Chapitre 55: GOT : Chapter 55
( Cletus )
Finally leaving Storm's End was a blessing. Cletus didn't know if he could have withstood the constant cold and rain for much longer.
Not to mention the Reachers and Stormlanders were getting more and more frustrated by the day, and it would only be a matter of time till they found a common enemy to take off their frustrations on.
The Dornish party left at first light, but not south, towards Grandview and Stonehelm, but rather north, towards the Kingswood. When asked about their destination, Quentyn's only reply was:
"You'll see when we get there."
They met Renly's foot at Fawnton. It had seemed like they had taken their time reaching the town, mostly due to the Reachers, apparently. It seemed like the Tyrells weren't completely satisfied with the outcome of this campaign.
And truthfully, Cletus couldn't blame them. Two-thirds of their cavalry had been lost at Storm's End, along with a lot of valuable men.
Not to mention the Florent treachery, which by now would have tied up most of their reserves left at Highgarden in order to secure the Florent lands. Nonetheless, this encounter proved a blessing since it meant linking up with the rest of the Dornish escort.
However, Quentyn wasn't completely glad upon finding the rest of the men. They galloped north, towards Tumbleton, where the prince left all but fifty men close to the castle.
"We need to be discreet where we're going." He had told them.
Thus, they galloped north, for two full days, finally reaching the edge of a forest. They had set camp there for the good part of the day, waiting around as Quentyn read through scroll after scroll, and talked with his maester.
Finally, as night was slowly approaching and the sun was close to setting, painting the sky red and pink in color as it slowly faded beyond the oak trees, Quentyn smiled and took him aside.
"Cletus, find three men who can speak with no Dornish accent, but not Ned."
Cletus didn't even have to ask where they were going or why he needed these. He just shrugged and did as told. After all, it was easier that way, and he'd gotten used to Quentyn's mannerisms by now.
He found the three men he was looking for. Ser Henry Sandwhip and Ser Franklyn Quarry were easy choices since they were from the northern reaches of Dorne and their accent was extremely difficult to discern.
As for the last, he found Julia Sand, a warrior in the service of house Qorgyle, who had spent most of her days at Oldtown as a shipwright and therefore had a common Reacher accent.
The party formed, they joined Quentyn at the edge of the forest, who was waiting with Arch and a horse-drawn carriage.
"Welcome." Quentyn nodded. "We are going to go into the forest, where we will meet some people. Now, I ask each of you to remain quiet and not speak unless allowed to. You will do exactly what I say, and you will stay close to your weapons, understood?"
"Yes, my prince." The recruits eagerly agreed. Cletus and Arch just nodded.
"Good. Remember that at all times, the moment we go into this carriage and into this forest, you shall talk with no Dornish accent whatsoever. Understood?"
"Yes, my prince."
Quentyn nodded and gestured for Arch to take control of the horses. The three warriors entered it, with Quentyn bringing along some chains, rope, and some bags. Before leaving, though, he spared a little conversation with his healer.
"Will everything be ready when we return?" Quentyn asked the grey-haired man
"Of course, it will." The healer replied. "The effects of the product have been…successfully tested."
Cletus raised an eyebrow. He knew that Quentyn's healer had a fascination with the dark arts, and that was precisely why Quentyn kept him in his service in the first place, but he still wondered what potions the man was possibly talking about.
"Cover your house sigil." Quentyn tapped Cletus' shoulder with a smile as he headed towards the front of the carriage, urging Arch to get the horses moving.
Cletus brought his cloak over his doublet, hiding the black portcullis of his house, and watched behind him as they slowly left camp, heading straight towards the heart of the forest. Soon enough, the fires of the camp were long gone, and the forest slowly enveloped them, its dark and sometimes frightening embrace tightening around them.
Yet, the carriage kept moving forwards along a small road covered in dirt and rocks. It was in such a bad state that he wondered how they hadn't broken one of their wheels on their way into the darkness.
Finally, the small carriage came to a stop alongside a small pond, inside a quiet clearing. Quentyn turned back, and finally, let out:
"We're here."
