-84- Loyalty

Parting reluctantly from Gallen, Samwell, along with his sister and brother, set off on their return journey, filled with laughter along the way.

Upon their return to Horn Hill, they hadn't even had time to unpack before their father, Lord Randyll Tarly, summoned them directly to his study.

This time, his father's reprimand was harsher than ever, and it ended with a threat to disinherit Samwell and send him away from Horn Hill.

Samwell trembled all over, and the little confidence he had gathered was utterly shattered.

With a bang, the door to the study suddenly swung open.

Samwell's mother, Melessa Florent, appeared in the doorway, along with Talla Tarly and Dickon Tarly.

"That's enough, Randyll! It was my arrangement! Dickon and Talla wanted to see the tourney, and they needed their brother's protection!"

"My eldest son is incapable of protecting his family."

...

Horn Hill.

The sky, once clear, suddenly darkened, and the sunlight disappeared without a trace. The clouds grew lower and more oppressive.

Samwell Tarly looked at the abruptly changing weather, his eyes empty, murmuring, "It's going to rain."

...

Samwell's conversations with Gallen had been a rare delight for him.

He never expected that Gallen, who had put down his sword, would be so knowledgeable.

They discussed various topics, from history and mythology to legends.

Gallen had proposed a viewpoint that still excited Samwell: knowledge is the sharpest blade in the world.

At that moment, all of Samwell's timidity vanished.

In that instant, Samwell's face beamed with confidence.

...

In the afternoon, taking advantage of his father's absence, Samwell went to see his mother.

Melessa Florent put down her embroidery and comforted Samwell, who was looking down and avoiding her gaze: "Sam, it was my fault that you got scolded by your father. I'm very sorry."

Melessa's gentle voice made Samwell's eyes redden instantly.

"Sam, trust me, your father may be strict, but he loves you very much."

Samwell looked up at his kind mother, tears glistening in his eyes: "Mother, I found something. I'm going to leave Horn Hill."

Melessa exclaimed in surprise: "Sam, you…"

Tears welled up in Samwell's eyes, falling down his cheeks like glistening beads.

"Mother! I may be a coward, but I will make you proud!"

...

...

Highgarden, the plant maze.

Last night, Gallen and Mace Tyrell had talked and drunk together all night.

The small banquet ended with Mace drunk and passed out.

Gallen strolled through the garden, the fragrance of roses in the air, but all he could smell was the scent of Gold Dragons.

Gallen found a shady wooden bench and sat down.

Stretching, he leaned back against the bench.

Although the banquet had been small, its significance was high.

After discussing matters, it was late, and Lord Mace regretfully could only call upon his vassals within the castle.

Under Mace's eager gaze, Gallen spoke at length about the lesser-known aspects of Mace's military prowess.

Serious and logical, Gallen convinced many nobles at the banquet of his words.

Mace Tyrell, cheerful, kept stroking his beard, so much so that his finely trimmed triangular beard was misshapen.

Tonight, there was another grand feast. Gallen looked up at the white clouds in the sky, rubbing his swollen head with his fingers.

Though it was tiring, Gallen's gains were substantial.

Six days of jousting had earned him over a thousand Gold Dragons.

From the "consultation fee" from the Little Rose, Gallen gained three thousand Gold Dragons.

This morning, Rosell reported to Gallen that the deal to purchase grain from Highgarden had been struck at a price half-sold and half-gifted, with Highgarden even delivering it to his door.

Thinking of this, the industrious Gallen felt revitalized.

Due to Jon Arryn's one-month deadline, Gallen had to depart tomorrow. Tonight, he needed to continue proving the worth of his beloved Lord Mace.

Thinking of Jon Arryn, Gallen felt a surge of determination. It was time to put forward his claim to the title of Protector of Crackclaw Point.

Gallen knew very well that a knighthood from King Robert's era was far more prestigious and recognized than one from King Joffrey's reign.

...

He wasn't sure how long he had been resting, with his mind blank and eyes closed, when he heard something.

The voices came from behind him, not too far away.

From the sound of the voices, Gallen could guess their identities. They were the handmaidens of the Little Rose.

...

The somewhat plump Megga Tyrell called out loudly, "Are you still going to play the game?"

Megga Tyrell was a member of a cadet branch of House Tyrell. She loved playing kissing games with her cousins.

////I just search it up and damn it was true....////

The slim and lively-eyed Elinor Tyrell replied, "Megga, I'm really tired today."

Elinor Tyrell was also from a cadet branch of House Tyrell.

"Yes, we went wild last night. Now I just want to sit and do nothing."

