The Red Deer

The ram of the Fury blew up the oncoming waves with a cloud of sea dust and spray, and from under the deck the officers' commands and the sound of a drum could be heard, allowing the rowers to maintain synchronicity and the right pace. Standing on the bow of the ship, decorated with a gilded deer's head, and enjoying the fresh sea breeze, I couldn't get enough of my return to King's Landing. I only regretted that I decided to ride the Fury instead of the Black Beta.

 Unlike her colleague, the Fury could not boast of good cruising speed, sailing armament, cargo capacity, or comfort. The not very large holds are filled with provisions and water for a not very small crew, and there are almost five hundred people on the ship, three hundred of whom are rowers! There was one mainmast in the middle, a counter-mizzen at the stern, and a pair of small slanting sails on the bow, whose name I did not know. That's basically all the sailing armament. To put it bluntly, it's not rich. But this is not so scary, because it is the rowers who are the main driving force of the ship. Three hundred oars, each with a rower, squeeze out a small cruising speed, but stable and independent of the vagaries of the wind. The Fury also boasts excellent maneuverability and, most importantly, can accelerate for a short time in order to use its main weapon, a bronze–studded ram. With this thought in mind, the bow of the ship was noticeably weighted, which, frankly speaking, also did not add speed. But all these shortcomings go aside when you remember that the Fury is a warship. His task is not to transport cargo or troops, not to conduct long-distance trade. He was made for war. It was created to fight and sink enemy ships. And you know what? Rage does it really well. The Ironborn won't let you lie.

 Ships, ships, ships…

 Who would have thought that I would need them so badly. Westeros, relative to its coastline and the number of ports, has a fairly modest merchant fleet (specifically a merchant fleet, not to be confused with the warships that all the seaside lords have). And then... too much for a "merchant fleet", longboats and merchant ships! Of all the lords, the only decent merchant ships are the Redwins, who have a really large merchant fleet in addition to the military. Maybe the Hightowers and the Manderleys each have a dozen big-bellied cogs... and that's it! With such a background, maritime trade communications are even more dominated by free cities, which not only transport merchants with goods, but also charter ships, including merchants and anyone interested from Westeros. Getting a decent profit from this, of course.

 Chartering a ship, in principle, is not that expensive, it all depends on the ship and the route. But not when you have to transport thousands of tons! It used to be quite easy for merchants from the Stormlands to resell goods to merchants from Oldtown or King's Landing (well, unless a small amount went through Grieving), and they resold them to merchants from the free cities arriving on their own transport. In principle, everything was fine with everyone and no one was left out. However, the situation has changed over the past six months. Now the goods from my fiefdoms are being transported to Sorrowful and to the rapidly rebuilt fortress of Mor, on the eastern shore of the island of Tartus. There is a third route that leads to the Gray Harbor, but the volumes are much more modest. Although this town under construction boasts a well-protected harbor and large warehouses, the fairway there is narrow, which is why we began to use it mainly as a transshipment point.

 Of course, some volumes are also supplied to both Oldtown and King's Landing, but in such a way as to cover their own needs, preventing city merchants from profiting as before. This arrangement, to put it mildly, was no longer to everyone's liking. Mostly merchants from Oldtown, who held the trade of the Expanse very tightly in their little hands. The eastern merchants were also unhappy. Yes, maybe the logistical paths have been shortened, because it's only a day or two from Pestilence or Sorrowful to Pentos, Myrrh or Tyrosh, but that's not good for them. The fact is that Eastern merchants, buying iron, hemp, wool, or grain from the Stormy Lands in Oldtown or King's Landing, sold their goods there and had a profit from it. Now, buying all the same goods in the Stormlands themselves and dealing with monopolists dictating their prices, the eastern guests are faced with the fact that we no longer need their goods for three times the price. At first, the Seven dumped in order to survive competitors, but those days are over, now we need a profit. So it turns out that the eastern merchants, buying goods and raw materials in my lands, are now forced to pay with silver, and not with their own goods. And they don't like it. The gods see, they don't like it very much.

