The sun sank toward the western horizon.
Several bonfires burned along the beach.
Galladon sat with Robert and Eddard near the largest fire, while a few guards lit two smaller ones in the distance. Freshly caught sea fish were skewered on branches and roasted over open flames. The smaller, less desirable fish were tossed straight into the firewood.
Their harvest had been abundant.
Most of the fish had been shot by Galladon.
A handful by Ned.
Robert had only managed two.
Robert's swordsmanship was decent, but his archery talent was… average at best.
"Galladon," Robert asked while turning a fish over the fire, "why are you so accurate with a bow?"
He had even ordered two jugs of wine from the guards. Firelight flickered across his face as he stared curiously at Galladon.
Galladon smiled faintly.
"Maybe it's just talent."
This time, he did not downplay himself.
His archery truly surpassed his swordsmanship in natural growth. Without deliberately focusing on it, his archery proficiency had already reached 33%. In a few years, it might reach 50%.
Even Ser Goodwin had praised his rapid improvement.
Still, Galladon did not think it extraordinary.
After all, knights wore plate armor. Even the finest archer struggled to pierce it. Archery was enjoyable—but on the battlefield, raw power still ruled.
"Then you'll definitely win an archery championship someday," Ned said quietly.
"Still a long way to go," Galladon replied with a light laugh.
Talk of Tournaments
"Two years ago at Lannisport," Robert said suddenly, narrowing his eyes, "Rhaegar was impressive."
He sounded faintly displeased.
For some reason, he disliked Prince Rhaegar instinctively. Something about him felt overly refined—almost theatrical.
"Rhaegar is three years older than you," Galladon said calmly. "It's normal."
"Tsk. Next grand tourney, I'll defeat him."
Robert's confidence remained unshaken.
At thirteen, he had watched sixteen-year-old Rhaegar win a championship with envy.
Now at fifteen, Robert believed it was his turn.
Galladon smiled faintly.
If history remained unchanged, Rhaegar would still win at Harrenhal four years later.
But Robert was no weaker in truth.
In tournaments, Rhaegar shone.
In war, Robert crushed.
One hammer strike at the Trident had ended the silver prince.
That was the power of raw strength.
It was precisely because of Robert that Galladon had focused so heavily on strength and agility in recent years. All judgment points earned from evaluating prisoners had been poured into those two attributes.
If the body became overwhelming enough—
Technique would become secondary.
The Defiance of Duskendale
"Robert, Ned," Galladon asked casually, "I've heard that Prince Rhaegar and his father are very different in temperament. Is that true?"
Both boys' expressions shifted slightly.
"Rhaegar is far more polite than the king," Robert muttered.
"Especially after… last year."
Ned glanced instinctively toward the distant guards before relaxing. Speaking ill of the king was dangerous, even for highborn youths.
Galladon knew exactly what Robert meant.
The Defiance of Duskendale.
A year earlier, King Aerys had drastically increased port taxes across Westeros—doubling them in King's Landing and tripling them elsewhere—to solve financial strain after Tywin Lannister stopped subsidizing the crown.
It was effective.
And disastrously foolish.
Nearly every noble with a port was enraged.
The Tarths themselves relied on Sapphire Harbor. Lord Selwyn had been furious.
Aerys was not merely taxing.
He was seizing profit directly from the nobles' bowls.
That alone stirred resentment.
But when wealth and pride are both threatened—
Rebellion brews.
Lord Denys Darklyn of Duskendale became the first to resist openly. His port, already weakened by King's Landing's rise, was crippled by the new tax rates.
Darklyn refused to comply.
Aerys demanded obedience.
Darklyn refused again.
Finally, Darklyn invited Aerys to negotiate.
Despite warnings—especially from Tywin—Aerys went in person, determined to assert authority.
He was promptly seized and imprisoned.
For half a year.
Tywin Lannister besieged Duskendale but refused negotiation. His stance was clear: surrender unconditionally.
Rumors said he even remarked, "If the king dies, we shall have a better one."
Meaning Rhaegar.
Many quietly agreed.
But then—
Barristan Selmy acted.
Alone.
He scaled the walls at night, infiltrated the castle disguised as a beggar, cut his way to the dungeon, rescued Aerys, and escaped on horseback before the gates closed.
A feat so outrageous it became legend.
Tywin's plans collapsed instantly.
Aerys survived.
And something inside him broke.
Afterward, the Darklyns and their kin were annihilated. Entire houses erased.
Aerys grew increasingly paranoid.
He distrusted Tywin.
He suspected Rhaegar.
He believed even his son had stood by hoping for his death.
He summoned Varys from across the Narrow Sea to build an intelligence network.
He began favoring wildfire.
Executions grew crueler.
More erratic.
More frequent.
The madness deepened.
Galladon turned a fish over the fire.
If Barristan had not rescued Aerys—
Rhaegar might have ascended earlier.
Perhaps the later tragedies would never have unfolded.
But none of them knew that yet.
Only Galladon, quietly roasting fish under the stars, saw the shape of the storm to come.
"Robert," he said mildly, "whatever the king becomes, we can do nothing for now. Prince Rhaegar must be in a very awkward position."
Fat dripped from the fish into the flames.
Sparks rose into the night.
(End of Chapter 16)
A/N:
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