Casterly Rock—since arriving at this stone fortress, Garlan Tyrell had already lived here for nearly two months.
The army from the Reach under House Tyrell had done the same.
In the meantime, aside from guarding against the Iron Fleet from the Iron Islands, Garlan had also taken the opportunity to seize nearby territories such as Lannisport and Sarsfield.
They now formed a simple line of offense and defense.
But these were all secondary matters.
What surprised him the most after arriving at Casterly Rock was that the members of House Lannister, who should have been living here, were gone.
For before his arrival, the place had long since been emptied.
Yes—this castle, once said to be unbreakable, had fallen into his hands without resistance.
Like a courtesan who would yield to him as long as he paid the price.
As for where the Lannisters had gone?
Garlan did not know.
He had obtained no useful information here at all.
It even seemed that no one knew where the members of House Lannister had gone—they had vanished overnight, like bubbles disappearing without a trace.
What was known, however, was that the fleet that had originally belonged to House Lannister had also vanished along with them.
Thus, now on the seas outside Lannisport and Casterly Rock, the only ships drifting there were those of House Redwyne from the Arbor—
—and those of House Greyjoy, whose Iron Fleet had taken advantage of the war between the Lannisters and the Iron Throne to plunder the riches of the Westerlands.
The two sides had not yet clashed; both had tacitly chosen restraint, each exploiting the Westerlands in their own way.
Yet while confronting each other, they also kept their eyes fixed on the battlefields of the Riverlands.
But when the schemes in King's Landing were suddenly broken, and Tywin Lannister abruptly abandoned all resistance and chose to surrender, the Iron Fleet, which had seemed so fierce and ready to bare its fangs at any moment, likewise withdrew its edge.
"Ser Garlan Tyrell, the Iron Throne demands that we withdraw our forces. What should we do now?"
With the war over, the conditions demanded by Tywin Lannister upon his surrender naturally followed soon after.
Thus, everyone present understood clearly that Tywin Lannister had chosen to sacrifice himself and the thousand-year accumulation of House Lannister in exchange for peace in the Westerlands and exemption from the Iron Throne's retribution.
And on that basis, if they were still to remain here, it would certainly be illegal.
Facing the question from one of his knights, Garlan frowned slightly without answering.
His gaze remained fixed on the letter in his hand.
It had just been handed to him by the Maester who had accompanied him since he set out from Highgarden—something sent by his grandmother, the Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna Redwyne.
The true strategist and controller of House Tyrell.
In fact, the royal order from the Iron Throne had already reached Garlan three days earlier.
His delay in responding was because he had been waiting for this letter.
Though in his heart he still intended to withdraw his troops and abandon the Casterly Rock he had so easily taken, from the standpoint of his family's interests, there was still much to consider—so he had chosen to wait.
While Garlan was reading the letter and pondering, a thin, middle-aged man sitting nearby, his bald head adorned with only a few tufts of orange-yellow hair, slowly spoke.
"Garlan, what does Lady Olenna Redwyne say?"
It was Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor and Lord of House Redwyne, who looked at Garlan's furrowed brow as he asked.
After all this time—and with House Lannister having already surrendered to the Iron Throne—he had concluded that a war with the Iron Islands was no longer possible.
And with Tywin Lannister's surrender, the tension between the two sides had dissipated like smoke.
Thus, he had disembarked from his triple-masted galley, the Queen of the Arbor, and taken up residence in this ancestral castle that had once belonged to House Lannister.
Though he had left the ship, its captain was now his son, Horas Redwyne.
He considered this a fine opportunity for training.
Hearing the words of his uncle by marriage, Paxter Redwyne, Garlan finally raised his head, his brow relaxing as a faint smile appeared on his face.
He then handed the letter in his hand to Lord Paxter Redwyne.
Smiling, he said, "Grandmother means that we must obey the orders of the Iron Throne, and that neither the Reach nor Highgarden should further expand their territories."
"She also told me that the Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark, was right—this is not spoils that belong to House Tyrell."
"But none of that matters. What matters is that there is something in King's Landing far more important to House Tyrell."
Garlan spoke casually as he summarized the contents of the letter.
"Margaery Tyrell is going to King's Landing." As he listened, Paxter Redwyne lowered his head to read the letter and, noticing a particular line, could not help but exclaim, "Lady Olenna Redwyne will accompany her as well—and she's asking you to bring a force sufficient to ensure their safety?"