 All these processes have led and continue to lead to very unpleasant and poorly predictable consequences. Take the fact that the cost of chartering ships for my merchants has increased significantly. We are literally not allowed to leave the continent, which literally buries all our foreign trade activities. Due to the monopoly on maritime transport, we are literally being forced to lower the prices of our goods, which, in turn, we can no longer afford. Yes, so far I've been able to get out of it, with resale or with the chartering of ships by third parties, but it can't last that long, and sooner or later my trading plans will collapse under their own weight. The situation should be fixed by a successful expedition to the Summer Islands, which will open up a new way for me to sell goods and raw materials in exchange for expensive luxury goods. But we also planned to transport them by sea to all cities, thereby maximizing our profits. We'll definitely be strangled for this. A vicious circle.

 I need ships, lots of ships.

 Apart from the whole story, the merchants of King's Landing suddenly stood up. Yes, there are also plenty of people who are dissatisfied with my actions on commercial grounds, but the capital's merchants still have much less opportunities than their colleagues from Old Town. Yes, I unexpectedly discovered in the capital an extremely amorphous, inert and not the richest merchant guild, which lives by reselling goods from the inner regions to merchants from the east. Why is that? It was worth digging, and everything turned out to be quite prosaic. The capital was heavily damaged during Robert's rebellion. First, the interrupted trade routes from the Stormlands and the Trident, and then the devastation. Twice. First, Tywin Lannister plundered it, and then the army of the Baratheon, Stark, Aren, and Tully coalition. The city has not known such looting since the days of the Dance of the Dragons. The layer of rich townspeople and, consequently, merchants has practically disappeared. And those who survived weeks of horror dug up their stash and decided to leave. By the way, they were mostly heading east. It seems to me that this was mainly the reason for the large deficit in the royal budget, and not just Robert's riotous lifestyle. After all, the main taxes were collected and are being collected in the capital, and for a couple of years after Robert's accession to the throne, there was stupidly no one to collect taxes from. Thirteen years later, the situation seems to have improved, but only slightly. In King's Landing, to my surprise, merchants with a capital of five hundred dragons can be counted on the fingers of one hand, everyone else is much poorer. It is no wonder that overseas merchants, not feeling competition, behave very freely and comfortably. And I unwittingly helped them in this, cutting off the almost gratuitous flow of goods from the Stormy Lands to the capital. Well, never mind, we'll still help the capitals. Trevor and Co. are already working on this and, I must say, not unsuccessfully. Yes, they will have to become our junior partners, but they will be well off and not offended.

 Continuing to dig into my thoughts on the nose of the Fury, I did not notice how I had company. A young man of about sixteen, dash seventeen. Tall, lean, strong figure, short brown hair, and the same shade of eye color. A boy, though what a fucking boy, a young man who sailed from the age of seven, first on his father's ship, and then as a cabin boy on the Fury. It was immediately obvious that almost ten years of service on Stannis' flagship had greatly influenced the guy. A cabin boy, a junior officer, and now the youngest oarsman in Stannis' entire fleet. Not by kindred blood, but by blood shed and then by knocking out this position for himself.

 But you should understand what a "master of oarsmen" is. Roughly speaking, the chief overseer is the "machinist" of the entire galley. His duties include maintaining order and discipline, because rowers must row, period. And this task is complicated by the fact that the contingent is "recruited" into this fetid caste. They are mostly convicts convicted of various crimes, and other scum of the capital and other towns of the royal domain. Cheap, angry, and no slaves needed. Now the acute shortage of recruits for the Night Watch is clear and understandable to me. Why send convicts to the North when they can be used here? Marik Seaworth, Davos' fourth son and my new squire, stands above this crowd of criminals. They say he's good with a whip.

"My lord." – The brittle teenage voice has long been transformed into a deep baritone, such a voice to command parades.

 The guy, despite his imperturbable appearance, clearly felt out of place, faintly imagining what it was like to be a squire and what kind of life awaited him on land. I think he can handle it, after all, he had a good example - after spending so many years on the Fury under the command of Stannis, he learned a lot from it. Marik respects Stannis and tries to emulate him, especially in relation to the service. The rowers are always fed and watered with normal food, not slop, and he treats them not as slaves, but as people, even though they are prisoners and have varying degrees of severity of the reason to be here. On the other hand, Marik did not hesitate to send people to rhea or skin their backs with a whip in case of disobedience. Not out of anger or cruelty, but because that's the way it's supposed to be, and that's how he was taught. Everyone should do their job, the oarsman should row, the master over the rowers should make sure that they row in one direction, and the captain should give commands. Everything is simple.

