Game of Thrones: I'm Dothrak King!!
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Rolje stepped forward and accepted the booklet with both hands. He was clearly curious about what was inside, but without Corian's permission he didn't dare open it.
"I'll deliver it straight to the Prince's hands myself, Ser. Only he will see it."
Corian gave a small nod and said nothing more.
The booklet wasn't anything truly secret—just notes Corian had made during his fight with the Mountain, observations about the man's weaknesses and how to exploit them. It wouldn't matter if Rolje read it. And now that Rolje was utterly loyal, his restrained reaction pleased Corian.
"Go."
"Yes."
This time Rolje didn't linger. He turned sharply, tucked the plain-looking but heavy booklet carefully inside his coat, and pulled the door shut behind him.
The room stayed quiet for a while after he left.
Oliver Chesed remained seated, his back straighter than before. What he had just witnessed—Corian's strength, his confidence, the casual way he handled powerful men—had gone far beyond anything he expected.
If he really can make Prince Oberyn Martell listen… maybe he can solve my problem after all.
He quietly set the half-eaten bread back on the wooden tray and waited.
Outside, the light had shifted again. Gold was bleeding into orange-red. On the windowsill Balerion stretched, his black back arching like a crack splitting open.
Corian finally looked up from his thoughts.
"Seems you won't be finishing that lunch."
His voice was still mild. "Why don't we talk about your trouble now?"
Oliver let out a shaky breath, then forced himself to focus. "I… my name is Oliver Chesed, Ser. Chesed Castle lies east of the Kingswood. That's my family's seat."
When he spoke the name and the place, a trace of shame slipped into his voice. Years of decline had stripped House Chesed of almost all its old pride.
"Oliver Chesed."
Corian repeated the name, then nodded once. "I remember. Your castle sits on the northeastern edge of the Kingswood, near a small tributary of the Blackwater. The soil isn't rich, but the woods are."
"You've… been to Chesed Castle?"
Oliver's eyes widened. The shock almost pushed the fear aside. These days the castle was a ruin—leaking roof, vines on the walls—and in King's Landing it was a byword for fallen nobility. Hardly anyone remembered what it looked like anymore.
Yet this stranger from outside the city could describe it in detail.
Corian's mouth curved slightly. "Learning matters, Ser Chesed. If you want to survive in a strange place, you start by learning its land and its rules. So I read every book, map, record, and ledger I can find."
He paused, dark eyes meeting Oliver's. "Ser Jaime Lannister also mentioned your grandfather once. Colton Chesed, wasn't it?"
"Ser Jaime spoke of my grandfather?"
Excitement flickered through Oliver's voice before he could stop it.
Colton Chesed had been the last bright name in House Chesed's history. It had been a long time since anyone important had spoken it aloud.
"Yes," Corian said. "Ser Jaime told me your grandfather served as Master of Coin under King Aerys. After Lord Jon Connington was exiled, he was made Hand. He held the office for… a year and three months?"
"A year and four months," Oliver corrected automatically, then flushed at his own rudeness.
Corian only smiled faintly. "My mistake. A year and four months. Ser Jaime called him the 'Hammer and Dagger Hand.' He said some very private things about him. I got the impression your grandfather was… a hard man."
"Hammer and Dagger…"
Oliver glanced down at the faded sigil on his chest without thinking.
Those words felt like a small coal of warmth in the cold shame he carried. For years he had heard nothing but contempt—coward, bootlicker, the Mad King's creature. Nobles spoke his grandfather's name like it was already dust.
He had never expected to hear something almost respectful from this ruthless new power in King's Landing.
"Thank you, Ser," he said hoarsely. The gratitude was real, but desperation sat right behind it. "You're a true knight."
"Save the flattery."
Corian lifted his chin slightly. "Tell me what you need."
Balerion had curled into a tight black ball on the sill.
Oliver drew a deep breath. He knew the time for pride was over. He let it go.
"As you said, the land around Chesed Castle isn't fertile. The tributary runs low in summer. Our ancestors chose the spot for the timber and hunting on the edge of the Kingswood. But those days are long gone. The Kingswood belongs to the crown now. Poaching is punished harshly."
He gave a bitter, broken smile.
Corian understood. Once, with House Chesed's old influence, a little quiet hunting in the royal forest had been tolerated. Firewood and game were valuable. But Robert Baratheon had loved the hunt and guarded his forest jealously. The family had learned to stay outside the true bounds.
"We keep to the hills and thin woods just beyond the Kingswood's edge," Oliver went on. "No-man's-land, more or less. My people set traps there—rabbits, foxes, the occasional stray deer. It's how we've survived. That and selling a little timber in Duskendale or Rosby for coarse grain."
Corian listened, fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the oak table. He had heard the mocking nickname in Flea Bottom taverns: the Rabbit Earl. Hammer-and-dagger sigil, reduced to hunting rabbits.
"Last month everything changed," Oliver said, voice dropping. "People going into the hills started disappearing. One or two at first—we thought it was beasts or accidents. Then it got worse. More than a dozen gone now, men and women both."
"A week ago a hunter crawled back covered in blood, one arm gone. He said bandits had taken over the deeper caves. They set traps, stole everything, killed the others. He was the only one who got away."
Corian's tone stayed even. "And as lord, you did nothing to clear them out?"
Oliver's face burned. "With what, Ser? In the whole castle I have maybe fifteen men who can still hold a weapon, and half of them are older than my father. We've got one rusty set of half-plate from my grandfather, a few wood axes, some pitchforks, and three longswords. That's it."
He swallowed hard. "All the coin I have left in the world is twenty gold dragons. Everything else was sold years ago. I can't even hire ten sellswords for a month—not at the prices they're asking now."
His voice cracked. "Winter is coming. The wars in the Riverlands and the Vale have driven grain prices through the roof. We can't buy enough to last. The hills were our last hope for meat. Now the bandits have shut that door."
He looked up, eyes red but steady. "I had nowhere else to turn. I came to King's Landing hoping some old friend might still remember the name Chesed… or that someone might offer any kind of help. Then I heard what you've done in Flea Bottom. You give people a chance when they have nothing left."
"I'm not asking for charity. Whatever price House Chesed can still pay, I'll pay it. If you help us survive this winter, I swear on my grandfather's name—Oliver Chesed will repay you."
The room went quiet except for Balerion's low purr and the distant noise of Flea Bottom.
Corian leaned back in his chair and studied the exhausted man across from him. He believed every word. It was a brutal fall: a house that had once sat at the Small Council table, reduced to begging for grain because mountain bandits had taken their last hunting ground.
Westeros rose and fell faster than the price of gold.
"Why didn't you go to the Hand?" Corian asked after a moment. "Lord Tywin Lannister keeps the Red Keep. Suppressing bandits is part of his duty. Your lands are still Crown lands."
Oliver's face went stiff with embarrassment. He stared at his worn boots. "You don't know, Ser. When my grandfather was Master of Coin… to stay in the Mad King's favor, he often sided against Lord Tywin in council. He even whispered against Prince Rhaegar, said he was gathering support to rebel."
He trailed off, voice barely above a whisper. "The Lannisters always pay their debts. Everyone knows that."
Corian understood.
Aerys and Tywin had already been at odds. The King delighted in humiliating his Hand—most famously by publicly groping and mocking Joanna Lannister at a tourney. After that, any lord who joined in attacking Tywin won Aerys's favor. Colton Chesed had played that game hard, even turning on the King's own son.
No bottom line at all.
Corian's fingers stopped tapping.
He looked at the broken noble in front of him and made his decision.