“Brothels are a better investment than ships.
In my view.
Whores rarely sink.”
– A Game of Thrones
*
“Give it to them!”
“They say Jason Mallister killed Balon’s son himself…”
“When are we finally moving on?”
“When the captain returns…”
The talk never ceased aboard the ship that day.
Word had reached the islands aboard one of the newly arrived vessels that the ironborn, led by Rodrik Greyjoy, Balon’s eldest son and heir, had suffered defeat beneath the walls of Seagard.
The news stirred the sailors to life.
Some celebrated, others debated what would come next, but all understood the same thing: the real war had only just begun.
There were other signs of that as well.
The Black Betha had spent the last three days anchored in a small harbor on Southshield, surrounded by vessels of every description.
Davos Seaworth had departed for Highgarden aboard a swift galley with several sailors in tow, yet showed no haste in returning.
The crew left behind languished in idleness, watching as more and more ships arrived from the mouth of the Mander.
What seemed strange, however, was that those ships were not filled with Tyrell men, but with Lannister guardsmen.
Arthur had heard that Tywin Lannister had paid an enormous sum to the ruler of the Reach, purchasing nearly half the ships available to him.
The Lion of Casterly Rock hungered for vengeance over the humiliation inflicted by the ironborn and was willing to spend a fortune to achieve it.
Now the Shield Islands swarmed with fair-haired soldiers from Lannisport.
The sight irritated the local lords, no doubt, but it brought handsome profits to farmers eager to sell fresh ale, provisions, and every other necessity at prices that had suddenly doubled and tripled.
Arthur had managed to purchase himself a new tunic before the merchants raised their prices beyond reason.
Before leaving with the captain, Ray had advised him to acquire warmer clothing, though the boy himself understood perfectly well that a single shirt and pair of breeches were hardly enough.
Even aboard a ship.
He watched the Lannister guardsmen with undisguised envy.
Scarlet cloaks fluttered in the wind, armor gleamed beneath the sun, polished mail hugged their bodies, and steel plates guarded their arms and legs.
Upon their heads sat crested helms adorned with lion manes.
The Lannisters truly looked like the richest men in Westeros, and looking upon them, Arthur was not the only one who felt like a gutter-born boy standing among lords.
Still, he had something of his own to take pride in.
Not golden lions upon his chest, perhaps, but his first suit of armor.
Lately he had been training not only with a sword, but with a shield as well.
The heavy rectangular thing, designed primarily to stop arrows, quickly exhausted his arm.
A shield of his own would have been far more convenient, but even if he saved every copper of his wages, he could not afford one.
When Davos distributed the crew’s pay before departing, Arthur had never expected to receive a share.
Thus he had been genuinely surprised when a silver coin landed in his hand.
“Don’t drink it all away, lad,” Ray had grunted, ruffling his overgrown hair and reminding him of his less-than-glorious experience at the Blue Plum.
Three silver stags and twenty-five coppers.
Slightly less than half a golden dragon.
Not enough for a decent shield.
The local smith demanded no less than six silver stags for a simple round shield.
Arthur could, of course, sell the ring he had taken as loot, but he had kept it for a desperate day.
Besides, nobody here would offer a fair price for it.
So he trained with what he had.
The ship’s shield felt impossibly heavy, and despite the increase in his strength, his arm would go numb after only a few minutes.
He kept trying to extend his training sessions, but as the second boatswain had put it, he needed to “put some meat on those bones.”
“To be honest, it’s all pointless,” Ray had remarked during Arthur’s first attempts, though he never failed to offer advice.
“You’re not a knight, and you’re not heavy infantry.
We’re aboard a ship, boy.
No fool runs around carrying a shield here.”
“But one day I’ll leave the ship,” Arthur had argued.
The dream still lived within him.
“Planning on becoming a knight, are you, cabin boy?” the sellsword laughed.
He understood the lad’s motivations all too well. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Arthur was still too young to think sensibly.
“And what if I am?”
“Nothing at all, Ser Arkt,” Ray had replied with a grin.
He disappeared into the hold and returned carrying a battered iron-rimmed round shield.
“Very well.
If you’re that determined, we’ll start with the basics.
When your opponent has a shield, aim for the head, neck, hand, forearm…
and especially the shin and ankle.”
That had been the beginning of Arthur’s first serious shield training, back on the voyage to the islands.
