Jon Snow smiled faintly and teased, "Young Griff, you seem very shy?"
After a moment of thought, realizing he wasn't much better, he added, "At least not as bad as me."
Young Griff laughed, then paused and said, "Jon, when I realized the difference between boys and girls, my father taught me that I could only love my wife my whole life, including her body."
Jon's steps faltered; he agreed wholeheartedly. He had secretly sworn that he would never have a bastard.
Jon was not good at praising others: "Young Griff, your father is a… good father."
Young Griff smiled, looking at the serious Jon, and said, "Aren't you curious how old I was then?"
"How old?"
Young Griff's tone was uncertain: "Seven, or maybe eight."
Young Griff was very approachable, and through their interactions over this period, Jon had long since considered him a friend, so he spoke very relaxed.
He pursed his lips and smiled: "A little late."
Young Griff first pretended to sigh sadly, then they both laughed at the same time.
...
Stepping out of the dock, the tall and strong Rolly looked around and said, "You two find a place to eat nearby, I'll go get the horses."
Jon reached out to stop Rolly, who was about to leave, and said, "Leave it to me."
Young Griff shrugged slightly, pointed to a tavern not far away, and said, "Rolly and I will wait for you there."
Jon looked in the direction Young Griff pointed, nodded, and strode towards the horse merchant.
Once Jon's figure disappeared, Rolly spoke, "Prince, you like Jon very much?"
Young Griff frowned slightly and said, "Remember, my name is Young Griff."
Rolly scratched the back of his head and said, "I will remember, hehe."
Young Griff reached out and patted Rolly's sturdy arm, walking and saying, "He is very pure. I really hope he can become the next Orys, but who can guarantee what the outcome will be…"
It was rumored that Orys was Aegon I's bastard brother, one of the most capable generals under Aegon I, the founder of House Baratheon, and one of the few personal friends of Aegon himself.
He instructed, "Rolly, I came this time to see my relatives from afar. I only brought a pair of eyes this time."
...
The sun hung high, and the three rode towards Qarth. The horses beneath them occasionally snorted, their hooves striking the cracked, hard ground with crisp sounds, kicking up a cloud of dust.
As night fell, they set up tents in an open space by the roadside and lit a bonfire.
Jon wiped the hot sweat from his forehead and cheeks; he sorely missed the cold wind of the North at that moment.
Jon took the thrown wineskin and took a large gulp, exhaling comfortably. He looked at Young Griff.
After traveling for most of the day, Young Griff did not appear disheveled or tired; his demeanor remained elegant and noble… A bastard must learn to read people, and he had actually long since realized that his friend was a person of extraordinary birth.
Noble… Jon averted his gaze. If Young Griff was unwilling to speak first, he would not deliberately inquire or guess.
Rolly's rough voice sounded: "Damn it, I wish the daytime could be as cool as the night…"
Rolly's complaints made him feel a sense of familiarity, and Jon couldn't help but smile… Whenever there was a Winterfell feast, Duke Ned would always permit each child one cup of wine, but no more. Conversely, when he was with the retainers and servants, no one would mind how much he drank. They sat at the end of the hall, cheerfully drinking cup after cup, listening to them boast about wars, hunting, and trysts. At those times, he felt it was a special blessing reserved for bastards.
Jon secretly shook his head… How could a base bastard understand what nobility was?
As night deepened, the three of them sat around the bonfire.
Young Griff glanced at the simplified map in his hand and said, "In about three days, we can enter the city."
Rolly nodded in agreement: "The descendant of the True Dragon…"
He looked at Jon, who was smiling but silent, and then said, "Jon, are you planning to participate in the tournament?"
Jon shook his head slightly: "I'll just be a spectator."
He countered, "Rolly, are you going to participate?"
Rolly shook his head: "My duty is to protect Young Griff's safety, and then incidentally see if the silver-haired princess of the True Dragon family is as beautiful as rumored."
A cold glint flashed in Young Griff's eyes, and he said with a smile, "I hope it's fruitful."
Jon hesitated, then spoke, "There will be a harvest. It is said that Targaryen's looks are all very good."
