Receiving the letter from King's Landing, stamped with the royal seal, the anxious Godric Borrell still found it unbelievable.
The Maester had read it to him many times, and he had examined it himself through his lens countless times, yet it still felt surreal.
Guardian of the Bite. That was an honor Sweetsister, and indeed the entire Three Sisters, had never held before.
Moreover, the letter stated that as long as he paid regular tribute, refrained from targeting ships of the Seven Kingdoms, and abandoned piratical raiding, his wrecking business would essentially be legalized.
"Uncle, Lord Arthur says he has fulfilled his initial promise to you," Zaren Borrell, sent back by Arthur, said.
"He may never ask for your help again, but he hopes you remember the kindness he has shown you, and indeed all the people of the Three Sisters."
"Brat, watch how you speak to me," Earl Godric glared at his nephew, who seemed to be siding with outsiders.
"Pass a message back to him for me: The Three Sisters never forget a grudge, nor a kindness."
"Uncle, you often told me stories of the Wolf and the Falcon fighting over the Three Sisters a thousand years ago," Zaren said.
"It seems that in the future, the lads of the Sisters will often hear the name of a Northern bastard named Snow."
"And they will hear my name too!" Godric straightened his slightly hunched back, picking up a somewhat rusted sword he hadn't touched in nearly twenty years.
"After I defeat those two lords and their pirates."
"Come off it, Uncle. You struggle just using a spoon on Sister's Stew these days," Zaren scoffed.
"I didn't cross the Narrow Sea to watch you play hero. Stay in the castle and await news of my victory."
"You little shit, I'm not too old to hold a sword!"
Ignoring Earl Godric's roaring, Zaren walked out of the castle and into Sisterton.
The town square, built from shipwreck timber, was packed with Sistermen. Some came from Longsister to the west, others from Littlesister to the east.
They stood quietly, squeezed together, looking expectantly at Zaren Borrell on the platform and the parchment letter in his hand.
"After this voyage, when we return to the Three Sisters," Zaren's voice was loud and clear, reaching everyone present, "we will welcome the first Sisterman Guardian of the Bite!"
"For the Three Sisters!" A few scattered voices shouted, but most murmured among themselves.
Zaren's expression didn't change as he loudly made his promise. "After this voyage, every warrior who returns alive will receive ten silver stags, a bolt of Braavosi cloth, and a jar of Northern peach wine!"
"For the Three Sisters!!" The shouts grew louder, merging into a roar.
"After this voyage, the families of any warrior who unfortunately does not return will receive one Gold Dragon!" Zaren waited for the noise to dip slightly before shouting at the top of his lungs.
"His widow will be provided for! I will offer her good work! And his children, upon coming of age, will be given priority to join my crew!"
"FOR THE THREE SISTERS!!!"
"LONG LIVE THE THREE SISTERS!!!"
The roar of the crowd swept through Sisterton like a tidal wave.
---
The wooden harbor of Sweetsister was now packed with ships of all sizes.
There were massive two-masted galleys capable of crossing the Narrow Sea, medium flat-bottomed rowing boats, and purple-sailed ships.
Between these large vessels, countless small boats and skiffs filled the gaps.
Carpenters and shipwrights were using planks and iron nails to lash these small boats and skiffs together into makeshift rafts floating on the water.
Because the harbor was too small, fishermen navigated their small boats through the congestion, delivering boiled crabs, clams, and fish stew.
Small rowing boats ferried supplies and war materiel constantly to the larger ships.
Along the docks, sailors from all over enjoyed the abundant food purchased from White Harbor—filling staples like bread, cheese, and vegetables were plentiful.
After Zaren's promise circulated for a few days, a total of about 2,500 Sistermen were conscripted from the three islands.
Most of these conscripts lacked weapons and basic military training. They couldn't be deployed immediately and needed weapons distribution and basic drills.
Aside from the short knives or daggers almost everyone carried, the weapon of choice for the conscripts was the spear—cheap and practical.
Most conscripts wore coarse cloth; very few had boiled leather armor, let alone iron plate.
Anticipating this, Arthur had the "Snow & Peach" smithy work overtime to forge 2,000 spearheads, which Zaren brought to Sweetsister to be assembled onto shafts.
The wooden houses of Sisterton were overflowing with people, forcing Zaren to pitch his command tent outside the town.
"Two thousand spears have been distributed to the warriors," Godric's Captain of the Guard reported to Zaren in the tent.
"I've ordered the guards to step up their training. Teaching them to stand in a line and point the sharp end at the enemy. But this takes time."
Zaren: "How long?"
"Another week. Some are as dumb as oxen; they can't even maintain a basic formation," the Captain replied.
"The Three Sisters haven't seen war in a long time. The last time we left the islands to fight was during the war between the Black Dragon and the Red. We lack experience."
"We can't wait a week," an old man with a white beard said, wiping a sharp longsword with an oilcloth.
"Boy, if we don't strike Pebble within three days, I guarantee the savages on the Fingers will hear of our gathering. They will be alerted. The pirates will raise sail and flee, and the two lords will call their smallfolk into their stone castles."
The old man was the great-uncle of the Lord of Longsister. Since the Lord was still a child, the old man managed House Sunderland's affairs as castellan.
He followed the Faith of the Seven and was an anointed knight. Beside his chair rested a shield bearing the sigil of House Sunderland: three women's heads on a blue and green wavy field.
"I have already ordered a ban on ships leaving port," Zaren said. "We lashed the small boats together not just to prepare for the invasion of Pebble, but also to restrict the spread of information."
"If someone really wants to cross the Bite, a fishing boat is enough," the old man reminded him disdainfully, shaking his head.
"Don't forget, if not for the storm, Eddard Stark would have rowed from the Fingers to White Harbor during the Usurper's War."
"A bag of silver, and a bastard," a woman with a broken nose smiled uglily. She had messy grey-brown hair and watery blue eyes.
"The Three Sisters lack many things, but we have plenty of desperate smugglers willing to take a risk."