Behind the front counter of Master Mott's shop, a youth in a coarse linen tunic and soot-stained apron stood guard. He had clearly been pulled from the furnace to fill in for Jack.
"Is Master Mott in the back?" Jack asked as he led Caden inside.
"Aye," the boy grunted, already turning to bolt the heavy doors. With Tyrell knights standing watch in the street, no commoner would dare enter, but closing the shop was a gesture of respect for the high-born guests within.
Jack led Caden to the rear courtyard. The furnaces roared, iron bars glowing a fierce cherry-red, but the apprentices were nowhere to be seen. In the solar, a young nobleman in white silk sat at the low table, nursing a cup of tea and chatting with a companion. Master Tobho Mott stood to the side, his posture unusually deferential.
The nobleman possessed long, flowing chestnut hair and a pair of striking liquid-gold eyes. His features were as delicate as a maiden's, though the set of his jaw betrayed the steel of a man. Caden couldn't help but wonder if such a beautiful youth would turn to soft fat by his thirtieth year.
Jack dropped to one knee. "My Lord, I have brought Ser Caden."
Tobho Mott beamed, gesturing to Caden. "Lord Loras, this is the knight I spoke of. The owner of the blade. Ser Caden Storm, of the Stormlands."
Caden, as a knight, offered a respectful bow—hand to chest—rather than the genuflection of a commoner. "Ser Loras. An honor."
Loras Tyrell stood, a graceful movement that seemed choreographed. "I am Loras Tyrell. I take it you've heard of me?"
"The Knight of Flowers?" Caden replied. "Your deeds are sung from the Reach to the Stormlands. Even a hedge knight has ears."
House Tyrell of Highgarden was the second wealthiest house in the Seven Kingdoms, surpassed only by the Lannisters, though they could summon a far larger host. They styled themselves Warden of the South and High Marshal of the Reach. Their sigil was a golden rose on a field of green; their words: Growing Strong.
Loras was the third son of Lord Mace Tyrell. In Westeros, the eldest inherited the world, but the youngest was often the most pampered. Compared to the misery of Tyrion Lannister, Loras Tyrell lived a life of gilded sunlight.
The Knight of Flowers didn't seem moved by the praise; perhaps he was too used to it. He wrinkled his nose slightly. "A pity I have yet to slay an enemy worthy of a name. Sit, Ser Caden."
Once Caden was seated, Loras got straight to the point. "Master Mott put word through the city that a destitute knight was looking to part with a Valyrian blade. Are you that unlucky soul?"
"I am," Caden said simply.
"Show it to me."
Caden drew Wildflower, laying the blade across the table with both hands. "I took it from a landed knight I bested in the Riverlands."
Loras gripped the hilt with one hand, lifting it to the light. He traced the rippled patterns that looked like wind-blown petals. "Beautiful," he whispered.
"Let me see," said the other knight in white. He was a mountain of a man, his broad chest and thick arms looking cramped in the small chair. This was Ser Balon Swann.
Loras ignored him until the older knight nudged him a third time. With a sigh, he handed it over.
Balon inspected the edge. "It's a fine piece, Loras. A fit gift for your father or your brother Willas."
Loras turned back to Caden. "A blade like this deserves a master who understands its soul. I like it. The name, the pattern—they suit me. Truly, I never thought a man would be willing to sell such a treasure. In any noble house, this is a legacy. Name your price."
Caden shrugged. "If I were a lord, I'd swear to rise from the grave and break the legs of any heir who dared sell it. But I have no land, and no name. I heard Lord Tywin once offered a castle for a blade. Will the Rose match the Lion?"
Loras scoffed. "That was before the old man got his hands on Ice. He has two blades now—one for his son, one for King Joffrey. Your castle has grown wings and flown away, Ser. To the Tyrells, a castle is earned through blood and service, not traded for cold steel. A sword cannot prove your loyalty."
Caden frowned. "Then what is it worth to you?"
Loras hesitated. "Four thousand gold dragons."
Caden shook his head. "The Hand's Tourney paid twenty thousand to the champion. Is a Valyrian blade worth less than a day's sport?"
Ser Balon cut in. "You cannot judge the world by King Robert's purse, lad. That man spent gold as if it were sand."
