Chapter 13: The Man of War
William had a bit of trouble trying to find the way of building the new ship design in secret, especially considering when any of the shipbuilders could have been spies in the possession of either Petyr 'Littlefinger' Baelish, or the Master of Whispers, Lord Varys. He had two of the Stark soldiers constantly watching any of the new workers just in case their loyalties were in doubt, and quite a few were caught, to be made quiet at extreme discretion.
Back in Astora, there was not much time where Will spent much time on a ship, and when it was, he was usually the most unlikely and unlucky positions where he would end up. At first, he was just a regular deck rat, cleaning and reloading the main guns, and then at one point the man that led the men was torn in two by a stray cannonball. He was not missed, for he had usually called the deck rats the 'Rat Vanguard', and after his death, William had no qualms of becoming the new 'Rat Authority'. He was soon given an actual promotion to be the captain of the deck rats, and they didn't have a problem with William, and William did not have a problem with the deck rats.
And then the fucking captain died…
And who was left to take over?
The Deck Rat Authority.
Yep, from deck rat to captain in at least six months.
It didn't really matter much, considering the new captain had arrived back at the port just as 'Captain Redding of the Bloodhound' managed to dock, and then took the position right away from William, making him the first mate because of his outstanding contribution to the Astoran Fleet.
Well, lets just say Second In Command was not what we wanted, and the Bloodhound was falling apart, privateering was more of our thing anyway…
Needless to say, William soon had command of his ship, The Retribution. The brigantine had only two decks, but it made up for it in speed and raw firepower. The adventures of Captain Redding and the Bloodhound soon became a legend, well, at least before the Bloodhound was destroyed and Captain Redding was 'lost at sea'.
Lost at sea being the secondary meaning for 'the ship blew up, Will did not know and was the only survivor because he was thrown overboard.' Yeah, it could have been worse. Were you expecting any different?
Anyway, the crew had been chosen and most of it, if not all of the crew were all loyal to the House of Stark, well, most of them were at least Stark aligned. Maybe around a quarter of the new crew members were either bored former sailors and decided to join 'out of the kindness of their hearts' or cheap mercenaries.
The first deck had been fully completed, with each side of the ship having twenty five guns on each side, with a grand total of one hundred guns on the third and second decks, and around fifteen guns on the top deck on each side. How long it would take for the cannons to be fitted, only the seven knew, but it would probably either be him loaning more money from Littlefinger, and he wouldn't be helping the debt situation anyway, so he might as well have taken advantage of the situation.
Well, the situation could not have been any better. Well, he was the unofficial master of ships…
The situation actually wasn't the worst he had been in. There was always the time where he would have been ambushed by the Throne Watcher and Throne Defender, and then Nashandra right afterwards. Death had become more an annoyance than an awful consequence for not paying attention to what was happening around him, usually the stray decaying scythe that cut him in half well before he could dodge out of the way.
What seemed to be the best thing about the entire situation was that the shipbuilders that were loyal to him had already found a quiet place where they could have built the ship in relative privacy, that and the fact that the ship was already a quarter complete, and the second deck was also nearing completion, the rest of the ship soon to be done in at least a few weeks, and at the most maybe a month or two.
Doesn't help that I essentially ostracised myself from the nobility for the sake of building this…
Better not fucking sink…
William was sat upon the edge of a cliff overlooking the cove where the warship was being secretly built. He was not used to the secrecy at all, he was more of a war-hammer character, or an attack dog, maybe a mix of both of them. He stared at the Narrow Sea, and could just barely see the ants that were his workers milling about going in and out of the cove, bringing in materials or going to get pissed off their heads at the nearest tavern.
"You look lonely."
"Arya. Come out, wherever you are."
Arya came up from behind Will, the loose boys clothing and her relatively short hair blowing slightly in the cold winds. She was carrying a small, needle-like sword on her hip, in lieu of an actual short-sword. She took a seat next to William and started throwing little bits of grass over the edge of the cliff, sighing with boredom.
"Did your father send you here, little wolf?"
"Nah, I just felt like following you. See what you were up to." Arya replied, sighing.
"Are you lying?"
"Maybe."
"You're lying, aren't you?"
William gave a dead-eyed stare at the little girl who was sat next to him, and the kept the stare focused on her until she broke.
