Chapter 11: New Identity
…
Kevan Lannister POV
Four moons later…
"Twenty thousand gold dragons," I muttered, my fingers tracing the numbers in the document. It wasn't from the Lannister mines or taxes from a noble house, but from just one criminal group alone. A staggering fortune.
"He kept his word," I whispered to myself, a mix of surprise and wariness coloring my voice.
I stood before many chest filled to the brim with gold coins, their gleaming surfaces catching the faint torchlight. I was at the Lannisport vault, staring at the new chest brought in just this morning.
The deal I had made with the hooded man was already yielding benefits, though it brought with it a sense of unease. As I thought about him, complicated feelings surfaced. On the one hand, he was a constant thorn in my side. But on the other, his actions had systematically rooted out the most corrupt figures in Lannisport.
Over the past four moons, the hooded man and his organization had taken down individuals no one dared touch. The city guard captain, who had been working with a prominent merchant family, had fallen under his blade. That same family was involved in selling Westerlands' people into slavery, trading them either to the Iron Islands or across the sea to Essos.
The hooded man had rooted them all out—smugglers, corrupt officials, even noble houses that turned a blind eye to the suffering they caused. His ruthlessness was undeniable, but so were the results. The city was cleaner, though darker in the shadow of his presence.
I couldn't help but smile grimly as I reflected on my near-death experience four moons ago. The hooded man had come to me in the dead of night, his blade at my throat, and made an offer I couldn't refuse.
I had no choice but to accept.
How could I refuse when he'd slipped past every Lannister guard? He was a phantom, a man with the power to infiltrate even the most secure places. I wasn't a fool—I knew that working with him was dangerous. But the alternative was far worse.
Now, as I looked at the fortune his work had brought, I wondered how much longer this uneasy alliance would last. The hooded man was cleaning up the city, but at what cost? And more importantly, what would he ask of me next?
I locked the vault door behind me, the clink of the lock echoing softly in the quiet corridor. The hooded man—his influence was spreading through Lannisport faster than wildfire, but not all of it was terrible.
I could already see the changes, small at first, but unmistakable. There were food stalls now, serving strange new dishes that the common folk had taken to with zeal. "Hot dogs," they called one—a sausage wrapped in bread—and "hamburgers," another oddity with beef between two pieces of bread. And the pizza, my personal favorite. The aroma alone could make one's mouth water.
Despite the hooded man's shadowy rise to power, the Lionheart family, as they called themselves, had brought something unexpected: prosperity. In just four months, they'd paid more taxes than the wealthiest merchants had in ten years.
His word, it seemed, meant more than gold. No harm to innocents, no harm to innocent noble houses—those were the terms. And in exchange, his services were available to House Lannister, should they ever require his talents. He'd even told me how to reach him, with an eerie simplicity: "Speak to the children in the streets, and you'll find me."
I chuckled softly to myself. In truth, the deal had been far better than the alternative—my death. And now, I had a favor to repay.
As I crossed the courtyard, I saw the favor standing before me. A young man of fifteen name days, with golden hair and striking green eyes. He wore a full set of armor, though no helmet, and I watched as he swung his twin blades like a man possessed. His technique was… lacking. Wild, uncontrolled. But there was no denying his raw potential. He was fast, strong, and frighteningly agile. I'd already seen him knock two Lannister guards to the ground, and now four more were charging him.
With a flurry of movement, he dodged and blocked their strikes, his footwork quick and fluid. I could hear the hooded man's words echo in my mind: "He is one of my best." The thought sent a chill through me. If this boy was one of his best, how many more monsters like him lurked in the shadows?
My squire—Galahad, he was called—parried another strike and brought one of his swords down hard on a guard's shoulder, denting the armor and sending the man sprawling to the ground. I hissed at the sight. That kind of power was… unsettling. Like watching a charging warhorse crash into a wall of men.
With brutal efficiency, Galahad kicked one opponent away, creating space, then struck another with a two-piece combo—a downward slash that forced the man to block, followed by a swift strike to the ribs. The guard collapsed, gasping for breath. The third man fared no better, losing his sword entirely when Galahad's dual strikes hit with such force that the guard simply yielded.
The last man, the one who had been kicked back, was already cowering in fear. "I yield!" he shouted, dropping his sword.
Just like that, six Lannister men lay defeated.
I clapped my hands slowly as I approached. "Stand, Galahad," I said as he knelt before me. "You are my squire, not my servant."
He rose to his feet, and once again, I couldn't help but be struck by his appearance. The golden hair, the green eyes—he looked like a Lannister through and through. When I first laid eyes on him, I thought he might be my father's bastard. But no, this boy was smallfolk, despite his noble appearance. And in truth, he was timid, uncertain, lacking the sharpness of wit and will that defined my kin. He had brawn, yes, but no brains.
