Chapter 2: Breeze of the Sea - 101 AC

Ser Phineas was born to humble beginnings as a smallfolk, hailing from the town of Brackyore many moons ago. At the tender age of ten, he made his way to the service of House Celtigar, and began his work as a lowly errand-boy. His tasks were simple but arduous, consisting of hauling heavy crates filled with provisions to the castle's kitchen. Despite the long hours and physical strain of his labors, he was rewarded with a meager sum of ten to twenty coppers for his efforts. Nonetheless, this small amount was sufficient to feed his beloved siblings back home, and he continued his work with unwavering dedication.

It was then that a lucky day had dawned upon him, a crate that had been stacked on top of each other had fallen when the lord's wife was passing, but she was unharmed due to him moving her out of the way of the crate. It was just a simple matter, any servant perhaps would've done it, but even still, the lord offered him something of his own request, anything as long as it's beyond the normal degree.

With nary a moment's hesitation, Phineas beseech the lord to give him a chance on becoming a knight, for he possessed no other talents besides his brawny muscles. Though the lord found the request amusing, he honored it nonetheless, and thus began the metamorphosis of Phineas into a noble knight. A dozen years have elapsed since then, and Phineas is now a fully-fledged knight of House Celtigar, identifying himself as Ser Phineas of Gryphonrock, named after the crag on the shores of Claw Isle. Indeed, he is indebted to Lord Celtigar, for not only have his siblings achieved a modicum of comfort in town, but he has also discovered his calling in life: to repay the favor bestowed upon him.

One of the things that never failed to sadden Phineas was the tragedy that had befallen Lord Bartimos. His beloved spouse had perished during childbirth, and his sole progeny and heir was a frail and sickly lad. Lord Bartimos was a kind and benevolent ruler who cherished his subjects, yet Phineas couldn't help but ponder why the gods had seen fit to chastise him. Nevertheless, it appeared that a miracle had graced the castle. According to the chattering servants, the lord's son had made a remarkable recovery over the course of a few days, exhibiting increased activity and amiability as he roamed about the castle and interacted with the servants.

Although Phineas hadn't been able to verify the veracity of the servants' gossip, having been away on an errand in town, he was now returning to the castle. The Maester had assigned him the task of accompanying the lord's son on a "sightseeing" excursion around the town. Initially skeptical, Phineas was eventually convinced by the Maester's assurances that the boy had indeed regained his health. Phineas inquired as to how such a miraculous turn of events had come to pass, but the Maester simply replied that House Celtigar had been blessed by the gods.

As ser Phineas strode through the frigid, stone-walled corridor of the castle, his footsteps echoing in the silence, he halted before a particular chamber. The surroundings were serene, with vigilant guards carrying out their duty and no servants scurrying about. Ser Phineas rapped on the door and awaited a response.

"Enter," beckoned the boy inside the room. Ser Phineas pushed the door and peered inside to behold a handsome lad with rosy cheeks and a zest for life, standing before a gleaming mirror. Clad in a simple red padded tunic and leggings, the boy, Clement Celtigar, draped a ragged brown cloak over his physique. Clement stood tall and straight, his back unencumbered by any ailment, simply resembling a healthy young lad.

It was indeed a surprise to see Phineas, who had last seen the boy writhing in agony in his bed, beset by a fever that most assumed would be his undoing, given his frail constitution. Inwardly thanking The Mother for easing one of his lord's suffering, ser Phineas greeted the lad.

"Good morrow, Ser Phineas," smiled Clement, though his countenance soon soured. "Why are you garbed in that attire?"

Ser Phineas cast his gaze down at his armor, the hallmark of all House Celtigar knights. The steel plate had padded leather underneath, bearing the Crab emblem on the chest, and the shoulders; he also was holding the helmet, the crab emblem on the forehead, which is a strange place for an insignia.

"Did Maester Arwynn not instruct you to forgo the armor?" Clement inquired coolly. "We must travel incognito; I do not wish to attract attention."

"He... did not inform me, my lord," replied Ser Phineas, taken aback by the young master's chatter. "But it's perilous out there. I must safeguard—"

"Has anyone ever informed you how unsightly that armor is?" interjected Clement, taking the knight aback. "The Crab emblem on the forehead? Who concocted that? And you're pleased to strut around in that?"

"Uh... as a sworn knight of House Celtigar, it is my honor to wear—"

"Mayhap I ought to petition Father for a redesign of the armor. Yes, I believe I shall," Clement mused. "In any case, remove it. We are not going to war, Ser Phineas. We are headed to town."