"Father told me to see what was happening with 'William's special assignment'. So, what is going on?"
Well, at least she is forward about it…
"Your father has nothing to worry about, the assignment is a quarter complete, and soon will be half complete."
"Are you going to talk to me about it? Tell me what the assignment is?"
"Nope."
And with that, he walked off with Arya in tow until they reached the Red Keep, where she kept asking about the project until she was taken away by Septa Mordane.
X-X-X
"Have you thought about joining the tourney?" Jaime asked him.
In the meantime when William had nothing to when it came to either actually helping build the warship, of which he could not figure out of a suitable name. It got so bad where sparring with the Jaime Lannister was the only actual way of passing the time without falling on his sword.
"I think your tournaments and my tournaments are quite different, Ser Jaime." Will replied.
The clashing of swords made the common silences between them a bit more entertaining, and Ser Jaime had still not managed to be any better than the Ruin Sentinels, not for lack of trying. Being on the par with the three Ruin Sentinels was good for a regular man, not so much compared to William himself though.
"How bad could it be? Unless your scared of flying off your horse?" Jaime taunted, kicking at William's legs, downing him.
The blunted blades were not exactly stopping both the Kingslayer and the Ashen Champion from going all out in the sparring, both of them using kicks, punches, elbows and the occasional smash with the sword hilts, bruises and scrapes and scratches were aplenty on the both of them. Well, that was until the both of them came to a draw, with wooden swords pointed at their necks.
"Not scared, it's just that when I fight, I fight for real. I don't fight for coin or for the roar of the crowds. I'm not even going to give some shit excuse about how fighting is hell, because I actually enjoy fighting."
"Then why don't you try it?"
"What?"
William had his eyebrow raised as Jaime took the swords and handed them to the master-at-arms, before handing William his twin-swords and as he began to strap his own sword to his hip.
"Try it, try fighting for the roar of the crowd. It is nothing like you have ever felt before."
"I might give it a try." William spoke reluctantly.
"Might?"
"Fine, I will."
X-X-X
Sansa had been excited ever since her father had told there would be a royal tourney in honour of her father's appointment as the Hand of the King. She had gotten so excited that she needed to keep track of the days until the tourney began. She would have gotten to see the knights in their resplendent and unsoiled armour, that shone as the sun cast its gaze upon the knights and there horses.
Sansa, Jeyne, and the septa had taken a seat at the front, with her father sitting reluctantly next to her. She knew that her father was reluctant about having a tourney in his name, but Sansa could never know why. Her father had never been a supporter of having lavish and extravagant events in his name. He always upheld his duty, that was what her mother said. Even when sometimes he would fail, he would always try his hardest.
Sansa held her breath as the knights had came onto the field, the horses neighing and whinnying as they carried their knights just across from the jousting field. The Kingsguard were all dressed in scaled armour, the colour of milk, instead of their regular golden coloured armour. The only man in golden armour was Ser Jaime Lannister, and he shined from head to toe, his helm the shape of the roaring lion. Even his sword was gold!
The girls took a liking as they looked upon the field of flags and sigils of the varying different noble houses of Westoros. Fields of red, purple, and black, and varying items and animals like falcons, lions, and nightingales.
The bugles ran out and the crowd soon went quiet and took their seats, and the announcer yelled out the names of the first two challengers. One knight caught her eye as he rode upon a jet black horse, with small little streaks and splotches or orange and red on the body, and a bright orange stripe ran down the horses face. Sansa could recognise the horse, but she could not place the owner, but she could definitely say for certain that the horse always seemed both feral, yet domesticated.
The rider of the horse looked like he had torn through the pages of one of the scarier tales that Old Nan had told her when she was younger. The rider wore what looked like cast iron armour, with most of the armour being covered with some heavy iron plate, but it also managed to show the complex, intricate, and the almost serpentine carvings and markings on the armour. The helm technically was not even a helm, it was a cast iron mask, almost made in the shape of a king.
"For the first tilt! The Knight of Iron and Ser Meryn Trant!"
Meryn Trant took to the left side of the jousting field and the Knight of Iron took to the right, and the black and cinder-like horse began to rear up on his hind legs and start whinnying. Sansa looked at Jeyne after she looked at the eager horse.
"Do you think the horse is alright?" Jeyne asked.
"The horse is probably just nervous, most likely its first ever tilt." Mordane interrupted.
