Chapter 56 — The Youngest Widow in the Seven Kingdoms
Gold Cloak Headquarters, King's Landing.
Ser Addam Marbrand, Commander of the City Watch, stared at the mountain of scrolls and reports on his desk with the distinct feeling that he was being assassinated — slowly, painfully, and with ink.
Tall and lean, with shoulder-length dark copper hair, he could easily be called handsome. He wore dark red armor, a brilliant golden cloak draped over his shoulders.
From a young age, he had served as a squire to Tywin Lannister. His path through life had been almost unfairly smooth.
He'd shown exceptional skill and loyalty, earned his knighthood early, and once the war began, he had always led from the front. His valor at the Battle of the Blackwater had personally earned him promotion from Lord Tywin himself — to Commander of the City Watch.
A position of real power.
And yet this same knight now slumped over his desk, brows knotted, face twisted with irritation as he sifted through endless paperwork.
> "Second son of House Lake assaults someone while drunk on the Street of Silk. Victim demands one hundred gold dragons in compensation…"
"Brawl between commoners over a stall near Mud Gate. Multiple casualties…"
"A red septon accused of abusing a knight's son during baptism. Knight demands hanging…"
"Fuck this."
The more he read, the angrier he got. Finally, he slammed the document onto the table.
"Why is it all this filthy, disgusting nonsense?!"
A powerful urge surged through him — to crumple the entire stack and throw it into the waste bin in the corner. Out of sight, out of mind.
But honor — and Lord Tywin's trust — held him in place.
Grinding his teeth, he forced himself to continue reviewing each case in detail.
Three seconds later—
Thud.
The papers landed in the bin anyway.
Ser Addam leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, tension draining from his brow.
Relief.
Honestly, he'd rather pick up a sword and charge into another battle against Stannis Baratheon and his hundred thousand men than waste another moment drowning in civil disputes and noble scandals.
"All that bastard Janos Slynt's fault…"
He muttered under his breath.
The City Watch had once numbered nearly ten thousand men — but Slynt had filled the ranks with ghost soldiers, drunkards, and street trash drawing pay for nothing.
Then Jacelyn Bywater took over and cut the force down to six thousand in a sweeping reform — only for a third of them to be lost in the Blackwater.
Now?
At best, he could mobilize four thousand men.
And of those…
Only a handful were actually competent.
Four thousand.
To police the largest city in the Seven Kingdoms.
No wonder everything was on fire.
Maintaining order in a capital of over half a million people…
No — with the war dragging on and refugees pouring in, the real number was probably far higher.
This wasn't a job.
It was an impossible sentence.
Paperwork was torture. Actual torture.
Just as Ser Addam Marbrand finally tasted a sliver of peace, a burst of noise erupted in the courtyard outside his window.
"Fuck…"
He shot to his feet, stormed to the window, and flung it open.
"Shut the hell up! One more sound and I'll throw the lot of you in a cell — I swear I'll ruin your miserable lives!"
Bang! The window slammed shut.
The shouting died down.
Addam collapsed back into his chair and closed his eyes again.
Bliss.
For about five seconds.
Knock knock knock.
"Come in!" he barked without opening his eyes.
The door creaked open. A Gold Cloak stepped in carefully, wearing a perfectly measured, respectful smile.
"My lord, pardon the disturbance."
The voice was almost sickly sweet. Addam cracked an eyelid and immediately recognized him.
Humfrey Waters, captain of the Dragon Gate.
"What's all that noise about?!" Addam snapped, though his tone softened slightly. Humfrey was sharp, efficient — one of the few subordinates who actually made his life easier.
"It's Captain Ser Swyft Rosby… He's just returned from Flea Bottom."
Addam opened his eyes fully. "News about Tyrek Lannister?"
Tyrek — Lord Tywin's nephew — had vanished during the bread riots months ago. Lord Tywin Lannister was personally overseeing the case. No leads. The weight of it never left Addam's mind.
"Er… not exactly."
Humfrey made a show of hesitation. "Captain Rosby handled a… major case in Flea Bottom."
"He captured a fugitive — former arena owner named Rorge. Reportedly turned in by the current proprietor, Ralf."
He paused just long enough to study Addam's face, then added casually:
"You know how diligent Captain Rosby is about Flea Bottom affairs… And this Rorge fellow was close to Janos Slynt, bribed quite a few people back in the day."
"Captain Rosby must've uncovered some… useful leads."
Every sentence gently hinted that Rosby had personal interests down there.
Addam, being straightforward to a fault, missed all of it.
"All this trash between lowlifes is none of my concern!" he roared, slamming the desk. "Tell Rosby to wrap it up and focus on finding Tyrek Lannister!"
He rubbed his temples.
"That boy's been missing for months. Today that nurse from House Hayford dragged his wife here again, crying."
"'No man in the house,' she says, 'and distant relatives keep trying to take advantage.' My head's going to split open!"
Humfrey pressed his lips together, barely holding back a smile.
House Hayford had been nearly wiped out in the war. Only an infant daughter remained.
Lord Tywin had been "magnanimous" enough to marry his nephew Tyrek to the baby heiress. Everyone understood the political math. No one said it aloud.
Unfortunately, Tyrek vanished before he could inherit anything.
No body had turned up, but Humfrey was sure he was dead.
Which meant the infant Lady Hayford was probably the youngest widow in the Seven Kingdoms.
A pity, really.
Not that a bastard like Humfrey Waters would ever be allowed near such a match.
"I'm stepping out," Addam said abruptly, shoving Humfrey into his chair. "Handle these damned papers."
"I hear Jaime Lannister is back in the city. I should go see—"
He stopped.
A familiar voice drifted in from outside the office, complaining loudly.
"Seven hells, have mercy on me, Jaime!"
"Do you know how busy I am? King Robert Baratheon left a mountain of shit behind — Iron Throne debts, Joffrey's wedding to Margaery Tyrell, Gold Cloak wages — and none of it's funded!"
"Seven save me, how is it that a man with the Lannister name is worrying about money?!"