"The soldiers' relief... starting with the Gold Cloaks..."
"Yes, Your Grace."
After Ser Brienne turned and left, Gryn paced forward two steps, sat directly on the platform railing, and took a huge gulp of stew.
"Phew."
The stew had been cooked fragrantly. Gryn kept his eyes on the smoke ahead and could not help taking another drink.
Lord Eddard came over and sat beside Gryn. Glancing at the bowl that was already more than half empty in his hands, he said in a hoarse voice that could not hide his exhaustion, "The stew is excellent."
Gryn's gaze shifted slightly, as though he were merely making conversation. "The cooks here were specially trained by the army. Many are veterans from Crackclaw Point. Feed the soldiers well, and their blades will be sharper."
"Mm."
Lord Eddard nodded in agreement. He could not help thinking of Robert. Once... the two of them had shared brief moments of ease on the battlefield like this.
The officers' commands rose one after another from below. He swept his gaze over the troops changing shifts and added, "The Gold Cloaks performed well." To be precise, Lord Eddard was deeply surprised. In his memory, the Gold Cloaks who defended King's Landing had never counted as qualified warriors. One Grey Cloak could fight ten Gold Cloaks.
Yet after this bitter night of battle... the Gold Cloaks had fought with extraordinary bravery, forcing others to see them in a new light.
Gryn tilted back his head and drained the remaining stew, casually tossing the empty bowl to an attendant nearby. "They—all of them—came to the edge of the world to save the Seven Kingdoms. Honor does not die."
"Honor does not die."
The furrows between Lord Eddard's brows eased slightly. In this great war between the living and the dead,