"Looks can be deceiving." Said the crafty-looking man sat behind her, his stony grey eyes and the black and grey speckled beard gave him a wise, yet almost deceptive look, as if he oozed suspicion. "I bet one hundred gold dragons on the Knight of Iron." The shifty-looking man said.
"You'd be an idiot to bet that much on a hedge knight." Said the man beside him, who happened to be Prince Renly, who Sansa had not personally talked to yet, she only knew because of Father.
Sansa turned away from the 'friendly' argument, and watched as the two horses (and knights) neighed and roared as they began to gallop into each other. She watched in amazement as the 'first-time jouster' smashed his lance straight onto Meryn Trant's chest, and in an explosion of splinters he was forced from his horse.
"Whoever that is, he is definitely not a first time jouster." Jeyne barely managed to gasp out.
He went on to beat two more of the Kingsguard Knights, Ser Boros Blount and Ser Arys Oakheart, and he successfully made it into the quarter finals, where he would be fighting whoever won of either Ser Hugh of the Vale, or Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides.
Please be Hugh, please be Hugh, please be Hugh….
Just before that match-up, the next matches were Jaime Lannister destroying both Royce knights, and Ser Loras Tyrell, The Knight of Flowers devastating the Redwyne Twins and Ser Balon Swann. After Ser Loras' final bout, he rode over to the noble spectator stands and handed a red rose to her.
"Your beauty is unmatched, my lady." Ser Loras spoke. "But this flower may add some candles to it."
The knight cast her a smile that would have made her faint before he rode off. "Thank you, Ser Loras." She managed to bluster out, breathless and with a blush on her cheeks.
Then the most dreadful thing had happened in one of the tilts. Ser Hugh of the Vale, the youngest knight in the tourney, was felled by Ser Gregor Clegane. The Mountain had rammed the tip fo his lance straight through the young knight's throat. He had fell right in front of the stands where Sansa, Jeyne and Mordane were sat. They could only watch as they saw Ser Hugh gargling and grasping at the chunk of wood lodged violently in his neck.
Sansa could've swore that she smelt, and could even taste the blood, yet she could not look away.
The entire field was silence, and the audiences, both nobility and peasantry were either gasping or screaming in shock as the knight kept grasping at his throat, attempting to tear out the wood in his jugular. Soon the Knight of Iron leapt off his mount and drew a small blade, his emotions hidden away by his cast iron mask.
When he reached him, the Iron Knight knelt next to Ser Hugh, who had grasped the cast iron armour by the breastplate and forced him to listen to whatever words were being uttered between the gasps and gurgles. The words were too quiet for anyone to hear but Hugh and the Iron Knight. Eventually, the young knight nodded as it seemed like the Iron Knight asked him what he would do.
Sansa gasped as the Iron Knight plunged his dagger into Ser Hugh's heart, killing him quickly. Her eyes wide with shock, and Sansa was unable to believe what had just unfolded in front of her very eyes. Even more so when the Iron Knight ordered a litter for the dead knight before marching away and mounting his courser.
Jeyne was inconsolable when the debacle had finally ended. She was crying so much that Septa Mordane had to escort her away from the jousting, leaving her alone with her father. The body was taken and life had returned to the field like the death of Ser Hugh had never even occurred.
How can everyone just ignore what has happened? The Mountain just killed someone!
Ser Jaime and Ser Loras took to the field, and everyone watched, hawk-eyed and silent as the two infamous knights clashed. The two knights charged, and soon Ser Loras' lance smashed into Jaime's chest, forcing the Kingslayer from his saddle, with a massive roar and applause from the crowds. Ser Loras gave a small smile to Sansa before turning back to where some of the former jousters had stood before they were eliminated from the competition.
Soon, the Knight of Iron took to the field against Ser Gregor Clegane. The two massive knights looked like they would have broken their horses if they (or their armour) were any heavier. The courser and the stallion were rearing up at each other from the other side of the field, and as the trumpet sounded, the horses galloped towards each other, their riders spurring them on as they readied their shields and lances.
What Sansa was not expecting was to see the larger man, The Mountain, fly from his horse like a play doll. The Mountain hit the ground and it felt like the land on which he had fell had cracked under his weight and the weight of his armour.
"Sword!" The Mountain bellowed.