This was said by Meredyth Crane of House Crane.

Alla Tyrell, another member of a cadet branch of House Tyrell, said timidly, "If you're tired, why not rest a bit? Lady Margaery still has things to do. Shall I play the lute for you?"

Megga Tyrell waved her hand, saying, "Alright, Alla. Aren't you tired too? Come sit and rest with us."

"Thank you, Megga."

...

"Sigh, did you notice Lord Mace at last night's banquet? I've never seen him so happy."

"Of course, anyone with eyes could see that."

"Megga, why do you talk like that?"

"Don't be mad. We'll definitely play games with you this afternoon."

"Sigh, I think it's because of that foreign guest."

"You mean the bard?"

"Bard? Hahaha!"

The group of girls burst into laughter.

"Everyone was captivated by him. He stole the show."

"As the queen's envoy, he was speaking all night. I think it must have been hard for him."

"Elinor, I know you. You're only tolerant towards knights you fancy."

"Lord Gallen from Crackclaw Point. Some people at the banquet were saying that the nobles of Crackclaw Point are all Half-Wild."

"Wildlings? He doesn't look like one!"

"Could his excellent swordsmanship come from some mysterious wildling power?"

...

"Shh, I've heard an incredible secret. I'll only tell you, but remember, you must keep it to yourselves."

"Don't worry, sister!"

"Stop that. Tell us quickly!"

"Lord Mace might go to King's Landing…"

"Then Lord Renly…"

"Lord Renly? Why did you mention him suddenly? Are you hiding something? Alright, this is your only chance. Tell us what you know!"

So, there were no secrets in Highgarden!

Gallen's lips curved slightly. He lay silently on the bench, his hands behind his head, eyes closed, continuing to eavesdrop passively.

...

...

Red Keep, the Tower of the Hand.

Jon Arryn's health had deteriorated to the point that it alarmed King Robert Baratheon, who was engrossed in hunting, forcing him to return to King's Landing.

Robert stared for a while at the frail Jon Arryn leaning against the bedpost, then laughed heartily: "Jon, you look better than I thought. With your vigor, we could visit the brothel tonight."

In his youth, Robert had a clean-shaven face, a tall stature, and a hearty personality. His eyes were clear and captivating, like a dream lover for many young women.

Since wearing the crown, Robert had indulged excessively in food and drink, causing his weight to increase irreversibly, his waistline expanding to match his height. He panted and sweated profusely with even a little movement. His thick, dark beard concealed his double chin, but nothing could hide his round belly and dark circles.

...

"Ha… cough, cough!"

Jon couldn't help but laugh but then started coughing.

Robert sat down by the bed, still laughing.

Jon stopped coughing and said, "You sweating pig!"

"Pig? Are you calling me that? Jon, you dare speak to your king like that?"

Robert's face filled with mock anger, but he couldn't help laughing again. "Damn you, you're always right!"

Robert's smile faded, and he spoke seriously: "Jon, you need to get better soon. I know well what a lousy king I am, as bad as the Mad King. Without your guidance, the gods will not forgive me."

Jon shook his head weakly: "You're not like the Mad King. You're far better than him."

Robert didn't know why he suddenly mentioned the Mad King. The thought of him made Robert angry. "Damn the gods! All I wanted was Lyanna, but they shoved this damned crown onto my head! If only she could come back to me, everything would be as it was!"

Jon quietly listened to Robert's complaints, ones he had heard countless times.

After venting, Robert chuckled and asked, "Jon, do you know the saying about kings and their Hands?"

Jon nodded slightly and replied, "The king dreams, the Hand builds the dream."

"A girl I slept with once told me there's an even better one among the common folk: the king feasts, the Hand shits."

Robert laughed heartily, slapping his belly.

Jon coughed a few times into his hand and said, "The common folk understand life better than we do. What they mean is that the king enjoys the feast, and the Hand deals with the aftermath, cleaning up the mess."

Robert laughed again.

"Jon, you're too serious, always so earnest. But… this time you made me laugh!"

...

After a pause, Jon Arryn said, "Robert, you need to plan ahead. Choose a new Hand who can assist you. My body won't hold out much longer. I can't give you much more time. You can't rule the realm by yourself."

Robert stared at Jon for a while and then said in a resigned tone, "You know I've tried. Sitting on the Iron Throne and managing the realm is a thousand times harder than winning it.

"Adjudicating laws is exhausting, balancing the treasury is even more troublesome… and then there are those endless petitions. I sit on that damned chair all day listening to complaints until my brain goes numb and my backside aches.