"Are you worried?" – he turned his gaze to the guy, who bowed his head slightly and answered frankly without thinking twice.

"Unusual, my lord, nothing more.

- I understand you perfectly, Marik. Treat this as a new stage in your life on the way to your goal. Do you have a goal?

"Yes, my lord," Marik hesitated slightly, but looking at the horizon, he said dreamily, "I want my ship." Big and powerful, in order to travel, glorify and enrich your Home.

- A good, worthy dream. I believe that serving as a squire for the Master of Law and the High Lord of the Stormlands will bring you closer to her.

 I looked at the guy with a sly smile, who was embarrassed and blushed, clearly thinking that he had somehow offended me.

- Tell me, Marik, - I turned to the deck, in which I could see the pits with rowers, - how did you manage to cope with your duties? One mistake, the footboard, and your windpipe is crushed by chains, and there's already a new master oarsman on the ship. Share your secret.

"My Lord, there is no secret here," Marik cheered up when the conversation turned to his abilities, "I had excellent teachers. Rowers are desperate people. They have nothing to lose except the oars to which they are chained. They dream of freedom, but all they want is an extra piece of meat in the stew. Feed one of them a lot of stew and you'll know what's going on in the row. Feed a dozen and you know what's going on on deck. And for an extra piece of meat and a chance to leave earlier, everyone will hand over anyone, even the most reputable leader, who is preparing a riot.

"That's clever. I'm glad I wasn't mistaken," he turned away from the deck again, because the galleys smell like so-so... floating sewage disposal facilities, "I'll admit one thing to you, Marik. I don't need a squire in the usual sense.

"Sir?" Marik looked at me with a mixture of surprise and joy that his efforts were appreciated.

"Some page will be able to bring me wine, and he'll even be happy to do it." I need a master oarsman who can report to the captain what is happening on the ship and beyond. Be my eyes and ears. Do you understand?

"Yes, my lord." A deep frown appeared on Marik's forehead, and he frowned, weighing my words on the scales of his conscience. – But is this task for me?

"Quite." Having dealt with the desperate and embittered, I think you will find an approach to the well-fed and satisfied. You will have advisors, as well as funding and time. I won't rush you. You'll be by my side, so learn, watch, and think. Over time, you will apply your new knowledge to your experience and you will definitely succeed.

 Smiling, he glanced at the dejected boy, who was promised to make a knight out of him, but they are making a secretary and a spy.

- Ha! Don't worry. My boys will teach you equestrian combat and other worthy wisdom, you don't have to worry about that. You will participate in the tournament, fortunately, they are not uncommon in the capital. Let's make a real knight out of you.

 I slapped Marika on the shoulder. He's holding up, of course, but it's still clear that my encouragement is a success.

– Your older brothers have been assigned a responsible and dangerous task. If successful, they will become rich, and all those who looked at your House with arrogance and contempt will envy or quietly choke on their own bile. Your path is more difficult, but that only makes it more honorable! You will be at the forefront of history, next to me! To take part in grandiose events that will elevate not only my House, but also your House. Believe me, Marik, after this, dreams of a ship and traveling will seem like a trifle to you, childhood dreams. I can see the ambition in your eyes. See. You want more than you've told me.

 Marik was already breathing harder, and a hurricane of loyalty and a desire to act burned in his eyes, muscles danced on his cheekbones, and his whole appearance screamed: "Duce, throw us into the fire!"

- Stay close, Marik Seaworth, and I will help you realize your ambitions.

"My Lord!

 Looking at the back of the guy's head, who bent his knee and bowed his head in a fit of emotion, I smiled. After all, in fact, what does it take... to win loyalty? Words. Such a small thing, but how highly they are valued. The hardest thing is to match them. But this burden is for me.

