Chapter 34: End of Bloom - 113 AC

A year had passed since the conclusion of the tourney at Claw Isle, and on this bright morning, Selwyn entered Clement's study. The venerable steward found Clement as usual, standing by the window with his hands discreetly tucked behind his back. Upon noticing Selwyn's arrival, Clement remained stationary, merely gesturing for him to take a seat.

Taking his cue, Selwyn settled in, placing the scrolls he had brought upon Clement's desk, poised to speak at his lord's bidding. 

"Has word arrived by raven?" Clement inquired calmly.

"Yes, my lord," Selwyn responded, retrieving a small parchment and placing it before Clement. "Another raid has occurred. Ser Phineas successfully seized several of the slavers' vessels and their crews."

"A promising development," Clement mused. "Has Ser Phineas adhered to my command I sent last month?"

"The compulsory service, my lord? I believe he has," Selwyn affirmed, scanning the message once more. "Though he remarks that the inhabitants of Grey Gallows are 'considerably frail and easy to tire.'"

"They are former slaves, spent half their lives being malnourished, it's only natural." Clement remarked with a deep sigh. "Nonetheless, our objective is to fortify their defenses against sudden assaults, so that the damage isn't as severe as last time. At least they could know which side of the spear they need to stab their enemies with. Ah, this leads me to a thought on a matter for discussion with father, to train our smallfolk at Claw Isle much more efficiently."

Selwyn appeared puzzled. "What precisely do you propose, my lord?"

"I suggest that young boys undergo training under our household knights for a span of, say, three fortnights. This would make our levies much more trained than those of other lords' in times of conflict." Clement elaborated. "Moreover, should our knights identify promising candidates among them, they could take them on as squires, eventually knighting them when deemed appropriate. We would bolster our ranks with more adept warriors that way."

Selwyn expressed his concern. "My lord, there are already numerous young boys who have willingly come to the castle for training. I fear the household knights cannot accommodate any more."

"Then perhaps the men-at-arms?" Clement suggested. "The marauders, the sailors, the corsairs, the longbowmen. They could take charge of training the boys."

"We could, but—"

"Monitoring the conduct of those men-at-arms will be challenging. Some may attempt to abuse their authority..." Clement pondered. "Very well, let us consider it for now, but do not forget to address it in your next meeting with my father."

"As you wish, my lord," Selwyn nodded. "There is also news regarding the survey you requested me to oversee, if you wish to hear it now."

"Ah, about the flowers?" Clement brightened at the mention of the survey. "Please proceed."

Selwyn then unfurled the scroll he had brought earlier, revealing maps of Claw Isle with circles marking certain areas.

"There are few flower patches on the island," Selwyn explained. "We found a sailor from Oldtown, whose father was once a beekeeper in service to the lord of Honeyholt. He suggested that by introducing our own flowers here, we might establish small apiaries across the isle to produce honey. The sea winds and storms may pose challenges for the bees, but with our temperate summers and mild winters, with sufficient prayers to the gods, the bees may flourish."

Clement merely smiled. "Shall we attempt it, then?"

"We could. However, my lord, cultivating a field of flowers is no easy task," Selwyn cautioned.

"Then we shall experiment with various flowers, Selwyn. Recruit men to plant them and observe what thrives and what does not," Clement mused. "You may also consult the maester for guidance to narrow down our selection."

Selwyn nodded, rising from his seat. "Very well, my lord. I shall do so."

"Then you are dismissed. I anticipate a field of flowers on our isle next year, Selwyn," Clement stated calmly, his gaze shifting towards the window where two young men sparred at the training grounds, awaiting someone—two men familiar to Clement over the past year. Upon seeing them, he sighed deeply. "Well, it seems it is time for me to attend to my next duty this morning..."

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As Afternoon dawned upon the castle, a trio of men convened upon the training grounds, their presence resonating with the weight of their station, as the three of them are of noble birth, different from the commonfolk that used to train here. Laenor, amongst them, found himself abruptly cast to the ground by a forceful kick, his training sword skidding out of reach. Bruised and bloodied, he struggled to rise, his body bearing the marks of rigorous beating.

Ser Joffrey Lonmouth extended a hand to aid Laenor, while Clement, the third among them, observed stoically, his gaze piercing. 

"Must you wield such force, my lord?" Ser Joffrey inquired, concern over Laenor lacing his words.