"Everyone who comes to me either wants money, land, or legal judgments… all full of nonsense, and my council isn't much better.

"They're either clueless or deliberately lying. My court is filled with idiots and sycophants. It's enough to drive anyone mad.

"Jon, I went to see that cunning Maester Pycelle before coming here. I told him if he couldn't heal my Hand, I'd smash his head in. He promised me he'd restore your health.

"You see, Jon, I'm better suited to ruling with a warhammer. So, you need to focus on getting well. Leave the small tasks to others for now. They may be idiots, but they can still run errands."

Jon shook his head slightly and said, "Eddard Stark."

Robert stood up. "You are so stubborn."

"Robert… cough, cough!"

"Enough. I'll think about it. My head hurts now, and I don't want to hear any more of your nagging!"

...

...

Crackclaw Point, the Crabb lands.

With Gallen's reply, the food pressure problem was quickly stabilized among the people of the Crabb territories.

House knight Mayson Beck was at the new farm, welcoming fellow knight Phillip Rally and the leader of the Thorn Corps, Emer.

The lean and agile Mayson opened his arms wide. "Old friend, it's been a long time!"

Phillip, now sporting a new scar on his face, embraced Mayson.

The result was a clatter of plate armor and clanging sounds—a hearty greeting.

Mayson and Phillip separated, then Mayson smiled at Emer, "Welcome, Emer!"

Although Emer was now the leader of the Thorn Corps, she was not a knight and stood a step below Mayson and Phillip in status.

Emer placed a hand on her chest and greeted, "Good day, Ser Mayson."

Emer had proven her prowess through battle leading the Thorn Corps.

Mayson knew that with the lord's high regard for Emer, she would be knighted by Gallen when the time was right.

The spearwives were known for their combat prowess, and with the formation of the Thorn Corps, their reputation had soared.

Given that the Crabb lands had more women than men, unlike most of Westeros, a form of natural gender equality had emerged.

"We are all brothers in arms!"

Mayson nodded with a smile. "Good day. Let's head inside. I'm sure you miss our golden marigold malt. I've got it ready."

The three of them started walking.

The three walked side by side, from left to right: Emer at 175 cm, Mayson at 185 cm, and Phillip at 195 cm.

The three formed a diagonal line.

As they walked, Mayson turned his head towards Phillip and suddenly said, "Phillip, that new decoration on your face looks nice. Were the mountain wildlings that hard to deal with?"

Mayson's words and tone showed his deep concern for his old friend.

Knowing Mayson well, Phillip could hear the heavy sarcasm in his words.

Phillip snorted, turned his head to look back at Mayson, and coldly said, "I hear you've gained a new ward named… Darius?"

Mayson snorted, "Old friend, don't be jealous. It's a sign of Lord Gallen's trust."

Phillip, usually not one for much humor, forced a strange smile to mock his old friend. "Old friend, my sources are not lacking. I know this is all thanks to your eldest son, Martil."

Mayson and Phillip glared at each other.

How childish they are… Emer quietly slowed her pace to put some distance between them.

Inside the house.

Phillip downed a full cup of marigold malt ale in one go and put the cup down with a thud.

"Mayson, Emer, I think we can move on to the second phase of the Eastward Expansion plan."

The Eastward Expansion plan had two phases.

The first phase focused mainly on military conquest with some efforts at persuasion.

The mountain wildling tribes had slow communication, so they didn't give them a chance to coordinate and unite. During the reclamation of old lands, they quickly defeated the larger wildling tribes.

The second phase would focus more on persuasion with military conquest as a secondary approach.

After conquering the larger wildling tribes, the remaining ones were medium and small-sized tribes. The spoils from them often wouldn't even cover the cost of deployment.

According to the customs of Crackclaw Point, no one would calculate these costs. It didn't matter what kind of battle it was; as long as there was a battle to fight and they could win, it was perfect.

Sometimes Mayson and Phillip didn't understand some of Gallen's arrangements, but as house knights, they wouldn't question—they would just execute.

For house knights who had served House Crabb for generations, loyalty was honor.

Mayson shrugged. "I have no objections. I'm currently in charge of the prisoners, and for me, the more prisoners, the greater my achievements. Entering the second phase will surely increase the number of prisoners. As long as the timing is right, I'm happy to support it!"

Phillip's gaze shifted to Emer.

"Ser Phillip, I have no objections. This time the Thorn Corps will cooperate with the scouting team's operations."

Phillip nodded solemnly, acknowledging Emer's support. The meeting was adjourned!