, clean clothes, and training would soon restore him to shape.
And he also hoped that since King Joffrey had shown such uncharacteristic concern and spent so much time and effort searching for him, it meant that his family needed him. And that meant that if he asked to be sent to war, the king would not refuse him.
That same night their galley, the Sea Shadow, slipped into open waters and glided silently south along the coast. A following wind swelled the black-painted sail. The stars shone calm and reassuring overhead. A gentle breeze pleasantly cooled his skin.
Earlier that day, on the shore, they had heated a great tub of water for him, and now Tyrek reveled in the long-forgotten sensation of a clean body. He wrapped himself in a thick cloak, and his stomach pleasantly heavy with food.
How wonderful it was to be human again—and to return to a normal life!
He was an observant young man and almost immediately noticed how much had changed. Take their ship, for instance—he had seen such vessels before only among pirates: low in profile, swift, with black sails. Everything about it suggested it was used only in special, specific circumstances. And that was strange, given that the crew claimed to be the king's men. It was nothing like Joffrey's style. The king preferred bright, expensive colors and enormous galleys that inspired awe with their size and the number of oarsmen.
The more he questioned Ser Lothar and Ser Nekos, the more he listened to their stories, the more he understood how deeply the realm had changed.
The death of Tywin Lannister, the almighty Hand, was worth more than words could tell! When Tyrek learned of it, he had been both astonished and grieved. His uncle had always seemed to him a man forged of iron. It was hard to believe rhat anyone could kill him. And though he had never paid much attention to his numerous nephews and nieces, he had always been just, and all his vast kin had felt protected behind him as behind a stone wall.
The sailors and officers of the Sea Shadow did not fawn over him as a Lannister. They simply did their work and showed the necessary respect—nothing more. They proudly called themselves "the king's men," and hearing that was, at the very least, strange and unusual. And the discipline displayed by the entire crew stirred interesting thoughts as well. One could feel the presence of a hand not only iron, but keenly intelligent.
The next day, as they passed Rook's Rest far off the starboard side, they were finally spotted. A large patrol galley bearing the Sea Horse on its banner tried to overtake them, but after an hour it changed course, realizing it would not succeed.
"A ship from Driftmark, my lord," Lothar explained, just in case—and, unable to restrain himself, laughed. "Not long ago Lord Mace Tyrell led our entire fleet to the Western shores, and now the Velaryons have suddenly remembered that they are brave men and crawl out onto the sea like crabs from beneath stones. Just a month ago those curs sat on their island, afraid to so much as break wind lest they draw attention. And now, look at them—once again they fancy themselves kings of the sea!"
"So Dragonstone has not yet laid down its arms?"
"Not yet. We don't have the strength for them all, so they've grown bold," Nekos replied with regret.
They stood on the stern bridge, hands resting on the carefully varnished rail, watching as the other ship used signal flags to issue futile orders to heave to for inspection.
The sailors showed no fear and, in general, paid little attention to the Velaryon vessel. It was clear they had faced such situations before—and had seen much besides.
Apparently the hull of the Sea Shadow had not yet grown thick with barnacles and shellfish, for the ship boasted remarkable speed. Deep in the night they dropped anchor in King's Landing. Tyrek Lannister, accompanied by several men, set out for the Red Keep.
Joyful anticipation slowly but steadily swelled in his heart. The capital was not his native Casterly Rock, of course, but he was home nonetheless. And his kin awaited him—those who had not forgotten him, who had not abandoned him.
Everything would be well…
(End of Chapter)
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