The morning sun burst forth, piercing through the clouds.
King's Landing, front courtyard of the Crabb Estate.
A loud thud rang out from within, the kind that made one's teeth ache.
Samwell Tarly, looking horrified, drew in a deep breath of the cool morning air.
"Damn it, someone help me up!"
"Seven hells, Sorel's out cold—maester! Maester!"
Fully armored, Mondon Waters lowered his visor and said with a dopey smile, "Don't worry, I held back. Sorel's a sturdy fellow—he'll wake up in a moment."
"…"
The air seemed to freeze for a heartbeat.
"Mondon, you *****!"
"I'll ***** you!"
"You *****!"
The Crabb men in attendance erupted into curses.
Mondon just chuckled, ignoring their anger, and walked toward Samwell.
Samwell glanced at the equally broad-shouldered Mondon, blinking. "Mondon, I finally got a firsthand feel for your strength. Words really don't do it justice."
Mondon's dull eyes shifted toward the shouting soldiers before leaning closer to Samwell and murmuring, "I meant what I said—I did hold back."
Samwell couldn't help but ask, "How much?"
Removing his bucket-shaped helm, Mondon replied, "Exactly… about half?"
"Lord Gawen, the Master of Coin requests your presence…"
In the dining hall, Gawen looked up from his meal as Samwell approached, panting.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Samwell bowed. "Baron Gawen, I have something to report."
Gawen smiled and gestured for him to sit. "Sam, take a seat first—have some water."
Then he turned to a retainer. "Where does Lord Petyr wish to meet?"
"At Chataya's brothel, my lord."
Gawen's brow arched, and he paused briefly. "Send word to Lord Petyr that I'll visit after sunset."
"What is it, Sam?"
"Baron Gawen, it's about Mondon Waters."
Excitement spread across Samwell's face as he continued, "Mondon's incredibly strong. His plate armor is as light to him as cloth is to us. I think we should commission a custom suit of thicker plate for him—at least half again as thick as his current set. If we do this, Mondon will be everyone's nightmare."
Gawen nodded slightly. "Sam, you know armor well?"
Samwell smiled shyly. "I… can't fight on the battlefield, so I've studied this sort of thing instead."
By the end, his head was lowered.
Gawen patted his arm. "Sam, don't dwell on unhappy memories. Your life is just beginning. War isn't only won on the battlefield.
Your idea is a good one. If this works, Mondon might become unstoppable in battle—and you'll share in the credit.
I like Mondon, and I support your plan. I'll provide the gold dragons—you and Mondon make it happen. How about it?"
The once-poor baron of the Crab Claw Peninsula finally spoke with the ease of one accustomed to gold.
Samwell nodded heavily. "I'll do my best!"
Gawen's eyes glimmered. "I hear the smith Tobho Mott is renowned. You can find his forge atop the Street of Steel in the Visenya Hills. His shop is larger than any other there, with stone knights flanking the door—you can't miss it."
Unable to contain himself, Samwell stood at once. "Baron Gawen, I've got it. I'll go find Mondon right now!"
Gawen smiled. "Congratulations on finding a new beginning, Sam."
Red Keep, Maegor's Holdfast
Gawen was under some pressure this morning.
After breakfast, he and his guards went directly to the Red Keep, where he met Queen Cersei Lannister.
At present, Gawen was enjoying the Queen's "favor"… standing beside Jaime Lannister to watch her bathe.
Gawen cast a glance at Jaime, who gave no reaction.
Fine—I'm the odd one here.
Refocusing, Gawen lowered his gaze and began reporting on his progress in Highgarden.
Cersei opened her eyes, a smile curving her lips. "Baron Gawen, you have the courage I cherish. You've done well."
Gawen pressed a hand to his chest. "Your Grace, my courage comes from you."
Looking pleased, she said, "You may withdraw."
At that, Gawen silently pointed toward the gardens at Jaime, then promptly left.
Once Gawen was gone, Jaime stepped closer to the bath, Adam's apple bobbing. "Cersei, you seem in good spirits."
Cersei glanced at him with a smirk. "Jaime, isn't he adorable?"
Jaime sighed. "I'm not jealous. Gawen's an unusually upright knight… and he doesn't yet know a woman's touch. I just worry you might scare him off."
Cersei toyed with her hair, lashes hiding the glint in her eyes. "If he can't handle this, how can I trust him for anything greater?"
Jaime spread his hands. "That's why I choose to be your sword and avoid such complications."
Cersei beckoned him with a finger.
Jaime shook his head with a smile, bending closer.
Hooking a finger under his chin, she asked, "Ser Jaime, are you angling for a reward?"
"Cersei, I can't refuse you—but I should warn you, I'm wearing armor."
