Suleiman followed Bryn and Lushen to the Lion's Den to receive a knight who had traveled a long way to offer his services.
As they reached the valley's entrance, they saw forty-odd burly men bare-chested on the plain outside the deep ravine of the Lion's Den. Facing the morning sun, they paired off and repeatedly sparred with blunted training swords. Each time sword met shield, it made a dull thud; each swing and strike carried merciless force. Sweat drenched them from head to toe, as if they had just been pulled from a river.
The squires' intense training had already begun to give them perfectly defined muscles.
Suleiman nodded in satisfaction. Since he had given them land, freeing them and their families from farmwork, they ought to train hard for battle.
He stood at the edge of the training ground with his arms folded, quietly watching the squires. His gaze swept over each of the burly men, observing their movements and assessing their progress. The merciless, heavy blows and the muscles glistening with sweat pleased him more and more.
Just then, the steady sound of hoofbeats broke the soldiers' training rhythm. They stopped and looked toward the sound.
A burly knight rode slowly closer. He looked to be in his thirties, with an unremarkable face, a sunken nose, and a square jaw. His chainmail was old and cheap, but its owner had polished it until it was spotless.
Suleiman did not know him—or rather, there were so many noble knights in Westeros that he only knew the famous ones.
Suleiman lifted his chin toward Lushen, who had stopped the knight from coming any farther. "Let him through."
He had some interest in people who came to him of their own accord to offer their services.
The knight rode up to