Young Griff's eyes trembled slightly: "Then I'm relieved. It won't be a wasted trip."
Rolly laughed loudly: "Being able to witness the rumored Beggar King is also not a wasted trip."
He then said mysteriously, "I heard that the Beggar King sold his mother's crown to maintain appearances, and once even planned to sell the silver-haired princess to the Dothraki for troops."
Jon was stunned, and said somewhat incredulously, "Rolly, I heard that the Dothraki are barbarians. He actually wants to exchange his own sister for troops with barbarians?"
Rolly stretched out his large hand and scratched his head, saying, "Could it be that the relationship between the siblings isn't very good?"
Young Griff chuckled: "To be precise, he only has one sister left to sell."
Jon thought of Arya and Sansa. The youngest, Arya, had always been very close to him since childhood. Although Sansa had never given him a good look, he had never thought of harming her.
Jon then recalled what he had seen and heard within the Red Keep, and he spoke, "Perhaps for him, power is more important than his own family."
Jon silently added in his heart: What a coward.
Young Griff's eyes moved slightly: "Jon, you seem to regard this kind of thing as… rather common?"
Jon was silent for a moment, then admitted, "I… took care of horses in the Red Keep, and heard many similar things there."
Rolly leaned forward: "The Red Keep you're talking about is the royal palace of Westeros, right?"
Jon nodded slightly.
Rolly pressed on: "Ha, Jon, I'm really curious, tell us about it."
Young Griff's gaze also shifted to Jon, seemingly very interested in listening.
Jon smiled and shook his head, saying helplessly, "What I heard may not be true."
Young Griff threw a wineskin to Jon and said, "Jon, no rush, let's drink and talk."
...
...
Crab Claw Point, Mermaid Port, Hall of Office.
Greene Kleber stood with his hands behind his back by the window. In his hand was a letter personally written by Daenerys.
...
...
Fifteen days later, Bitterbridge in the Riverlands, the muddy Mander River shimmered in the sunlight.
On the lush green lawns flanking Rose Avenue, countless trebuchets, ballistas, and battering rams were arrayed. The tents of the Riverlands and Stormlands lords, like silken mushrooms, covered the fields, and thousands of campfires filled the air with a pale mist. Beneath the bright sun, countless spear points glinted red, as if weeping blood.
Renly Baratheon's enormous banner flew high in the center of the camp, a crowned black stag on a golden field, tall, rampant, and proud.
Beneath the crowned stag banner, a tournament ground had been cleared, filled with the shrieks of horses, the clang of colliding weapons, and the cheers of spectators, a deafening cacophony.
On the high platform, Renly and Margaery sat side by side, chatting and laughing.
Renly wore a crowned stag intricately inlaid with a Rose, and a green velvet coat with the Baratheon sigil embroidered on his chest in golden silk thread of the Golden Rose.
Renly had slender limbs, broad shoulders, smooth, straight charcoal-black hair, deep blue eyes, and the familiar faint smile, truly a young Robert reborn.
Margaery Tyrell wore a green, sleeveless Highgarden gown, her long brown curly hair draped lazily over her shoulders, and her gentle eyes occasionally looked at Renly, her smile both shy and sweet.
Below, with a crash, two fully armored warhorses collided violently, steel and flesh inextricably entangled, drawing gasps of alarm from the crowd.
Margaery on the high platform almost shrieked in fright. Only when the two knights, in full plate armor, shakily climbed to their feet one after another, did she exhale the breath she had been holding.
Feeling that she had attracted Renly's gaze, Margaery's slightly pale face turned, and her charming countenance revealed a lingering fearful smile.
Renly's handsome face showed a comforting smile, very gentle, causing the noblewomen observing their interaction to cover their chests and sigh softly.
...
Lady Olenna, sitting not far away, averted her gaze and grumbled in a huff, "Just like a king."
Duke Mace, next to her, paused his beard-stroking and asked confusedly, "Mother, what did you say?"
Lady Olenna grew annoyed seeing her smiling son: "My Duke Mace, when will my granddaughter conceive the future king?"
