Chapter 147 - Combined Fleet
"As of now, we have rescued three hundred and seventy-five souls from Rain House City, with a total of one thousand four hundred and thirty-nine currently housed within the walls. All have been implanted with divine grace. Six hundred and twenty-one are fit to be incorporated into the auxiliary troop ranks."
Inside the great hall of Rain House, the quartermaster of the Logistics Bureau delivered his report with crisp precision.
"In addition, we have secured three hundred warhorses and military mounts, seven hundred pack oxen and horses, more than five thousand tons of wheat, grain, fish, and preserved meats, over three thousand weapons of war, one hundred sets of plate armor, and approximately two thousand other pieces of armor..."
Hundreds or thousands.
Joffrey had anticipated these numbers. The count of captives was hardly satisfactory, yet entirely normal for this era.
Sturdy stone castles, after all, seldom accommodated more souls than necessary.
To allow fortresses to operate with independence, maintain self-sufficiency, and reduce the consumption of stored provisions and wealth, the population of a castle was kept strictly functional.
Servants, grooms, cooks, maesters, septons, guards.
Under the premise of ensuring basic defensive capability, the fewer people within the walls, the longer a castle might withstand siege and the greater its chance of survival.
Were it not for the planned reinforcement northward, the population within Rain House City would have been smaller still.
As for the other spoils...
Weapons and armor scarcely warranted mention, fit only to serve as raw materials for the sorcerers' forges.
Horses and livestock were strategic assets in any war, yet they represented but a drop in the ocean for the massive force aboard the fleet—and were, in truth, somewhat antiquated.
Only the five thousand tons of grain held true value, sufficient to appease the smallfolk and win their loyalty.
In any age, common folk concerned themselves only with survival. Only when their most basic needs were met might they spare thought for who sat upon a throne or wielded authority in their name.
The people of Rain House City proved no exception to this rule.
Joffrey cast his gaze downward.
The newly appointed governor, Garth, stood beside the mother and son, plainly intent on smoothing relations.
Young Lord Rickard remained somewhat restrained and ill at ease, yet he showed no particular dislike for Garth, who shared his blood, and indeed seemed rather drawn to him.
Lady Alysanne, widowed by the assault, maintained a polite yet distant demeanor.
How interesting, Joffrey thought.
A Rain House City, a governor with the king's backing, a young lord with legitimacy, and a mature, comely noblewoman.
What an intriguing combination of characters.
Joffrey could almost foresee the complex grievances and entanglements, the love and hatred, the exquisite drama of power and emotion that House Wylde would endure in the years to come.
Yet none of it truly mattered.
The curtain of change had already risen. Garth's struggles and those of Rain House City would prove futile in the end. They could only become pawns advancing into battle, dedicating all their strength to the throne.
House Wylde of Rain House was the first, but it would not be the last.
More governors would soon be born throughout the realm.
Joffrey surveyed his generals, his eyes sharp. "Now we shall deploy the next phase of our battle plan."
All present stood straighter, their faces grave.
Silently, a dazzling light blossomed from nothing, and a map of Westeros appeared upon the floor of the Rain House hall.
At the far end of the chamber, young Lord Rickard Wylde gazed in blank astonishment at the magical, exquisitely detailed rendering. Unconsciously, he glanced toward his mother who stood beside him.
Lady Alysanne Valping struggled to maintain her composure and courtly manners, offering her son a reassuring smile.
As though he had received some manner of shield against fear, little Rickard turned his head with renewed confidence, curiously searching for Rain House City upon the map.
With the aid of words and symbols etched in light, Rickard found it swiftly.
On the eastern side of the entire map, upon the southern shore of a great bay, a small model of Rain House City stood at the northeastern corner of a large, jutting peninsula.
"Lord Valerian."
Hearing the king's summons, Munford Valerian stepped forward with a respectful bow.
Joffrey extended one finger and drew a line near Rain House City, bypassing Dorne to the south, directly to the Arbor in the southwestern corner of the map.
"The entire Third Fleet, reinforced by one thousand men from the Tenth Regiment of the Guards, shall express our friendship to Lord Paxter Redwyne of the Arbor with all possible haste. You will secure his alliance and form a joint fleet to defend the realm's peace."
A joint fleet.
To eliminate hidden threats and strengthen naval power with the greatest speed—to deter both the lords of the Seven Kingdoms and powers across the Narrow Sea—Joffrey had long set his sights upon the Arbor.
Clearly, with the abilities of the sorcerers, the only factor that might restrict the fleet's development was the matter of skilled sailors and commanders.
Where might such talent be found in abundance?
Among existing fleets, of course.
And in present-day Westeros, only two formed and standardized naval forces existed: the Iron Fleet of the Iron Islands and the Redwyne Fleet of the Arbor.
The choice narrowed to these two powers.
The Iron Fleet remained hesitant in its allegiances, its loyalties unclear. It lay far away upon the Sunset Sea on the opposite side of the continent, holding the barren Iron Islands with their unruly, rebellious people.
From the perspectives of both threat and benefit, the Iron Fleet could not claim high priority.
By contrast, though the Redwyne Fleet of the Arbor had not yet participated in the war—restrained only because the Redwyne twins were held hostage in King's Landing—its political stance had always aligned with Houses such as Tyrell, Hightower, and Rowan. This represented a far greater potential threat to the throne.
At the same time, the discipline of the Redwyne Fleet surpassed that of the Iron Fleet by considerable measure. They were accustomed to obeying orders and thus more suited to incorporation within the battle formations of the Royal Fleet.
The influence and territory of House Redwyne also held more strategic value than the Iron Islands.
To subdue the Redwynes and claim their elite fleet would vastly increase the strength of the Royal Fleet. The entire coastline of Westeros would fall under royal control, and none would dare contemplate rebellion.
A joint fleet.
Joffrey was determined to secure it.
"Lord Valerian, your mission is of paramount importance. Do you have confidence in its success?"
Munford Valerian did not hesitate for even a heartbeat, offering his guarantee with fierce eagerness. "Your Grace, I assure you, I shall facilitate this alliance within a month's time!"
Lord Valerian seemed already to envision victory and glory beckoning.
Indeed, he had every reason for confidence.
The Third Fleet and the Tenth Regiment of the Guards might not sound particularly impressive to the uninitiated, but Lord Valerian knew the formidable strength of these forces intimately.
The expanded Royal Fleet had been divided into six sub-fleets. Excepting the Sixth Fleet, which remained stationed at Dragonstone, the remaining five fleets each comprised sixty elite warships, all equipped with ship-borne cannons.
Munford Valerian commanded the Third Fleet.
It boasted a total tonnage of twenty thousand, with three thousand crew members including six hundred sorcerers, one hundred priests, three hundred Holy Fire and Holy Shield warriors, and two hundred ship-borne cannons.
With this fleet alone, Munford Valerian felt confident he could reduce the Arbor to smoldering ash.
Not to mention the Tenth Regiment of the Guards.
During their time at sea, all members of the Guards had been granted the power of divine grace.
In practical terms, having the Tenth Regiment meant having one thousand holy warriors capable of landing operations.
How could the Arbor possibly resist? Munford truly could not imagine it.
Joffrey turned his gaze upon the Redwyne twins, one of whom wore a white cloak.
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