Without waiting for a response, Clement brushed past the knight and exited the room. "I shall await you at the gates. Do hurry."

Ser Phineas could only watch as the young lord ambled away from him, relieved to see that he was indeed in good health, an active lad with no signs of frailty or malady, a true blessing from the gods.

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Adorned in an attire less encumbered by metal, Ser Phineas embarked on a journey towards the town with Clement as his companion. Despite the availability of alternative modes of transportation, the young lord suggested they make their way to their destination on foot, much to the maester's chagrin. As they traverse the dirt path, with the town looming in the distance, the silence of their footsteps fills the air. It wasn't until an hour had passed that the lad broke the quietude with an inquiry, his voice as composed as ever.

"Pray tell, ser, what tidings of the town do you have for me?" Clement gazes upon the verdant fields and small clusters of foliage in the horizon as he speaks. "How fares the common folk, and how many of them reside there?"

"Ah, the smallfolk," replied the knight, a sense of compassion coloring his tone. "They endure as best they can, given their circumstances. As for their numbers, I would estimate around a thousand to fifteen hundred souls."

"And how many of them are fit for battle?" Clement asked with a furrowed brow.

"Approximately six hundred, give or take," Ser Phineas answered.

"Only six hundred," Clement muttered, disappointment evident in his voice. "And what of your kin in the town, ser? Are they well?"

"With the grace of the Lord, they are. Me and my kin are grateful for the chance at a new life granted to them by your noble family," the knight replied with a respectful bow of his head. "If I may, my lord, what brings us to Brackyore?"

"Just a bit of leisurely travel, ser," Clement said with a shrug. "It has been some time since I last laid eyes upon the town, and truth be told, I cannot recall the last time I visited there."

"My lord," Ser Phineas interjected. "You have never been there before."

"Oh… well, then, first time for everything."

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As Clement and Ser Phineas strode into the town, the young lad's eyes widened at the lively hubbub before him. Despite the road being a concoction of dirt and unsavory waste, the townsfolk continued to amble about with purpose, carrying an array of wares to sell at the port-side market. As he gazed around, Clement observed that the buildings were made of varying materials - from sturdy brick structures to fragile wooden abodes. Silent guards stood watch at strategic corners, as Clement's father had warned them against acting imprudently, for the punishment would be severe.

Behold Brackyore, a quaint trading town situated at the northern end of the island, sooner or later to be Clement's town once he ascended to the title of Lord of Claw Isle. The duo's footsteps echoed on the uneven ground, their curiosity piqued by the crates carried by the townsfolk, filled mostly with dried fish and live crabs, their primary sources of sustenance. Clement also noticed a plume of smoke in the distance, which could indicate the presence of a blacksmith or some other artisan.

"What kind of trade thrives here, ser?" Clement inquired of his knight.

"Not much, my lord," replied Ser Phineas. "The smallfolk trade their dried fish and crabs with the merchants at the port in exchange for essential supplies. Most of them are simple fishermen or trappers, some are craftsmen like blacksmiths, while others are stonecutters or woodworkers."

Clement merely hummed in response, his mind already racing with queries. "How many blacksmiths are there?"

"About five, all in the employ of the lord in case the need arises to manufacture weapons for the levies," Ser Phineas answered.

"No shipmakers, then?" Clement pressed, his curious nature surprising even the seasoned knight.

"None, my lord," the knight confirmed, "but we have a few ships that are maintained by the soldiers, sufficient to patrol the coast against pirates."

"How many ships, exactly?" Clement asked, his interest piqued.

"Ten cogs and three galleys," Ser Phineas informed him. "One galley is used by the lord for travel. Might I inquire as to why you are so interested in these details, my lord?"

"Just curious, ser," Clement responded with a grin.

As they strolled along, the pair made their way into the bustling market area, surrounded by a sea of stalls peddling their wares. The majority of the vendors were hawking salted fish and crustaceans, while a select few had established their own stalls to offer a variety of goods, ranging from cloth to dried meats and fruits, as well as alcoholic beverages. Towards the end of the market, a lively port came into view, serving as a crucial pit stop for most merchants, who would take this opportunity to restock their provisions, sell some of their own merchandise, and resume their journey either towards Gulltown towards north or King's Landing towards the south.

For a small town, the market was commendable enough, and Clement couldn't help but take in the sights and sounds around him. Turning to his knight, he inquired once more, "Pray tell, ser, is there no place of worship in this town?"

Ser Phineas offered a polite response, "Nay, ser, not yet. However, there is a septon who resides here, devoted to spreading the teachings of the Seven from his humble abode."

