Gawain set a leisurely pace for the procession, fully aware that the welcoming party at No. 4 Crown Street would need some time to prepare the estate for its former owner. The Crown Estate staff had likely received the news at the last minute, and Gawain didn't see the need to rush or fluster them further. Despite his efforts to take his time, even leading the procession in a casual loop around the city square, by the time they arrived, staff members in butler uniforms were still scurrying in and out of the mansion, clearly flustered.
At least the essential arrangements were complete, he noted.
A tall, thin man with a dignified demeanor emerged from the mansion, dressed in the immaculate attire of a royal butler, complete with a white wig and black cravat. He strode up to Gawain's horse and offered a deep bow.
"Welcome, Your Excellency. The estate is now ready to receive you," the man said formally. "I am James Blaine, currently responsible for managing this property. During your stay in the capital, it is my honor to serve you as your house steward."
"Blaine... I recognize that name," Gawain mused, searching his memory. "Ah, yes. Holly Blaine, a young page who served under Charles himself. The family name was bestowed by Charles as well."
James Blaine's eyes widened in amazement. The surprise of speaking with someone who knew his ancestor was visible. "Y-yes, indeed! Holly Blaine is our ancestor. Our family has served the royal house for generations, and members of the Blaine family have long been entrusted with overseeing royal properties, including this estate."
Gawain chuckled softly. "So, my house is now part of the royal assets?"
James Blaine's expression stiffened, and a nervous sheen appeared on his brow. This was likely the most awkward exchange he'd encountered in recent memory—a former lord returning to find his residence reassigned. It would be akin to someone reciting your teenage journal entries in public.
Yet Gawain had only intended it as light humor, and he soon brushed past the topic. "There's no need to overwork yourselves for my sake. I won't be staying long."
James regained his composure and stood a bit taller. "I am here to serve you to the best of my ability. It's our duty to ensure the residence is perfectly prepared for your arrival."
"Perhaps you could start by clearing out any ticket sellers or tour guides?" Gawain said with a wry grin.
"Uh... pardon?" James stammered, unsure how to respond.
Interacting with people in a different world, Gawain mused, had its own set of challenges, especially when it came to humor. He dismounted and handed his reins to a waiting attendant, leading his great-great-granddaughter, Rebecca, and the rest of their small entourage toward the mansion.
As they walked through the front garden and up to the main hall, Gawain couldn't help but admire the house's preservation. Seven centuries had passed, yet Crown Street's heritage homes retained their original splendor. He was certain that much of what he saw had been carefully restored or replaced over the years. While it maintained a sense of the past, Gawain knew that magic or not, many materials would have decayed long ago. It wasn't quite the home he remembered, but he still appreciated the effort.
Amber, his half-elf companion, seemed unimpressed by the structure's historical significance. "This is it? Not exactly as grand as I imagined."
"This was built seven hundred years ago," Gawain replied. "Back then, even the White Silver Fort wasn't much bigger than this."
Rebecca, on the other hand, gazed around with a mixture of wonder and melancholy. "I think it's wonderful. My own castle may have a larger foundation, but it's nowhere near as well-kept as this."
Amber rolled her eyes. "That's because your family practically ran through all its resources ages ago."
Gawain held up his hands in mock surrender and placed a hand on both their heads. "Rebecca, no fireballs inside. And Amber, tone down the sarcasm. Just because you're good at dodging doesn't mean you should take every chance to annoy others. Someday, you'll run into an enemy you can't escape."
After delegating tasks—Sir Byron would help the soldiers settle in, while the young maid Betty would assist in the kitchen—Gawain began exploring the main hall. It felt both strange and familiar, like stepping into an echo of his past. He wandered from corner to corner, observing each artifact, the layout, and even the worn spots in the floor.
"Much of it remains..." he muttered to himself, recognizing certain pieces from his memories. He recalled each room, each furnishing, and could almost sense the voices of those he once knew resonating within these walls.
Rebecca followed, examining the decor with a sense of reverence. As the current head of the Cecil family, she knew the stories but had never seen the place her revered ancestor once called home. Her gaze fell on a war axe hanging on the wall.
"This old axe," Gawain remarked, "I won it from Charles in a sparring match. It's not exactly a legendary weapon, just an old dwarven war axe. Strange, really, how those short-statured dwarves could wield something so hefty. They're barely tall enough to reach my waist but have the strength to swing it with ease."
Rebecca tilted her head, puzzled. "Charles… as in King Charles I?"
"Charles Morne, yes," Gawain confirmed with a smile. "The man you know as Charles I, founder of the kingdom. I only ever knew one Charles."
Speaking about his former life was surreal yet strangely fulfilling. It was as if he were telling a grand tale to an audience captivated by each word. In a way, he was now a living legend recounting firsthand experiences, and he realized that playing the role of Gawain Cecil was as thrilling as it was useful.
