Fifty household guards and retainers, thirty warhorses, three healers, three grooms, one barber, and three maids—such was the size of Gawen's party bound for the Red Keep, with Steward Surana overseeing the attendants.
The cost of passage aboard a merchant vessel came to fifty-two gold dragons, but Steward Herschel had arranged payment in furs of equal value.
Not having to part with actual gold was some comfort to Gawen. It made him think that, if one had the means, it was worth preparing a sea-going vessel of one's own.
Siren's Port now saw one or two merchant ships dock each day—far from the desolation of its early days, and finally beginning to resemble a true harbor.
Gawen had set all things in order; the rest would have to be built up with time.
"My lord, Steward Herschel and several merchants have confirmed that in Astapor, the price of an Unsullied is one hundred gold dragons—not including the cost of transport."
Unsullied?Gawen remembered telling Herschel to ask his contacts for their price if the chance arose.
Yet his early eagerness for them had waned.
Since the war, integrating the mountain clansmen had gone far more smoothly than expected.
Gawen was pleased with these "zero-cost" fighters—fierce, strong, and warriors the moment you put a weapon in their hands.
Once they were well-fed and warmly clothed, their loyalty was exceptional.
With training and discipline, they became a formidable force.
One hundred gold dragons apiece—a thousand for ten, and for a hundred… No wonder that, in time, the Dragon Queen had taken eight thousand of them with a single ruse.That was worth eight hundred thousand gold dragons. Gods…
Winning, with hardly any effort, the treasuries of several great Free Cities. Gods…
The thought left Gawen not only envious, but faintly jealous.
After all, House Crabb had shed blood for the dragons. Loyal vassals to House Targaryen, yet since Robert's Rebellion they had not known a single good day—over a decade of Red Keep suppression.
At the right time, Gawen thought, perhaps he might contrive to "swindle" some gold from the Dragon Queen—to soothe his wounded pride.
"Yes, I understand, Surana. How is Lianna of late?"
"After hearing the news from Seagull Town, Lady Lianna shut herself in her chambers for a full day. Since then she has been in good spirits. I can tell she feels at ease here—she trusts you deeply."
"Keep an eye on her for me. I'm not as attentive as you are. And… watch over matters of the heart as well."
Surana's eyes trembled slightly beneath her lowered lashes."My lord, I will see to it and report to you in good time."
At her answer, Gawen's brow rose and he turned from the sea to her."Thank you for understanding my concern, Surana. House Crabb now consists only of myself and Cousin Lianna. She has a good and gentle heart—a virtue worth praising, but one easily exploited, especially in affairs of love."
He looked back over the wide expanse of sea, sighing softly."You've watched her grow since she was a child; I know you've always been fond of her. Don't worry too much. As her lord, I have responsibilities I must bear, but I will do my best to see her future is safe and happy."
Surana lifted her gaze, lips pressed together."In truth, my lord, you should have Lady Lianna sign a renunciation of her claim to House Crabb's inheritance. That would protect her more than anything. I wished to advise you of it before, but hesitated—knowing you have no heir yet. Others say I am too rational, but I know myself: in many matters, I am indecisive."
Gawen rubbed his thumb against his forefinger."Surana, in my eyes you are family. You may always speak freely before me, and leave the decision to me—you should not trouble yourself over it. As for my cousin's claim… I would rather she find love of her own."
"As you command, my lord."
King's Landing – Red Keep – Tower of the Hand
Petyr Baelish leaned against the balcony rail, eyes fixed on the distance, his gaze deep.
The "Sheep-shit Earl," the half-wildling noble… each a target of mockery, and yet—heh.
Through the Citadel's formal channels, word of Baron Gawen Crabb's feats had spread quickly across a long-peaceful Westeros. As the newest talk of the realm, report after report had found its way to Petyr's desk.
Blessed by the strength of his forebears, when House Crabb returned in force to its ancestral lands—even after more than a decade—he had effortlessly reclaimed his holdings, as though the people themselves willed it.
Enviable indeed, the deep-rooted rule bestowed by blood.
And detestable, too—that same blood, synonymous with power.
The old traditions of blood over all were so entrenched that even the wildlings had been shaped by them.
Compared to noble birth, ability was but an ornament.
Thus… only chaos is a ladder.
Petyr's gaze grew darker still.
"Lord Petyr, how rare—I believe I detect a hint of anger about you."
Bald, broad, and draped in a loose robe of reddish-brown silk, Varys clasped his hands before him.
Petyr calmly drew back his gaze. His grey-green eyes turned toward the spymaster, who smiled with careful grace and dipped his head.
With a faint, elegant curve of his lips, Petyr replied,"Lord Varys, is it curiosity that drives you so, as befits your office? If so, I fear your nose has failed you this time."
Varys' smile did not falter."Since I first knew you, my lord, I have seen nothing in you but poised elegance and rare wit. The smallest change in you is enough to catch my notice."
Petyr admitted inwardly that he found this spider ever more distasteful.
He reminded himself to tread carefully—always aware that the little birds were watching.
No matter what he thought, he kept the same pleasant smile."Truly, the sweetest tongue in King's Landing—each conversation with you is a delight."
Varys bowed slightly again."It is your lordship's grace that gives off such sweetness; I merely bask in its glow."
Petyr spread his hands, not inclined to prolong a debate over tongues. His grey-green eyes shifted almost imperceptibly as he changed the subject."Our gracious queen, I hear, is suddenly in high spirits—whereas by custom she might be cross for many days."
Varys stepped up beside him, also gazing into the distance."Her Grace retains a maiden's heart. When she gains something she desires, she can readily forget a passing sorrow."
Petyr's voice was low and smooth."Something she desires? Lord Varys, there's meaning in your words."
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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