"And what of the Freys?" I asked, turning to another important matter.
"Do not trouble yourself over my husband and sons, Joff. They will cause no problems," Genna said with a smile. "On the contrary, they may even prove helpful. The fact is that not all Freys are pleased to see the sullen face of Black Walder at the head of the house."
"Can that be influenced?" Kevan asked.
"I believe so." She inclined her head, and the heavy earrings in her ears flashed as they caught a stray beam of light.
"Perhaps you might find the time, Grandmother, to prepare letters—about Littlefinger, about the Freys, and about all our other enemies?"
"Why not, Joffrey?" She smiled again. "I rather like the sound of that."
We were still uncertain what to do about the Golden Company. They had gathered all their strength—and an impressive fleet—at Pentos and were waiting for something. Alongside them were the Gallant Men, a lesser-known and not nearly so numerous mercenary company.
All of this made us uneasy, for we did not know when or where they intended to land in Westeros.
The host was commanded by Homeless Harry Strickland, and its leadership consisted largely of fOrmr knights of Westeros who, for one reason or another, had been forced to abandon their homeland.
Among them was Jon Connington—the Old Griff—and his ward, the Young Griff, about whom many rumors circulated. Some claimed he was Aegon, son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen; others that he was a Blackfyre of uncertain origin; still others that he was nothing more than an impostor.
The Golden Company was in no hurry to show its hand. We were inclined to believe that they would land at Cape Wrath. It was there, practically on the mainland, that Griffin's Roost—the ancestral seat of Jon Connington—stood, and there they could secure aid, provisions, and support. It would be foolish to neglect such an advantage.
And from there, they might attempt to blockade Storm's End and march on the capital. And if, at the same time, the Blackfish and the Freys struck from the north with full force, it could prove a serious problem.
If instead they landed in the Vale, they could unite with the main army there and advance as one vast and exceedingly dangerous host. Should they gather all their strength into a single fist, we would find ourselves in dire straits.
And finally—the boldest and most perilous maneuver—they might sail directly for King's Landing. If our forces here were thin, they would stand a fair chance of success.
Asio Copin was watching the situation closely, but so far he had been unable to clarify the Golden Company's intentions. It seemed that only a handful of men within their leadership knew the final landing point, and they were in no haste to reveal those plans.
Asio had managed to bribe a couple of knights within the company, but so far they had produced nothing truly decisive. Though that depended on one's perspective—we already knew their exact numbers, the ratio of infantry to cavalry, and that they possessed twenty-three trained war elephants.
We also knew that Jon Connington himself was dispatching numerous letters throughout Westeros, seeking to win new allies to his cause.
"What of Randyll Tarly?" I asked Jaime.
"He has arrived at Bitterbridge and is assembling a new host of the Reach there. He needs time."
"We expect he will be able to muster around fifty thousand warriors. At the same time, the necessary forces will remain in every castle and garrison. Substantial reserves are stationed at Highgarden and Oldtown. Should the need arise, we will be able to respond adequately to a threat from any direction. Whether the enemy comes from the west—the Greyjoys—from the east—the Golden Company—or from the south, should Dorne fail to sit quietly, we will have the means to meet their first assault," Rowan added.
The idea of bringing in one of the finest commanders in Westeros—the very man who once managed to defeat Robert Baratheon—belonged to Kevan. To be honest, I had somehow forgotten about Randyll Tarly, but fortunately there were those among us who remembered.
This stern warrior was the father of Sam, whom he had sent to the Wall for his gentle nature and cowardice—where he later became a friend of Jon Snow.
By the accounts of other lords, the elder Tarly was a harsh and ferocious man, possessed of colossal military experience and formidable leadership. By inviting him, Kevan intended to set something truly worthy against the strategic genius of the Blackfish.
We have Jaime Lannister, and that is well enough—but the Blackfish and Tarly are true and merciless Dogs of War, and contending with them is no simple matter.
Silence fell.
In general, I had noticed that, in Cersei's absence, the atmosphere of the council had grown far calmer and more productive. The needless tension was gone, along with the constant sense that the queen might casually overturn any decision or plan with a single word—no.
I turned my gaze to Tyrion. He was staring out the window as though it were the most fascinating sight in the world, idly spinning the heavy signet ring bearing a lion around his finger.
"Well then, Uncle, it seems to me the time has come for another of your heroic deeds."
"What?"
"Tell us—how fare your dear friends the Burned Men and the other clans of the Mountains of the Moon?"
"Are you serious?" He understood at once which way the wind was blowing.