Duke Mace's smile froze for a moment, then he said ingratiatingly, "Mother, King Renly has made a promise. If you don't trust others, do you not trust your granddaughter?"
He stroked his beard and added, "Margaery is already seated as queen, the Golden Rose will flourish endlessly."
Lady Olenna snorted coldly: "Aside from kneeling and bowing every day, this old woman hasn't seen anything practical."
Duke Mace explained to his mother, "Duke Tywin's troops have advanced towards the Riverlands. If they finish fighting, with good luck we might even avoid war and…"
Lady Olenna impatiently interrupted Duke Mace's words: "This old woman doesn't understand how to fight, and I'm tired of hearing about your daily war art. You all figure it out yourselves."
She then said, "I plan to return to Highgarden."
Hearing this, Duke Mace exclaimed in surprise, "Mother, you…"
Lady Olenna huffily patted her knees: "Duke of Highgarden, have pity on this old woman. If I keep kneeling, I might never be able to get up again."
...
The tournament ground was messy, muddy, and strewn with broken armor and shattered spears. The Bitterbridge melee, with one hundred and sixteen knights participating, lasted an entire day, and ultimately Brienne of House Tarth emerged victorious.
King Renly called out loudly, "Please step forward, my champion."
As Renly's words fell, Brienne limped towards the high platform.
Reaching Renly's presence, Brienne stood tall and proud: "Your Grace Renly."
Her blue armor was covered in wounds, with dents from warhammers and spiked clubs, gouges carved by longswords, and patches of enamel flaking off her breastplate, her cloak torn into shreds.
Renly looked at Brienne gently and praised, "Your noble father did not exaggerate; you are indeed an excellent swordswoman."
He then said, "As champion, you may ask me for anything you desire. As long as it is within my power, I shall grant it to you."
Brienne answered without hesitation: "Your Grace Renly, I ask for the honorable position of the Rainbow Guard. I ask to be one of your seven guards, to dedicate my life to you, to follow you to the ends of the earth, to be by your side at all times, protecting you from all dangers."
"I agree."
As Renly's words fell, a maiden's innocent smile blossomed on Brienne's homely face.
Renly smiled, tore off Brienne's tattered cloak, and personally tied a brand new rainbow cloak around her.
The beauty's voice could barely suppress her excitement: "Your Grace Renly, my life is yours. I swear by the new and old gods, from this day forth, I am your shield."
...
As night fell, the tournament feast began. Amidst performances by singers and jugglers, everyone first enjoyed pears cooked in mulled wine, followed by delicious small fish fried crisp with salt, and capons stuffed with onions and mushrooms. Then came large chunks of golden-brown roasted bread, mountains of turnips, sweet corn, and peas, prime ham and roasted geese, and overflowing platters of ale and venison stewed with barley.
At the head table, King Renly occasionally picked food with the tip of his dagger for Margaery; the two of them either exchanged playful banter or whispered secrets.
King Renly often laughed heartily, and he could converse warmly with lords of any background.
As the feast drew to a close, guests who had drunk too much became unrestrained. For instance, Josula, the son of Count William, and Ellis argued endlessly over who would be the first to scale King's Landing's walls; Count Valnar pulled a serving girl onto his lap, nudged her neck with his nose, and slipped his hand into her **; Ser Morrigen of the Green Guard, fancying himself a singer, plucked his harp and performed a song about a Lion's tail being tied in knots; Ser Mullendore teased a black and white monkey, feeding it from his own plate; and Ser Tanton, whose foot had just happened to land in a cruet, swore to kill Sandor Clegane, the Hound, in a one-on-one duel.
Amidst the general laughter, Margaery's handmaiden quietly approached and whispered a few words in her ear. Margaery lightly nodded.
...
Soldiers in forest green full plate armor, with two enormous golden stag antlers on their helmets, guarded both sides of the King's Camp entrance.
Hearing the movement, the guard captain looked over vigilantly. When he clearly saw the approaching person, his eyes involuntarily widened.
He looked as if he had seen a ghost: "Lo… Ser Loras?"
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