OBS Chapter 68: Sea Stones and Undercurrents
Chapter 68: Sea Stones and Undercurrents
The bloodstains had been washed away, but a lingering burnt smell still lingered in the air.
In the cold, dark hall of the inner fortress, Robert Baratheon sat on the ancient Seastone.
That is the throne of the Iron Islands, a black boulder carved into the shape of a sea monster, said to have been raised from the seabed by the drowning god himself.
Otto stood at the edge of the ranks of the Riverlands lords, watching this scene quietly.
He changed into a clean robe.
Gareth and the other seven surviving soldiers were not allowed into this level of situation; they remained on the perimeter to handle supplies.
The door was pushed open.
Baron Greyjoy was brought in by two knights from the Stormlands.
The man who proclaimed himself King of the Iron Islands and instigated the entire rebellion was now ashen-faced, his hair disheveled like a clump of withered grass.
But when he walked in, his back was still very straight.
"Kneel down!" the knight shouted, kicking Baron hard in the back of the knee.
Baron was forced to kneel, but he immediately raised his head.
Those eyes burned with the kind of fanatical fervor that belonged to pirates, a fervor that refused to admit wrongdoing.
"Baron Greyjoy," Robert said, sitting on the Seastone throne, a goblet in his hand, looking down at him. "You burned my fleet, killed my men, and proclaimed yourself king. Now, your eldest son is dead in Seafront, and your second son is dead beneath the walls of Pyke. Do you have any last words?"
The hall was deathly silent.
Everyone knows that, according to the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, the fate of rebels is to lose their heads and have them hung on the walls of the Red Keep in King's Landing.
Baron gave a cold laugh.
"Of course you can cut off my head, Baratheon," Baron's voice was hoarse, like stone scraping against iron, "but I am not a traitor."
"Insolence!" shouted several lords standing to the side.
"Your Iron Throne laws have no jurisdiction over the Iron Islands!" Baron raised his voice sharply, staring intently at Robert. "The Greyjoy family has never sworn allegiance to you! I'm just reclaiming what belongs to my ancestors! You can kill me, but don't use the word 'traitor' to disgust me!"
The air in the hall dropped to freezing point.
The king was stunned for a full two breaths, then burst into deafening laughter.
His wine glass shook violently with his laughter, spilling wine onto the black stone throne.
"Hahaha! Good! What a tough pirate!" Robert slammed his hand on the armrest. "You didn't swear an oath to me, did you? Well then, do you submit or not?"
Baron clenched his teeth, his facial muscles twitching violently.
He knew that if he continued to resist, the entire Iron Islands would be razed to the ground.
Finally, the King of the Iron Islands bowed his head deeply, his forehead almost touching the cold stone slab.
"I submit, Your Majesty," Baron said, his voice laced with humiliation. "The Greyjoy family kneels before the Crowned Stag."
"Very well! I love the sound of cracking bones!" Robert waved his hand dismissively. "I won't kill you. But I'll take something from you to teach you a lesson. Ned!"
Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North, stepped out from Robert's side.
His perpetually cold and stern face remained expressionless, his grey eyes calmly fixed on Baron kneeling on the ground.
Behind Baron, a boy who looked to be about ten years old and was dressed in gray-black clothes was pushed out.
That was Theon Greyjoy, Balon's last surviving son.
The boy's eyes were filled with terror as he looked at his father kneeling on the ground, and then at Ned Stark approaching.
"Take him back to Winterfell." Robert looked at Baron, his tone cold. "If another longship from the Iron Islands dares to cross the coastline, I'll have Ned chop off this brat's head and send it to Pyke's Isle for you to enjoy with your drinks!"
Baron shuddered violently, but he didn't look up or say a word.
Otto stood in the crowd, his gray-blue eyes devoid of any emotion.
The trial is over.
This also means that this costly and exhausting war to quell the rebellion has come to a complete end.
The crowd began to disperse.
The feudal lords whispered among themselves as they walked toward the gate, preparing to return to their respective tents and arrange their boarding.
As Otto stepped out the door, the sea breeze hit him in the face.
"Lord Hohenzollern."
A voice sounded from the side.
Otto turned his head and saw Patrick Mellist.
The heir to the Sea Frontier City was not wearing armor, only a dark blue robe. His face looked even more weary than the people in the corridor.
"Lord Patrick," Otto said with a slight bow.
"My father is coordinating the ships at the dock, and he asked me to pass on a message to you," Patrick said in a low voice. "Your wounded soldiers and supplies can travel back to the Riverlands on a ship from Sea Frontier City. But once you arrive in Sea Frontier City, you will need to rent a boat yourself and travel along the inland waterways back to the Blue Fork River."
The statement was polite, but Otto sensed a sense of alienation in it.
Originally, as a vassal of Haijiang City, he should have followed Earl Jason back to his territory.
But now, Patrick is telling him tactfully: Once you get to Seafront City, you can go on your own.
"I understand. Please thank the Count for me," Otto replied calmly.
This was the inevitable price he had to pay for bypassing Haijiang City and directly demanding a charter and independent jurisdiction from the king.
Otto didn't linger; he led the survivors toward the dock.
The docks of Pike Place City were in complete chaos, like a giant, boiling cauldron.
Tens of thousands of soldiers, hundreds of warhorses, and mountains of supplies were trying to squeeze onto the massive fleet anchored in the deep waters.
Curses, horns, and the neighing of warhorses mingled together.
On the boardwalk leading to Pier 3, Otto's group was forced to stop.
