Three days later, on the Crab Claw Peninsula—
The first to receive the message was Maester Al, who managed the ravens of House Crabb's domain.
"Count of Whispering Hill…" Maester Al bared his sparse teeth in a crooked smile, his trembling hands handing the letter to a visibly excited Karlea.
"Child, take this to Steward Hershel at once."
"Yes, Maester Al. Right away!"
Once she was gone, the aged maester slowly made his way to the writing desk.
Ever dutiful, he opened the Crabb family chronicles and solemnly picked up his quill.
He felt years younger as he smiled thoughtfully and began to write.
In the year 297 AC, a young lord turned a new page in the history of House Crabb…
…
Marshal Mason Beck and Ser Pell Pilly, who had been discussing military affairs, received the news from Steward Hershel almost simultaneously.
Both knights of House Crabb, their eyes locked across the table—sparks practically flying.
After calming their excitement, they turned to the large map spread out before them.
Both shared a single thought: We need more military merit.
…
Within the command tent of the Thorn Company, Captain Emparo pushed away the ever-clingy Raina with a look of distaste.
Outside, the soldiers of the Thorn Company roared with joy, their cheers rising like thunder.
…
Now acting as Lord Steward, Hershel puffed out his belly and straightened his back with pride.
Despite the pain in his heart, he loyally followed Gawen's orders—flinging open the treasury vault.
House Crabb declared a large-scale celebration.
[House Crabb Morale +1]
[House Crabb Ambition +1]
[House Crabb Prestige +1]
[House Crabb Cohesion +1]
[House Crabb Loyalty +1]
[House Crabb Wealth –1]
…
Outside King's Landing — Crabb Manor
For days now, clever Dick had never endured such a brutal beating.
When the Investigation Corps first dragged him in, he still had enough bravado to shout defiance. Now, terror was all that remained.
When Gawen arrived, Dick was brought from the basement and thrown with a thud onto the cold stone floor.
He let out a cry of pain.
"Dick Crabb?"
At the sound of the voice, Dick looked up. The first thing he saw was Gawen seated above, and then—the golden marsh marigold crest on his chest.
His pupils contracted. His body flinched.
Gawen chuckled softly. "So, you do know the laws of the realm."
Dick stared in fear. "I… I'm kin. I'm family!"
His words trembled, but his eyes kept darting about.
That subtle detail might escape many—but not Gawen.
His brow twitched slightly. He turned to Joffrey, the stern man standing nearby.
"Why do I still see deceit in his eyes? Have you not handled him properly?"
[Joffrey, Commander of the King's Landing Investigation Corps]
Joffrey placed a hand over his chest apologetically. "My lord, allow me to let some blood."
Gawen nodded.
With a sharp hiss, Joffrey drew his sword and stepped forward.
He grabbed Dick by the hair and yanked him upright, placing the cold steel at his throat.
The chill of the blade shattered Dick's last hope—he wet himself in fear.
Joffrey wrinkled his nose at the stench and looked toward Gawen.
"Dick," Gawen said, waving him off, "Your father was the second son of a cadet Crabb branch. Am I correct, Dick Rivers?"
Dick nodded dumbly. "Please… have mercy… I only wanted—"
"For Shaunie?" Gawen cut in. "Or for your sister, Yulia Rivers?"
"My sister… she… she…"
"She's safe for now. Whether she survives—depends on you."
Dick lowered his head, eyes twitching with regret.
He had doomed his poor sister.
His hair was soaked with sweat. But he refused to give up.
"Noble lord… please… grant us a chance."
"I will," Gawen said with a cold smile.
Dick was just about to sob his gratitude when Gawen added, "I don't want your blood on my hands. Do it yourself—trade your life for your sister's."
He glanced at Joffrey.
Joffrey nodded, took a dagger from his belt, and dropped it in front of Dick with a clang.
Dick stared at the blade in horror, wiping sweat from his face.
When he hesitated, Gawen calmly said, "The seven hells await, but the law is the law. Dick—between you and your sister, I'll only take one."
Dick whispered, pale as death, "I'm sorry… Forgive me, sister…"
Tears and sweat blurred his vision.
Hands shaking, he picked up the dagger.
"I hope you—"
Gawen's cold snort cut him off.
The last bit of defiant warning Dick had summoned was swallowed back in fear.
"Don't test my patience, Dick Rivers."
If you break your word, I'll haunt you as a wight! he screamed in his heart.
Dick rose unsteadily, gripping the hilt tight, blade pointed at his own chest.
"MOTHER!" he cried, eyes squeezed shut, and thrust the dagger in—
CLANG!
Joffrey's longsword knocked it from his hands with deadly precision.
He sheathed his sword and turned to Gawen. "The force was enough. Had I not deflected it, it would've pierced his heart. He showed…"
He glanced at the collapsed Dick and finished, "Half a man's courage, at best."
Gawen raised his eyes to the landing above the hall, where Yulia Rivers had watched the entire scene.
She had been under careful watch by the Corps.
Once, she had deeply resented Dick—sometimes even hated him.
But today, she saw her usually cowardly brother ready to die for her.
His promises to take her away weren't lies.
Her ridiculous, scheming brother… had always been honest only with her.
Yulia suddenly burst into laughter through tears.
