As soon as Polliver entered, he stood in front of Sweetmouth Ralph.
He was so tall that Gregor could see him even standing there.
Gregor was taller, and in the hall, with only a few people, he was easily visible to everyone.
But Polliver clearly wanted this job: to go to King's Landing and catch Petyr Baelish the Littlefinger.
Sweet-talking Ralph smiled broadly, appearing nonchalant, but his heart was filled with anticipation.
Who wouldn't want to make a name for themselves?
Littlefinger Petyr Baelish was a treasurer, without guards, unskilled in martial arts, and his estate was the Finger Peninsula in the Vale—a desolate island overgrown with moss, inhabited only by a few fishing families, whose only sustenance was the moss-eating goats. Earl Goatdung was unmarried and single; getting rid of such a person would be simple, clean, and trouble-free.
Executioner Dunsun stared intently at Sir Gregor, eager for this mission—it was both an honor and a reward. Sweet-talking Ralph had already rendered a great service: helping the Duke train the Western Frontier generals in the 'military sentry command' method. Now he believed it was his turn.
Notebook Mark stood at the back of the four men, knowing he had no chance, which frustrated him. That's how it is being the chief steward; you never get a chance to be at the forefront in battle, and opportunities for merit always go to people like Sweet Talker. He oversaw all the affairs of Clegane village, managing the armory, stables, granaries, land, miners, and the people, yet he rarely got any opportunities. These tasks were numerous and varied; if you personally handled them instead of delegating to lower-ranking officers, you'd have to deal with a lot every day, yet you'd appear to be an idle person.
The job of chief of general affairs is a thankless task.
Gregor looked at his four die-hard fans; he knew each of them wanted the mission.
"A notebook!" Sir Gregor said.
"Yes, sir!" the notebook replied listlessly. He knew the lord would again send him out to inspect the stables, buildings, crops, and so on. Now even the lamp oil in the sanctuary, the management of the servants, cleaning, and food were all matters for him to oversee and check.
"You're in charge of catching Littlefinger in King's Landing this time," Gregor said.
The notebook froze.
"See how many people you need to go with, and choose them from the cavalry," the knight said again.
The notebook exploded with a bang.
He felt like he was floating.
He still couldn't quite believe it.
"...My lord...I went to King's Landing...there were so many...chores in the village..."
"Lady Jenny is watching over things," Gregor said. "The stables have Thomas Mann, the kitchen has Lady Allen, the armory has Abbott, the village has Delia, the sanctuary has the witch, the ravens have Maester Harry, the miners have Pollifer, and the cavalry have Sweetmouth Ralph and Dunson. What are you worried about?"
"Sir, I would like to go with Notebook; he needs help," Polliver stammered. He made an awkward gesture to bolster his voice.
"He needs help, but not the three of you. The notebook needs a chance to prove itself," Gregor said.
"My lord, when shall I depart?"
"The sooner the better. See how many people you need, whether on horseback or in a carriage, I don't care about those things. I want you to understand one thing: capture Littlefinger Petyr Baelish, and don't let the Spider know. His little birds are everywhere in the city, especially at the major city gates. Although the little birds are called children, the soldiers at the city gates and the shoemakers on the street could all be Lord Varys' little birds."
"Yes, I understand what to do." Notebook smiled, looking relaxed. Now that he was certain that this good thing was for him, his confidence returned instantly. People are in high spirits when good things happen, and Notebook's face was beaming!
Tell me how you would do it?
"Littlefinger is the finance minister, so this is easy. I'll go to his brothel and say there's been an accident at the mint and we need him to come and take a look. Then we'll just wait for him to come out of the city," the notebook said.
"good!"
"Sir, I can handle any emergencies," Deng Sen said.
"None of you three can go. The notebook is a stranger; neither Octopus Spider nor Littlefinger knows him. He's young, only a teenager. No one will be wary of a child who seems to have a friendly smile," Gregor said.
Pollyver, Dunsen, and Sweetmouth were all disappointed.
Sweet-talker's disappointment was in his heart. Pollifer's disappointment was on his face. Dunsen's disappointment was in his breathing; his chest heaved, and he breathed rapidly.
*
From Clegane in the Westerlands to Winterfell in the North, a journey of thousands of miles, would take a large army two months and a small group a month. But ravens, traveling by air, could more than halve the distance. They could skip the thousand-mile journey from Golden Tooth to the Riverlands, flying directly north over the mountains of the Westerlands, over the Iron Islands, and into the First Men's Tomb in the North. Not far from the First Men's Tomb lay Winterfell, the home of the Stark family, the Lords of the North.
The ravens released by Maester Potter flew day and night, reaching Winterfell in a single day and night. Through Maester Ruwin of the Maester's Tower, the Duke's letter reached Earl Tiger Shallott. Upon reading the letter, the Earl replied immediately, not daring to delay; before dawn, he released his own ravens. Clegane's messenger ravens rested and recuperated at the Earl's place, feeding on corn and scraps of meat.
Another day and night passed. At dawn, Maester Potter was awakened by Maester Harry, who was holding a wax-sealed reply from Earl Tiger Shallott.
Lord Tywin has ordered that any letter received from Earl Tiger be given to him immediately.
The witch's prophecy of war between the Westerlands and the North left Lord Tywin Lannister in turmoil, so he simply stayed in Clegane Village, waiting patiently for the raven's reply.
This matter is of utmost importance.
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For a duke, nothing is more important than the outbreak of war.
Grand Secretary Potter dared not delay and immediately went to the third floor and knocked on the Duke's door.
As dawn broke, the Duke rose, holding a candle in his hand, and crushed the wax seal on Count Tiger's letter.
The maester quickly took the candle, and the duke unfurled the parchment scroll, on which was written a short note: "Your Grace, Lord Eddard's fourth son, Bran Stark, fell from the Tower of Ruins, breaking both his legs. He has been in a coma for half a month and has not yet regained consciousness. No one witnessed what happened when Bran fell, so Tiger doesn't know whether Bran slipped or was pushed."
When the Duke read the letter a second time, Maester Potter was already stunned.
The witch's prophecy, at least most of it, is true: the little wolf broke his leg; he remains unconscious to this day.
The witch is in the sanctuary in Clegane Village. How could she know what happened in Winterfell in the North?
However, this is truly the skill of wizards, prophets, and shapeshifters.
The scholar recalled the story of Brynden Rivers, the omnipotent one with 'a thousand and one eyes,' which was sung in seven countries.
Since the witch predicted that the little wolf would break his leg from the broken tower, was it because he slipped or lost his strength, or was someone pushed him down?
The witch's prophecy tells of a lion pushing a wolf cub off its lap.
Tywin slowly rolled up the parchment and placed it on the candle. The flame ignited the parchment, and it began to burn and curl.
"Sir, how many golden dragons did Supervisor Yarman bring with him?"