"Ser Barristan Swann."
Joffrey called forth one of the white-cloaked Kingsguard from the assembled ranks.
Several members of the Kingsguard had accompanied him on this expedition.
"I appoint you Castellan of Stonehelm. You shall sail with the Fourth Fleet to appease House Swann and its people, and persuade Lord Gulian Swann to see reason."
Joffrey's instruction came gentle but firm. "Try to avoid bloodshed, on both sides."
The burly Barristan Swann possessed a face both loyal and youthful despite his years. He bowed with unexpected grace and composure.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Following the unexpected death of Ser Arys Oakheart, Barristan Swann—who had remained at the Red Keep in service to the royal family—had taken his place among the sacred seven.
After the Kingsguard's expansion to seventy-seven, Barristan Swann had risen with the tide, promoted to squad leader with command of ten noble-born companions.
These were fortunes beyond imagining.
Yet the times changed too swiftly, too unexpectedly. Barristan Swann often felt adrift in unfamiliar waters.
He could only fulfill the ancient duties of the Kingsguard: protect, remain silent, and maintain unwavering loyalty. He would watch with his eyes and listen with his ears, never speaking or expressing opinions of his own unless the king directly commanded it.
Though his career as a Kingsguard had been brief, he had already learned much, understood much, and buried even more questions within his heart.
Now, he understood something else as well:
His father had likely foreseen all this when he had urged him to serve at the Red Keep.
Thinking of his elder brother Donnel, now serving in Renly's war tent, and of the terrible cannons and Holy Warriors that served the king, Barristan Swann did not know whether to rejoice or despair at his fortune.
A further doubt gnawed at him:
Could even seventy-seven Kingsguard truly satisfy the king's ambitions?
Barristan Swann's inner turmoil remained invisible to those around him. The king's voice continued, steady and resolute.
"Lord Beric Dondarrion."
"I appoint you Castellan of Blackhaven, to appease its people, administer its governance, and care for House Dondarrion."
The words seemed somewhat redundant.
Yet this was Joffrey's will, and more would follow.
"From this day forth, half the annual tax revenue shall remain at House Dondarrion's disposal, while the other half shall serve the needs of the castellan and various administrators."
"Other castellans shall follow this example."
The king's pronouncement sent immediate shock through all who heard it. Another upheaval in the making!
All eyes darted toward Beric Dondarrion. The Lord of Blackhaven had already pledged allegiance to the king, yet now he would serve as castellan as well, and tax revenues would be divided in two.
Gods...
Even eleven-year-old Rickard Wylde clutched anxiously at his mother's sleeve.
Lord Beric Dondarrion's expression remained resolute. "House Dondarrion shall ever be loyal to Your Grace. I am grateful for Your Grace's trust in entrusting me with the important duty of castellan. I shall certainly do all within my power to instruct the people and manage these lands in Your Grace's name."
Joffrey nodded with evident satisfaction. "With Lord Beric's loyalty and ability, I can rest easy indeed."
He looked around the hall, smiling at the respectful faces of those assembled. "Loyal and capable men shall all find suitable positions."
The crowd exchanged thoughtful glances.
"Lord Beric has proven both loyal and capable. He is hereby specially appointed as 'Lifetime Castellan of Blackhaven.' All territorial affairs shall be managed by the castellan until his final resignation."
Beric Dondarrion offered a calm salute of gratitude. "I shall not hesitate in Your Grace's service."
Castellan. Lifetime Castellan. Beric Dondarrion could scarcely imagine what waves these brand-new titles might cause in years to come.
At the very least, Blackhaven might find stability.
Might it truly? Beric stepped back into the ranks, studying the king's face yet finding himself unable to discern the true intent behind that measured smile.
Joffrey turned to his left.
"Ser Barristan, you shall serve as commander-in-chief of this force, and also as Lifetime Castellan of Harvest Hall."
Barristan Selmy's face grew grave, his brows furrowing as though he meant to speak. Joffrey raised a hand to forestall him.
"Ser, pray do not decline. Your great contributions and outstanding abilities are evident throughout the realm. None could possibly find fault with a knight of your stature governing Harvest Hall."
"Besides," Joffrey indicated the six-pointed star upon his cloak.
"With the Grace of the Gods light screen, you may manage the affairs of Harvest Hall from the Red Keep without neglecting your duties as Kingsguard."
Barristan Selmy found himself at a loss for words. Should he plead with the king to spare the rebellious Selmy family?
Harvest Hall.
Am I to govern Harvest Hall?
Memories surged unbidden through Barristan Selmy's mind.
In his youth, he had surrendered his right to inherit Harvest Hall, given up the woman to whom he had been betrothed, and chosen to join the Kingsguard.
The lordship had passed to his cousin, and House Selmy had continued.
For decades now, he had won countless honors and become known as one of the greatest knights the realm had ever produced.
He had earned the glorious epithet "Barristan the Bold," respected throughout the Seven Kingdoms, with songs sung of his deeds.
He had never regretted his choice.
And yet, he had missed his family. The current head of House Selmy would have to call him "Great Uncle," and now he would return to Harvest Hall as its governor?
Should I refuse?
Would the king accept such refusal? Or would he simply appoint another castellan? And if so, who?
Many potential candidates stood present, yet Barristan Selmy could not believe any of them qualified to govern Harvest Hall and care for House Selmy.
In the end, he held his tongue.
"Ser Barristan, your specific tasks are as follows." Joffrey gestured to the map upon the hall's floor.
The marching route glowed brighter as the king spoke.
"Greenstone, on Estermont, faces the sea directly. Station warships there to coordinate supplies. House Estermont should not refuse."
All present understood the cruel consequences should they do so.
"Weeping Town, held by House Whitehead, boasts prosperous trade and a spacious harbor. The Fourth Fleet shall be stationed here, transferring personnel, conveying supplies, overseeing trade, and providing combat support."
The bright spot upon the route moved to Stonehelm, farther west.
"Stonehelm stands at the mouth of the Slayne River. Send warships northward along the river, bringing the Seventh Regiment of the City Watch close to Crow's Nest and Mistwood."
The commander of the Seventh Regiment was Theon Greyjoy.
"The Eighth and Ninth Regiments shall follow Ser Barristan and Lord Beric to garrison Blackhaven and Harvest Hall, organize these territories, and mobilize resources. Prepare to strike southward at Nightsong and northward at Haystack Hall, threaten Highgarden, and monitor the rebel army at Bitterbridge and intelligence from the Grassy Vale."
At last, all understood the king's design. These territories formed an east-west line that effectively divided the Stormlands, isolated Dorne to the south, and drove a blade into the Reach to the west.
Besieged on all sides.
Yet with Holy Warriors as the spearpoint, this strategy represented a direct thrust into the enemy's heart.
"Ser Davos Seaworth, the Fifth Fleet and the Sixth Regiment shall sail along this route." A new pathway appeared upon the map.
Jon Snow, hearing mention of his Sixth Regiment, observed the map with renewed attention.
This route sailed westward from Rain House, traversing the entire northern shore of Cape Wrath before terminating at Griffin's Roost. Combined with Ser Barristan's route, it neatly encircled all of Cape Wrath.
"Garrison Amberly of House Rogers along the way—Ser Davos's family castle—as well as Griffin's Roost of House Connington. Be certain to secure the transportation routes, subdue these castles, and then stand ready at Griffin's Roost."
"You depart at dawn."
"The remaining warships and City Watch shall follow me." Joffrey rose to his feet.
"We march on Storm's End."