Now he had come ashore to practice alone.
His first session aboard the ship had drawn far too much attention.
The moment he raised a sword, idle sailors appeared from every direction, eager for entertainment.
Advice, jokes, and comments rained down upon him, more irritating than helpful.
“Swing harder!”
“Come on, Arkt!
Show us how you’ll scare the krakens!”
“Look at him, the future knight!
Don’t forget us when you’re famous, Black Arkt!”
Yet not one of those cheerful spectators wished to spar.
They merely stood and watched as he practiced against imaginary foes.
So today, as yesterday, he had chosen a small rocky stretch of shore away from the harbor.
No bustling sailors here.
Only the cries of gulls and the endless murmur of the sea.
The sun stood high overhead, while the wind off the water cooled his skin pleasantly.
Arthur breathed heavily but did not stop.
Clad in full armor, he drilled the strikes Ray had taught him, practicing shield movements and changing stances.
His sword hissed faintly through the air.
The heavy wooden shield dragged at his arm.
“I think that shield is too heavy for you.”
The voice came from behind him.
Arthur spun around.
A tall dark-haired youth stood atop a nearby rock, arms folded across his chest.
His clothes were well-made but unremarkable.
There was interest in his eyes, yet no mockery.
That alone felt unusual.
“Who are you?” Arthur asked, wiping sweat from his brow while trying to make out the symbols above the stranger’s head.
The sun was behind him.
“Talbert Serry,” the youth answered plainly.
“My father is lord of these islands.
And you, unless I’m mistaken, are a sailor from the Black Betha?”
Arthur nodded, studying him carefully.
He had never heard of him before, though he knew the island’s lord was Osbert Serry.
“Only a cabin boy…
my lord.”
Unlike Sam, this one seemed entirely comfortable with his noble birth.
“My name is Arkt.”
“I’ve been watching you since yesterday,” Talbert said thoughtfully.
“You’re the only one training like that.”
His gaze lingered on Arthur’s shield.
“You want to become a knight, don’t you?”
Unlike everyone else, he did not laugh.
That alone made him easier to like.
“Yes…
Talbert grimaced immediately.
“Just Talbert.
My father is the lord.”
Then he paused.
“I train too.
How about a spar?
Looks to me like you’re lacking a partner.”
There was hesitation in his voice, as though he had debated whether to offer.
Perhaps for another reason entirely.
Arthur clenched his teeth stubbornly.
He knew he wasn’t good enough yet.
But he had no intention of giving up.
“Why not?” he replied.
“As long as it’s only training.”
“Good.” Talbert smiled.
“Wait here.”
With that, he turned and headed back toward the castle.
Arthur watched him go, wondering if he had truly meant it.
Apparently he had.
Some time later Talbert returned clad in full armor.
His harness was plain iron, battered by countless dents but sturdy and reliable.
Upon his shield bloomed a white rose, the sigil of House Serry.
He moved with the ease of someone long accustomed to armor.
Though only a few years older than Arthur and perhaps half a head taller, he carried himself with confidence.
He had thoughtfully brought two blunted swords.
One he handed to Arthur.
“Let’s see what you’ve learned,” he said, raising his blade.
“No strikes to the head.
Armor only.
Go on.
You attack first.”
Arthur tightened his grip around the hilt, giving the sword a few practice swings to test its balance.
Then he stepped forward with his shield raised.
His heart beat faster with excitement.
It was not every day one found an opponent of suitable size and age, much less a lord’s son.
This was his chance to prove how far he had come.
He began cautiously, probing his opponent’s speed and reactions.
One strike.
Then another.
Talbert turned them aside effortlessly, batting away the attacks with shield and sword alike.
“Faster,” he called, almost teasing him.
He himself had not attacked yet, save for one feint toward Arthur’s legs that forced the boy to lower his shield.
Since they had agreed not to strike the head, the attack became nothing more than a gesture toward the upper rim of the shield.
Arthur gritted his teeth and shifted his stance, trying a strike from the side.
Talbert answered with a confident counterattack.
Exactly as Ray had taught him.
Only this time performed by a youth from Southshield.
The next instant Arthur barely managed to block.
His shield shuddered beneath Talbert’s blow, and only then did he truly grasp the gap between their abilities.
A/N:
While everyone else is waiting for updates, com / Captain_Lag (remove the spaces)