"In battle, one cannot afford to lament the force employed," Clement replied. "It is a matter of kill or be killed, as any knight should understand."

"But I am more than a knight; I am a dragonrider," Laenor interjected, his voice tinged with anguish. "I can burn the battlefield instead."

Clement chuckled dismissively, driving his wooden sword into the earth. "Yet even dragons cannot shield you from the treachery of scheming lords within the Red Keep that aims for your head."

"I trust in the prowess of the Kingsguard to safeguard me," Laenor countered defiantly.

"One can never be too vigilant when it concerns one's life. The Kingsguard are fallible, as are all men," Clement retorted, brandishing his sword once more. "Stand up, good-brother. I know you are a sword swallower through and through, but at least parry it for once."

Upon hearing this, Laenor swiftly reclaimed his wooden sword, grasping it firmly in his hand as he glanced up towards Clement's towering figure. With a deep breath, he accepted the assistance offered by the sword to rise from his kneeling position. However, before he could gather his thoughts, Ser Joffrey intervened, his gaze piercing as he locked eyes with Laenor, conveying a silent message.

Ser Joffrey then pivoted, wresting the sword from Laenor's grasp before leveling it towards Clement. "Forgive my intrusion, my lord, but I cannot abide by the disrespect you're showing and the baseless accusations you're hurling. He is the heir of Driftmark and a dragonrider, not some hapless serf to be subjected to your torment."

"Do not forget, Ser Joffrey, that this is Claw Isle, not Driftmark. And let us not feign ignorance, for it is evident that you and Laenor share a close bond." He continued, addressing Laenor directly, "Your father has entrusted me with honing your skills, so you may stand among noble knights like Ser Joffrey before your impending wedding in three short months. Tell me, ser Joffrey, can one truly become a knight within such a brief span if they neglect their training?"

Ser Joffrey stood silent, unable to offer a rebuttal. Before he could interject, Laenor seized his shoulder, urging him to face him. With resolve in his eyes, Laenor retrieved the sword from Joffrey's grip, assuming a defensive stance against Clement.

"I am fine, Joffrey," Laenor coughed, asserting himself. "My good-brother speaks the truth. I cannot rightly bear the title of knight without being able to actually fight."

His words startled Joffrey, but they brought a faint smile to Clement's lips. "Excellent," the heir of Claw Isle remarked. "I hold no malice towards you. However, you must grasp the weight of your position as the future king consort. The Red Keep is a den of intrigue, with Rhaenyra poised to ascend as the realm's first ruling queen. Challenges to her authority are inevitable. Laenor, you are no longer a mere boy but a man, the heir of Driftmark and a dragonrider. Frivolity has no place in your responsibilities. I care not for your inclinations, so long as they do not serve as a shield for your other short-comings."

Approaching Laenor, Clement rested a hand upon his shoulder. "You are my wife's brother, and I cannot abide by witnessing her anguish due to your own incompetence."

Laenor swallowed hard, acknowledging his understanding. "I shall endeavor to improve, good-brother."

"Words are hollow without action," Clement remarked sternly, withdrawing and brandishing his sword once more.

Witnessing this display, Laenor steeled himself, summoning a battle cry as he charged at Clement, determination blazing within him.

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In the heart of the nocturnal hours, Clement found himself seated before a crackling bonfire, bathed in the glow of the full moon reigning overhead. By his side lingered the companions he had grown accustomed to since the end of the tourney: Laenor and Ser Joffrey. Each held aloft a cup brimming with wine, while above the flames, fish sizzled on skewers.

Laenor, still bearing the marks of recent training, sought solace in the cool embrace of a wine bottle, its icy touch offering respite to his bruised form. Observing his student's discomfort, Clement couldn't help but offer a gentle chuckle before rising to his feet, claiming one of the freshly roasted fish for himself. With a decisive bite, he savored the succulent flesh, allowing its flavors to dance upon his mouth.

His gaze wandered afar, drawn toward a distant encampment nestled upon the shore. There, amidst the backdrop of the sea, the cadence of training echoed faintly. A solitary vessel embarked upon the waters, ferrying eager recruits to face the briny depths, a test of mettle and resilience.

It was then that Ser Joffrey's voice pierced the stillness, drawing Clement's attention. "I confess, I never envisioned the heir of Claw Isle partaking of a roasted fish in such a manner," the knight remarked, his tone laced with curiosity.

