The Red Deer

Finally, everything was ready for my departure, and I could safely go on the road, leaving Penrose with a mountain of detailed instructions and plans, the implementation of which he would have to closely monitor in my absence. At the same time, our other "joint project" was already ready, which, although it was in some way made on the knee and devoid of even the usual scope, but solved one of the most important problems — correspondence and its mystery. I didn't trust the crows much in this, because Maester Pycelle is in charge of them in the capital... and I would like to see a person who could carry away those monthly reports that Penrose would send me. In this regard, a postal service of a dozen well-armed horsemen was quickly organized. Perhaps the fleet will join in soon.

 But let's get back to the upcoming journey. I will be accompanied by a hundred mounted men-at-arms, the selection of which has been given special attention. At my request, Ser Courtney recruited reliable and trusted people into my retinue, who, although they do not shine with special pedigree or wealth, can boast of loyalty and experience. The result? A hundred laconic veterans with squires who know the discipline and the price of silence. In fact, I'm taking the elite, the "old" guard of Storm's End, with me. Ser Benedict Rogers, the third son of Lord Rogers, stood at the head of the detachment. Thirty-three years old, heavy lower jaw, brown eyes and brown hair. He is not very talkative, rarely laughs or even smiles. He is well educated, rightfully has a reputation as a man of honor, an experienced and successful commander, well versed in tactics. He received his knight's spurs during the suppression of the Greyjoy rebellion.

 The Rogers house. I must admit, I look at him with special curiosity. A mysterious House founded in ancient times by a warrior who came from afar and built Amberley Castle. It is said that this castle holds many secrets, as does the family as a whole. This results in a variety of rumors, starting with the ghosts that supposedly roam Amberley Castle, and ending with the magic that the Rogers study and practice. The coat of arms of the House is nine silver unicorns around a maze on a black background. Oh, I don't know about the locals, but for me this House has become the second strong proof that not everything is so simple with the universe.

 I put on my hiking armor and left the dungeon. At the exit, almost all the household members poured out to see me off, which promised a warm, but, no doubt, a long send-off.

—My Lord,— Ser Courtney came up to me, —may the Seven bless you."

— The blessing of the Gods will be more useful to you, because while I am having fun in the capital, you have a lot to do.

 Ser Courtney and I hugged tightly, there was no need to burden the moment with unnecessary words. I must admit, I will miss this no longer young knight, who already during my first steps in this world became my right hand and friend.

— My Lord…I turned at the sound of a voice. I didn't expect to hear it, I must admit. A young woman in tartan battle dress appeared before me, her chin held high. Overall, it was clear what she wanted. 

—Lady Brienne," I nodded in greeting, "I see you've made your choice. I hope you won't regret it... although you probably will. You can take your place in the column.

 I said this with a wide smile and a laugh, exposing everything to some kind of joke "among my own", even infected a couple of those present with this "joke". Tart... she understands everything perfectly well, so the lady just nodded gravely and went to her horse. All I could do was exchange an ironic glance with Penrose and mount my steed. On the way.

***

Our route followed the Royal Highway, which led us northwards, directly through the Royal Woodlands. The Royal Road in Stormy Lands boasts a relatively good state of preservation, in full compliance with GOST1 standards: a densely paved, well-maintained stone roadway of respectable width, equipped with drains and sturdy bridges. Travelling along such a thoroughfare is a delight, yet it is impossible to overlook a subtle sense of desolation, making it evident at first glance that the designers of this road intended for a vastly different volume of traffic.

I was not eager to delay our progress, so our path took us past ancestral castles and sizable villages. At the onset of the third day, we bid farewell to the realm of Stormy Lands, crossing the boundary marked by the broad and swiftly flowing Guiding River, separating my lands from those belonging to the Crown. From there, our route continued through the Royal Woods.

The Royal Tract, it must be said, perfectly characterized the state of affairs in the realm. If the road remained in more or less decent condition in my domains, then elsewhere... things were different.

