Grand Maester Pycelle was ticulous; by nightfall, Gawen had received the unconscious Shuef.
Joffrey, commander of the scouting company, first secured the man, then roused him from his stupor. Taking up a knife, he opened a cut across Shuef's wrist, letting blood drip into the wooden cask prepared beforehand.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Joffrey had Shuef's eyes blindfolded, then signaled to the others with a sharp gesture.
By dawn, the sky was painted a hazy shade of blue.
Gawen laid down the written confession taken from Shuef, his long fingers tapping several tis on the table.
On the day Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, died, a masked man had approached Shuef. He had handed him a heavy purse of gold dragons, promised him a knighthood if the task was done, and gave him his instructions: when Duke Eddard Stark ca seeking answers, Shuef was to tell him that Jon Arryn had been secretly investigating King Robert's bastards in King's Landing, and that the late Hand had sotis muttered… "strong seed."
Why had Shuef never doubted the masked man?
Because once, he had spied Petyr Baelish in the act with Lady Lysa Arryn. Rather than report it to Jon, Shuef had chosen instead to use it to blackmail Petyr.
From this, he guessed that the masked man must be Baelish's agent; the gold was hush money, and the assignnt was ant as both a test and a reward from Lord Petyr.
Everyone knew Baelish was generous. Shuef believed he had gambled well—he had gained wealth, and the dream of knighthood was within his grasp.
Blinded by greed, Shuef even began investigating the secret connection between the king's bastards and their "strong seed." Once knighted, he dread of land as well—Shuef would be a true lord.
Gawen's pupils narrowed. The sly Petyr Baelish had already grasped the truth of the royal bloodline and was prepared to use it as a ladder to climb higher, sowing chaos in his wake.
It was Petyr who had subtly led Eddard Stark toward Jon Arryn's trail, ensuring that when the Northman uncovered the truth, he would believe the queen herself guilty of murder.
As for evidence of poison? By then it would no longer matter. None would chase after proof, for the stain upon the royal bloodline was far graver.
The direwolf strikes. The lion strikes back.
Closing his eyes, Gawen understood that Stark's sense of justice would grant Petyr ti to speak in his own defense. With Baelish's cunning, Shuef alone would never bring him down.
Even the proof of Petyr and Lysa's affair would hardly suffice to pin Jon Arryn's murder upon them. Gawen reopened his eyes and chuckled, shaking his head.
For a mont, he had forgotten this was Westeros—where all were players in the ga of thrones. What use was "ironclad proof"? Gawen knew well enough he was not wronging Baelish.
Sunlight stread through the window into the silent chamber.
Rising, Gawen fastened his sword at his waist. He intended to find Varys, the spymaster, and persuade him to deal the final blow against Baelish.
And if Varys refused… then Baelish would be spared for now, while the knife turned on Varys instead. After that, Gawen and Petyr could plunge the realm into chaos together.
Yet as lord, Gawen reminded himself to remain calm—better, if possible, to secure Varys' cooperation. The man was still useful.
Escorted by guards, Gawen left Hook Alley, loosening the reins to slow his horse when he caught sight of banners ahead: the crowned stag of Baratheon entwined with the golden rose of Tyrell.
Renly Baratheon, Loras Tyrell, and Margaery Tyrell rode at the center of their retinue, shining like a painting brought to life.
Renly was handso, Loras striking, Margaery radiant… together, they made a dazzling, ostentatious sight.
A pity Ser Jai was not with them. Gawen raised his hand, signaling his guards to step aside and yield the road.
Duke Renly rode past with his chin held high, entirely ignoring the Crabb blue-cloaks who stood out so vividly.
Margaery cast him a brief glance; Gawen tilted his head, eting her gaze with a polite, faint smile. Her fingers tightened on the reins before she looked away as though nothing had happened.
Ser Loras, dressed in pale blue silk and a belt of linked golden roses, turned his head to survey Gawen from head to toe. The morning light gilded him in a halo.
Their eyes t.
Gawen arched a brow: defeated foe.
Loras' eyes flared with anger: just wait.
Passing through Maegor's Gardens, Gawen caught sight of Joffrey Baratheon walking with Sansa Stark.
The boy-prince's usual arrogance had vanished; his face was all gentle courtesy, his smile polished.
Sansa, her chestnut hair gleaming and her blue velvet gown immaculate, seed utterly enchanted by him.
Cersei was already grooming her son to inherit the Iron Throne. Gawen looked away and kept walking toward Maegor's Holdfast.