Red Keep, Maegor's Garden
Gawen had just seen off a messenger from the Hand's Tower.
The man had come to confirm Gawen's audience with Lord Jon Arryn—this afternoon.
Gawen had expected it to be no sooner than tomorrow. The urgency felt unusual… too unusual.
Staring at the sea of flowers, his thumb rubbed against his forefinger.
Tap, tap.
Jaime approached, one hand resting on the sword at his hip.
Gawen nodded in greeting, his thoughts sparking.
Yes—armor.
He had already sensed the Queen's… dangerous change.
Aside from Jaime, a less-than-reliable shield, he would need plate armor for personal protection.
Armor was slow to don and even slower to remove—protection for a man in dangerous waters.
From now on, in the Red Keep, his armor would stay on.
If one boarded Cersei's bed, it was no small feat to disembark—and with his current strength, he'd pay dearly for it.
The best tactic was to keep her satisfied while maintaining a safe distance.
To that end, Gawen decided his persona would gain a new trait: the reserved suitor.
The problem? He was naturally sunny, and might not pull off the role of a brooding man pining for Cersei's beauty.
Jaime didn't waste words. "Baron Gawen, most of what I've gathered points toward the Riverlands."
Gawen nodded. "Ser Jaime, schemes of this scale are always shrouded in fog.
Lord Hoster Tully is gravely ill. The Riverlands have no energy to meddle in the Red Keep's games. The Tullys can be ruled out."
Jaime's voice held a trace of anger. "The Lord of Riverrun's health is no secret… I've scoured all of King's Landing."
Gawen smiled faintly. "I understand, Ser Jaime. I imagine your sword is itching for use."
Jaime's mood eased. "That's why I've stopped my search. I was waiting for your return."
"I'm grateful for your trust. I'm glad I came back in time—else the Queen might have sent me to attack Riverrun."
Jaime chuckled. "You and Tyrion both wield a magic with words… calming tempers before one realizes it."
He clapped Gawen on the shoulder. "Come now, young baron—tell me. Who's behind this?"
Gawen met his gaze. "Renly Baratheon."
Jaime's brows drew together.
"He's the King's younger brother, Master of Laws, Lord of Storm's End," Gawen continued. "Since he came to the Red Keep, Ser Cortnay Penrose has ruled Storm's End in his stead."
Jaime's green eyes flickered with restrained fury. "Is the information sound?"
"It's no secret in Highgarden," Gawen said with a shrug.
Jaime bared his teeth in a predator's grin. "Renly's just a well-dressed lordling."
Gawen arched a brow—Jaime had grown sharper.
"Why would he move against Cersei? What's his aim?" Jaime demanded.
They both knew the Baratheon brothers were far from united.
When Robert took the throne, he gave Storm's End to Renly, while Stannis—who'd bled for the cause—was left with barren Dragonstone.
The rift had deepened ever since.
Gawen had no intention of helping to mend it.
Patting Jaime's arm, Gawen said, "Ser Jaime, whatever you decide, I stand with you—for the Queen's sake. You can trust me."
Inwardly, he thought: When you truly let go of Cersei, Ser Jaime—that's when we'll fight side by side.
Jaime smiled faintly. "No fear in you, is there?"
"I have a retreat," Gawen replied with a shrug. "The Crab Claw fears no invader.
When an enemy comes, we set aside all grudges and unite until they're destroyed. It's our thousand-year tradition.
If they march on the peninsula, you command the West's armies—and kick them hard from behind."
Jaime laughed despite himself. "Tempting—but the Queen would be in danger. I can't let that happen."
"For her sake," Gawen said gently, "we can take our time—if you have the patience."
Jaime's eyes narrowed. "You already have a plan?"
Gawen nodded, raising five fingers… only for Jaime's hand to freeze on his empty belt.
He'd rushed out of Maegor's Holdfast without his coin pouch.
Jaime's expression turned sheepish. "Ahem. You know the words—A Lannister always pays his debts."
Afternoon, the Hand's Tower
Just before entering, Gawen paused, looking toward the Throne Room.
Lancel Lannister was half-hidden behind a tree, staring straight at him.
The blazing sun forced Gawen to squint.
No clouds, no wind—the air itself seemed still.
Without a flicker of reaction, he moved on into the tower.
Passing through the hall, he saw Varys approaching.
They exchanged polite nods without stopping.
As they passed, Varys's lips moved faintly.
Gawen's ears caught the whisper: "Beware the shadows."
Couldn't the man spare more than three words? Gawen hated riddlers—unless he was the one asking.
His mind worked quickly, linking it to Lancel's odd behavior.
He climbed the stairs.
.
.
.
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