Clegane's squire ran from the tents, a massive oversized great-sword in both of his hands. The Mountain tore the sword from his hands and threw away the sheath. The sword swung violently about, slashing the squire across the chest just barely. Clegane swung his sword again, the balde cleaving through his own horse's neck, decapitating the poor beast before he turned his rage and anger to the Iron Knight.
This is what I get for my first Westorosi tournament, homicidal murderers and green boys….
The Iron Knight leapt from his saddle, slapped his horse on the backside and began to back away from the maniacal murderer. "Swords!" The knight yelled out, and his young squire who had introduced himself to him earlier in the day, and he had ran faster than ever as the Mountain advanced. The Knight drew his sword from the sheathe, and it began to glow an eerie shade of purple.
If it worked for Sulyvahn, hopefully it will work for me…
It may have looked like a regular sword, with a blade and hilt and pommel and all, but the purple glow already had made it seem like a sword from the legends. If anything, it was a cursed weapon, used by a despicable leader of the Church of the Deep. When Pontiff Sulyvahn held it in his hand, it had glowed a dark blue, almost turning into a complete black. Yet when William took a hold of it, it gave its now purple glow.
"Stay still and die, you little fucking shit!"
The Mountain threw his sword downwards, just barely missing by an inch as the Iron Knight side-stepped quickly. The Mountain turned to look at the Knight, only to receive a very hard mailed fist to his unprotected face, the knight swore he could have heard The Mountain's nose break because of the power.
The knight then threw an uppercut to The Mountain, flooring him, before slicing through The Mountains's sword, and raised it high to end the psychopathic fiend.
"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"
Before he could have stabbed The Mountain, he lowered his sword and planted it firmly in the ground before kneeling towards the royal family. The Mountain forced himself up, looked at both the royal family and the knight before he stormed off in anger, the guards surrounding the family keeping their hands on the blades as the enraged warrior tore past them to get to his tent.
The Iron Knight placed his hands upon his helm, and began undoing the clasps around his head before taking off the helm, revealing the head and face of William Redding.
Some of the crowd were shocked, some were not. Some were screaming in excitement, somewhere were holding their breath to see what would happen with the revealed identity of their 'Iron Knight'.
"Sir William, excuse if I never though to see you in a tourney!"
"This would be my first tourney, Your Grace."
"Of course, lad. Yet it seems you've taken to it like a fish takes to water!"
William stood up and pulled the Greatsword of Judgement from the ground, holding it in his hands in front of him. He never thought he would be one to win a Westorosi tourney, let alone enter the tourney at all.
"Thank you for the compliment, my lord." Will said.
"Well, after that amazing display, I believe I have every reason to announce you as the winner of the joust! Somebody, give him the crown!"
Two young ladies walked up to him from his left, holding a crown of bright red roses and, with smaller white roses intertwined with the red ones. They handed him the crown of roses, and giggled when he took it, giving him little smirks and giggles. William almost crushed the thing in his hands, and he had to guess that he was meant to give it to the woman whoever had caught his eye.
I think Sansa maybe a little too young, and the Queen is also married. Who?
Just give it to the Queen, get it over and done with…
William sighed, wiped the sweat from his head and onto the cast iron gauntlet. He climbed the steps to the royal pavilion and looked at both the Queen, and the shy Princess Myrcella.
Princess = TOO YOUNG
William knelt before the Queen and King.
"Before I do this, I just want to make sure that I will not get my head sliced off for what I am about to do." William said.
"Hah! Just give the Queen the crown and say your piece lad!"
The Queen looked at William, and gave a satisfied smile as William bowed his head towards her.
"Your Grace, you are by far the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, and the tales I have heard about your beauty have never done you justice. One day, I will travel to everywhere in the known world and even then I doubt I will find a woman anywhere near as beautiful as you."
The Queen gave a wry smile. "I must say that I have never heard such beautiful words from anyone except my husband. I must thank you for your kind words, good Sir." Queen Cersei took the crown and held it to her chest, and when everyone was not looking, she mouthed 'come and see me later' with a sly wink.
Robert stood up from his chair, and William could hear the chair he was sat in begin to groan and creak as he picked himself up, grabbing William by the wrist and as they left the pavilion. He raised his hand to the sky and bellowed.
"The winner of the joust, Sir William Redding!"
