Red Keep, Maegor's Tower – Third Floor
Jaime had been standing guard outside for nearly an hour.
This was one of Cersei's favored rooms for private matters. Its thick wooden door blocked sound so well that nothing could be heard from the hall outside.
For some reason, Jaime shifted slightly, as if tempted to press his ear to the heavy door.
He stopped himself just in time, forcing a faint smile and giving a small shake of his head, as if mocking the childish impulse.
Straightening again, he rested his right hand on the pommel of his sword, flicked the edge of his white cloak with his left, and resumed his vigil.
Another hour passed before the door finally opened and Gawen stepped out.
He inclined his head naturally. "Ser Jaime, once again, thank you for guiding me today. Until we meet again."
It was a polite farewell.
Jaime arched a brow, his lips curving stiffly. "Allow me to walk you out."
No, thank you, Gawen thought, about to refuse.
But before he could answer, Jaime turned with a swirl of his cloak and was already moving. Gawen had no choice but to accept the escort.
The two descended side by side, passing the Queen's Hall and exiting Maegor's Tower.
On the way down, Gawen, ever observant, noticed that Jaime seemed to have something to say.
Though he didn't fully understand the knight's inexplicable hostility toward him, Gawen saw no reason to press the matter—especially after spending so much mental effort persuading Cersei today. He decided to ignore it.
When he spotted Mondon Waters waiting at the door, Gawen merely waved for him to follow.
Mondon, still wearing his usual vacant expression, nodded and rubbed his stomach before falling in behind.
At last, Jaime slowed his pace. "Ahem."
The knight gave a deliberate cough, glancing sidelong at Gawen.
Hearing it, Gawen turned his head with a puzzled look.
"What exactly do you plan to do?" Jaime asked. "I'll keep it in confidence."
Gawen didn't answer at once, looking ahead as they kept walking.
"I understand your concern, Ser Jaime," he said at last. "Truth be told, I dislike killing."
Tyrion had told Jaime as much, and he agreed. Even on this first meeting, Jaime's instincts as an "old knight" told him Gawen was no bloodthirsty man.
He gave a small nod.
So it wasn't because of the campaign reports accusing me of excessive slaughter?
Forget it. Gawen was done guessing at the reasons behind this proud man's hostility.
"Ser Jaime, try to see it from another angle," he said. "If my plan succeeds, who stands to benefit most?"
Jaime's bright green eyes shifted slightly.
"Her Grace… and the smallfolk," Gawen continued.
"Cut away the evildoers around them, and at the very least, their lives will be a little better."
"This is governance—flexible, benevolent governance."
Stopping in his tracks, Gawen faced him fully. "King's Landing is unfamiliar to me. You have renown here. If you're willing to lend your hand, my chances will be far greater."
Jaime's face remained composed, but inwardly his impression of Gawen shifted.
Still… words weren't enough—he would wait to see the man's deeds.
He knew well that Cersei had already approved Gawen's plan.
For the first time, his faint smile was genuine. "If it concerns Her Grace, I'll stand behind you."
Gawen's calm gaze carried weight. "For Her Grace."
Without thinking, Jaime echoed him. "For Her Grace."
Gawen placed his right hand solemnly over his heart. "And for a knight's mercy and justice, Ser Jaime."
Jaime's pupils contracted, his expression unconsciously turning grave.
The Vale – Gulltown, Lord's Hall
After hearing his men's report, Lord Grafton furrowed his brow. "So, the only lead on the fire at Meca Manor is that… song in the harbor square?"
A squire leaned in to whisper, "Listen to the Whispers of the Crypts…"
"Yes, that one. And the Crabb half-wildlings from the peninsula…"
"The Crabb family…"
"Right—the Crabbs. This was their doing, wasn't it? But can a song alone be proof? House Grafton would be laughed at by the high lords of the Red Keep."
The Gulltown sheriff bowed his head. "My lord, I'm sorry. Those thieves left too quickly and too cleanly. No evidence at all."
Lord Grafton's maester spoke up. "Everyone knows what happened. The young Baron Crabb is copying the late Lord Tywin's old methods."
Lord Grafton rubbed his bald pate. "Ka-ka… Cas…"
"The Rains of Castamere…"
"Yes! The Rains of Castamere. This is vengeance for his cousin—and he's careful not to leave us proof!"
Drumming his fingers on the table, Lord Grafton turned to the maester. "What do you suggest we do? With such a disaster in Gulltown, I can't sit idle. Plenty of people would love to see me humiliated."
"My lord," the maester replied, "you could have someone else contact Lord Jon Arryn. Don't forget—there's a branch of House Arryn here in Gulltown."
"As Gulltown's lord, you have no direct proof to accuse a noble before the Red Keep. But they are kin to Lord Arryn—informing him privately would be quite fitting."
"A fine idea!"
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