Candlelight flickered across the dining hall.
Gawen smiled faintly. "Ser Jaime, I hold no expectations in this matter. You and the Knight of Flowers will surely capture the eyes of every lady present."
Jaime Lannister laughed easily.
Queen Cersei set down her cup, lips curved in a faint smile. "Charming Warden of the East, fetch some fruit for your queen. You know which ones I favor."
Jaime shrugged, rose from his chair, and bowed with a smile.
"With pleasure, Your Grace."
Once Jaime was gone, the queen's gaze shifted toward Gawen.
"Lord Crabb, your queen has little faith in the loyalty of the gold cloaks."
Gawen leaned forward slightly toward her. "Your Grace, Whispers Hall awaits only your command."
Cersei's thoughts were simple—if her secret schemes failed, she would simply raise her banners and kill King Robert outright.
As for the consequences… only the victors wrote the histories.
A note of satisfaction touched her expression. "Begin moving two thousand men into King's Landing at once."
"As you command, my queen!"
Pausing, Gawen added, "I shall see it arranged the moment I return. Within fifteen days at most, Your Grace will see those two thousand soldiers before you."
Cersei inclined her head slightly, swirling her wine. "Lord Crabb, are you not curious why I call for an army?"
Gawen shook his head without hesitation. "My queen, I care only for your next command."
His answer pleased her greatly. Cersei's mood lifted, and she smiled. "Lord Crabb, your loyalty delights me. Soon… you shall command all the gold cloaks in my name."
Gawen blinked at first, then broke into a look of joy, pressing a hand to his chest and bowing low. "Your Grace, I thank you for such trust. House Crabb will forever remember your favor."
Cersei lifted her chin, lips curved. "Say nothing to Jaime for now. Once the men arrive in the capital, I shall tell him myself."
She knew nothing of war, nor did she care how Gawen smuggled soldiers into the city. She only cared for the result.
"As you wish, my queen."
Leaving Maegor's Holdfast, Gawen halted midway, glancing aside. Raising a hand, he motioned for his guards to wait.
He stood silently a moment, then stepped into the hedges and hauled out a small figure.
"Lord Crabb, how did you spot me?"
Arya Stark dangled in his grip without the least embarrassment—on the contrary, she looked thrilled.
He set her down, crouching to meet her eyes. In the moonlight, her gaze shone bright.
"Arya, the Red Keep's guards are wary at night. They might swing a sword before asking questions. You should have a protector at your side."
Arya brushed herself off. "That's not an answer, Lord Crabb."
Well… very much a Stark.
Gawen chuckled. "The wind moved every branch tonight—except where you crouched."
Arya's eyes lit up. "So that's it! You must be a fine hunter."
She tried to slip away, but he caught her again.
"Arya, I've answered your question. Will you answer mine?"
She puffed out her cheeks. "Fine, fine, I'll be careful next time."
Rising, Gawen allowed a faint smile. "Then I must deliver you to Lord Eddard… even if it disturbs his rest."
He heard a small groan.
Arya shook her head quickly. "I know the way back. Truly, no need to trouble yourself."
"It's on my way. An honor, in truth."
She glanced at the circle of Blue Cloaks surrounding her. Her shoulders sagged.
Not wishing for her father's anger, Arya tried every trick on the walk back—promises, flattery, even pitiful eyes.
Lord Crabb was unmoved.
To Arya, who had thought him a friend, it felt like betrayal.
She vowed never to speak to him again!
Near the Tower of the Hand, Gawen stopped and looked at her sulky face. "Arya."
He pointed at the tower's doors. "I'll remain here until I see you safely inside."
Arya blinked in surprise.
He's not handing me straight to Father? Her eyes brightened again.
Gawen crouched and patted her head. "Go now. And be more careful."
Her face lit up in joy. She nodded vigorously.
"Lord Crabb, you are my good friend."
"The honor is mine. Rest well."
She scampered toward the tower, turning once to wave before speaking to the guards and slipping inside.
Gawen lifted his gaze to the starry sky, then departed with his men.
Arya's good mood evaporated at once upon climbing the stairs. At the landing stood her father, stern-faced. Her smile froze.
"Good evening, Father," she managed.
Eddard Stark sighed. "Arya, we were about to send the whole household searching."
She lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Father. I was only bored."
He descended a few steps, laying a large hand on her hair. "Next time, tell someone where you go."
Arya nodded quickly, a smile returning. "I met Lord Crabb. He brought me back. We're already good friends."
Ned's lips twitched faintly. "Arya, that is no small feat—to make a friend so swiftly."
Then he added, "Tomorrow, I'll find you a teacher…"
Arya shook her head. "Father, I can't learn a lady's skills."
She held out her small hands, looking down at them. "They're too clumsy. I'll never sew pretty things."