***

Towards sunset, the Fury crossed the mouth of the Blackwater River, leaving behind the towers with a protective chain. The flagship of the Royal Navy was moving quite quickly towards the docks, by its very appearance dispersing fishing boats and river longboats of merchants hurriedly clearing the way for the giant. As I watched the Fury carefully squeeze between the various vessels, a group of ships that were moored on the port side caught my eye. The five representatives are clearly from a different shipbuilding school than the ones I've seen before. High-sided galleys with a large draft, but the stern and bow were like a boat with smooth contours, and there were figures on the bow that were supposed to inspire fear to enemies or an extra bit of teeth-baring bravery to their own sailors. The sailing armament of these "galleys" also abounded with mixed sails and numerous rigging... their owners were clearly well versed in maritime affairs. Banners with silver braids flew on the ships in different designs and on different backgrounds, like numerous branches of one house, and only one had a black banner with a golden kraken.

"Greyjoys?" What kind of disaster brought them to King's Landing?! I involuntarily exclaimed while I was looking at the unusual ships through the tube, while the few guards on the surveyed vessels did not pour out onto the decks, following the Fury with their eyes.

"Harlow's ships," Stannis came up to me, clearly interested in my exclamation, "and their vassals. And also the Greyjoy ship.

- I imagined them a little differently.

 I felt my brother's interested gaze on me and decided to explain.

- The Ironborn ships have always been described as squat boats, on which it is convenient to land on the shore and repair robberies. Here I also see full-fledged sea vessels capable of long-distance travel. Well, the stories... you know, many people tell how you cut Euron Greyjoy's rook in two in the battle of the Light Island, fighting the Iron Fleet.

 Stannis looked at me thoughtfully, nodded, and returned his gaze to the Ironborn ships.

"Harlow is a noble, ancient, and still powerful House." Stannis spoke in a lecturing tone, like a colonel in front of a line of newly graduated lieutenants. "They can afford bigger ships and more ships, just like the Greyjoys, who have a hundred well–equipped ships on hand. The same cannot be said about the other lords of the Iron Islands, in whose power lie windswept rocky islets with lonely fishing villages and free community members who have decided to improve their well-being through sea robbery. Gathering in gangs, they build rooks themselves and go to sea for loot. Euron's Golden Storm was big, but it was a rook. Lord Greyjoy trusted his wayward brother with nothing more.

 Marveling at my older brother's unexpected eloquence, I looked at his calm and invariably gloomy face. He also noted the look corresponding to his face, which, in turn, saw off the ships from the Iron Islands. The sailors on those ships also saw us off in silence, talking softly. Perhaps they were praising their drowned god. Maybe they were cursing us. In any case, we'll never know. So, having upset his contemplative reverie, Stannis returned to the controls of the crew, softly giving commands to his XO, and I returned to my observations.

 As soon as we landed, I was greeted on the shore by an immodest delegation of almost two dozen of my riders, led by Ser Rogers himself, whose melancholy I missed a lot.

"Ser Benedict! I'm so glad to see you!

 Approaching, he hugged the commander of his guard tightly.

"My lord! Obviously already used to my emotionality, he obediently and calmly bowed his head as soon as I pulled away.

 While we were greeting each other, and Stannis was giving final orders, the pages quickly began to pull my few belongings ashore.

- This trip has exhausted me, my friend, you should know! Almost two weeks of abstinence! A little more and the road of fate would have led me straight to the Quiet Island! But the gods were merciful!

"To a brothel, my lord?"

 Nothing seemed to bother the captain of my guard, but the soldiers, unwittingly listening to our conversation, caught the laughter in their moustaches and beards.

"By the Gods, I didn't mean to! But if it's necessary, it's necessary! To the brothel, my friend!

 After passing through the poor neighborhoods at the Fish Gate, we headed to probably the most elite brothel in the capital, which was, of course, the Baelish establishment. After a while, when the sun finally sank below the horizon, we reached our intended goal. Unexpectedly... the place was uncharacteristically noisy. It's extremely noisy and even very crowded. Someone was drunkenly singing obscene sailor songs, there was a clink of dishes, screams of girls and male laughter. In general, a picture of ordinary tavern life emerged and was filled with colors. But the Baelish brothel is by no means a simple tavern, but an elite institution where noble lords and rich merchants prefer to go. Of course, because of the quality and cost of the services offered.

