After a night of deliberation, it was decided that Caden's squire, Jasmine, would return to the Street of Steel to invite Master Mott to the Red Keep. The deal with Ser Loras would be finalized within the walls of the crown.
The next morning, beneath a clear, biting sun, Caden, Jasmine, and Trick rode toward the fortress. The Red Keep was a mountain of pale red stone, its seven iron-roofed drum towers piercing the sky like the fingers of a giant. Heavy curtain walls, thick enough to defy any ram, were topped with deep merlons where archers paced. High above the gatehouse, the heads of traitors were spiked in the crenelations—a grisly warning to any who would defy the Lion.
History said Aegon the Conqueror had begun this pile on the hill that bore his name, but it was Maegor the Cruel who saw it finished. To ensure the castle's secrets died with its creators, Maegor had put every stonemason and architect to the sword.
In the cobbled plaza outside the main gate, Caden spotted Tobho Mott. The master smith looked anxious, his eyes darting between the Gold Cloaks at the gate and the riders approaching.
"Master Mott, a fine morning," Caden greeted him with a smile.
"Good morning, Ser," Mott replied. His gaze drifted to Trick. "And this is?"
"My comrade, Trick," Caden introduced. "A veteran of a dozen campaigns. He helped me win Wildflower. Once the gold is in hand, he will take the coin back to our company, while I remain for the commission."
Mott nodded slowly. "Gold in the hand or a cloak on the back... it is hard to say which weighs more." He turned to Trick. "So, you are the one who will escort me to the Riverlands to find this legendary lord?"
"More than a lord," Trick explained. "If the price is right, my men and I will stay by your side until you've found the very anvil that birthed that steel."
Mott's eyes flashed with a hunger for knowledge, but he remained wary. A smith of his standing knew the danger of hiring the wrong steel. "I... I will consider it."
Caden leaned in. "Master Mott, Trick is a man of the Word. We've spent the last few days in the shadow of the Great Sept, mending the refugees. You can trust his oath as you trust mine."
Mott seemed to soften, but his professional caution remained. "Let us secure the gold first. We can talk details at my shop."
Caden slipped a silver stag to the gate-guard—a standard "gate tax"—and used Mott's reputation to pass through the portcullis. Guided by a guard, they reached the White Sword Tower, the slender four-story structure that served as the quarters for the Kingsguard.
Beneath the tower, Loras Tyrell was engaged in a practice bout with a knight Caden didn't recognize. At the sight of the party, Loras signaled for a halt.
"Ser Caden. I am pleased to see you chose the path of wisdom."
"To add even a flicker of light to the glory of House Tyrell is an honor," Caden replied, bowing. "My partners and I accept your terms."
Caden unbuckled the belt of Wildflower and offered the blade with both hands. Loras took it gracefully, drawing the steel in one fluid motion. The morning light caught the rippled, grey-and-white patterns, making the blade shimmer as if it were alive.
"A masterpiece," Loras whispered. He sheathed it and hung it at his hip. "Wait here. I will lead you to the barracks myself."
Loras returned shortly in clean white silks, followed by a squire carrying two heavy leather pouches. He handed the larger one to Caden. "Your reward, Ser." He gave the smaller bag to Mott. "And for your counsel, Master Smith."
Outside the Red Keep, Caden kept a hundred dragons for his own expenses in the city and handed the rest to Trick. Then, he followed Loras to the barracks of the City Watch near the Dragon Gate.
"What do you know of the Gold Cloaks, Caden?" Loras asked as they rode.
"I know they have soft bellies and slow feet," Caden said bluntly.
Loras laughed. "You aren't wrong. During the Blackwater, there were eight thousand of them behind stone walls, and they nearly broke in a day. More fled than died. Worse, their commander, Jacelyn Bywater, was murdered by his own men in the mud."
Loras gestured toward the horizon. "The Watch reports to the Master of Laws, but their training is a joke. Janos Slynt tripled their numbers with gutter-rats. After the battle, the strength dropped to four thousand four hundred. Tyrion removed Slynt, and now Ser Addam Marbrand holds the command. He's Lord Tywin's captain of horse and the heir to Ashemark. He loathes this post. Having an experienced veteran in his ranks will be a mercy."
"Gold in the sand," Caden mused.
"Exactly," Loras smiled. "I look forward to the day you command the whole Watch."
The barracks at the Dragon Gate were a den of lethargy. Guards leaned against the gates, barely looking up as the Knight of Flowers rode through. Inside, men were gambling in the dirt or napping in the shade.
They entered the command tent to find Ser Addam Marbrand slumped over a desk, his eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion.
"Loras," Addam sighed, not looking up from a mountain of ledgers. "Has the King sent some new catastrophe for me to manage?"
"The King is fine, Addam. I've come on private business." Loras glanced at the books. "Counting heads again?"
Addam threw his quill down in frustration. "Thousands deserted. Now they're creeping back, and Tywin has ordered me to break the kneecaps of every deserter I find. I have four thousand men, but the rolls say eight. I can't pay them until I know who is real and who is a ghost. The royal wedding is in two days—I have streets to clear and gates to seal. If I don't settle the ranks by then, there will be blood in the gutters."
"I can't help you with books," Loras shrugged. "But I have a man who can help you with the gutters. This is Ser Caden Storm. A knight of the Reach and a veteran. I want him in the Watch. Do this for me, and I owe you a favor."
Addam appraised Caden. "Storm? A bastard of the Stormlands? Who was your father?"
"A minor lord of no consequence, Ser," Caden said, managing an awkward smile.
Addam nodded, seemingly satisfied. He didn't care for bloodlines; he cared for competence. "I have too many spear-shaking idiots and not enough officers. Since you're a friend of Loras, I'll make you a Captain in the Palace Guard. It's a thankless post, but it's yours."
Addam quickly scribbled the order, stamped it with the seal of the Watch, and handed it over. "Report to the Red Keep by dawn. Loras, let's find a tavern. I need to forget these numbers exist."
Caden returned to the camp at the Great Sept for one final night. He proudly showed the commission to his brothers, but Theodore was quick to dampen his spirits.
"The City Watch has three arms, Caden," Theodore warned. "The Gate Guard, who grow fat on tolls. The Street Guard, who grow fat on extortion. And the Palace Guard... who are treated like pack-mules by the high lords of the Red Keep. You didn't pay enough to get a 'good' post."
Caden blinked. "No one told me there was a difference!"
Theodore clapped him on the shoulder. "On the bright side, the Palace Guard is where the secrets are. If a lady takes a fancy to you, don't forget your poor brothers in the mud."
The High Sparrow silenced the joking. "Brother Caden, you are our eyes in the lion's mouth. Listen much, speak little. Every whisper in the Red Keep is a weapon for Anshe."
"I'll keep my ears sharp, Father," Caden promised.
Trick then shared the news of Master Mott. "He's coming with us. He's bringing friends for protection, so we can't hide the Master's candidates in his train."
"That's fine," Theodore said. "We'll arrange a 'chance encounter' at the Gate of the Gods. I'll have the brothers waiting just outside. You leave the day after tomorrow?"
"Aye," Trick said.
"Then the Sun rises on both our paths," the High Sparrow prayed. "May the Light guide you home."
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