A Book of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones : Magic Network

The "God's Grace" launching ceremony proceeded as scheduled on Sunday.

Armor lined in formation proclaimed its nobility.

Lances stood arrayed, blessing its might.

Horns blared in harmony, celebrating its birth.

The vast, sprawling docks of King's Landing teemed with people who had come to witness the ceremony.

Besides the dignitaries who had received advance notice and permission to leave the city, smallfolk dwelling beyond the walls gathered at the docks, abandoning their daily labors.

None who gazed upon it could remain unmoved. None could bear to look away.

The people were genuinely awed by the sight before them.

"Blessed by the gods."

"What a magnificent miracle this is!"

"Is this truly a warship that can float upon water? Who could stand against such might?"

"The grace of the gods knows no bounds!"

"Nothing lies beyond reach; the power of the gods is far greater than mortal minds can fathom."

Exclamations of wonder and astonishment filled the air without cease.

People repeated their praises endlessly. Even after half a day of such adulation, they could not help but voice their admiration, hoping to release some measure of the surging emotions that threatened to overwhelm them.

From the previous night until this morning, some fortunate souls had witnessed the astonishingly swift construction of "God's Grace."

These privileged few described the process vividly to those around them, faces alight with pride and excitement, seeming almost afraid others might fail to notice them, as if they themselves had crafted this divine creation.

The not-so-secret construction process of "God's Grace" spread quickly among the crowd gathered at the docks.

Again and again, people recounted the miracles they had seen, until every ear had heard every description, every heart had committed the tale to memory, and many lips could recite it verbatim.

Everyone knew the story.

An endless procession of wagons had brought countless crates and chests, piling them into small mountains beside the docks as evening fell.

Sailors and captains claimed it was more than the total cargo the port typically handled in a full day.

Subsequently, the golden waters of the river were shrouded by shadow. Logs floated downstream from the upper reaches of the Blackwater Rush—solid, thick trunks, freshly cut, some still crowned with lush greenery.

At least an entire forest had been felled, enough land to feed hundreds had it been used for farming.

All the timber flowed downstream but was halted near the mountains of cargo downriver from the docks, almost transforming that section of the river into solid ground.

Then came the miracle.

The men wearing white cloaks emblazoned with golden six-pointed stars wielded divine grace, and the cold, damp wood moved of its own accord, as if imbued with life, crawling onto the shore.

Upon reaching land, the wood seemed to transform into a silken liquid, the pieces drawing together and melting into a single mass.

The timber at this stage was as pliant as clay.

Invisible hands kneaded and shaped this wooden mass, forming it as a child might build a castle from mud.

The shipwrights pointed to the wooden frame beneath "God's Grace" and declared, "That is it."

Something never before seen—a dock shaped by divine grace, a dock carrying divine grace.

This dock comprised closely arranged concave wooden frames. Each frame measured four or five feet in width and five or six fathoms in length, and their combined shape resembled nothing so much as the bottom of a ship.

Upon recognizing the shape of the ship's hull, all the captains, sailors, shipwrights, and anyone who had ever lived by water immediately gaped in shock and disbelief.

Such an immense vessel?!

What followed was even more staggering and utterly beyond imagination.

The men in six-pointed star cloaks approached the cargo crates, and the wood used to construct these containers flowed outward, leaving only pieces of steel and countless blades, guns, axes, and spears in place.

Immediately thereafter, all the steel melted—not into hot, molten metal, but still emanating a cold, white light.

The steel climbed onto the wooden frames like liquid flowing upward, like vines ascending trees, like the tentacles and suckers of some great sea monster.

Never before had people witnessed such quantities of steel so closely joined together.

The steel pieces must have been joyful, for they cheered and climbed to the highest point. Where no path existed, they stepped upon one another and continued upward, gradually forming a skeleton of mutual support, taking on the slender shape of a warship.

The steel hull lay majestically upon the dock.

Afterward, the men in six-pointed star cloaks remained at the dock for long hours, until dawn broke once more, until all surrounding steel and wood had vanished.

People knew only that all materials had become part of the warship.

As for how many thrilling transformations had occurred, how many exquisite structures, solid chambers, and terrifying weapons lay concealed within the hull, none could see, and imagination alone must suffice.

Yet what people had witnessed with their own eyes was enough to be told as myth and epic for generations to come.

An invincible warship forged of steel.

Who could breach its broadside? Who could withstand its ram? Who could set flame to its deck? Who could overturn its massive form?

It would surely become the absolute sovereign of the seas.

The Redwyne fleet? The Iron Fleet? These were no longer worthy of comparison. Only the vast armada of Braavos might qualify as a rival.

As for the outcome of such a contest...

All eyes remained fixed upon "God's Grace" as it stood upon the dock. If it could be successfully launched, and if a dozen or more companions were added to its number, then no matter how many warships Braavos might possess, they would seem as children not yet grown to maturity.

Everyone was captivated by this magnificent and majestic creation, as if they already envisioned the day when the Westeros fleet would reign invincible.

"God's Grace" stood proudly upon the dock, silently exulting in its might.

The auspicious hour had arrived.

Tyrion walked behind King Joffrey, bearing a bottle of Arbor Gold from the Reach. "Your Grace, it is time."

Tyrion's reaction to this formidable warship differed little from that of most gathered at the docks.

This "God's Grace" had not been constructed by the pyromancers of the Alchemists' Guild. Tyrion had first laid eyes upon it only that morning.

He now realized that Hanna's Logistics Department also maintained a cadre of pyromancers, and the tasks for which they bore responsibility were far more significant and illustrious than merely building houses and repairing sewers.

Thinking of the weapons and equipment dedicated to the Holy Warriors that Hanna had mentioned in the "Throne Room" report, Tyrion's curiosity only deepened.

But now, the sole focus belonged to the King and this "God's Grace" about to be launched.

Tyrion respectfully presented the tribute he carried.

Joffrey took the crystal-clear Arbor Gold and turned to look at Sansa beside him.

"Sansa, my queen, your kindness shall bless its fate, your beauty shall soothe its loneliness, your nobility shall honor its journey. Let us witness its birth together."

Sansa nodded happily, took Joffrey's right arm, and walked to the bow of the vessel.

The two stood before the figurehead, gazing upon the ten-foot tall carving of the "Maiden," her arms crossed before her breast.

Everyone on the deck fell silent, paying homage with their eyes to the king, the lady, and the warship, witnessing the ceremony's culmination.

Following tradition, Joffrey, acting as "priest," stroked the figurehead seven times, offering seven prayers.

Then Sansa forcefully cast the bottle from her hand.

Pa~

The bottle shattered, and the golden liquid flowed and dripped wantonly upon the figurehead.

Like blood of gold.

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