 In King's Landing, and beyond, it is not uncommon for pubs and brothels to be combined into one establishment. It's quite convenient. Any sailor after a long voyage is not averse to drink a mug or two and overwhelm the girl who turns up. There are plenty of such establishments in the capital, especially near the port. And to be honest, being somewhat fed up with female company, I just wanted to skip a couple of mugs of ale and, after chatting with my neighbors, go to bed. If there was an opportunity, I would have gone to the Rusalka, which was finally bought from Lady Sirena, but it is currently undergoing repairs and preparations for opening. Having bought out the neighboring houses for a good price, my merchants are rebuilding everything into a fairly decent courtyard, combining a tavern, a hotel and, I'm not afraid of such words, a "future headquarters." So the opening is not coming soon.

 But there was no less surprise waiting for us inside the restaurant. Apart from the fact that no one greeted us, as was usually the case, the hall was packed with the most dubious audience, obviously from the Iron Islands. They behaved, let's face it, like Vikings in Paris. The large main hall, once richly decorated, in which there were many tables at which it was possible to have a nice dinner, was smashed by heavily intoxicated sailors. Although the behavior did not shout about it (at least not to me, a person who is not very familiar with the culture and way of life of the Ironborn), but it was clearly not some kind of rabble that gathered here, but the commanding staff and senior sailors. The clothes were greasy, but they were good and obviously worth the money. Of course, everyone was armed. Spreading out across the room, these gentlemen drank noisily, had a snack no less noisily, and were clearly not shy about drinking once more. Local girls, naked, carried wine and food to the hooting of the guests, who did not miss the opportunity to spread their callused hands. As for the bedrooms, there were sounds perfectly suited to a castle being stormed, but not a brothel. There was not an ounce of pleasure in those moans, even the cloyly feigned ones.

 Upon our arrival, all the sounds in the hall subsided by themselves, only moans and cursing continued to be heard from behind the closed doors. A dozen armed and well-equipped men clearly made the Ironborn present tense up. Another important detail was that we didn't have any coat of arms or any other distinguishing marks, which will be another lesson for me. And of course, I'm not much of a student.

"My Lord!

One of the girls, who clearly recognized me, tried to run out to us. She didn't look good. There were numerous bruises and bruises on his body, and his eyes were tear-stained. In short, it could be described in one word "used". And more than once.

- Hoo-hoo-yes, larva?!

 One of the thugs grabbed the girl by the arm, pulling her sharply towards him, and then slapping her with the back of his hand, knocking her over. A fairly hefty portion of the crowd guffawed and hooted, watching our reaction. But at the same time, I noticed in my peripheral vision how one of the gang, clearly sensing something, jumped out and quickly ran up the stairs to the second floor of the brothel.

"Who's so handsome?"…

 Chanting and grinning gap-toothed, the same ironborn who had hit the girl stepped forward. I was already not in the sunniest and clearest frame of mind after the trip, so the pent-up and suppressed rage, anger, and irritation that had been accumulating since my first arrival in the capital made themselves felt. All these intrigues, intrigues, conspiracies swirling around me, negligent vassals, constant difficulties and problems – all this did not give me a good mind.

"... so beautiful that…

"Shut your mouth, you dog!"

 The comparatively young sailor, grinning even more, pulled a dagger from his boot, but hesitantly froze when my men-at-arms began to enter from behind me, covering me from all sides. The crowd began to whisper anxiously. If I was in hiking clothes, then Ser Benedict and his companions were wearing armor.

- Who are you going to be, to talk so boldly?!

 The question was clearly voiced by one of the elders. He was already a gray-haired ironborn, wearing a once ornate oriental caftan unbuttoned on his chest. More sober than most, he hadn't really guffawed or grinned before... the guy was clearly seasoned, even by the standards of these "elders." And he was well aware that, most likely, they had run into someone noble, so he was trying to find out in such a simple way.

"Am I supposed to introduce myself to every brute or whore's son like this one?" He nodded at Yellowfang.

"Oh, you scum...– the element indicated by the nod hissed through his teeth, the desire to take a chance and "wet" the dagger, warmed up by alcohol and the feeling of "his own behind his back," flared up in his eyes.

