The next morning, a squire from Maegor's Tower delivered a handwritten letter from Cersei Lannister.
Gawen accepted the message from Steward Sulana with mild puzzlement, noting the seal of the Queen upon it.
Cersei had given Gawen a new assignment: for the foreseeable future, he was to oversee Prince Tommen's swordsmanship lessons and Princess Myrcella's riding instruction.
Her schemes were grand in scope, and she would not share the details with Gawen, yet it suited her purposes to keep him in King's Landing under a respectable pretext.
In Cersei's mind, Gawen's ability and loyalty were proven, and she had other plans for him in her designs.
After reading, Gawen ruffled his hair.
There were many reasons one might find to keep him in the capital—surely they didn't all require putting him in charge of his liege's children.
Regardless of his thoughts, Gawen accepted readily. Being entrusted with part of the prince's and princess's education was not only a sign of the Queen's trust, but an honor in itself.
The Baron of Whispers Hall stroked his chin—perhaps defeating the Knight of Flowers had played a role.
Wouldn't Ser Loras, upon waking, think it had only been a lucky ambush?
They were of an age, both hot-blooded—shouldn't Loras be shouting that "last time was a fluke" and demanding a rematch?
Gawen rather liked the idea of gaining more renown at Loras's expense; next time, he could make the fight a bit more dramatic and give the bards better material to work with.
"Matil, armor me!"
Maegor's Garden
Tommen, seven years old, was a plump boy with golden curls and bright green eyes.
"Lord Gawen, I heard you defeated the Knight of Flowers?"
Under the sun, Tommen's hair gleamed like gold leaf.
Gawen knelt slightly. "Your Highness, Ser Loras's swordplay is among the finest in the Seven Kingdoms. Though I bested him, that does not diminish his skill."
He spoke humbly, listing Loras's many victories in tourneys past.
Tommen's eyes lit up. "Lord Gawen, you're an honorable and mighty knight."
Gawen waved back the attending servants and personally helped the boy into his practice gear.
Gentle-natured Tommen was excited today. "I love apple cakes and cream cakes best!"
Then, with solemnity, "But I don't like beets."
Gawen's hands kept working, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at the round-cheeked little prince.
Once armored, Tommen appeared even rounder.
Gawen stood aside as the boy began practicing basic movements. Soon, sweat was beading on his brow.
"Your Highness, your swings are smooth and strong. Well done."
"Brave Ser Tommen, keep at it—before long you'll be able to defeat the Knight of Flowers yourself!"
Buoyed by the praise, Tommen puffed and swung his blunted wooden sword at the air once more.
When Gawen deemed it enough, he called for a halt and handed the boy a towel.
It took Tommen a moment to react before his small hands took it, wiping clumsily at his sweat.
Gawen smiled. Compared to Joffrey's perpetual sneer, Tommen was far more endearing.
"Lord Gawen," Tommen asked brightly, "will I be champion of the tourney one day?"
Gawen's smile softened. "With your talent, Your Highness, I'm certain you will."
The boy beamed at the affirmation.
The Narrow Sea
Daenerys Targaryen stood upon the deck of the bridge, small in stature, with Dick Rivers and Borona behind her.
Expressionless, she stared at the battle unfolding below, clutching her black cloak tighter to hide her trembling.
Osanna led the Crab Claw guards Gawen had left with her, alongside the ship's sailors, in battle against pirates on another merchant vessel.
Sailing south, they had come upon a large merchant ship locked in boarding combat with a pirate craft.
Out of compassion, Daenerys had ordered the captain to draw alongside and help drive the pirates away.
By the time they closed in, the fighting between the merchant's guards and the raiders was fierce.
Fatigue lined Daenerys's young face.
The night they departed, an overexcited Viserys had kept Dick talking until dawn, only to fall ill with fever the next day.
Since her brother's sickness began, Daenerys had suffered nightly terrors—dreams that left her shaken, though she could never recall the details.
That morning, the ship's surgeon had told her Viserys's fever had finally begun to break, easing the weight on her heart.
Now, yet another man had fallen in battle. Daenerys's brows knit.
Though no soldier herself, she knew Gawen's gift of twenty Crab Claw warriors was no small thing—they were elite fighters. Losing any pained her.
When the fight ended, Osanna came to report.
"Princess Daenerys, it's a slave ship. By the time we boarded, the slavers were already dead—killed by the pirates."
Ignoring the blood on her, Daenerys reached out with pale hands. "Osanna, are you hurt?"
Osanna shook her head, smiling simply. "Don't worry—this isn't my blood. They never touched me."
Only after a careful look-over did Daenerys nod.
Dick's eyes brightened with a spark of excitement. "Princess, their masters are dead. Strictly speaking, you are now their new owner!"
Dick was the most educated in Daenerys's small retinue—indeed, the only literate clerk—and she had made him her treasurer.
Daenerys shook her head firmly. "I do not want slaves. I wish to give them their freedom."
She led the way toward the merchant ship.
The hatch was pried open. Surrounded by her guards, Daenerys descended the wooden ladder.
Chains. And countless empty eyes.
Though she had lived among the Free Cities with her brother, she had never witnessed such a scene—human beings penned like beasts in a cramped, dark hold.
Her small figure moved among them, her eyes growing red.
Returning to the ladder, she climbed a few steps, then turned to face them.
How she wished she could tell Gawen—so far away in Westeros—that under so many eyes she felt her body tremble, her heart still afraid.
She drew a slow breath. She needed courage. At least now, she had to stand on her own.
Lifting her chin, she spoke aloud:
"I am the daughter of Aerys II, Princess of Dragonstone, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen!
"I am no slaver. I will not bind you in chains. When we reach the next port, you will have the freedom to go.
"After leaving this cursed ship, your freedom will be yours alone. If you want to keep it, you must fight for it yourselves!"
Silence filled the hold.
A shaft of sunlight slipped through the hatch, gilding Daenerys in gold.
In the lifeless eyes, something stirred. To them, she seemed a goddess walking among mortals.
One by one, chains clinked as they fell to their knees in reverence.
The Red Keep Gardens
In the shade of a tree, Gawen watched Myrcella and Tommen play.
He heard light footsteps and caught the scent of lemon powder.
Varys, in a loose robe of orange silk, smiled as he approached.
His eyes followed the children at play. "The Red Keep is filled with ears belonging to great men, yet here, oddly enough, one may feel most at ease."
Your little birds most of all… Gawen nodded. "My lord, whenever I'm in the Red Keep, even in armor, I feel naked—as if unseen eyes are always upon me."
"The Red Keep has ever been steeped in shadows," Varys said pleasantly. "You will grow accustomed to it, Lord Gawen."
"I doubt I ever will," Gawen replied with a shrug. "The longer I'm away, the more I miss home."
"You may be the only man able to resist the lure of power. It's admirable," Varys said.
Gawen smiled. "Perhaps I simply cannot adapt. Life here demands constant caution, and that kind of strain wears a man down."
Varys inclined his head slightly, his voice lilting. "Storms come and go. Waves crash and pass. The big fish eats the little fish. Such is the heart of the Seven Kingdoms."
"A vivid metaphor, my lord," Gawen said with respect. "It seems that those still afloat are masters at treading water."
Varys chuckled behind his hand before asking, "Have you heard the news from Pentos?"
Gawen's face darkened. "The Crabb Trading Company brought word immediately. A fire… most regrettable. I did not know Magister Illyrio well, but he was a decent man."
"I never thought my old friend would meet such an end," Varys said sadly.
Gawen sighed in turn.
.
.
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