His duty to the queen was to watch the Starks and report to her every few days. Outwardly, his reports seed candid, yet he buried the true details with clever turns of phrase. But such tricks could not last forever—too many Lannister spies infested the Red Keep, and in ti, soone would notice.
At the hall of Maegor's Holdfast, a maid curtseyed and said respectfully:
"Lord Crabb, Her Grace commands that no one be received today."
Gawen's eyes flicked toward the red-cloaked guards at a distance. He tossed a gold dragon with casual ease; the coin slid neatly down into the maid's bodice.
Her cheeks flushed crimson. After a brief hesitation, she leaned close and whispered:
"Her Grace only went to bed this morning."
Outside the throne room, Duke Eddard Stark frowned at the sight of Ser Jai Lannister's pale, weary face.
"You, Ser Jai?" Ned said coldly. "With you guarding the Iron Throne and the king, should I feel… reassured?"
Jai gave a careless smile. "Wolf lord, though King Robert is away from the Red Keep, we Kingsguard must still keep watch. Truth be told, I ought to be resting now—but I ca to find you."
Ned's grey eyes narrowed. He rembered too vividly that day years ago when he had entered this very hall to find the Mad King lying dead in his blood, Jai in golden armor seated upon the Iron Throne itself, his white cloak stained, his sword dripping crimson. The mory had never faded.
"What is it you want of ?" Ned asked stiffly.
Jai shrugged. "We're old acquaintances, and now neighbors. It's only right to be… friendly."
Ned's reply was cold. "Robert made Hand of the King, not your neighbor."
The smile on Jai's lips faltered. He paused, then said: "In celebration of your appointnt, His Grace is preparing a grand tourney. Perhaps you and I might tilt at each other. Wolf against lion—the crowd will roar."
Ned studied him. If Jon Arryn had been murdered by Lannister hands, might it not have been Jai himself? A man who had already sullied the honor of the Kingsguard would hardly balk at darker deeds.
"You may be disappointed," Ned said evenly. "I will not compete. I've no wish to show my strength before my enemies."
He added, "Nor do I care to be gawked at."
Jai's voice dripped with mockery. "The wolf's tongue proves cleverer than I thought. A fine excuse, spoken with such sincerity."
"That is the truth," Ned replied coldly. "I shall content myself with watching your mumry."
His grey gaze swept over Jai's immaculate armor. "Your armor is very fine, without a single scratch. I hope you manage to keep it that way."
Jai's fists clenched. "Lord Stark, thank you for your concern. Rest assured, no one will lay a hand on ."
Ned's eyes shifted toward the throne room. "I know you're careful in choosing your opponents."
Stung, Jai could no longer recall Cersei's instructions. Stark had struck the rawest nerve.
With a bitter laugh, he too looked at the throne room. "It must pain you, walking into this hall. That day, I saw it all—your father, your brother, both brave n. They didn't deserve such deaths."
But Ned did not flare as Jai expected. His voice was grave. "You chose to stand aside, Jai. And you felt no sha."
"The hall was full of n that day," Jai snapped. "The finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms—and not one of them lifted a finger. The throne room was a crypt, silent but for screams and the Mad King's laughter."
He gave a harsh laugh. "When I struck Aerys down, I rembered that laughter as he burned your father alive. Perhaps, in that mont, I avenged them."
"A Kingsguard who stabs his king in the back claims it was vengeance for others?" Ned retorted.
Jai's voice thundered. "Aerys was ready to order his pyromancers to ignite the wildfire beneath the city—to turn King's Landing into his funeral pyre! He demanded I bring him my father's head…"
His words faltered as he rembered that night in the royal hunt, his private talk with Gawen.
He turned back to Ned and asked sharply, "Tell , Lord Stark—if it had been you, what would you have done?"
Ned's gaze hardened, cold and piercing. "Perhaps no better than you. But in the end, I would have salvaged my honor."
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Fla — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
📯 Lords and Ladies of the Realm, heed the call! 📯
The saga burns ever brighter—30 chapters ahead now await, available only to those who swear their loyalty on Patreon. 🐉❄️🔥
Walk among dragons, defy the cold, and stake your claim in a world where crowns are won with fire and fury.
🔗 Claim your place: /DrManhattanEN
👤 Known on Patreon as: DrManhattanEN
Your loyalty feeds the fla. And fire rembers.
Reviews
All reviews (0)