 The crowd around me became agitated. Clearly, these pirate scum had forgotten the last time they had such a conversation. But they didn't dare to take any decisive action either. After all, there are no sailors here without a family or at least some impressive track record. Although they are dashing, but they have been taught by both victories and bitter experience, they feel great when an interlocutor is daring from a fee, and when from confidence in their strength and power.

"I'll fucking gut you!" Yellowfang yelled, leaning forward heavily.

 I don't know what Nepirate wanted to do, but he was stopped by a loud commanding voice. To the surprise of both me and my people, the women.

"Wart, shut your mouth and put the knife away!"

 The entire hall turned to the direction from which the exclamation came. There was a girl standing on the stairs. She was tall, slender and leggy, which was clearly noticeable due to the tight leather pants. Her shoulders were broad enough to show off her extensive physical training, but much more graceful than Brienne's. Under a hastily thrown-on white shirt, two medium-sized "mounds" can be seen perkily sticking out. They are crowned with short cropped raven-colored hair. While the girl was descending, I managed to see her face. He had a pretty, even handsome, though weather-beaten, face and gray eyes that alternated between curiosity and apprehension.

 Here's Yara Greyjoy. And this person couldn't be anyone else. No other warrior from the Iron Islands is known to the world. Who would have thought that we would ever see each other? It was hard for me to contain my admiration. First of all, leather trousers! Even Brienne did not allow herself to do this, wearing cats on top. In fact, this is the first woman in pants that I have ever met in this world. It's an unforgettable sight. Secondly, Yara was charming. Of course, we've seen prettier and more glamorous girls, but Yara exuded a unique charisma that was unusual for other locals. The girl radiated confidence and authority, which stemmed not from a sense of belonging to a powerful and noble House, not from a habit and the opportunity given by someone to push and command. No, they originate from faith in one's own strength, skills and abilities. Moreover, it was clearly recognized by others, quickly calming down or at least shutting up at her appearance, even that gap-toothed guy hurried back to the table with a sour face, not daring to contradict the beloved daughter of the Lord Reaper.

"Why are you vilifying my people, my lord?"

 Yara's voice matched her looks, beautiful as a girl, though with a huskiness, with hidden metal in the depths.

"Your people, Lady Greyjoy?" I feigned appropriate, affected surprise. "Your people have turned this once–beautiful place into a barnyard, my lady. You may have such wild rules on your ship, but this is the capital, not your patrimony!

 Anger flashed in Yara's eyes, but when she met the cold rage already bubbling in my eyes, she frowned away.

"How do you know my name, my lord?" – Not finding what to say to me, she decided to cling to my knowledge of her origin.

- Ha! There aren't too many girl captains on the Iron Islands to make a mistake.

"Girls?" The sweet smile that appeared on her face did not bode well for me.

"You've obviously been at the head of armed men quite recently, my lady," Yara ignored, looking around at the crowded people, "and there's probably a lot you don't know yet." So... the first lesson is that the commander is always to blame for the low discipline and rowdiness of subordinates! Always!

 I turned my head sharply in the direction of Greyjoy, who was diligently burning a hole in me with an angry look.

- And here's my advice to you. Before you give your cattle another establishment to be torn apart and insulted, at least ask who it belongs to. Otherwise, it might be embarrassing.

 After looking around at the gang of sailors of varying degrees of intoxication, I contemptuously spat on the wine-stained carpet.

- Let's go, I've lost my appetite.

 The excited crowd, clearly unable to tolerate another insult, had already begun to move, but froze at the raised hand of their captain.

"You know my name, my lord, but you haven't introduced yourself." Please respect this one last time.

 Yara's voice was strained. The girl has already realized that she has stumbled into something due to her thoughtlessness, and now it's time to figure out if it's time to make ends meet.

- Renly Baratheon. High Lord of the Stormlands, Lord of Storm's End, and Master of law in the Small Council of my crowned brother Robert the First, at your service, my Lady.

"... fuck you, you gallows man! A drunken voice rang out from the crowd.

 Taking one last look into Yara's gray eyes filled with mild shock, he silently left the establishment, not listening to the loud whispers of the crowd. They didn't let me rest... maybe I'll get some sleep.