When Galladon saw the black scabbard fitted around Just Maid, he immediately understood why his father had spent the night in Sapphire Town.
Lord Selwyn had gone personally to find Byron, the finest blacksmith on Tarth, and ordered a custom scabbard forged overnight.
Looking at his father's bloodshot eyes, Galladon knew he had not slept.
"Galladon, the scabbard is finished."
Selwyn handed the sword over carefully.
Galladon examined it.
The scabbard was forged primarily of black iron, the hammer marks still faintly visible. A layer of pinewood lightened the weight. Gray sharkskin wrapped near the mouth for grip. Silver lines ran across the iron in simple, elegant patterns.
Unlike ordinary scabbards worn at the waist, this one was designed to be carried diagonally across the back—clearly tailored for Galladon's height and age.
Though still slightly long for him, in two or three years it would fit perfectly.
He slowly drew the blade.
A soft metallic sound echoed.
Light bloomed.
The hall fell silent.
Every time the blade emerged, it mesmerized onlookers.
Galladon sheathed it and tested the weight.
To him, it felt light and balanced—though he had noticed his father struggling slightly when lifting it.
Just Maid seemed to adjust its weight for its chosen master.
No wonder it was labeled a golden legendary weapon on his panel.
"Thank you, Father."
Selwyn smiled and nodded.
"Brother!"
Brienne ran in from the courtyard, sand still clinging to her hands and shoes.
"Galladon, starting tomorrow, take Brienne to study with Maester Amos."
"Okay."
At three, Galladon had begun lessons. Brienne, now four, was ready to learn her letters.
News from King's Landing
As lunch preparations began, Maester Amos hurried in, holding a raven's letter.
"My lord, good news!"
Selwyn read the message.
"The queen has given birth to a healthy boy."
Galladon looked up.
Prince Rhaegar was sixteen now.
The newborn must be—
"Yes, my lord. The king has named him Viserys Targaryen."
Viserys.
The so-called "Sleeping Dragon."
Selwyn chuckled.
"After so many miscarriages and stillbirths, at last a healthy prince. Perhaps this will improve the king's temper."
Maester Amos produced another letter.
"Lord Tywin plans to host a grand tourney in Lannisport to celebrate the prince's birth."
Selwyn frowned slightly.
"I will not attend. Prepare a gift instead."
They began discussing politics.
The growing tension between King Aerys and his Hand, Lord Tywin.
Stannis Baratheon's upcoming nameday.
Young Tyrion Lannister surviving infancy.
Galladon listened with interest.
Through their conversation, he understood more clearly why Aerys was called the Mad King.
It was not merely cruelty.
It was a madness of imagination.
Aerys had once proposed building a second Wall a hundred leagues north of the existing one—seizing all land in between.
He had suggested digging vast canals through the Red Mountains to make Dorne bloom like a garden.
Grand, impossible schemes.
Galladon nearly laughed aloud.
Viserys' "wrath of the dragon" must have been inherited.
He also noticed something else:
Selwyn clearly disliked Aerys.
But both he and Maester Amos spoke respectfully of Lord Tywin.
Whether Tywin was manipulating events or genuinely stabilizing the realm, his ability was undeniable.
Sword Training in the Godswood
After a short rest, Galladon strapped the Just Maid to his back and walked into the godswood behind the castle.
There waited Ser Goodwin.
Tall, brown-haired, scar across his cheek—a veteran of the Stepstones.
"Good day, Ser Goodwin."
"Galladon. Your father says you are fit to train."
"I only drank some seawater. Every child of Tarth has done that."
"Best not let your father hear that."
Goodwin's eyes fell upon the sword.
"So this is the holy blade?"
"Yes."
Galladon unsheathed it.
Green light shimmered beneath the trees.
Goodwin stared in awe.
"It is no mortal forging."
"Let us not spar with that blade," Goodwin added dryly. "I value my limbs."
"I only wish to test its sharpness."
Goodwin pointed to a massive dead tree stump ten paces away—used for archery practice.
"As thick as two men embracing. Strike it."
Galladon walked forward.
Gripping the hilt with both hands, he swung casually.
(End of Chapter 7)
A/N:
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