The warm scene stirred Gawen's heart—though only for a fleeting moment.
There were still some things he could not easily adapt to in such a short time.
In his memory, Karlea was still the timid little girl who used to follow closely behind Surana—a picture frozen from more than a year ago.
He couldn't help but marvel at how quickly people matured in this world.
What was he thinking now?Truthfully, his mind was focused on something else entirely—security in the castle needed tightening. No matter how high his own vigilance or how confident he was in his fighting skills, relying solely on personal alertness to guard against danger every day was foolish. It would exhaust him to death.
Key personnel and important locations within the domain needed stronger protection.
A dagger could slash across a vulnerable neck without warning—he would not let his be so exposed.
When resources allowed, he intended to purchase some Unsullied for his guard.
Unsullied were dependable.
He envisioned keeping two of them stationed outside his door at all times.
A poor lord's little fantasy.
A faint smile touched his lips. "Karlea, it's been a while. Has Lady Surana begun assigning you duties?"
"I want to be your maid, my lord, but Mother says I'm still not mature enough and must train for a while longer. She told me that only after I satisfy her standards can I serve you directly."
"But I couldn't wait any longer, so I chose to come see you myself. Please forgive my rashness."
Reasonable enough—Surana was conscientious, and Karlea's seemingly impulsive act was still in service to her lord.
As the daughter of a trusted retainer, she would hardly be blamed.
By now, Gawen had soaked enough. Under Karlea's assistance, he donned his sleeping robe.
She poured him a glass of red wine. He took a sip—and frowned.
Sour red wine, one of House Crabb's specialties.
He had no idea how they brewed it… but it was so sour.
Perhaps it was the grape variety.
Good-tasting wine had to be imported, but that was too costly—so this would have to do.
Well… if one savored it slowly, the flavor wasn't terrible. Still, he set the cup aside, unwilling to drink more.
And thus, Gawen gained yet another reason for his ambitions to expand.
The night passed quietly.
The next morning, he arranged for Karlea to work under Maester Arl.
The old man was so frail and unsteady on his feet that Gawen worried constantly for his health.
If the maester of a domain died, the Citadel would send a replacement—but Oldtown was far away. The vacancy would last at least three months. And in Whispers Hall, only Arl knew how to send ravens.
That included feeding and caring for them.
Ravens were the most vital means of communication, and Gawen valued them highly.
These were the tasks Karlea needed to learn and master.
Gawen had far too much to do and too few capable people. A literate girl like Karlea was rare.
Most importantly—she was reliable, and could be trusted.
Ser Marsen finally returned.
The tally: thirteen blacksmiths in the domain, and thirty-two carpenters.
Apprentices would also be arranged, each first learning a single step of a process to improve quickly.
The basic framework for a small manufactory was just barely in place.
Answering the lord's summons, these craftsmen would move to Whispers Hall with their families.
Steward Herschel would handle the resettlement.
Whispers Hall – Lord's study.
Lord Gawen, Ser Pell, Ser Marsen, and Maester Arl convened for a military council on the hill tribes.
Gawen's original plan was to tire them out and then use fire to finish them—ideally ending things without losses.
Dry grasslands surrounded the area; a good burn would clear it, and any land near water could then be cultivated.
His past "battle" experience mostly came from helping his mother mop up survivors after she had already commanded the main fight.
Listening to their reports, he realized battles here were almost like scheduled brawls.
Whispers Hall would send envoys; if conflict was unavoidable, both sides would agree on a time and place.
Then, on the appointed day, they'd gather and fight.
Yes—like setting up a fight after school.
He tapped the table lightly to draw everyone's attention.
"Ser Pell, I'll have Herschel prepare shields, longswords, bows and arrows for you, along with ten of our household guards. Then you will recruit ninety more—focus on experienced hunters."
"That will give you one hundred men under your command."
"I'm naming it the Survey Corps. You'll be its first commander."
"Find those who know the terrain well. When Ser Marsen and I engage the hill tribes, I want you already sitting in their homes as a guest."
"I've had enough of their raids. This time, I will sweep them away completely."
"I want many prisoners—our lands need people. The more captives you take, the greater your merit."
This approach was slightly more complex than their usual methods, but not hard to grasp. Pell understood quickly.
He accepted the order solemnly.
Maester Arl's voice trembled. "My lord, I have a map. In my spare time, I've kept track of the tribes' movements, compiling records for years. The map marks their strongholds. Some details may be off, but most should be accurate. I hope it will aid you."
Gawen pressed a hand to his chest. "You have my thanks, Maester Arl. House Crabb will never forget your service."
King's Landing – The Red Keep.
Cersei Lannister clutched a letter, luxuriating in the caresses of Jaime Lannister.
After their long intimacy, she rose, slipping on a crimson robe.
At over thirty, Cersei's figure remained slender, her skin fair and smooth.
She poured herself a goblet of wine, drinking deeply to soothe her parched throat.
As she glanced at the letter again, Jaime's smile was filled with fond indulgence.
His smiles always carried an air of confidence and pride.
"That boy's just a sycophant," Jaime said.
Cersei's lips curved upward, her chin lifting in that familiar, imperious way.
"Jaime, you don't understand me. He does."
"Courage and beauty united"—I like that as an opening.
Jaime sighed. "That boy isn't as innocent as he pretends."
Cersei stepped close, stroking his handsome face with a smile. "You're not jealous of a boy, are you? My gown would look better on you."
Jaime refused to dignify the jealousy question with an answer.
"You plan to take him hunting this time?"
"He's very adorable, isn't he?"
.
.
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