Lynn shook his head, forcibly setting those thoughts aside for the time being and turning his attention back to the problem of food. Survival was the top priority.
Food, food!
As these two words echoed in Lynn's mind, his eyes suddenly lit up. The Ironborn merchant ships had gone to Widow's Watch to purchase grain. To deliver it back to the Iron Islands, they would have to pass through the Neck—and the sea near the Neck, wasn't that Bite Bay?
The news that all the pirates of the Three Sisters Islands had fallen into his hands hadn't spread to anyone yet.
Right now, wasn't the actual controller of Bite Bay… himself?
Have the Dragoon Regiment disguise themselves as pirates and rob them once—this bold idea suddenly surfaced in Lynn's mind, and his gaze immediately grew feverish.
After thinking it over for a while, he felt that the plan actually seemed quite feasible.
The Greyjoy family of the Iron Islands had always kept their distance from the other great houses of Westeros, rarely involving themselves in events on the mainland.
More often than not, they even turned back to focus on their ancient profession of reaving, raiding villages and towns along the nearby coastlines.
Moreover, this was a family whose ancestors were pirate chieftains. They had a long-standing tradition of betraying both the North and King's Landing. These people who called themselves the Ironborn were practically born with rebellion in their blood. Politically, they were isolated and despised by the other great houses.
The eldest son of the Greyjoy family, Theon Greyjoy, was even held hostage in Winterfell from a young age because of this.
Attacking their merchant ships gave Lynn no psychological burden whatsoever.
Secondly, his own lands lay on the eastern coast, while the Iron Islands were situated on the western coast. Geographically speaking, this meant he had no fear of the Iron Islands discovering the attack and launching a large-scale retaliation.
Since robbing Ironborn ships carried no moral burden, the next thing to consider was whether it could actually be done.
The inhabitants of the Iron Islands were a group who called themselves the Ironborn. Growing up on the barren lands of the archipelago had forged in them a nature that was independent, ferocious, and even brutal.
Their ancestors had once held unrivaled dominance at sea. Living under the harsh natural conditions of the islands, they looked down upon the soft, green-land way of life. Whether it was the Old Gods or the Seven worshipped by the Andals, neither enjoyed widespread faith among the Ironborn. In comparison, they believed far more devoutly in the Drowned God.
All in all, the Ironborn could be considered among the very top tier of Westeros's pirate forces.
Fighting them at sea—even with a surprise attack—was no easy matter.
"I'll have to lure those bastards onto land," Lynn gritted his teeth and thought fiercely.
He had already made up his mind.
To tear off a chunk of flesh from the Greyjoy family.
In King's Landing, the tourney for King Joffrey's nameday officially began.
Emperor Joffrey sat in the shadow beneath a deep crimson canopy, one foot casually propped up on the armrest of his carved wooden chair.
His Kingsguard, the Hound Sandor Clegane, had just put on a ferociously impressive performance, smashing his opponent off the city wall with a single blow and sending him straight to the Seven Hells.
One knight fell, and another was supposed to step up. But after several calls, the next one finally appeared in a fluster.
A fat knight scurried out from the side, reeking of alcohol. His armor was crooked and ill-fitted, and even his helmet had fallen to the ground.
This unreliable knight was the drunken fool sworn to Littlefinger—Ser Dontos Hollard.
Seeing this staggering knight, the stands immediately erupted in boos.
Emperor Joffrey sprang to his feet in fury and said to another Kingsguard, Meryn Trant, "Meryn, go fetch me a barrel from the cellar! I want to watch this drunk drown in it!"
Upon hearing this, the drunken Dontos was actually rather pleased at first. But when he was dragged down by the guards and publicly force-fed wine by the barrel, he quickly stopped smiling.
Sansa, standing beside Emperor Joffrey, gasped softly at the sight. Seeing that Dontos was about to die, she couldn't help but feel pity.
She said to Emperor Joffrey, "If you kill someone on your nameday… it will bring bad luck, Your Grace."
"You're lying," Joffrey retorted. What kind of backwater superstition was that?
"There is such a saying," the Hound spoke up as well.
Joffrey shifted unhappily in his chair and waved a hand at Ser Dontos. "Take him away! I'll kill him tomorrow, the idiot."
