Ser Erg Dark, born and raised in Duskendale—a knight of medium height, muscular and grim, twenty-nine years of age—I appointed him commander of the newly formed infantry unit known as Honor and Valor.
Erg had proven himself well over the past few years, fighting skillfully and bravely, earning both the respect of his fellow knights and authority among the common soldiers.
He was a distant descendant of the now-extinct House Darklyn, once the rulers of Duskendale. Harald Orm had vetted him thoroughly and found no serious flaws.
Now Ser Darke was instructed to recruit the first hundred worthy and proven men and begin their training and drilling. The unit would be maintained at the king's personal expense, and on its foundation we intended, in time, to organize a regular standing army. Ser Hasty and his "pietists" formed the mounted arm, while Honor and Valor would be an entirely infantry formation.
I had many thoughts regarding the future of this force and the places and circumstances in which it might be employed. Most appealing to me was the idea of shaping it into something akin to an elite raiding or special operations unit. But time would tell what would come of it all. The important thing was to begin.
***
In yet another letter, Lord Petyr Baelish once again replied that he was unable to come to King's Landing. It was beginning to resemble open mockery—a farce. Especially since I was certain it was he who had ordered the Kettleblack brothers to murder Lord Tywin Lannister. Accordingly, we had to act.
The next morning, in every square of King's Landing, heralds read out the royal decree, and ravens carried it across all of Westeros.
It proclaimed the following:
Lord Petyr Baelish is declared an embezzler, a liar, a traitor, and is accused of the murder of the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister, as well as other crimes against the Crown. From this day forward, he is stripped of all titles, offices, and lands and holdings granted to him. He is no longer Master of Coin; Harrenhal and any other property within the Seven Kingdoms no longer belong to him. Any person who offers support or shelter to Petyr Baelish shall be deemed an enemy of the realm and declared an outlaw. A reward of ten thousand golden dragons shall be paid to whomever brings his head.
Our action became a kind of milestone, a catalyst. Events after that began to gallop forward, and many revealed their true faces.
What we didn't want but knew was coming has happened. Lysa Arryn and Petyr Baelish raised their banners and declared war, proclaiming the rule of King Joffrey the First illegitimate. They further announced that the true Arya Stark enjoyed their hospitality and called upon the North to remember its old oaths and join the struggle against the murderer of their lawful lord, Eddard Stark.
Almost simultaneously, Euron Greyjoy struck. With a single lightning blow, he seized Fair Isle, the Banefort, and a town called Crag.
At the Twins, old Lord Walder Frey "unexpectedly" died. Ravens brought word that it had been of old age. His successor became Black Walder, son of Ryman, who most likely seized power and helped not only his own great-grandfather into the next world but also those relatives who stood ahead of him in the line of succession—or who had shown discontent or suspicion.
There was some mystery here. Back at Riverrun, Jaime and I had seen Ryman—perhaps not the sharpest of men, but very much alive. And now it had turned out that he had not inherited from old Frey; instead, his eldest son had. I wonder if Ryman willingly yielded the Twins? Or had Black Walder sent his own father to the Seven as well?
Black Walder proclaimed himself lord, and not only of the Twins but of Riverrun and aligned himself with the Vale.
And from the east, from Essos, an enormous fleet was preparing to set sail at any day now, its core formed by ten thousand Golden Company and several hundred Gallant Men.
All of it looked like a vast, unified design, in which each participant played a role—conducted by someone's experienced and authoritative hands.
A new war had flared to life…
***
Tyrek Lannister
Until that moment when everything changed, his life had flowed steadily and well. He served as a squire to King Robert and got along reasonably with his nephew Joffrey. Though, speaking of the young prince, it was worth remembering that he never truly had friends. And those he drew close might bitterly regret that attention the very next day.
Then King Robert died. Among the noble squires, many rumors circulated about what had truly happened on that hunt where the king had been gored by a massive boar. And invariably, each version featured the name of his cousin and friend—Lancel.
After the death of the drunken king, Lancel began visiting Cersei's chambers with suspicious frequency. Of course, no one knew anything for certain, and Lancel had enough sense to keep his mouth shut—but rumors have a life of their own.
In truth, Tyrek was not overly interested in all such matters. All his free time in the Red Keep he devoted to training. His father, Tygett—Tywin's own brother—had possessed remarkable skill with a variety of weapons. In the Westerlands, people said he was in no way inferior to the famed Jaime—neither in strength nor technique nor endurance.
Whether that was true or not, Tyrek never had the chance to learn. The pox had claimed his father's life when Tyrek was still a small child, too young to understand much of anything.
For a long time he was raised by Addam Marbrand, his cousin-uncle on his mother's side. Addam taught him everything a warrior ought to know.
At some point, Tyrek realized that he wished to surpass his cousin Jaime—and to become the greatest sword in all of Westeros.
(End of Chapter)
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