Loras offered a thin smile. "Ser Balon is right, though we shouldn't speak ill of the late King. Valyrian steel is precious, but its value is in the eye of the holder. I am no merchant. If you are willing, I will give you the four thousand gold, and I will find you a commission in the City Watch."
He leaned in. "Perform well, and battle honors will lead to that castle and a marriage eventually. It is a path to a real name."
Balon Swann added a gentle warning. "King's Landing is ruled by the Lion and the Rose now. If you refuse the Tyrells, it will be seen as a slight. Even if Loras is patient, the lesser houses will seek to please him. You won't find another buyer in this city."
Caden made to stand, then sat back down, playing the part of the conflicted mercenary. Finally, he sighed. "A commission in the Gold Cloaks? Truly?"
"Truly," Loras confirmed. "I am a Kingsguard. The City Watch reports to us. I can give you a century of men to command without much fuss."
"But I heard Jaime Lannister has been freed," Caden said, feigning worry. "He is the Lord Commander. If he returns and finds a 'stranger' in his ranks, will I not be the first to go?"
Loras and Balon exchanged a look. "The Watch has grown by thousands while Jaime was in a cage," Loras said. "He won't notice one more officer. And if he tries to purge the ranks, I will ensure you stay. If I fail, I'll pay you another thousand dragons in compensation."
Caden was stunned by the casual wealth of the Reach. Four thousand gold was his target; the command was a strategic masterstroke. He could serve as a shield for the High Sparrow and a spy for Aldric.
But he had a problem. He was a Sunwalker. He served the Dawn. To accept the gold was easy—it went to the Order's treasury. But a command? If he didn't clear it with the Lightbringer, he was a traitor.
"I did not win this blade alone," Caden said, buying time. "My brothers-in-arms bled for it. I must consult them."
Loras nodded. "Fair enough. But if you want them in the Watch too, that's on your own head. I can only carry one of you into the Red Keep. Come to the castle tomorrow if you have your answer. Let's go, Balon."
After the knights left, Tobho Mott turned to Caden, his brow furrowed. "If you become a Gold Cloak, Ser Caden... what of our deal? Who will lead me to the smith of this blade?"
"A command is a reward, Master Mott, not a prison," Caden assured him. "I'll simply take a leave of absence once the ink is dry. And if you speak to Loras on my behalf, he won't refuse a friend like you."
Mott paced the room, muttering to himself about "leaves of absence." Caden took the opportunity to bid him farewell and returned to the Great Sept.
The plaza was a hive of quiet desperation. As evening approached, the able-bodied refugees were returning from their day-labor, leaving only the sick and the elders to pray in the shadows of the camp.
Caden found the High Sparrow mending a child's fever. "We need to talk," Caden whispered.
"Is it urgent?"
"Very."
Once the patient was gone, Caden pulled the old man, Theodore, and Trick into a secluded corner of the pavilion. He recounted Loras Tyrell's offer in detail. "He wants the sword. He offers gold and a captaincy in the Watch. I am torn. What would the Lightbringer do?"
"Only Aldric can decide your mission," the High Sparrow said, "but we cannot reach him. We must judge by the Light we have. Theodore, Trick—you are the sword and the shield. What say you?"
Theodore frowned. "The Gold Cloaks are a pit of rot. If you join them and don't soil yourself, they'll kill you. If you do soil yourself, you are no Sunwalker."
Trick disagreed. "Caden is a veteran sellsword; he knows how to walk between raindrops. He can play the pious officer, attending the Sept, refusing the worst of the corruption. And the mission? To find believers among the thousands of guards. The Light needs a voice in the City Watch."
The High Sparrow nodded. "And it provides a shield for us. When Theodore rioted to feed the poor, the Gold Cloaks nearly broke us. We spent a fortune in bribes to pull our brothers from the black cells. With an officer in the Watch, the road is paved."
Trick leaned in. "More than that. Tywin's levies will go home eventually. Joffrey's true strength will be the Watch. If Caden rises high enough, the Order will know every move the Crown makes against the Riverlands before the ravens even leave the rookery."
Caden looked at his brothers. The path was dangerous, but the potential was immense.
"Then it's decided?" Caden asked.
"Aye," Trick said firmly. "We have enough Sunwalkers. We need a spy. I will take the gold back to the Master and explain the choice. You just focus on climbing that red hill."
"By the Sun," Caden swore.
"By the Light," they replied.
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