With firm steps, Charles made his way towards the Lannister ship. Two men could be spotted standing guard at the ship's entrance. Their recognizable crimson and gold armor shining in the sun. The closer he got the heavier his steps became. A glorious melody of the wooden planks creaking under his weight. He finally reached the Lannister guards. With a firm grip on his sword and a dashing smile, Charles made a halt before the two men.
If they knew who he was, they certainly did not show it. The guards stood unfazed. Charles could hardly tell that they had even noticed his presence. He spied their visor trying to establish eye-contact.
The Lannister helmets had a very peculiar design. It almost looked like a Kraken, with the large plate shooting out as a fin and the edges under the visor pointing outwardly like tentacles. It was amusingly out of place. He wondered if it even was that practical in battle. Almost the whole face was exposed to thrusts, and yet the visor only covered the eyes, which merely crippled their vision. Utterly useless Charles thought.
After lightly clearing his throat he spoke with his most charming grin.
"Greetings, I am Charles XII of house Svea. Surely you were expecting me."
He loved the excuse to use his full title. The feeling of power and superiority welling up inside him.
The two guards tilted their helmet in his direction. One of them uttered plainly "We were"
The other Lannister soldier turned his back to the "Twelfth Fieldmarshal" and shouted towards the ship. "Captain!"
Their unenthusiastic response to his introduction shattered Charles' illusion of superiority. To them, he was probably nothing more than an exiled lordling.
A few seconds later the boarding ramp rang with graceful footsteps. A man emerged between the guards. He carried himself elegantly with his sleeve clad arms proudly placed on his back. He seemed to be past his prime by the look of his pointy mustache which had a mix of grey and black. But an aura of accomplishment and confidence turned his age to an advantage. His crimson coat was of silk and yet it seemed worn and weathered as if it had been used for years. It would have given the man an unkempt look if not for the white undershirt which was decorated with a green scarf shaped like a flower.
"Ah, Charles!" The gentleman called out as he reached the end of the ramp.
The essence of lavender and other delightful smells emanated from him. Which combined with the warm greeting made Charles feel at ease.
He stood a bit shorter than the young Svea, but a black navy hat compensated the height difference. Sown on the exquisite headgear was an emblem of a white double-tressure on a green field.
The stranger smiled kindly and extended a gloved hand to Charles. Which the junior lord graciously took.
With a firm handshake, the elder man spoke: "I am Garth Greenfield, Captain of this vessel."
The stranger's name caught his attention since it was the same as his great grandfather's. Must be a usual name in Westeros Charles thought.
Branda had taught Charles at an early age the importance of a steady handshake. So he locked eyes with Garth. Aquamarine meeting copper brown, and asserted his grip while stating
"Well met."
A sly smile crept upon the captain's face as their hands withdrew.
"Well, we should waste no time lingering here. Come aboard, my lord."
Garth turned on his heels and gestured with his green gloves towards the ship. Excitedly Charles stepped onto the boarding ramp and started advancing to the deck. After him came Garth who bellowed:
"Prepare to cast off!"
There was a stir of crewmen who started working with the dock lines to free the vessel from the harbor.
Charles gazed in awe upon the enormous red sails. A small chuckle came from behind his shoulder.
"Impressive isn't she."
The young field marshal could only concur with that assessment.
From the golden decorative features to the bulky masts it radiated power.
"Starlet and I have traveled the seas for almost ten years now. Only my trusted coat surpasses her in companionship." Garth smiled and caressed the golden railing. Which at a second glance looked aged.
"We participated in the Greyjoy rebellion. She was but a young maid then. Freshly constructed."
The captain's voice turned distant as he stroked his pointy mustache.
"It truly was a marvel that she survived the raid..."
Charles did not know how to add to the captain's story. So he simply nodded and studied the Lion statue that stood hunched on the prow.
After a very brief silence, Garth directed Charles to a small staircase leading up to the steering platform. Together they marched up the stairs.
"How was your voyage here captain?" Charles asked, breaking the silence.
"Excellent. We arrived two days ahead of schedule."
As the two men came to a stop in front of the steering wheel, Garth continued.