Arching a quizzical brow, Clement retorted, "And how, pray tell, did you imagine I would partake? With bejeweled utensils? Amidst opulent surroundings?"

Ser Joffrey fell silent with a smile, turning his gaze toward the hapless recruits now cast into the unforgiving embrace of the sea. A solemn shake of his head betrayed his inner turmoil. "I offer gratitude to the gods daily for sparing me on being one of your commonfolk, my lord," he confessed. "I fear I would falter beneath the weight of such rigorous trials."

"I too thank the gods for my birth to nobility." Clement countered, "But, within the harshness of the training lies the promise of prosperity, ser. It may surprise you to learn that many among the smallfolk willingly embrace such hardships in exchange for stability."

"Stability?" Laenor interjected, his brow furrowed in skepticism. "Not wealth?"

"Indeed," Clement affirmed. "Though these men may face death in battle, they do so knowing that their families are provided for. Hence, we witness a steady influx of volunteers for the ranks of our men-at-arms. They receive wages, and when they fall in battle, they know that the lord ensures the welfare of their kin until such time as the children come of age."

"Most lords lack such capacity. Their wealth pales in comparison to yours," remarked Ser Joffrey.

Clement merely chuckled. "For the commoner, a single gold dragon might sustain them for a lifetime if wisely managed. But to the nobility, thousands of such coins would merely be the purse of a tournament victor."

"But our affairs are far from the simplicity of common folk, are they not, good-brother?" said Laenor. "We safeguard the realm, including the welfare of smallfolk."

"In theory, indeed," Clement mused, reclining against his log, observing as the recruits finally plunged into the sea, exerting themselves to reach the shore. "Yet, how many lords forsake their obligations?"

Laenor fell silent, casting his gaze upon the sand beneath him.

"Aspiring knights must shield the innocent, one and all. Not solely fair maidens, nor solely lords' progeny, nor solely kin or beloved," Clement expounded. "Isn't that so, Ser Joffrey?"

"It is our sworn duty," Ser Joffrey affirmed, though introspection lingered in his expression.

Clement sighed, tired from the activities he had done. "Well, that is the only lesson on knightly duties that I will say to you. You are to be a lord and king consort anyway, if you were to follow that code strictly, you will not survive a month in your position."

Laenor regarded Clement with a quizzical gaze. "So, should I follow your words or ignore it?"

"You cannot radically follow a way of life strictly, Laenor. One must learn how to choose when to use one way and when to choose another." Clement continued. "Your life has been set. You are to be a lord. But what about you, Ser Joffrey? What do you want in life?"

"Pardon?" Ser Joffrey appeared perplexed. "I am a knight, dedicated to serving Laenor and my house until my last breath."

Clement chuckled softly. "I speak not of that. What manner of knight do you aspire to be? They say you're known as 'The Knight of Kisses,' a title that teeters close to dubious insinuations. Is that the legacy you wish to leave?"

Joffrey fell silent for a moment before responding. "A knight's duty is service, my lord. Yet, if the opportunity arises to prove my prowess, I would welcome it."

"And how would you demonstrate such prowess?" Clement probed further. "In tournaments? On the battlefield?"

"The realm is not at war," Joffrey observed. "Apart from tournaments, what other proving ground exists?"

"The realm is indeed at war, ser," Clement corrected with a laugh. "A war against brigands, a war against slavers."

"As I understand, slavers and robbers don't have land to rule over." Laenor commented. "They're harassing our realm, not warring with it."

"What is the difference?" Clement shrugged. "Remind me again of a knight's oath?"

"So you'd think I should travel the realm to apprehend criminals, my lord?" Joffrey raised his brow. "I do not see how the lords view that as glorious."

"It isn't. But it is chivalrous." Clement continued. "If I had a brother that is a knight, I would rather see them traveling the realm to slay robbers and defend coasts from slavers than see him point his lance at other knights for lords' amusement."

"It is strange for you to say that. Considering you first spread your name on a tourney." Laenor pointed out. "And you hosted one yourself last year."

Clement laughed. "Indeed."

Ser Joffrey stares at the crackling fire in front of him. "What is the meaning of your words, my lord?"

Clement smiled. "Knights these days are as green as summer grass. Those are the words I heard from the mouth of Lord Corlys during our days at the Stepstones. Tourneys may gain you glory in the eyes of other lords, Ser Joffrey, but when faced with death on the battlefield, those experiences from your jousts and melees are moot. That is my advice to you, as a knight to a fellow knight. The realm is at peace, but when war comes, at least you'll be ready."