Amber, however, was less interested in tales of history. She circled the room once, assessing the valuables, and finally plopped onto a nearby sofa with a sigh. She kicked her feet up, letting her eyes roam lazily over the room's decor.
"Don't tell me you came all this way just to pack up and take the valuables?" she teased, casting him a mischievous look. "After all, your descendants seem to have run through most of the family wealth. If you're looking for a discreet way to 'relocate' some treasures, I could help. Give me three trips to the market, and I could have this place empty."
Gawain rolled his eyes, but couldn't help a smirk. "Where do you get these ideas?"
She grinned. "It's just basic logic. If you're worried about sneaking things out, I could make it look like they vanished into thin air. A thief of my caliber doesn't even need an excuse!"
Amber's comment was both brazen and bizarre, suggesting they work together to steal his own property. She had a unique way of understanding loyalty, and Gawain found himself caught between amusement and exasperation.
"Save yourself the trouble," he said, waving her off. "If I wanted to take something, I'd have no need to be sneaky about it. Even a misguided king like Francis II wouldn't be petty enough to fuss over it."
Amber shrugged, looking around as she inspected a nearby vase. "You're probably right. Most of this stuff isn't worth much. The axe might be real, but this vase? It's definitely a reproduction."
Gawain stared at her, bemused. Had she appraised everything in the room within minutes? Her skills were remarkable, if only she could divert some of that keen observation toward refining her humor—or at least being a little less reckless.
She pouted, finally noticing his silence. "So, what do you actually need me for? I'm no knight, not a soldier either. I'm just a passing thief. What kind of help could I possibly offer?"
"First," Gawain said, leveling her with a look, "you broke into my tomb. Intentions aside, by kingdom law, that's grounds for execution. I've pardoned you as the injured party. Don't you think it's fair to repay me?"
Amber blinked, momentarily speechless. "Well, I… suppose?"
"Second," Gawain continued, "I value your talents—though not the stealing. Your skills as a shadow operative are exactly what I need. This city is filled with watchful eyes, spies with countless agendas. Byron is a warrior, Rebecca's magic is limited, and my powers are still returning. But you, with your craft, can keep us aware and safe. Can you accept that?"
Gawain's tone had shifted, no longer lighthearted. He looked directly at Amber, speaking with sincerity, and she found herself unexpectedly moved by his seriousness.
She hesitated, then turned her gaze away, clearly uncomfortable with the rare moment of trust. "Well… since you put it that way, I guess I don't mind helping out. And if you want, I'll take back the 'shadow master' part a few times—just for fun."
Gawain exchanged a glance with Rebecca. "Think you can cast a fireball just large enough to singe without scorching?"
Amber's eyes widened in alarm, but she never got to test Gawain's patience further, as Blaine returned, bowing respectfully.
"Your Excellency, a visitor has arrived," James announced. "Prince Edmund requests an audience."
Gawain's interest was piqued. Prince Edmund, a respected figure in the royal family known for his strategic insight, was a figure worth meeting. He had heard rumors of the prince's wisdom and tact, qualities that set him apart in the court's turbulent political landscape. Gawain nodded, signaling for James to escort the prince in.
Moments later, Prince Edmund entered, a tall, composed figure in a formal royal blue attire that hinted at both dignity and authority. His gaze was steady, and his demeanor poised, yet he greeted Gawain with genuine warmth.
"Lord Cecil," he began, inclining his head respectfully. "It's an honor to finally meet the legendary founder in person. The tales do you little justice."
"Your Highness flatters me," Gawain replied with a courteous nod. "Though I wonder which tales you're referring to—some may be more legend than fact."
Edmund allowed himself a slight smile. "Indeed, history has a way of embellishing the truth. But in this case, I believe the truth may be even more remarkable. Your presence here has stirred much conversation, and, as you might expect, many are eager to understand your intentions."
Gawain's expression softened, yet his words carried a weight that only a seasoned warrior could convey. "I am here because my family and my land require support. The kingdom faces challenges, and I am here to ensure Cecil Territory will have a voice in how we face them."
Prince Edmund nodded, his eyes shining with appreciation. "A noble pursuit, as expected of a man of your legacy. Know that there are those in the court who welcome your wisdom and experience. As for others, well, every court has its politics."
Their exchange continued, navigating the delicate dance of ally-seeking and indirect assurances. Gawain sensed that Edmund was both testing his resolve and extending an olive branch, laying the groundwork for a potential alliance. He chose his words carefully, understanding that his next moves could either safeguard his family's future or embroil them in further intrigue.
As the meeting concluded, Gawain found himself contemplating his new allies, potential foes, and the road ahead.