Seeing things through to the end, Sansa continued her persuasion.
"He really is an idiot," Sansa said. "You are so wise and perceptive, seeing it at a glance. An idiot like that should be made a fool, not a knight, don't you think? You should dress him in a jester's motley and make him perform tricks. He doesn't deserve a clean, swift death."
Joffrey studied her for a long moment. "Perhaps you're not as stupid as your mother says." He raised his voice. "Dontos, did you hear the lady? From today on, you are my new fool."
Having just brushed past death, Ser Dontos was instantly sobered. He scrambled up from the ground. "Thank you, Your Grace. And you, my lady—thank you."
Sansa did not know that this momentary act of kindness had planted an important chess piece for her future.
At this moment, Emperor Joffrey's uncle—the Imp—arrived at the scene. As he walked, he said to Joffrey inside the tent, "It's really not easy to see you."
"I'm governing the realm," Joffrey explained.
The Imp picked up a goblet of wine from the table and sneered. "Then you're governing it beautifully."
As he spoke, he inclined his head slightly toward Sansa beside Joffrey, expressing his condolences and apologies for her loss.
Emperor Joffrey was stunned. Wasn't this slapping him in the face?
Her father was a traitor, after all—he had personally ordered his execution.
He turned his head to look at Sansa, waiting to see what she would say.
Sansa knew that if her answer failed to satisfy Emperor Joffrey, she would be slapped again once they returned. Knowing when to bend was the mark of a true survivor.
She said without emotion, "My father was a traitor. I am absolutely loyal to my beloved King Joffrey."
The Imp was a little surprised.
For Sansa to say such a thing—it seemed this child wasn't as foolish as her nickname suggested.
He bypassed Emperor Joffrey, saying he had more important matters to attend to, leaving his nephew hopping mad behind him. "Then why did you even come here?"
After disgusting Emperor Joffrey, the Imp went off to disgust Emperor Joffrey's mother, Queen Cersei.
At the Small Council meeting, the Citadel had sent word that the long summer was coming to an end. The commander of the Gold Cloaks reported that the war had driven refugees into the capital. When winter arrived, even more would come—and food would become a problem as well.
Cersei looked at him. "Do I need to teach you this? The City Watch is yours. Be useful for once—don't let a single peasant in."
Just then, the Imp strolled in whistling, and the atmosphere instantly lost its gravity.
"This is a Small Council meeting. What are you doing here?" Cersei demanded.
The Imp produced a letter of appointment. "I know it's the Small Council. But I'm the Hand of the King's appointed acting Hand. Don't I have the right to attend?"
Cersei flew into a rage and slammed the table, ordering everyone else to leave.
"What kind of potion did you slip Father to steal this position for yourself?"
The Imp replied with utter disdain. If I could fool the old man, I'd have conquered the world by now. I only got to be acting Hand thanks to you. If you hadn't chopped off Ned's head and offended the entire North, Father wouldn't have sent me to clean up this mess.
Cersei argued, "I tried to stop it."
The Imp showed no mercy. "And you failed. Now Robb's army is winning every battle. We're going to lose."
Cersei warned him that he had been sent here to assist Emperor Joffrey.
The Imp said, "If he listens to me, there's still a chance I can get his Uncle Jaime back."
Cersei's weakness was struck. She asked, "How?"
"It's simple. Trade the two Stark girls for him."
However, Cersei unfortunately informed him that there was now only one Stark left. The younger one had already escaped.
Even the Imp lost his composure at that. Raising his wine cup, he said, "We originally had three Starks as bargaining chips. One was beheaded, one ran away. This is definitely going to make Father furious. And now—it's your turn to be the child who disappoints him. That feeling must be quite unfamiliar, hm?"
...
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Here are a few fan-fic titles that I've recently uploaded on my Patreon:
"Game of Thrones: Dragon Prince"
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"Game of Thrones: Godzilla vs. Dragons"
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"Game of Thrones The Glory of a Knight"
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" Game of Thrones: From the Elden Lord to the Young Wolf"
"Game of Thrones: Rise of a Lord with the Army-Building System"
(End Chapter)