Tears streaked down Jefferis's face as he choked out,"Thank you… thank you so very much… I will forever remember your kindness…"
Five-year-old Darius, seeing only his father's sobbing, pursed his little lips and was about to burst into tears. The thin, dark-skinned middle-aged man beside him quickly hushed him in a low voice, afraid the boy's crying would give Baron Crabb the impression of weakness.
Gawen cast a sidelong glance at Matil."Matil, show some sense. Come and look after your younger brother."
His words finally pulled Matil out of his troubled thoughts.
His father suddenly had a new foster son. Today's events would inevitably reach his ears, and Matil knew he could not hide how poorly he had handled the situation. What worried him most was that his strict father might seize this as a pretext to force him to father another child. He was truly traumatized by years of confinement; the thought alone cast a shadow in his heart.
Then again, Matil quickly reminded himself—he now served as Lord Gawen's retainer. Even his father could no longer dictate his life. Heh!
Gawen read the vivid expressions flashing across his new squire's face and did not know what to make of him.
Expressionless on the surface, inwardly he felt the urge to roll his eyes.
When Jefferis's emotions at last began to settle, Gawen spoke:"Your house, its furnishings, its curtains, every single gold dragon you've saved—I will have them safeguarded. When your son comes of age… let us say fifteen… all shall be returned to him."
Such generosity left Jefferis staggered. His heart surged like a storm, his lips parted, but no words came.
Two decades of commerce had taught him one hard truth: when listening to a man speak, the important part was not what he said, but what he left unsaid.
And now, in the haze of his failing body, clarity struck him—his trading house.
Oddly enough, the thought eased his mind. Moments ago Gawen's generosity had terrified him. Now he saw it differently.
With great effort, Jefferis rasped,"Rossell…"
At the name, the dark, thin man who had been holding Darius's hand stepped to the carriage door and bowed low to his master.
Summoning what little strength remained, Jefferis turned to Gawen."My lord baron, Rossell is the steward I trust above all others. For years he has managed most of the business in my trading house… cough, cough…"
After a fit of coughing, Jefferis drew a deep breath, forced down the pain, and went on:"Your grace I cannot repay. I beg that you take my trading house under your protection."
Gawen's brown eyes shifted toward the plump little boy clinging tightly to Matil's leg with small arms and hands. He sighed softly.
Jefferis noticed too, and his gaze flickered with comfort at how close his son had grown to Matil.
"Rossell," Jefferis whispered, "this is my last request. From this day forward, you shall have but one master—Baron Crabb."
With those words he seemed to exhaust his final reserve of strength. His eyes closed, his breath growing faint.
"Master!" cried Rossell, unable to hold back.
Jefferis pried his lids open a sliver and gave the slightest shake of his head.
Rossell wiped his tears with the back of his hand, then straightened his clothes as best he could.
He stepped before Gawen, bowed deeply, and declared,"My lord, I am your loyal servant Rossell, at your service whenever you command."
Gawen inclined his head slightly.
Hook Alley, Gawen's study.
Though Jefferis's matter was settled for now, many other affairs still pressed. Gawen assigned four Crabb soldiers to Rossell to handle the follow-up of Jefferis's estate.
Back in his study, Gawen first drafted an order to redeploy twenty men from the Survey Corps, then had a page carry it to the Red Keep, addressed to his "acquaintance" Jaime, asking him to dispatch the raven.
Once the servant departed, he received Forley and Leyton, who had hurried from the Queen's District.
Gawen had not forgotten: two mornings hence, Queen Cersei's hunting party would pass through that quarter.
The ever-vigilant Lord Crabb would not miss his watch.
Leyton was the first to speak:"My lord, as you commanded, the Watch has enrolled two hundred temporary wardens. On the day the queen passes through, about a thousand people will gather along the route—these will be our wardens and their kin. Those maintaining order will wear uniforms, while the temporary wardens, dressed as commonfolk, will secretly ensure discipline within the crowd."
Gawen nodded, shifting his gaze toward Forley.
In his rough, booming voice Forley reported,"My lord, as ordered, tomorrow afternoon our men and the Lannister redcloaks will cordon off the area. None but Leyton's arranged crowd will be allowed inside."
"Good," Gawen said. He turned back to Leyton."As for the original residents of the area, do not skimp on compensation. I want them so satisfied they will hope for another chance next time. That will ease our governance in the future. You know the district well—set the amounts wisely."
Leyton inclined his head."Yes, my lord. Excessive generosity breeds greed, and that is not your intent. I will ensure the balance is kept."
Gawen's eyes swung back to Forley."When the queen exits Lion Gate, lift the cordon. You will gather our men and the redcloaks and follow after the hunting party."
Forley almost spoke, but held his tongue and only nodded.
Gawen smiled faintly."Still not used to being Chief Warden, Forley?"
The big man chuckled awkwardly, rubbing his hands."At first it was fine, my lord. There was fighting every day. But it's been a while since anyone dared stir trouble—only Leyton's been busy. I sometimes wonder if we were too harsh, and now no one dares come out?"
Leyton, the steward's eldest son, had indeed shown his worth. The more Gawen used him, the more reliable he found him.
And then, unbidden, Gawen's thoughts drifted to distant Whispers Hall, wondering how Karlea fared in her studies under Maester Arl.
With each step of his power's growth, the shortage of capable hands pressed on him ever more keenly.
Breaking from his thoughts, Gawen spoke:"During my absence from King's Landing, you will spend your spare hours training the wardens in swordplay. Organize the drills as you see fit. If you teach them well, upon my return I will appoint another in your place, and you will once again serve as my captain of guards."
Forley's talk of boredom was only an excuse. Seeing the Queen's District grow steadily stable, he merely longed to return to his rightful place—guarding his lord.
Though a warrior who lived for battle, Forley too had his own sense of cunning. Unless pressed by circumstance, he would never stay long away from his liege—his very future depended on it.
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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