"You've arranged everything here very impressively, Joffrey," Genna said when she first visited my solar. The map impressed her most of all—though, to be honest, it had that effect on nearly everyone.
Genna now sat calmly sipping orange juice from a tall glass. She held no specific office.
And today, for the first time, Ser Aemon Estermont—nicknamed the Great Turtle—was present with us. He had recently turned fifty and was the eldest son and heir of Eldon Estermont, Lord of Greenstone and master of the island of the same name, situated in the Narrow Sea opposite Tyrosh.
The Estermonts are numerous and one of the strongest houses sworn to Storm's End; moreover, they are bannermen of House Baratheon. Their sigil bears a green turtle. They were among the first to support Robert Baratheon's Rebellion against the Targaryens, and during the War of the Five Kings they backed both Renly and Stannis. After the Battle of the Blackwater, most of the Estermonts bent the knee to Joffrey, though two of them still remained in the north, in Stannis's host.
The current Ser Aemon, a weathered man with deep-set wrinkles, was cousin to Robert, Stannis, and Renly—and thus, nominally at least, kin to me as well.
At present he was serving as Master of Ships in place of Paxter Redwyne, and I considered it a great stroke of fortune that such a man had joined our ranks.
The Master-at-Arms, Lord Edmure Tully, was absent. Only days ago his wife Roslin had given birth to a fine and perfectly healthy son, named Grover in honor of an ancestor who had distinguished himself as a hero during the Targaryen Dance of the Dragons.
Edmure had spent a couple of days with his son, tasted the new sensations of fatherhood, and then departed for Riverrun to prepare the fortress for war and call the banners. Kevan and I had not yet truly had the chance to understand what sort of man he was. But now we possessed firm guarantees of his loyalty and prudence—his wife and child remained in the Red Keep, guarding us against betrayal.
It also turned out that Lady Roslin Tully was very intelligent and, despite her youth, possessed a number of admirable qualities. She knew how to choose allies, saw her own advantage clearly, and I realized that through her it would be possible to influence Edmure. It was Margaery, by the way, who first pointed out the girl's potential to me—she had always had a keen understanding of people.
In my estimation, Lord Tully was far from entertaining such lines of thought; such actions were not in his character.
"Lord Mace Tyrell has sent a raven with a detailed letter," Kevan continued. "He joined the ships of Oldtown, the Shield Islands, and Lannisport to his fleet, and not far from the Feastfires he encountered Euron Greyjoy and his brother Victarion."
"And?" Tyrion could not hold himself back.
"The battle was bloody and effectively ended only at nightfall. It did not go as we had planned. Lord Tyrell withdrew to the harbor at Lannisport—but Euron pulled back his forces as well. And now each of them claims victory."
"Our losses?" My question fell into the silence.
"One might say we no longer have a fleet—only scraps remain," Kevan sighed, rubbing his impeccably shaven chin. "Tyrell writes that had he possessed even ten more galleys, he would have dealt Euron a complete defeat. As it stands, we lacked the necessary resources to finish off the traditionally sea-strong ironborn. It ended… inconclusively. Moreover, both Lord Paxter and Lord Tyrell are wounded. Their lives are not in danger, but their activity will be reduced for a time."
"Anything serious?" Jenna asked.
"No, Your Grace," Qyburn chose to answer. "Lord Paxter was wounded in the right arm, and Lord Tyrell took an arrow to the leg. A week or two, and they will return to duty."
"At least some welcome tidings in these anxious times," Pycelle muttered, chewing at his lip.
"Tell that to those whose corpses the sea will cast upon the entire western coast in the coming months," Tyrion replied darkly.
Nominally, my goodfather commanded the fleet, but in truth all major decisions were made by Lord Paxter Redwyne, master of the Arbor—an extraordinarily experienced and capable naval commander.
When they sailed west, they left only a handful of vessels to guard the capital from the sea, knowing that in the coming confrontation with the ironborn they would require virtually every ship.
They then gathered every vessel and crew from Sunhouse and Three Towers all the way to Casterly Rock. Dorne, however, provided not a single sailor or soldier, let alone ships. That is a subject for a separate and very serious discussion—the Dornish are not for the first time demonstrating their independence and refusing to take part in the common war. They fought for no one in the War of the Five Kings, took no part in the Battle of the Blackwater, and now again attempt to remain on the sidelines, though formally they have recognized King Joffrey's authority.
In Westeros, the ironborn are considered among the finest fighters at sea—and not without reason. In truth, it is so. But our forces managed to secure a numerical advantage, and that played its part. Everyone understood that had the numbers been equal, the Greyjoys would have had far greater chances of success.
(End of Chapter)
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