Gawen had only just returned with Mondon to the townhouse at Hook Port when one of the Queen's attendants arrived, escorted by several Lannister guards. They brought with them twenty sacks of gold dragons—one hundred per sack, two thousand in all. Very Lannister indeed.
The attendant also brought a message: Her Grace Cersei would not interfere in how Gawen chose to use the money, but he must deliver her a splendid result.
How generous. Again—very Lannister.
Gawen decided to be cautious and set aside half immediately.
His first thought was for his own people—it was like receiving pay from one's employer and instinctively thinking first of one's family back home.
After securing the gold, Gawen sat at the table, stroking his chin.
He immediately dispatched riders to the Crabb Estate outside the city, with urgent orders for twenty household guards to come to King's Landing at once.
It was a pity he had brought so few men this time, but he understood that plans rarely keep up with changing circumstances.
Things were unfolding more smoothly than he'd expected. Upon arriving in King's Landing without an official Red Keep post, bringing too many soldiers would only have drawn criticism—something to be avoided.
Now, with an official position in the Red Keep and a specific assignment, he could request more troops from Whispers Hall.
Tapping his long fingers one by one on the tabletop, he considered.
There were roughly three hundred Lannister guards in the city… no, best not to be hasty. Step by step—start by summoning fifty more soldiers from his own lands.
He wrote the orders, sealed them with wax, and stamped them with his sigil.
He had no ravens of his own in the capital, nor did he know any nobles with whom he could send one at will.
It was all official business, so without hesitation he sent someone with the letter to find Jaime in the Red Keep, to ask for the use of his raven.
King's Landing – The Queen's District
Speed was essential. That same afternoon, Gawen made a public tour of the Queen's District with his guards, while secretly paying informants to gather urgent intelligence.
He discovered many houses long abandoned, nearly collapsed into ruins.
Looking at those empty courtyards, he thought wistfully that the Queen's District must once have been a thriving place.
After the inspection, he requisitioned several of the larger properties in the district, choosing one as his temporary command post, and set people to work cleaning it through the night.
The next morning, just after dawn
Jaime and Lancel arrived at the makeshift command post with a hundred Lannister guards.
In one corner of the yard, a great iron pot was set over the fire, the smell of meat drifting through the air. Mondon crouched nearby, swallowing noisily from time to time.
After a brief, businesslike handover of the guards, Jaime stepped inside, sat down on a chair near the simmering pot, and watched Mondon with a faint smile.
"Mutton?" he asked. "Smells about ready."
Mondon nodded earnestly. "Yes, ser. Just a little longer. I cut the meat myself—very fatty."
Gawen walked over and sat down as well, smiling. "Ser Jaime, how are you finding the aroma of the Queen's District?"
Jaime's attitude toward him had improved slightly—not a waste of Gawen's effort.
He spread his hands. "In all my years in King's Landing, the only thing I've never grown used to is the city's… indescribable stench. This isn't bad—manageable."
Gawen exhaled quietly. "My men cleaned all night."
"I heard," Jaime said, "that last night you rounded up several of the Queen's District's constables?"
The previous night, after his inspection, Gawen had moved quickly to detain the constables. Jaime's own sources had brought him the news almost immediately—hence his early arrival with the Lannister guards.
"Strictly speaking," Gawen replied gravely, "I'd say 'contained,' not 'arrested.' I need their intelligence and assistance. My intention was to restrain them, perhaps even give them a chance to redeem themselves. But on closer examination, the crimes these constables have committed are beyond words."
"They are the real powers in the Queen's District. And behind them stands the Commander of the City Watch—Janos Slynt."
Jaime was an outstanding swordsman and capable battlefield commander, but he had not inherited, nor perhaps possessed, his father Tywin's gift for politics.
He frowned. "Are you saying Slynt is the mastermind spreading the rumors about Cersei?"
If only it were that simple.
Outwardly, Gawen shook his head, while inwardly he held Jaime's political instincts in contempt.
Someone had been steadily goading Cersei, deepening the rift between her and King Robert, feeding her hatred until it was rooted beyond removal.
For reasons he could not quite name, Gawen's mind turned to the far-off House Tyrell in Highgarden.
The golden rose—growing unceasing.
.
.
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