Ahead, a lavishly equipped army is boarding the ship first.
The soldiers wore bright red robes with roaring golden lions embroidered on their chests. Their armor was polished to a gleaming shine, and even during the retreat after the battle, the ranks maintained a disciplined formation.
No one dared to make a sound in their queue.
The main force in the west. The Lannister army.
Otto's troops were squeezed to the edge of the boardwalk. The seven wounded soldiers, wrapped in bandages, looked like a group of beggars who had just crawled out of a ditch in front of the gleaming elites of the Western Frontier.
A troop of heavily armored cavalry moved slowly along the plank road.
Leading the way was a man riding a tall, pure white horse.
He was a man around fifty years old, clad in opulent gold and red plate armor. He wore no helmet, and his golden hair, streaked with gray, was meticulously combed.
His face had features as hard as if carved by a knife, without a trace of superfluous expression.
Tywin Lannister.
Tywin's gaze was fixed straight ahead, as if the crowded soldiers and noisy sounds around him did not exist at all.
Tywin did not turn his head as the golden cavalry passed in front of Otto.
But Jaime Lannister, the young knight in the white Kingsguard cloak following behind Tywin, glanced over casually.
He noticed Otto's conspicuous steel scale armor, stained with blood and flesh, and also the shield bearer in the team who, despite having a broken arm, still stood ramrod straight with gritted teeth.
James raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curving his lips.
The joke about the "stone mill" and "Little Tywin" that's been circulating in the camp these past few days.
James turned his head and whispered something to his father in front of him.
Tywin Lannister did not stop his horse.
He merely turned his head slightly as his warhorse continued to pace forward, his cold, emotionless light green eyes sweeping over the tattered ranks before finally settling on the young man with grey-blue eyes standing at the very front.
Their eyes met in mid-air.
In less than a breath.
Tywin's eyes held no contempt, no curiosity, and not even a hint of scrutiny.
Otto did not give way.
He stood straight, meeting the gaze of the Western Guardian with the same calm eyes.
Tywin withdrew his gaze.
The warhorses continued forward. The golden lion banner fluttered in the sea breeze.
Otto stood by the roadside, watching the Western Army's departing figures.
His left hand unconsciously touched the sheepskin roll inside his robe.
Inside was a charter bearing the golden seal of a crowned stag.
He silently did some calculations in his mind.
How far is he from that golden lion?
---
Meanwhile, in a magnificent camp on the other side of Pike Island, a shadowy net has been quietly cast over Blue Fork River.
Horst Tully, Duke of Riverrun and Lord Lord of the Riverlands, was seated behind a large oak table.
Years of gout have made him look much older than his actual age, but his eyes, which belong to someone in a position of power, still reveal shrewdness and ruthlessness.
Opposite him stood Tytos Blackwood.
The Earl of Raventree City, his face ashen, was urgently recounting everything that had happened in the hall.
"Your Grace, did you hear that? Ten miles to the north and south!" Tethos's voice trembled with rage. "This is blatant robbery! Ten miles to the south, he's swallowed up the edge of our family's northern woodland and one of our best shallows! And that tax exemption—isn't that cutting off Riverrun's source of revenue? If this door is opened, which vassal will obediently pay border taxes in the future?"
Horst Tully did not speak immediately.
He slowly dripped a few drops of poppy milk into his glass, gently swirling it as he watched the milky white liquid spread in the drink.
As the ruler of the Riverlands, Horst was naturally furious.
A minor baron, who was only fit to till the land in the mud, actually took advantage of the king's drunken fervor and overstepped the jurisdiction of Riverrun.
This is a direct challenge to the authority of the Tully family.
"Tethos, what are you panicking about?" Horst took a sip of wine laced with the potion, his voice hoarse but authoritative. "It's just a parchment. The king may have a big mouth, but he can't possibly go to the Blue Fork River himself to measure the land for him."
Tethos was stunned: "Your Excellency means..."
"The charter states ten li to the north and ten li to the south, but where does that start? Is it centered on that damned stone tower? Or is it based on the very edge of that mudflat? There are river bends and swamps everywhere there, so the concept of ten li is very vague."
Horst put down his glass, a shrewd glint in his eyes.
"Since it's about demarcating territory, the city of Benliu needs to send scholars and boundary officials to conduct on-site surveys. As long as the surveying team finds that some areas are unclaimed lands left by river diversions, and some areas are ambiguous zones that were disputed in the past... this ten-mile area can be argued about indefinitely."
Duke Horst gave a cold laugh.
"He wants independent jurisdiction? Fine. As long as that gallows isn't erected, as long as his boundary markers aren't driven in, that charter will forever remain just a piece of paper. Tell your garrison in the north to keep their eyes peeled. If any of the Hohenzollerns dare to cross your existing borders even half a step, don't bother asking for permission; just call it 'banditry' and send them back!"
Tytus Blackwood's eyes lit up.
He immediately understood what the Duke meant.
As long as numerous obstacles are set up at the implementation level, and endless boundary friction is used to wear down the already impoverished baron, the golden seal charter will become a worthless piece of paper.
"I understand, my lord." Tethos bowed deeply, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "I will show that little beast just how deep the mud of the Riverlands runs. What he has swallowed, I will make him vomit back with interest."
Horst Tully leaned wearily against the back of his chair and waved for Tethos to leave.
His gaze fell on a parchment map on the table.
That blank area representing the Blue Fork River.
"Too hasty, young man," Horst muttered softly.