Pentos, the Governor's Mansion in the Free City.
The brilliant sunlight flowed like water across the sky, a few thin white clouds drifting lazily with the wind.
In one corner of her bedchamber, the future Mother of Dragons, Daenerys Targaryen, knelt, her slender arms weakly wrapped around her body.
Since arriving in Pentos, Governor Illyrio Mopatis had gifted her a gown of pale blue gossamer. Finely crafted, it was both beautiful and cool to wear, and Daenerys had cherished the gift.
Now, her favorite gown lay in tatters around her—torn apart in a fit of rage by her only living relative, her own brother, Viserys Targaryen.
Her thick silver hair was tangled in loose curls, framing her delicate face in disheveled beauty.
Her violet eyes shimmered with tears, their sorrow deepened by the grief in her heart.
Her skin was as pale as milk, her figure small and graceful, her beauty ethereal—like that of a fae.
One of her maids, still clutching her own aching stomach, rose unsteadily to her feet and, with a pained expression, wrapped a blanket gently around Daenerys.
Daenerys met the maid's gaze with mournful eyes. "Are you hurt? I'm sorry… I was afraid… I couldn't protect you, and you were injured protecting me."
The maid shook her head. "I'm all right, Your Highness. Let me help you up."
Her elder brother, Viserys Targaryen—the second son of King Aerys II Targaryen, the Mad King, and Queen Rhaella—styled himself Viserys III Targaryen.
After Robert's Rebellion, the surviving Targaryens fled Westeros. Claiming the title of King of the Andals and the First Men, Viserys took his sister across the Free Cities, seeking allies and protection while evading assassins. They endured cold receptions and humiliations, even selling their mother's crown. It was for this that Viserys earned the derisive name "The Beggar King."
Since selling their mother's crown, his temper had grown ever more violent.
Daenerys longed for the brother she remembered from childhood—the boy who told her tales of the Seven Kingdoms and painted her visions of a beautiful life once he reclaimed the throne.
She wished desperately that the brother in her memories could return to her side.
The day after receiving the Queen's appointment, Gawen donned bright silver plate armor for once, draping a blue cloak embroidered with his house sigil.
By his side, Mondon Waters served as his guard—chainmail over a breastplate, a large round shield on his back, and a warhammer at his hip.
At the Red Keep's main gate, the gold cloaks glanced at Gawen's writ of appointment, asked only a few perfunctory questions, and let them pass without demanding that they surrender their weapons.
In Gawen's mind, King Robert's Red Keep was a place utterly lacking in a sense of danger.
Mondon's dull eyes were wide with curiosity, roving over every corner.
Gawen didn't hurry, moving at an unhurried pace in the direction the guards had indicated.
Before long, a tall man in silver plate and white cloak, with golden hair and striking green eyes, came into view.
Gawen instantly guessed who it was—Jaime Lannister—and for the briefest moment, he felt a flicker of killing intent from the Kingsguard knight, gone almost as quickly as it came.
Raised in danger and, since crossing over, blessed with a heightened body, Gawen's senses were sharp enough to catch that fleeting hostility.
He thought for a moment and came to a peculiar conclusion.
Jealousy? Does he think I'm some pretty-faced plaything for the Queen, come all this way to be her paramour? Is this what they call "love-blindness"? Please—my living comes from hard-won skill, not… that.
Keeping his expression neutral, Gawen stepped forward and gave a courteous bow. "Good day, Ser Kingsguard."
Jaime leaned on his sword, looking him up and down with a hint of pride in his voice. "I am Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard. You're Baron Gawen Crabb, the little wildling?"
"I am," Gawen replied evenly.
Jaime's brows lifted slightly. Tyrion's assessment was accurate—the boy had a mature temperament.
Most young lords would have bristled at being addressed that way.
Though Jaime didn't care for him, he had no interest in making trouble. "Follow me, little baron."
Gawen thanked him and gave Mondon a look before moving ahead.
Mondon, of course, had no idea what that look meant. This was hardly the time to ask, so he scratched his head and reached for the warhammer at his belt.
Does he want me to bash in this arrogant knight's skull?
Catching the motion, Gawen murmured, "Stay close."
Ah—guess I was overthinking it.
Mondon gave a simple grunt of agreement and followed, still gawking at their surroundings.
Gawen lengthened his stride to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with Jaime. "Ser Jaime, if I may ask—what exactly does the Queen's Officer do?"
Are we friends now?
Jaime shot him a sidelong glance. "Didn't you think to ask Tyrion?"
Could Jaime be jealous of Tyrion? A frightening brother complex, perhaps?
Another possible reason for that flash of killing intent crossed Gawen's mind.
He sighed. "I thought I was avoiding Lord Tyrion—only to realize yesterday he's been avoiding me. We've both lost, and now we're equally wary."
Jaime chuckled at the thought of Tyrion's haggard look. "Yesterday he told me he'd never drink again in this life."
Gawen grinned. "On the third day I knew him, he said something much the same to me—though it only lasted half a day before he found another excuse I couldn't refuse."
"With his wit and tongue, Lord Tyrion will always find a way to win you over."
The genuine praise in Gawen's tone put Jaime in a better mood.
From his perspective, Gawen's refined, mild features made him hard to dislike.
They were getting along pleasantly enough when Jaime suddenly remembered something, and his face cooled again.
Tch. Tsundere.
Gawen, magnanimous as ever, didn't take offense.
There would be time enough to deal with that later.
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
📯 Lords and Ladies of the Realm, heed the call! 📯
The saga burns ever brighter—30 chapters ahead now await, available only to those who swear their loyalty on Patreon. 🐉❄️🔥
Walk among dragons, defy the cold, and stake your claim in a world where crowns are won with fire and fury.
🔗 Claim your place: www.patreon.com/DrManhattanEN👤 Known on Patreon as: DrManhattanEN
Your loyalty feeds the flame. And fire remembers.