After crossing the already decrepit bridge over the Guiding River, the pace of our party noticeably slowed. In many areas, the road had either been washed away or completely dismantled, presumably by local peasants who had repurposed the materials for their pigpens. And I do not see any particular fault in the current royal administration, at least in this regard.

At one point, Jeyhaerys I, having perhaps read about ancient Valyria, embarked on a project to build roads akin to those of the Romans. He built and built and built, connecting the entirety of Westeros with a unified road stretching from north to south. But there was a catch. Building is only half the battle, if not less.. The road still required maintenance, and it transpired that without the magic of dragons, the roads became blurred, crumbled, extended, and even disappeared, causing significant financial strain on the feudal system. Jayheiris sought to shift the responsibility for maintaining the road to the feudal lords, only to find himself deceived by his own strategy of initially constructing the road along the boundaries of their territories. As a consequence, the road became essentially redundant.

In the Riverlands and the North, the road swiftly transformed into a mere dirt path, seemingly unaffected by its initial purpose. Trade primarily took place via sea and river routes, albeit with some degree of prosperity. Nonetheless, it is likely that substantial profits were generated from these activities.

However, the Royal Forest proved to be quite a surprise. Despite its status as royal and its active use for hunting by the monarch, the forest remains impenetrable, concealing more than a few unpleasant surprises. This dense expanse of forest spans a vast area, with small peasant villages and noble manors clustering close to the main road. However, venture away from this road, and one encounters robbers, poachers, fugitives, and other lawless individuals. The Royal Forest teems with these elements, making it a challenging place to navigate.

As one approaches King's Landing, however, the forest begins to thin, becoming relatively safer. It is no wonder that in the canonical narrative, Stannis diligently avoided the Royal Forest during his attack on King's Landing, even though the shortest route lay through this forest. A large army would struggle to traverse the forest without significant losses, while partisans could easily hide and ambush here. Moreover, cavalry units would be utterly ineffective in these conditions.

On the seventh day of our journey, our weary band made its way to the southern shore of the River Chernovodnaya, offering a breathtaking vista of the Royal Harbor. The sight was magnificent. A vast metropolis sprawled at the confluence of the river, with the imposing Red Castle and Baylor Sept towering over it like monoliths. A port bustled with hundreds of vessels of all sizes, from small cogs to rooks, barrel-shaped carracks to galleons, and beyond.

The city extended beyond its fortress walls, with numerous blocks spreading outward like spokes on a wheel, forming settlements that extended far beyond the boundaries of the city itself. In all its noise, brightness, dust, and bustle, the city presented itself as a living, vibrant entity.

There are two routes available to cross the Blackwater River: one via ferry, and another a few miles further upstream. I opted for the latter option, as I had no desire to engage the services of the ferryman at River Gate. This route would have required me to navigate through the less affluent neighborhoods, where ambergris still lingers. Instead, I chose to invest a few hours in a more leisurely passage through the Royal Gate.

With regard to the state of the roads, they represent a stark contrast to what we have been witnessing on the main thoroughfare. The roads near the capital are quite congested, with thousands of individuals rushing back and forth between the city. The merchants, nobles, and commoners are all engaged in their respective pursuits, creating traffic jams in narrow areas and a cacophony of noise.

Compared to King's Landing, Storm's End appears to be a backwater. However, being a powerful lord has its advantages, as once people catch sight of my waving banner, the road immediately clears up, giving me the impression of being akin to a Moscow official.

As soon as we passed through the Royal Gate, we were greeted by the scent of a large medieval metropolis, and the number of people increased at least threefold.

The Royal Gate is a formidable defensive structure, constructed with a strong, metal-clad façade that conceals the building's depths. Above these shutters, there are grooves ready to pour boiling resin in case of need. The gate tower is tall, with numerous loopholes, making it a formidable fortification that would not be easily taken by assault. The walls of the city itself are quite high and imposing, leaving us wondering about their true strength.

