298 AC, the dawn of a new era.
The two biggest events at the beginning of that year, besides the rise of a new power Across the Narrow Sea, were the death of Jon Arryn, Hand of the King in Westeros for fifteen years.
After Jon Arryn's death, the old Hand Jon's wife, Lysa Tully, fled back to the Vale with her son, Robert Arryn, overnight, and the master of ships, Stannis, also fled back to his fief, Dragonstone.
King Robert was puzzled and helpless about their escape, as he truly didn't care much for politics in King's Landing. The Red Keep, the court, and the Gold Cloaks were infiltrated like a sieve... In the Westerlands, Casterly Rock, the Hall of Heroes, Lord Tywin was strolling with his brother, Ser Kevan.
This hall displayed the precious armor of hundreds of knights, lords, and kings of House Lannister. The Hall of Heroes was famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and even Across the Narrow Sea. Those who died valiantly from House Lannister and their close relatives might be buried here.
"Poor Old Jon, he died too quickly, too suddenly!" Tywin said to his brother, Ser Kevan. Tywin was tall and slender, with broad shoulders, just past fifty. Since he started balding, Tywin had shaved all his hair, leaving only thick golden sideburns, and his pale green eyes were flecked with gold.
After his wife's death, Lord Tywin rarely smiled. After all, for Tywin, fear was always more reliable than laughter.
"Since Lord Jon is dead, and you are King Robert's father-in-law, and the royal family owes us so many gold dragons! Plus, it's a time of trouble now, with the King's Bastard and the remnants of House Targaryen entangled, ready to make a comeback at any moment!" Ser Kevan said hopefully.
For a long time, Ser Kevan had served as Lord Tywin's most trusted subordinate for many years; his loyalty and reliability were widely known. Ser Kevan was somewhat overweight, mostly bald, with a fleshy square jaw, a closely trimmed beard, rounded shoulders, a thick waist, delicate features, and golden hair and beard.
"Absolutely not possible! Kevan!" Ser Tywin replied. "That war was launched by the eagles, wolves, stags, and fish working together. Robert doesn't have the courage to invite me to court! He trusts Old Jon and his childhood playmates more!"
"That may be so, but the Gods bear witness to your abilities and talents when you were Hand! Yet the King looks far and wide!"
"Poor Robert is not entirely foolish after all!" Tywin snorted coldly. "The Gods cannot allow anyone to be elevated above the King."
"Cersei's letter says that Lysa Tully, that fat woman, and Stannis have both fled!" Kevan said.
"This is the trickiest part. Once Jon dies, we become the target of all. After all, it's all visible: Stannis has fled, Jon is dead, and isn't most of King's Landing filled with Lannister people?" Tywin analyzed. "Even if we didn't do it, it appears to benefit us on the surface!"
"All this time, Hand Jon has maintained the situation." Kevan also acknowledged Old Jon's contribution!
"Yes, our Old Jon's so-called maintenance was just being a peacemaker! He dared not offend House Martell, nor House Tyrell. He couldn't interfere with the King's entertainment and indulgences, letting the King do as he pleased!"
"Lysa is just a woman, crazy. What's formidable is Stannis; that man isn't easily subdued. And Across the Narrow Sea, the remnants of House Targaryen and the King's Bastard—that Bastard is a formidable character!"
"Alas!" Kevan sighed. What House Lannister had done to House Targaryen back then was indeed cruel.
"I already sense the coming chaos! I must fight this war well. I have spent many years rebuilding the family's glory, and I will absolutely not allow House Lannister to fall!"
When the tide came in, a thunderous rumble would echo from beneath the Hall of Heroes, as if reflecting the entire uneasy era... Tyrosh, one of the Nine Free Cities, not far from the coast of the Disputed Lands.
Tyrosh is a fortress city protected by high walls, located at the northeasternmost tip of the Stepstones. Its inner walls are made of fused black Dragonstone.
The Archon of Tyrosh, with a worried expression, stood on a high watchtower of the black inner city, watching the Wolf Pack Fleet patrolling the sea. Those beautiful Myrish warships had now removed their Myrish flags and replaced them with banners of a roaring Wolf Pack.
Around the Archon of Tyrosh were also a group of senior Tyroshi Magisters, nobles, some Tyroshi Mercenaries leaders, and a very small number of Myrish exiled nobles.
Without exception, the hallmark of Tyroshi people was their flamboyance. Tyroshi liked bright colors, dyeing their hair and beards vibrantly, including blue, green, chestnut, pink, purple, scarlet, and vermilion, among others, and their hats were also very distinctive.
"I am willing to offer my warships and half my wealth, as long as you all help me reclaim Myr!" the exiled Myrish Magisters promised, feeling his heart bleed.
"Do it! Archon, many things are not about whether you can, but whether you dare!" a Tyroshi Magisters suggested. "The Wolf Pack Fleet, from Myr Bay to the Stepstones, has effectively blockaded the entire sea passage. Our slave ships now dare not capture slaves, and merchant ships are also subject to the Wolf Pack Fleet's blockade! If this continues, Tyrosh will collapse sooner or later!"
"How do we do it? Relying on us Tyroshi alone?" the green-bearded Archon of Tyrosh sighed. "I naturally know that Tyrosh's situation is not good; slaves in the city are brewing a rebellion, estates and towns in the Disputed Lands have been taken, and now the sea passage is also being locked down! But the reinforcements from Lys and Volantis are slow to arrive, and we are just barely holding on!"
"What about hiring Unsullied?"
"Too expensive, too long. And Braavos is also against slavery, I don't think it will work!"
"Naturally, our strength is no match, but we also have allies! Lys and Volantis are both slave-owning city-states, and there's Slaver's Bay; will they allow the trend of freeing slaves to continue unchecked?"
"Now, King Robert's Bastard and the exiled Targaryen princess are together, and they have many enemies Across the Narrow Sea! The wealthy Lord Tywin is one!" The surrounding Magisters and nobles chattered, each analyzing the situation eloquently.
"I'll start with a disadvantage! The old Hand trusted by the whoring King is dead, and I'm afraid the iron throne has no interest in getting involved Across the Narrow Sea."
"Distant water cannot quench a nearby fire! My lords, we have a fire here; how long do we need to wait for reinforcements!" the Archon of Tyrosh asked. No one understood the structure of the Free Cities better than him; elections and democracy caused them to be like horses pulling in different directions, making decisions extremely difficult.
"If only your mouths were as sharp as swords, would you go to war on a ship?" the purple-haired Tyroshi admiral mocked.
"We only have about two hundred warships, while that Mercenary King has two hundred mixed warships and one hundred forty Myrish warships; furthermore, his land army is well-trained!"
"The Pentoshi are weak, the Braavosi are ambiguous. The most hopeful Lysene reinforcements are hesitant, the Volantene election year hasn't arrived yet, and this year it's still the Elephant Party. As for the Golden Company, they are also trying to cultivate good relations with the Mercenary King!"
"Then we have no way out?" Despair began to spread, and some Magisters looked dejected.
"We are by no means without a way out!" The Archon of Tyrosh waved his hand. "The Khals, those greedy Khals, most likely won't like Myr refusing to offer wealth after gaining independence."
"Now is the time for us to work together to address Tyrosh's crisis, which is more terrifying than Silver Tongue. All of you, donate your wealth; on one hand, we hire swordsmen and knights, and on the other hand, we send envoys to entice the Khals to send troops!"
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