"Nice work out there," I said, picking up a sword from the training rack. "But your technique needs improvement." I began to show him proper form, guiding his stance, his strikes.
"Yes, milord. I'll do better." Galahad bowed his head, but this time, after watching me, he mimicked my technique with startling precision. His swords moved with an elegance that was unexpected, a perfect copy of my demonstration.
"Was that good, milord?" he asked, looking up at me with those sincere green eyes.
I sighed, a mixture of pride and frustration welling up inside me. For all his raw talent and immense strength, this boy still lacked the confidence to realize his full potential. He could be a great knight, maybe even the greatest, but his timid nature held him back. There was time to fix that, I hoped.
I placed a hand on his shoulder. "It was good, Galahad. But you must trust yourself more. Keep practicing."
"Yes, milord," he replied, though the hesitation still lingered in his voice.
As I walked away, leaving him to continue his training, my mind shifted back to the ledgers. There were more important matters to attend to—matters concerning the hooded man and the ever-expanding Lionheart family.
…
Third POV
As Richard walked through the bustling streets of Lannisport, his eyes scanned the lively marketplace. Under the name Galahad, he had integrated into the city's daily life as the squire of Kevan Lannister with ease.
On the other hand, his wealth and influence growing with each passing moon. The food stalls, one of his earliest ventures, were thriving. What had started as a mere experiment was now a staple in the city, drawing customers with foods like "hot dogs" and "pizza," foreign to Westerosi palates yet beloved.
With 2,000 gold dragons flowing in from those ventures alone each moon, the Lionheart family had become a force to be reckoned with. They now controlled Lannisport's criminal underworld, trading networks, and much of the city's commerce.
Beyond that, Richard's dealings had extended to brothels, stolen documents, and ledgers from the Iron Bank, giving him leverage over the corrupt and powerful alike.
The merchant group he had formed from the Lionheart family was rapidly expanding, selling across Westeros, securing his financial empire. At a mere 13 namesday, with the wealth he had amassed—more than 200,000 gold dragons—he was poised to become one of the wealthiest man in the Westerlands.
As Richard strolled down the narrow alley, the air shifted from the busy streets of the merchant district to what had once been the slums of Lannisport. But the transformation was undeniable. What was once a dilapidated part of the city, riddled with crime and poverty, had now become a vibrant center of activity. The fast-food stalls he had set up lined the streets, their savory scents filling the air as children ran about, playing games or tending to small errands. Merchants and workers bustled around, exchanging coin, bartering, and trading goods.
Richard couldn't help but smile at the sight. This place, once forgotten and left to rot, was now thriving under his careful guidance. The Lionheart family's influence wasn't just about crime or power—it had brought a measure of prosperity to the forgotten corners of the city.
He observed his scouts, the children who acted as his eyes and ears across Lannisport. Many recognized him, nodding discreetly before going about their business. Richard acknowledged them with a subtle gesture, but his mind remained sharp, always planning the next move. This was only the beginning. With Lannisport under his control, the rest of Westeros would follow.
He leaned against the stone wall, watching the bustling market in front of him. For just a moment, he let himself enjoy the fruits of his labor, the peace that had come from what he had built. A sigh escaped his lips as his gaze drifted to the busy streets. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"How is the deal with House Prester and House Kayce?" Richard asked, his eyes still on the marketplace, not turning to face the approaching figure in the alley.
"They've accepted, milord," Laenor, now one of Richard's trusted underbosses, replied as he crouched beside him. "They've requested 5,000 gold dragons each if we want to expand our trade, fast food stalls, and influence to their towns and villages."
"Good… good," Richard said, his gaze never leaving the peaceful scene.
"And Alicent and Maria?"
"They're doing well, milord. Managing the family efficiently, with the help of the women they've trained."
"Good." Richard's voice remained calm, but his mind was always calculating. "How's the expansion going?"
"We've secured about 70 percent of Lannisport," Laenor replied. "Conrad, Addam, Jon, and I should have the city fully under control in four moons."
"No. Two moons," Richard said, finally turning to look at Laenor, his green eyes glinting coldly. "If you can't get it done in two moons, I'll handle it myself. And you won't like my methods."
Laenor visibly trembled under Richard's gaze, feeling the weight of his killing intent.
"Yes, milord," Laenor stammered, bowing deeply, his forehead nearly touching the dirt-strewn alley floor. "It will be done in two moons."
"Good. See to it." Richard pushed off the wall and headed back toward the Lannisport keep, his steps measured, his mind already on his next move.