In her heart, there remained only the memory of that brother who had always been by her side—the one she had once leaned on.
When she was brought before Gawen, her emotions were already settled. She curtseyed with a calm face.
Gawen raised an eyebrow. "Yulia Rivers, I can offer you both a chance—or rather, offer your brother one."
She bowed. "My lord, we understand our sins. We are grateful for your mercy. We will remember your grace forever."
"Dick will carry out a task. During that time, I will ensure your well-being. If he succeeds, you will both be rewarded."
Yulia hesitated. She wanted to ask what kind of task awaited her weak brother—how dangerous it would be.
But she knew their fates were now fully in Gawen's hands. She didn't dare test his patience.
For now, Dick was alive. All she could do was pray.
Gawen turned to Joffrey. "He's yours."
From the next day forward, Joffrey would be personally responsible for training Dick in combat—especially with the dagger.
The rest would be up to Joffrey's judgment. Gawen had only one strange request: Dick's target during practice must be…
Joffrey didn't question it further.
In the Investigation Corps, loyalty was absolute.
…
That evening, Gawen returned to King's Landing—and finally received a summons from Queen Cersei.
He glanced at the twilight sky, adjusted the armor he rarely removed, and rode toward the Red Keep with his guards.
At the gates, he left them behind, bringing only Mondon Waters and Martel Beck.
Outside Maegor's Holdfast, Gawen saw Jaime Lannister—one hand resting on the sword at his hip.
Clad in pristine white, golden hair flowing, he looked as dashing as ever.
Before Gawen could speak, Jaime smirked. "Good evening, my lord count."
Gawen spread his hands. "Good evening, ser. This sudden elevation has left me restless and sleepless."
Jaime's smile turned wry. "Loyalty fears no trial."
I'm not a Lannister, Gawen thought, rolling his eyes internally. Nor do I enjoy the queen's natural trust.
Once again, he realized—he and Jaime weren't a good match.
Jaime had recently learned Gawen had taught Myrcella to ride. The idea irritated him, so his tone carried thorns.
Gawen and Jaime always seemed to misunderstand each other—they were simply out of sync.
…
Regardless of his thoughts, Gawen stepped closer and whispered, "Is she angry?"
Jaime arched a brow. "Who?"
Gawen rolled his eyes openly this time, his silence full of reproach.
Jaime chuckled. "Even you get nervous, my lord?"
Gawen shrugged. "And you, Ser Jaime? Don't you fear the queen?"
"I've tried. But it's no use. Now it's all on you…"
He paused to find the right words. "Queen Cersei—you know what she's like. Loyalty fears no trial."
From his tone, Gawen gathered that the queen's attitude was just as he'd expected.
He sighed. "Ser Jaime, that's precisely the problem. The old… duke, his scheme was clever. And with King Robert's approval, how could Her Grace not misunderstand?"
Jaime patted his shoulder. "I'm glad you understand. Come—we'll go together."
But just then, the sound of synchronized footsteps echoed.
Over a dozen Lannister Redcloaks appeared, splitting into three groups—surrounding Gawen.
The air grew heavy. Martel gripped his sword.
Mondon, ever the gentle giant, quietly reached for his warhammer.
Martel relaxed slightly—Mondon was reliable.
His heart stirred again. Merit is within reach.
Brave and brash, Martel had no doubt they could protect their lord.
He lifted his chin and glared at the Redcloaks with disdain.
…
Gawen remained still, glancing around. Classic Cersei.
Jaime frowned. "Fall back. Who ordered you here?"
A pointless question—only one person in the Red Keep could command the Redcloaks besides him.
The captain replied, "Ser Jaime, by order of Her Grace the Queen."
"And what order was that?"
The soldier hesitated, just about to speak when Gawen cut in.
"Ser Jaime, please—take me to the queen."
He had to interrupt.
Redcloaks were excellent swordsmen—but subtlety? Not their strength.
Jaime was their true commander. If he pressed, they'd blurt out the truth.
And Gawen didn't want to hear what "gentle" command Cersei had issued.
Best not to let things spiral out of control.
…
So, Gawen interrupted.
Jaime, briefly unsettled by Cersei's "surprise," looked at Gawen's calm face and steadied himself.
"Ser, loyalty fears no trial," Gawen said again.
Jaime nodded and led the way.
Clack. Clack. The echo of footsteps filled the empty Holdfast.
Jaime glanced at Gawen from the corner of his eye, fingers tightening around his sword hilt.
For his beloved, he was raising his guard.
…
Third Floor, Maegor's Holdfast
They stopped outside a familiar door.
This was where Cersei had first summoned Gawen privately during his early duties.
He remembered most clearly how well the room was soundproofed—it had kept their plans to reform the Queen's Quarter secret.
The door opened.
Cersei stood at the window, back turned.
Jaime took his place beside her, sword in hand.
Gawen bowed. "Good evening, Your Grace."
Without turning, she said coldly, "Why didn't you refuse the drunkard's decree?"
Jaime, seeing Gawen hesitate, interjected, "Your Grace, he is the king's vassal. To refuse…"
"Jaime!" she snapped. "Loyalty fears no trial!"
"Cersei…"
"I don't want to hear any more weak excuses! Get out!"
.
.
.
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