chapter 132 part 1
Chapter 132: An Invitation Hard to Refuse
Joffrey turned to Glynn, lifting his chin contemptuously. "Hmph, then that's tantamount to rebellion. I will personally lead a great army to take the Eyrie and hang the rebels' heads on the gates."
Glynn thought that children have their own dreams. This was a time for encouragement, not for pouring cold water on them.
"Your Highness, you will naturally be invincible in battle. There is no doubt about that."
Glynn paused, then added, "The men of the Vale are cowardly. Perhaps they only dare to grumble in secret. We should at least wait and see how they react."
He gripped the hilt of his sword and continued, "If the Vale dares to cause trouble for Ser Jaime, I will raise all the soldiers of my domain and offer myself to Your Highness as the vanguard for the campaign against them."
One of Joffrey's hands trembled slightly. He looked at Glynn and nodded in satisfaction. "Then we shall give the Vale some time."
After speaking, he turned his head to look at Sandor and added, "My dog, remember to keep a close eye on the news from over there. If you can't even handle this, I will never forgive you!"
Sandor nodded. "It will be done to your satisfaction, Prince Joffrey."
Joffrey snorted arrogantly, indicating that he would, for the time being, overlook Sandor's earlier act of disobedience.
Joffrey's various expressions were almost identical to Cersei's.
Setting aside his personality and looking only at his appearance, he was an even smaller version of Jaime.
With King Robert still alive and kicking, would Jaime panic, seeing Joffrey look more and more like his uncle? Glynn secretly shook his head. It was perfectly normal for a nephew to resemble his maternal uncle, especially since Jaime and Cersei were twins.
Ser Jaime wasn't panicked in the slightest; he was the one overthinking things.
...
"Lord Glynn, I hear you are teaching Tommen swordsmanship?"
Joffrey's emerald eyes darted for a moment. "I appreciate your loyalty. From now on, you and Jaime will be responsible for my sword lessons."
Glynn placed a hand on his chest and nodded. "Your Highness, it is an honor for House Clegane to serve you. I sincerely thank you for your trust."
Joffrey nodded arrogantly. "I will speak to my mother about it."
After saying this, Joffrey strode away.
Sandor first glanced at Glynn, his eyes meeting Glynn's for a moment, before following after Joffrey.
*Too green,* Glynn thought, watching Joffrey walk away with a swagger. He suddenly felt like a treacherous courtier, but he secretly shook his head and denied it. It had to be a delusion.
...
Outside the gates of the Red Keep, after mounting his horse, Glynn looked up at the sky and said, "Marcel, go directly to Clegane Manor and relay my orders. Have all the Clegane household troops assemble outside the Gate of the Gods tomorrow morning."
The Gate of the Gods was the northwestern gate of King's Landing, the one closest to the Kingsroad.
Glynn remembered that the great Lord of Winterfell had come south to King's Landing with only a few dozen horsemen. Perhaps such an act was meant to show Lord Eddard's trust in King Robert, but it was too risky. The disadvantages outweighed the advantages.
Glynn ruffled his hair. Would the stupid wolf have considered these things?
Marcel Beck couldn't hide the excitement on his face and couldn't help but ask, "Lord Glynn, are we going to war?"
Glynn looked at the descendant of his household knight with some disdain. "Just execute the order, Marcel."
"Yes, my lord!"
Before leaving, Marcel stole another glance at Glynn. Seeing Glynn raise his whip, he immediately spurred his horse and rode off.
The Becks had been household knights to the Cleganes for generations, so Glynn naturally took extra care of him. He had wanted to keep Marcel by his side to temper his character, but he found it wasn't very effective.
Having been cooped up for too long waiting for the birth of his firstborn son, Marcel was now more impulsive than before.
It was better to guide than to suppress. Glynn was not a stubborn man. He planned to transfer Marcel to the western front after some time and have Per Pily train him for a while.
The Cleganes' other household knight family was House Pily, headed by Ser Pell, the commander of the Scouting Corps.
His eldest son died of illness not long after getting married, leaving no legitimate offspring.
Therefore, his second son, who had been enjoying himself outside, was immediately dragged back by Pell. It was said he was still fighting day and night in bed to produce an heir.
The marigold needs more branches and leaves to solidify its rule.
The two household knight families already had several young ladies of suitable age, and Glynn planned to arrange marriages for them with the other nobles of Crackclaw Point.
Previously, their status would have been insufficient, but with the rise of House Clegane, the ladies from his vassal families were now a suitable match.
According to Glynn's own thinking, the simplest way would be to directly eliminate the other nobles on Crackclaw Point. But this was Westeros; he couldn't just arrange for all of them to have accidents.
For now, Glynn could only use the political methods of Westeros.
Reining in his thoughts, Glynn pulled on the reins and adjusted his horse's direction.
...
...
The western part of Crackclaw Point.
Encouraged by Maester Al, Samwell Tarly arrived at the Clegane's western front with his guards, full of confidence.
Samwell planned to observe the combat style of the Clegane longbowmen on the battlefield firsthand in order to research future improvements.
But reality was cruel. Before long, he had pissed himself in fear.
Samwell sat dejectedly inside his tent, his thick legs bare.
Samwell stared blankly at the tunic he'd taken off on the ground, which exuded a foul stench of urine.
Samwell rubbed the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. He felt he had let everyone down.
It was too shameful. He felt he had no face to continue staying in Clegane territory, eating their food and drinking their wine for free.
He desperately wanted to see his mother, far away at Horn Hill.
While he was still wallowing in misery, the flap of his tent was thrown open, and the tall figure of Pell strode in.
The scars on Pell's face had faded considerably. His sharp eyes sized up Samwell, who looked like a small hillock as he sat there.
Samwell came to his senses and hastily scrambled to his feet, bowing. "Ser... Ser Pell? Good day..."
Samwell didn't dare to meet Pell's eyes and lowered his head in shame.
After standing up, he immediately felt a draft on his lower body and hurriedly used his hands to cover himself, wishing he could shrink his head into his stomach.
Pell's brow furrowed, but he didn't speak. The atmosphere in the tent was heavy.
*Thump, thump.* Samwell could already hear his own heart pounding.
The people of Crackclaw Point were fierce by nature; no one liked a coward.
Pell truly didn't understand why their lord and Maester Al would value the coward before him.
Pell was a warrior through and through. If he didn't understand something, he didn't dwell on it. Besides, his loyalty didn't permit him to question his lord's decisions.
Moreover, he had great faith in the judgment of his lord and the maester.
...
Pell spoke slowly. "Many new recruits perform worse than you did their first time on the battlefield."
The unique environment of Crackclaw Point made nearly every man a competent warrior.
Pell had only heard about the poor performance of new recruits from minstrels; his words were a white lie.
Pell was unwilling to let someone his lord valued waste away under his command. He would try to help the boy find his courage again.
Seeing Samwell still hanging his head, Pell barked, "Samwell, raise your head! Look at me!"