Generous rewards can ignite motivation—this is true for anyone.
Whether the fleet could pass safely through Volantis' waters was originally Viserys' concern alone.
But because the reward was so great, Davos found himself worrying about it as well.
On the other side, in Lothan's manor:
"Hmph! I knew it! How could that Valyrian possibly obtain the Prince's Spear? What could he rely on to find it? It's impossible!"
After hearing the story of what had happened, Gafas immediately leapt to define it as fraud, eager to paint Viserys as an untrustworthy liar and stir the elders toward war against the Targaryens.
Before Viserys left Gohor, Gafas had already carried this news to Freygo.
Viserys agreeing to travel to Nasar sounded like the young king was signing his own death warrant in the other elders' opinions.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gafas watched Lothan quietly—waiting for him to make a decision.
"Jorel, how many people do we still have who can carry weapons?" Lothan asked, eyes fixed on the map.
Jorel stepped forward.
"We still have more than thirty-two thousand men between the ages of fourteen and fifty, and over thirty-eight thousand women."
Seeing that Lothan might truly be preparing for war with the Targaryens, Gafas felt a surge of secret delight.
Lothan tapped the map with his cane.
"The Prince's Forest. This place is vital to us. Select ten thousand strong men and five thousand grown women to fortify it."
Then Lothan's gaze drifted across the elders' faces, as if choosing a commander.
Who will he pick to station there? Gafas knew Lothan had always kept him at arm's length.
The two held very different attitudes toward Braavos. Gafas wanted full allegiance to Braavos; Lothan insisted on remaining independent.
But the final decision caught Gafas completely off guard.
"Gafas," Lothan said solemnly, looking him directly in the eyes, "I am entrusting you with the defense of the Prince's Forest."
A flash of shock passed through Gafas' expression. His body froze for a moment, as though time had halted.
For a split second, he wondered if he had misheard.
Then, as though waking from a dream, he sat upright and responded, "I will not fail the Rhoynar people, nor your trust!"
Inside, Gafas was ecstatic.
This turn of events was far beyond what he expected.
He planned to "hold the line"— Of course, by "hold," he meant everyone else would die.
He intended to exhaust these ten thousand as much as possible.
That way, Lothan would be forced to rely more heavily on Braavos, and Gafas' influence among the Rhoynar would rise dramatically.
"I'll provide you ample grain," Lothan continued. "And the best armor and weapons we have. Hold the line."
"Rest assured, Elder! I won't allow the Targaryens to take even half a step past my defenses! That little king will have to walk over my dead body!"
Gafas puffed out his chest as though he were truly ready to die resisting the Targaryens.
Lothan continued assigning commanders to the other defensive positions.
But Gafas wasn't listening anymore. He already knew this battle would change his life. Before long, he would become the spokesperson of the Rhoynar in Gohor.
Of course, remaining in Gohor—a poor and struggling land—was not his true goal.
He wanted to slip away to Braavos and start a prosperous new life as a true Braavosi.
After Gafas left, Elder Tina couldn't hold back her frustration.
"The Prince's Forest is important, yes, but must we give our very best soldiers to one single place? And we only have so much armor—how are the rest of us supposed to fight?"
Lothan had essentially handed over half of their armor to Gafas, leaving the other defensive lines severely weakened.
Hearing her complaint, Gafas immediately objected:
"The Prince's Forest is our first line of defense against the Targaryens! I'll take the heaviest fighting—why shouldn't I have more armor?"
"At least give us more manpower," Tina shot back. "You're getting ten thousand trained fighters. We're left to resist Westerosi steel with bare flesh."
Gafas prepared to rebuke her, but Tina turned and walked away. She knew no one could change Lothan's mind.
Watching her leave, Gafas sneered inwardly, 'When I'm the High Elder, I'll strip you of everything. You bitch!'
When he returned, Gafas informed Freygo of the coming battle and of Lothan's arrangements.
Freygo was very pleased by the news.
He plucked a purple flower from his garden, twirling its stem between his fingers as he smiled.
"It seems the little king is a bit too hasty—trying to deceive Lothan with a fake spear?"
"Yes. Now conflict between him and the Rhoynar is inevitable," Quairo responded, feeling a hint of pity.
The young king was too inexperienced. No one had taught him that credibility was a ruler's greatest treasure.
His reputation in Gohor would surely suffer.
"Your Majesty," Quairo said, "why not allow me to bring some elite soldiers to assist the Rhoynar at the right moment? We could wear down the Targaryens even more."
He still longed for another duel with Arthur Dayne. And under Gafas' leadership, the Rhoynar defenders were likely to collapse anyway.
He figured he might as well go and seize a chance to clash with the Sword of the Morning.
But Freygo saw through his intentions immediately.
"Is it because of the man who carries Dawn?"
"My apologies, Your Majesty… yes."
"Don't worry," Freygo said, tossing the purple flower back into the garden.
"You and the Sword of the Morning are both young. You'll have plenty of chances to fight. When the little king is cornered, I'll find a way to keep the Sword of the Morning for myself."
To Freygo, Viserys' defeat was only a matter of time.
And he had long set his sights on Arthur.
The loyalty of a Kingsguard could not be shaken— But if Freygo could control Viserys, then Arthur would indirectly serve him.
Some things couldn't be owned outright… But one could still claim the right to use them.
In the end, Freygo sent five hundred crossbows to Gafas to help him prepare.
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