The Dornish accent had made way for a much thinner accent, one that was common at Yronwood, and that matched the speech of a Stormlander or Reacher living in the Marches. It wasn't perfect, but it did conceal his origins.
"The clearing…alongside a small pond…and a large, fallen, pine tree…" Quentyn looked at a small scroll and then around him. "Keep your weapons close. Hide your sigils."
The people around him nodded, with Quentyn instructing Cletus and Julia to come forwards.
Cletus looked at Quentyn in complete confusion, asking why they had made their way to this isolated clearing, which looked like the perfect place to spring a trap.
"Who goes there?" a voice suddenly came out of the darkness, startling Cletus, and making their escort turn their heads to see where that noise had come from. Quentyn, though, was unphased.
"A friend of justice, a friend of words, and a friend of yours."
"Do you have what we have asked for?"
"In full. Did you bring what I have asked?"
"Aye."
Suddenly, a couple of figures came out of the woods, from every direction. They were surrounded and trapped. Cletus slowly made a move towards his sword, but Quentyn interrupted him.
"Don't move your weapons, these are friends."
"You've made us come a long way, boy." A bald man with bright red robes and a disheveled white beard called out. "Through war-torn lands, we had to cross the Goldroad and the Lannisters guarding it with what you wished to have. It was a perilous journey."
"And a costly one." Croaked another. Cletus repressed a gasp as the figure unveiled itself. It was a man…or was it really one?
The…creature had red hair and wore armor befitting a lord, however…his face was disfigured, torn, and scarred beyond belief. It had seemed like the man was dead, buried, and revived by some kind of magic.
Despite wearing a scarf and a breastplate, the little skin he showed seemed to be peeling off his face, and his only eye seemed to be dislodged from its socket. It looked like a vision from a nightmare. Yet…it talked still. What kind of creature talked this way?
"Where's my squire?" the creature croaked. "Did you not bring him with you?"
"I did." Quentyn nodded, and although not as shocked as Cletus, he could feel that the prince was just as disgusted as him. "But it was preferable that he be left at camp. I'm sure you can understand why Lord Beric."
Lord Beric…Dondarrion? The Lightning Lord? Allyria's betrothed? What in the seven hells had happened to him?
"Be that as it may, that is not what we are here for. If we are to be treated as merchants, let us have our due." The man in the red robes nodded while pointing to the pine tree's stump.
Quentyn nodded and sent Arch to fetch the bags left in the carriage, dropping them before Lord Beric.
"Three months' worth of food, and a supply of bandages, steel, arrows, and rope. As requested." Quentyn continued calmly, with Lord Beric sending a few of his men to inspect the contents of each bag.
"Everything is here." One of the men called out.
"Good." Lord Beric muttered. "There is now the price you agreed upon. Wars require coin, and coin we need. I hope you fulfilled the last part of your bargain."
Quentyn nodded but put a hand in the air.
"I wish to see what I am paying for before going further."
Lord Beric looked at his companion, who snapped his fingers. A few men came, escorting a tall man whose face was covered in a bag, and who was bound with ropes.
"His possessions are in a separate bag. Sword, doublet with sigil. Everything." Lord Beric's companion pointed out. "Now, shall we get to the main point?"
Quentyn nodded, walked up to the tree stump, and sat down. He motioned Cletus to follow, while Lord Beric walked with his red-clad companion.
"Three hundred gold dragons, was it?" Quentyn asked while carefully taking out a pouch of gold from his doublet, carefully bringing out each coin.
"Five hundred." Lord Beric countered.
Quentyn's eyes narrowed.
"This is not what was agreed upon."
"A good few of our men died to bring this man to you." Lord Beric shook his head. "Their families need to be compensated."
"How many men did you lose for the price to have almost doubled? Five hundred?" Cletus let out.
If Quentyn was angry at his outburst, he didn't show it, even showing a slight smile.
"Four hundred," Quentyn said, firmly. "Out of respect for your dead men."
"We know of his value to you."
"And I know the value of what I am bringing to you."
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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