"The wind was good to us, and there were no unfortunate obstacles on the way."
Garth did seem seasoned on the seas, but Charles did wonder if this was more than a first visit.
"Have you been to Braavos many times Captain?"
Garth pulled his facial hair thoughtfully before answering.
"Well, it would seem this is my fourth visit. The other three occasions I have been delivering supplies and equipment for your household."
Charles' assumption proved valid. He had spotted Starlet once in his youth when he had calculated the probable due date for their shipments. Charles had hoped to see one of his relatives. A folly belief he knew now. Nevertheless, he had sneaked out of their apartments and waited at the docks from midday to afternoon. Branda found him though. But as he was dragged back Charles saw a ship with a golden lion guarding its prow, slowly gliding towards the harbor. Naturally, he had tried again, but he never had any success.
Appreciation for the newly acquainted captain filled Charles. That he had been a recurring link to his family comforted him.
"I thank you Ser for all your fine deliveries. It has been invaluable."
Garth Greenfield had brought Westeros to him, and for that, he was grateful.
Garth bowed his head with a genuine smile.
Now the captain was bringing him to Westeros. That thought made him almost ecstatic.
"Gods" Charles whispered under his breath. "I'm finally going home."
There was a shout from below deck. "All is ready Captain!"
Garth responded with a command to set sail for the Rock. Starlet then started to move.
The journey was relatively long. It was estimated that they would arrive in a fortnight. But according to Garth, this was an incredibly quick voyage. They had been graced with excellent weather. Charles did not even feel seasick. Which he acknowledged as lucky since this after all was his first time at sea.
Starlet was a warship from the fleet. She had laid anchored at Lannisport when Tywin specifically chose her and a few men for the task of delivering Charles. The young lord had asked the captain what their chances against a Pirate attack were. Garth had then answered that it was unusual that Pirates attacked Lannister ships. Especially a warship flying the Lannister Banner. "Especially Starlet" he had stated with pride. But if they were attacked they would have sufficient numbers to hold them off Garth assured him.
The ship crew consisted of twenty soldiers and another twenty sailors. Charles spent most of his time along the crewmates. Captain Garth was polite but not very talkative and a very focused and the dedicated captain. So Charles mostly met him at dinner.
The soldiers Charles' found to be a very cheerful company. They told epic stories of Westeros and the Westerlands which intrigued the young lord. Their tales were often more energetic than his great-grandfather Garth's.
He inquired about the current state of the realm and was told that the peace had been held and that the realm faired well. The discussion then focused on their current monarch. His father's murderer. One thing he picked out of was that King relished hunting. Charles had never hunted himself. He had never been allowed to venture outside the gates of Braavos.
Always wanting to know more about his lineage Charles inquired the men of what they knew about the Carolean army's fate. But they had no other information to share which he already did not know. The grand army created by Charles IX had been crushed at the trident and was no more. There were different stories about what happened to the keep Three Crowns. Some said it was destroyed others thought it was given to another Lord. From what he could tell after hearing all their stories were that the soldiers had only been in the Westerlands.
One of the evenings Charles asked the soldier named Lucien who sat next to him what they thought of Tywin. Lucien who had been cheering lively and shaking his cup, so ale spilled over the table froze at the question. The laughter seized momentarily as Lucien and some others gave a shaky and brief response to the greatness of their liege.
That the Lannister soldiers feared his grandfather did not encourage Charles. But his reputation did match the neglect. To the twelfth field marshal's amusement after a few more drinks Lucien suddenly stood from his stool in a hiccup. Loudly proclaiming:
"To elaborate the subject you brought up earlier m'lord."
He made a pause in his speech, cleaning his mouth with the edge of his jacket. Then he grinned lifting the cup over his head.
"It is true...that our Lord does shit gold!"
Lucien then exploded with laughter. Many of the crewmen and soldiers joined in on the banter. Banging their hands on the table. Others looked less amused, some even scared. Charles, however, found it very entertaining. This myth he wasn't familiar with. It shed a more cheerful light on the cold mystery that was his grandfather. He turned his attention to the far side of the table where Garth Greenfield shook his head with a faint smile.