"Are you suggesting I sail to the Stepstones to combat slavers?" Ser Joffrey raised an eyebrow.

Clement laughed lightly. "I make no insinuations, Ser Joffrey. Take or leave my advice; you are not bound to me or my house. Merely the ramblings of a man in his cups."

"Well, if that's your desire, I must object," Laenor interjected, addressing Joffrey. "My wedding approaches, and I won't entertain news of your demise during the festivities."

"Slavers are mere nuisances," Ser Joffrey scoffed. "They pose no threat to me."

"Many have perished under worse circumstances, ser," Clement reminded him. "You're more likely to face enslavement, arguably a fate worse than death depending on where you're taken." With that, Clement rose from his seat, making his way toward his steed in the corner. "I bid you both good night. Attend to your affairs as you wish."

The two men watched Clement depart, sighing deeply as they reflected on the events of the day before returning their attention to the crackling fire, their hands finding solace in each other's grasp.

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As the year draws to a close, the royal wedding festivities ignite the atmosphere of King's Landing. Much like the prior year's tourney at Claw Isle, the city is adorned with banners representing houses from across the seven kingdoms. Both commoners and nobility throng the streets adjacent to the tourney grounds, nestled on the outskirts of the walled city. There, Clement and his family sit upon the dais beside the king, with the House Celtigar emblem swaying gently in the breeze above them. Before them unfolds the spectacle of the jousting grounds, where the tournament has already commenced.

Clement turns his gaze towards the king and observes the royal couple seated just ahead, joyously watching the jousting matches and exchanging smiles with the knights who pay them homage. It is a festive day, where all troubles seem to vanish into thin air.

"You seem lost in thought, husband," whispers Laena, Clement's companion on the dais. "Is something amiss?"

"On the contrary," Clement responds, the clash of lances providing a rhythmic backdrop to his words. "My mind is at ease."

Upon hearing Clement's response, Laena merely hums, her eyes remaining fixed on the royal couple, mirroring Clement's actions. "Laenor appears happy."

"Indeed. I recall you weren't quite as jubilant at our own wedding," Clement remarks, teasingly.

Laena chuckles, finally tearing her gaze away from Laenor. "I also don't recall a seven-day joust immediately following our vows."

Clement smiles, gently clasping her hand beneath the layers of their festive attire. His gaze then drifts into the distance, his eyes focused on the grounds below but his mind elsewhere. "Father has suggested that I remain at Claw Isle for the next decade or so, until our children are older. What are your thoughts on this?"

"And where else would you wish to be?" Laena inquires.

"You know where," Clement sighs. "The slavers grow bolder by the day. I'm beginning to understand why the Stepstones have proven so difficult to hold after all these years."

Laena hums thoughtfully. "So, perhaps you're considering a move to the Grey Gallows?"

"Is that your desire?" Clement asks.

Laena steals another glance at Laenor before responding. "Not presently."

"Then remain we shall," Clement decides, noticing Laena's attention shift towards her brother. "Gods know how Laenor will handle the responsibilities of Rhaeny—"

A squeeze of Clement's hand cuts him off, prompting Laena to shake her head in amusement. "Mind your voice."

Clement gazes at her before returning his attention to the joust. Another clash occurs in the arena, eliciting gasps from the assembled lords and ladies.

"Perhaps you could assist with that," Laena remarks snidely.

"What do you mean?" Clement frowns.

"You've proven adept at fathering children," Laena teases. "Perhaps you could lend your expertise to the princess? or aid my brother in his attempt—"

"That is treasonous talk," Clement interjects firmly. "You are my wife. Why would you suggest such a thing?"

"I jest, my dear," Laena giggles. "You fret too much about my brother's nocturnal activities. I hear they have reached an understanding."

"As have I," Clement murmurs. "Let us hope they select the most convincing option. The fate of the realm and your house hangs in the balance, surely you grasp that."

"I do. If opportunity presents itself, I will speak with my brother," Laena nods.

With that, another clash resounds through the tilting ground, heralding Ser Criston Cole's victory. The announcer hurries to present him with a laurel, and Ser Criston gracefully approaches the king's dais, offering the laurel to the queen. The assembled lords and ladies erupt into applause, celebrating the Kingsguard's triumph.

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A/N: Half of the chapters are in this volume. damn. onto the next one then.