Ned sighed. "Arya, my child, you have a wildness in you. Your grandfather called it the wolf's blood. My sister Lyanna had a touch of it. My brother Brandon even more. Both were taken young."
Though little more than a girl, Arya heard the sorrow beneath his words. Her father rarely spoke of his kin. She only knew they had all died before she was born.
Ned's eyes grew distant, recalling old memories.
"Had your grandfather allowed it, Lyanna might have wielded a sword. When I see you, I remember her. You even look a bit like her."
Arya blinked. "But Father, Aunt Lyanna was said to be a great beauty."
In Winterfell, all agreed on that, though no one had ever compared Arya to her. They called her "Horseface."
A smile touched Ned's lips. "You are alike—beautiful and willful."
Her father never lied. Arya's heart soared, her face alight with joy.
After a few steps, Ned said, "Arya, you've quarreled with Sansa far too often of late. You are sisters."
Arya turned her head aside. "She tattles. I hate it."
Ned's voice softened. "Your natures may differ, but you are both Starks. Winter is coming. You will need her, and she will need you. And I… need you both."
Looking at her father, Arya glimpsed the weariness he hid. Her heart ached. She did not wish to add to his burdens.
She nodded. "Father, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. I'll forgive Sansa."
Pausing, she added, "But I want to learn the sword!"
Crabb Manor.
Freed of his armor, Gawen entered his study and stood before the great map on the wall.
The western campaign was proceeding well. Emparro had already proven his skill in battle. Once the fighting ended, Gawen meant to knight him formally.
He stroked his chin. The command of the western push he would entrust to Emparro of the Thorn Legion. Pell Piry would march two thousand men to King's Landing, while Mason Beck of the garrison remained to guard the lands.
As for how to move the troops unseen… Gawen's gaze lingered on King's Landing. His eyes flickered.
After some thought, his finger touched the Vale, then Dragonstone.
Behind his back, his thumb rubbed slowly against his forefinger.
On the western coast of Essos, in a slave master's estate.
Recovered from illness, Viserys Targaryen looked more gaunt than ever, slouched in the grandest chair of the hall.
He stared at his weary sister, voice sharp with mockery. "Daenerys, do you mean to win back the Iron Throne with ten thousand slaves? Shall we make the usurper laugh to death, sweet sister?"
Daenerys Targaryen accepted a cup from Borona, her voice heavy with fatigue. "Brother, we still have a year."
The freed slaves had revealed this estate was a hub of the trade, not far from where she had rescued them.
She knew they could not drift endlessly across the Narrow Sea. She needed a foothold for her plans.
At a small port, they had sold off what they did not need and gathered arms, horses, and provisions before marching here.
Only now did Daenerys learn the pain of riding. After two days in the saddle, she felt half-dead—her thighs raw, her hands blistered, her muscles aching so badly she could hardly sit straight without help to dismount.
Viserys sneered. "Less than a year, in truth."
Daenerys knew his patience was short, but she was simply too exhausted for his tirades.
Angered at her silence, he shrilled, "Mind your manners! You speak to the King of the Seven Kingdoms, the true king upon the Iron Throne!"
The hall's slaves paused, eyes flicking to Daenerys.
She gestured lightly for them to continue.
Turning back, she spoke softly, "Forgive me, brother. I am only so tired."
Her earnest apology soothed him. He smirked. "My sweet sister, you are too delicate. I wonder if you can truly keep your promises."
She pressed her lips tight. "Do not doubt me, Viserys. I will."
At last, satisfaction crossed his gaunt face.
Borona stood impassive at Daenerys's back. Every few days the so-called king pressed his sister anew about her vow. She was growing used to it.
Viserys suddenly chuckled. "Daenerys, you cannot rest. This estate must have the protection of some Free City. Soon they'll hear word, and an army will come."
He raised his voice, making sure all could hear. "You cannot be so foolish, little sister! Were I in command, such a mistake would never be made."
It was a ploy, meant to sap Daenerys's standing among the freedmen. Power was his aim.
"Not so, Your Grace."
The voice was Ser Jorah Mormont's. Daenerys turned.
The knight strode forward, smiling gently.
Jorah was no handsome man—bull-necked, broad-shouldered, with arms and chest matted in dark hair and a bald pate. Yet his smile inspired confidence.
He bowed slightly before her. "Princess, Anguy brings good tidings. The city that shields this estate is at war. We may take some time to rest. Your new soldiers need training."
Before Daenerys could answer, Viserys scoffed. "New soldiers? You mean those chattel with broken chains? Amusing, you homeless exile."
Jorah turned to him, bowing again. His tone was steady. "Your Grace, a soldier's duty is to stain his blade with his enemy's blood. What he was before matters not."
Then he faced Daenerys once more. "Princess, if I may speak plainly—your handmaid Osanna would make a fine drillmaster. In this, her talent is undeniable."
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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