Paxter Redwyne lifted his head, a thoughtful glint in his eyes, murmuring, "It seems Lady Olenna has already made up her mind."
"It seems so." Garlan smiled, stood up, straightened the hem of his clothes, and left the chamber that overlooked the distant fleets upon the sea.
Far away on those same waters, unlike Paxter Redwyne, the Iron Fleet's commander, Victarion Greyjoy, had not left his longship.
At that moment, he too held a letter from Pyke in his hand.
On the table before him lay another parchment bearing the seal of a crowned stag.
After a while, the stern-faced man dropped the letter, tapped the armrest of his chair with his fingers, and said in a deep voice, "Withdraw the fleet. We've already taken enough spoils; there's no need to meddle any further."
"As for the rest, let Balon decide."
Having already plundered ample wealth, the Iron Fleet likewise made its own choice.
And so, under the order of the Iron Throne, both forces—who had long confronted each other on foreign shores and profited greatly from it—tacitly chose to withdraw.
They spat out the piece of cake they had thought already in their mouths.
The difference was that while both fleets and armies returned home laden with gains, a small detachment of cavalry departing from Casterly Rock split off along the Goldroad, heading straight for King's Landing.
At the same time, in Highgarden, a lavishly equipped convoy, having prepared their baggage and arrangements, set out in tacit accord for the same destination—King's Landing.
...
The Narrow Sea, Dragonstone.
The fleet of House Martell of Dorne had successfully joined with the royal fleet of Dragonstone to drive away the alliance of mercenary fleets that had besieged the island.
Soon after, Princess Arianne Martell, heir to Dorne, together with her brother Quentyn Martell, set foot upon this island—once belonging to House Targaryen.
They arrived as allies—as guests.
Disembarking from their ship, they crossed the pier, their boots pressing into the uneven sand and gravel of the beach.
Arianne Martell lifted her head to gaze upon the castle before her, her eyes unconsciously showing a trace of wonder.
It was said that Dragonstone had been built using the advanced stonecraft of Valyria.
That craft had long been lost in the Doom, making this fortress the only one of its kind among all the castles of Westeros.
Gazing upon the castle built of black stone—its towers carved in the shape of dragons, and its many grotesque gargoyles along the walls serving as battlements—Arianne Martell could not help but marvel inwardly.
"Perhaps the tales about dragons are not just legends, Quentyn," Arianne Martell said to her younger brother with a tone full of implication as she looked at the castle before her.
Quentyn Martell stood half a step behind his sister, likewise admiring this scenery so utterly different from Dorne.
Hearing her words, he shot her a glance.
"Of course not. You, I, and Father all know that well, don't we?"
"Of course, my brother."
At Quentyn's reply, Arianne smiled, her eyes narrowing with amusement.
Then she strode forward toward the Lord of Dragonstone, who was waiting not far away to receive them.
There, standing on the beach of his own domain, was Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone, awaiting their arrival.
Standing upon the shore and watching the Dornish princess who had just disembarked from her ship, Stannis's expression was tense, his eyes slightly narrowed.
His skin, long exposed to the burning sun, had turned dark and hard as iron.
Though not yet thirty-five, only a thin ring of black hair remained on his head, encircling the back of his ears like the shadow of a crown.
Simply put, he was already bald.
However, his beard was trimmed short and neat, covering his square jaw and the hollows of his cheeks.
Beneath his thick brows, his deep eyes resembled twin wounds—staring intently at the cheerful Arianne Martell not far away.
Within those dark blue eyes lay a black ocean.
He had long forgotten how to smile and knew not the meaning of joy—an austere, serious man, devoid of humor, stubborn, and slow to forgive.
His pale lips were pressed tightly together, making them appear even thinner and more rigid.
The Onion Knight, Davos Seaworth, accompanied his lord to this reception.
Sensing the faint anger radiating from Stannis beside him, he felt a twinge of concern.
It made him instinctively glance toward another woman who had come along with them—a woman he disliked, even despised.
She was a priestess of R'hllor, the Lord of Light—
Davos did not know where she had come from, but what he did know was that ever since this woman had arrived on Dragonstone, she had been constantly instilling strange ideas into Stannis's mind.
She was seducing his liege.
Yet he had to admit—Melisandre was indeed a beauty.
She had a heart-shaped face, a pair of red eyes that gleamed like gemstones, and long copper-red hair.
Even standing beside her, one could feel the heat emanating from her body, dispersing the dampness and chill carried by the sea breeze.
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