Varys clasped his hands together."Our willful queen… add a baron with blood and boldness to the mix, and we may soon enjoy a rare and splendid drama in King's Landing."
Petyr Baelish's eyes shifted."Lord Spymaster, you sound as if something troubles you."
"As long as King Robert sits firmly upon the Iron Throne, nothing truly irreparable can occur. Thus, I sleep soundly each night."
"Hah… the premise in your words is enough to make my heart quake. With nothing but coin for company each day, I find myself more and more uneasy about the chance of misfortune. Thanks to you, I shall sleep poorly tonight."
Varys dipped his head in apology."My apologies, Lord Treasurer. I merely mused on the present state of King's Landing—yet somehow caused you unease. My tongue has lost its sweetness and instead sown disquiet."
Petyr felt, for the first time, an instinctive awareness of Varys's danger—a danger he had not particularly noted before.
He wondered silently at the spymaster's hidden purpose, though nothing of it showed on his face."Merely a jest. Alas, I'm no humorist. I must await an audience with Lord Arryn. Good day to you."
With his usual elegant smile, Petyr took his leave.
The thoughts of a man without roots were the hardest to fathom. This was no chance meeting, and Petyr had already decided he must be on greater guard against Varys.
Varys watched him go, the smile slowly fading from his lips.
Da-dum… dum-dum… dum-dum-dum-dum…
Standing at the ship's prow, Gawen gazed toward the towering walls of King's Landing and the heights of the Red Keep, a melody from his past life echoing in his mind.
After three days and two nights at sea, the city lay close ahead.
Many in the party had taken ill with seasickness, keeping the Crabb healers busy.
From Whispers Hall to King's Landing, the sea route was the most efficient; the overland journey would pass through too many domains, wasting time and strength.
For soldiers new to the sea, seasickness could sweep through in force. If their fighting ability was not to suffer in future campaigns, such acclimatization had to be trained in advance.
The eastern reaches of the Crab Claw Peninsula still needed time to secure. After that, Gawen's plan was to move west—as far as the lands of Raventree Hall—until the western coast was firmly in his grasp.
If he could first be recognized as "Protector of the Crab Claw Peninsula," then his westward move would be entirely legitimate.
The merchant vessel sailed in from Blackwater Bay into the Blackwater Rush, mooring at the busy Riverside Gate—locals preferred to call it Mud Gate.
Dockhands paused mid-task, struck by a sudden, almost stinging sensation on their skin.
It was not unfamiliar—an aura born of long years in blood and fire. They had seen such men before, but this presence was stronger than most. Many turned to look in the same direction.
A company of towering guards in bright silver plate surrounded a young man.
Tall and lean, the youth wore a blue robe embroidered over the left breast with a golden marsh marigold, white trousers, and deerskin boots.
His features were striking—handsome without being soft, his expression carrying a steadiness beyond his years.
The dockside veterans quickly made way, leaving a broad path for Gawen and his retinue.
Leighton, Surana's eldest son, had been waiting."Good day, my lord."
Gawen wrinkled his nose slightly against the mingled odors of the docks."Is our lodging in the city prepared?"
"It is. No sooner had I completed arrangements at the Crabb Estate than I received a raven from Steward Herschel. It was settled only yesterday and is ready for you. The house is near Hookport—I'll take you there now."
Mounting the horse brought by Mondon, Gawen was joined by his bannermen as they rode out.
King's Landing – Hookport – Gawen's temporary residence
After a hot bath, Gawen felt much restored.
Surana took his towel."Only twenty guards left for you?"
"We're not here for war," he replied, sinking onto a bench with a sigh. "I saw plenty of eyes on us along the way—this will suffice. Mondon and Fley will handle the guards. You take the rest outside the city to the estate."
"Leave two maids, and perhaps a healer as well," Surana suggested. "Best to guard against mishap."
Gawen nodded."You're always thorough, Surana."
"I've already sent the letter requesting an audience with Her Grace by Leighton, with this address enclosed. While we wait, you should rest and recover from the journey."
"Leave Leighton here to manage the house. That will ease my mind."
Evening – Hookport – Knight's Tavern
Gawen dined alone at a table while Mondon and the others ate nearby. After half a day's rest, the seas had loosened their stomachs, and they now ate heartily.
The tavern door swung open again, and a small figure entered.
From his seat, Gawen had a clear view of the doorway. The man's distinctive features made him easy to recognize—Tyrion Lannister.
Gawen glanced his way without surprise, then returned to the excellent roast beef before him.
Tyrion tugged at a small bell by the door.
Jingle-jingle…
The sound drew the room's attention. Gawen, like the rest, looked toward him.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Tyrion called out,"I must tell you—today is your lucky day. Tonight, your food and drink are on me!"
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