Intrigued by this information, Clement pressed on, "And who might this septon be?"

"Septon Lucan, if my memory serves me right," replied Ser Phineas, his tone hinting at a certain level of uncertainty.

Noting this, Clement made a mental note of the name, humming thoughtfully to himself.

Both of them continued to walk through the market, passing the rather-busy smallfolk that buys and sells their needs. Clement noticed that the men are rather thin and short, not quite ideal in his mind to be soldiers, especially at the age of close combat warfare like this.

"How is the administration of this town, ser? Do you know how it's done?" Clement asked.

Ser Phineas is a bit hesitant. "I… don't know too much about that, my lord. Perhaps you should ask the lord for that, or the maester."

"Very well. Let us just continue to the port."

As both of them arrived at the port, they saw up close how different men that came from different regions of the world were running around. Some had darker skin than others, some taller than others, some more bearded, some more plump, a port is truly a mix between all races and cultures of the whole world. Although this port is not as bustling as the ones in King's Landing or Gulltown, it still boasts an incredible amount of people for its size, enough to make House Celtigar quite comfortable.

Passing through the busy men, Clement arrived at the edge of the platforms, the cold sea breeze slamming against his skin, making him shiver, and he could hear the gulls making sounds across the area. In the distance, a small rocky island could be seen, it was not big enough to house a village, but if a ship passed through here in the darkness, they would still be able to see it.

"That's 'Gryphonrock', right ser?" Clement said. "You claim yourself to have been hailed from there."

"It was but a mere joke with my brethren, my lord." Ser Phineas chuckled awkwardly. "I was born here, since I was a kid that rock is quite famous with the children."

"How so?"

"It's becoming of a running joke here that if a lass wanted to refuse a love confession from a boy, she would tell him to swim to Gryphonrock and come back with one of the stone from the rock and give it to her."

Clement was amused. "Someone did it?"

Ser Phineas scoffed. "Of course not, my lord. Even though we were children, we're not that stupid."

With a light chuckle, Clement settled himself upon the edge of the platform, his cloak billowing in the frigid sea breeze. As the hood was stripped away by the gusting wind, his silvery blonde hair danced in the air, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight before him. Just a week ago, he had been a struggling actor, but now he found himself as an heir to a noble house in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire. The change was drastic, but not unwelcome, although the weight of thousands of lives dependent on him in the future was a daunting thought.

"What say you, Ser?" Clement queried, gesturing to the surroundings. "Of us, of House Celtigar. I implore you to be honest with me."

Ser Phineas, too, was buffeted by the relentless wind, his own cloak swirling around him as his thoughts churned. "For myself and my kin, my lord, the Lord has bestowed many blessings upon us, and for that I am truly grateful," he replied thoughtfully.

"But do you not harbor any dissatisfaction?" Clement pressed, his tone curious.

"Nay, my lord," the knight replied firmly. "I would not dare."

"You are a knight, Ser Phineas," Clement reminded him pointedly. "Your place is on the battlefield, or at least bringing honor to our name in the tourney. Is that not so?"

"A knight's foremost duty is to protect their liege, my lord," Ser Phineas countered, a touch of steel in his voice. "But I will concede that there is truth in your words."

Clement hummed in thought. "Then do you not desire glory and renown for your own name? After all, House Celtigar is but a minor house on the edge of Crackclaw Point."

"Minor?" Ser Phineas bristled slightly. "With all due respect, my lord, that seems a harsh judgment of your own house. Your bloodline traces back to Valyria of old, and they stood with Aegon the Conqueror in his war. We are not like the Brunes or any other house in the vicinity."

Clement was momentarily taken aback by the knight's sharp retort, but he quickly regained his composure. "Your words do flatter me, Ser, but the fact remains that our house is naught but a servant to the crown. Would it not be more desirable to serve a great house like the Arryns or the Baratheons, who control entire regions rather than just a small island?"

"Once again, my lord, the Lord has granted my family and me many blessings," Ser Phineas replied, his voice firm with loyalty. "I would never betray you or your house for another. I shall serve until the end of my days."

Clement let out a soft sigh. Loyalty was indeed a curious concept, but one he was grateful for at this moment.

"Would you train me in the ways of the combat, ser? At this point, I feel healthy and am ready to take up a weapon." Clement said. "Have you any skill with an axe?"

Ser Phineas paused, his response uncertain. "Forgive me, my lord, but I fear I cannot train you until such time as our lord permits it. And as to my proficiency with the axe, I must confess, I am not as adept as I would wish."

"Then we shall await my father's return, however lengthy the delay," conceded Clement.