We slowly approached the Red Castle, first along the River Street and then along what was known as the Hook. The people we encountered, from various backgrounds, eyed our cavalcade curiously, not failing to bow in respect.

They were likely already awaiting our arrival at the Red Keep, for a company of a hundred mounted men is a sight not to be ignored. And regardless of one's opinion, the Red Keep was indeed imposing up close, a vast edifice with numerous turrets, towering walls, and a gatehouse. Oh, and all this atop a rocky promontory. Quite the sight indeed. To attempt to breach such a stronghold would be sheer folly.

In the bailey of the keep, a sizable delegation of attendants awaited us, comprising servants and pages rushing to assist with dismounting and unloading, as well as several dignitaries. Descending from Volcano, I approached the group of nobles led by Lord Arryn himself with as much cheer as I could muster. Renly had only a vague recollection of this elderly man, but his identity was easily discernible, for as far as he knew, only one individual in all of Westeros wore the chain of office on their person.

"Lord Arryn," I inclined my head in deference, "I bow low in respect."

John Arryn, no longer a young man, yet the vitality and strength that once characterized him still lingered in his form, evident in every aspect. His snow-white hair fell to his shoulders, his chin was clean-shaven, his gaze was attentive and slightly narrowed, and his attire was a harmonious blend of blue and white.

"My lord Renly Baratheon, greetings," John approached, embracing me with a firm grip on my shoulders. After a brief moment, he withdrew, maintaining his gaze fixed on my face as he continued, "You have grown into a man, Renly. Before me stands not a boy, but a fully formed man. Come, Robert awaits you, as does the entire court."

***

The throne room — an extraordinary space. To begin with, it is imbued with a sense of grandeur. The chamber is adorned with intricate decorations featuring images of lions and deer, along with banners and tapestries that add to its opulence. The hall teemed with a diverse array of court ladies and noblemen.

In contrast to the entrance, the imposing structure of the Iron Throne stands out in its own right, a colossal piece of furniture adorned with thousands of fused swords. This is certainly not the same throne that appeared in the television series. In fact, it could be described as more akin to a stool against the backdrop of this majestic throne.

On the throne sits King Robert of House Baratheon, the first in his name, king of the Andals, Roynar and First Men, lord of the Seven Kingdoms and defender of the realm. His presence is imposing, as if he were designed specifically for this position. With his disheveled black beard and hair adorned by a royal crown fashioned from a woven deer antler motif crafted from gold and adorned with precious gems, he exudes a sense of authority. His broad shoulders and stout frame are complemented by a substantial belly and a somewhat bloated face. Greetings, dear brother.

"My king," I got down on one knee, "you called me, and here I am.

Beside the throne, upon high-backed chairs upholstered in rich fabrics, sat the queen and her consort. To her left sat Jon Arryn, while Cersei Lannister occupied the seat to her right. What could be said of Cersei? She was a veritable siren, with her golden tresses, gleaming green eyes, alabaster complexion, slender form, and a resplendent scarlet and gold gown that could not contain her bosom. Oh yes, and there was that look of contempt and derision. Was it directed at all, or was it reserved for me alone? Alas, brother, you disappoint me... such a wife and you consorting with harlots!

The royal guard, in full force, stood arrayed about the throne in a semicircle, seven knights in all, led by the renowned Barristan Selmy, known as Barristan the Bold. Among them was Jaime Lannister, whose countenance wore a mask of stoicism.

"Rise, boy," said Robert, gazing at me with intense interest. "As King Robert Baratheon I offer you, Renly Baratheon, High Lord of the Stormlands, the position of Master of Laws on the Small Council.

"I accept your offer, Your Grace," I replied.

A hearty laugh escaped Robert's lips, while some of those present were caught off guard, looking at the scene through the lens of their own interests, intrigues, and "decent" perceptions. It seemed to me that Robert paid no heed to them.

"Well, at least one person didn't feign indignation but agreed immediately! Let there be a banquet at sundown to celebrate this occasion!"