LOWIS

Lowis awaited by the shore while Quinn washed in the river. It was near sunset again, but this time they had not just arrived — they had spent the entire morning and afternoon in the mine, getting out all the gold they could. They had hidden it inside a wool bag which laid next to Lowis now, its contents worth more than all they had earned in their entire lives combined. No one but themselves knew: They wanted to, above all, protect their earnings from the overwhelming taxation each of the noble families in a twenty mile radius and the Tyrells would impose even if the Beesburys let them keep any of it. As they had agreed, it would be much safer to store the gold until they had enough to travel to Essos and establish a new life there, probably in Lis or Tyrosh.

Lowis day-dreamed as he admired his friend coming out of the water. He imagined what a life with him would be like… He had heard that in some places in Essos people like himself were not despised but rather accepted. Of course, the tavern wench that had told him that had said it with despise and not with the excitement Lowis now felt. It was as though she thought he and all those who were like him deserved a miserable existence. Lowis did not enjoy that, and a moment later, as she laid unconscious on the bedroom's floor, Lowis was finally sure of his sexuality. Later that night, he thought that of course a whore would say that. Pillow-bitters were bad for her business.

As he dressed, Quinn took Lowis out of his fantasies and memories. "Do you want to go drink some ale?"

"We said we ought not spend it yet, Quinn. It would be unwise." Answered Lowis, still a little distracted.

"Oh, forget the damn plan for a moment. I love ale, and it has been a long time since I last had a big, ol' mug full of some of the dark stuff Jame makes."

"Do you really think that nobody will notice if we pay with raw gold? We don't have any coins, Quinn. You're not as smart as you fancy yourself to be." Lowis liked to insult Quinn every once in a while. It kept his friend's arrogance down to bearable levels.

For a moment, Quinn was silent. "You are a blacksmith." He affirmed as he thought of a plan.

Lowis' voice was heavy with mockery. "Yes. What an observant man you are."

But Quinn simply smiled.

º º º

Two days later, they crossed the Flying Bard's Cellar's door in the later hours of the night. It was filled with older, drunk men with their ugly and cheap whores sitting on their laps. A few of them carried weapons, dressed with the colors of the King, the Tyrells and the Beesburys, but most were regular townsmen looking for a loosening evening after a hard day in the fields. It was a way to spend all the money they had earned and leave their children hungry, thus perpetuating the cycle of misery that plagued Westeros.

"The Lion Slayer!" Shouted Tibbot the stonemason from one of the larger tables. All his companions and most of the other men in the establishment laughed soundly.

"Howl all you want boys," Quinn began to say. "but you saw the head. It's the truth."

"Aye, it is the truth. Shall we warn the Lannisters ye's coming for them?" Mocked Tibbot.

"Maybe warn your daughter — actually, forget that, Albretta already knows I'm coming." Quinn replied. Tibbot's face closed with anger and unease while it began to turn scarlet. Lowis cringed at their infantility, and attempted to seize Quinn's shoulder to pull him away from the other men. His friend dodged with ease. Quinn's smile at Tibbot dripped with sarcasm. The stonemason stood up from his chair and pulled his hammer from his belt. He pointed it at Quinn as he shouted "Take it back, brat!"

One of the guards stood up. "Alright, that's enough you two. Let a man drink his fucking ale in peace for fuck's sake!"

Moments later, while they sat next to the bar, Tibbot stared at them from the corner. Lowis was unnerved, but Quinn seemed to not have a single worry in his mind. "I actually am coming from Albretta later, you know." He told Lowis.

Quinn did not know, but every time he said something like that a small part of Lowis died inside. Those were the shards of his hope being destroyed. "Aye, what a great lover you are, fucking a ugly bastard. One of these days her father will kill you, you know."

Quinn drank his dark ale with impetuosity and enthusiasm. He finished the entire mug in a single gulp before he answered. "Tibbot? Killing me? His fat arse wouldn't be able to catch me even if I was two feet away from him."

Lowis was about to reply when Jame the bartender interrupted. "An' how ye fockers plan to pay for me ale?"

"Worry not, gentle and well-spoken bartender," Said Quinn. "today's rounds are well covered." He then took out from the inner pocket of his shirt a golden dragon and slammed it on the table dramatically.

Jame looked at the coin, which had been forged the day before by Lowis. It had a dragon on one side, and the image of a man's face with "Baelor I" written under it on the other. It was a very poor imitation of an actual golden dragon, but no person in that tavern had ever seen one up-close. Jame seemed surprised for a second, but then he was anything but pleased. "Ye stole this?!" He whispered.

"Nay, but what of it if we had? You get your money, we get our drinks. Stop asking pointless questions, Jame, or I shall find another tavern to get drunk in." Said Quinn. Lowis often wondered how his friend got away with saying his threats and insults. One day they would get him killed, he was sure.

But it was not that day. Jame bit the gold, saw it was real. "I'll bring ye the vintage, milord." He answered, before the both of them roared with laughter. Lowis remained cringing.

º º º

Many drinks later, Lowis half-walked and half-carried drunken Quinn back through the streets of Honeyholt. First, he had vomited, then almost gotten into a fight with Tibbot and his companions. It took five men to stop the imminent brawling chaos that would most probably wreck the tavern, at which point Lowis had already managed to sneak out with Quinn. Now, he spoke senseless things and all kinds of rubbish, so much that Lowis decided to take him to the forge rather than his home. Although Nigel was an alcoholic just like his son, Quinn's mother Helva always cried when she saw him in the "sorry state."

Lowis took out the key and opened the wooden door reinforced with metal at the entrance of his forge. It was small and cluttered: At the center there was the main furnace which still had some red and glowing coal buried in ashes that took most of the space. It was surrounded by finished farming gear, swords, axes, anvils and wooden shelfs and tables. At one corner, there was a small bed of straw which Lowis used to sleep — next to it, the large wool bag filled with gold nuggets. He left Quinn there and turned around to close the door, only to see two men standing at the entrance. They were dressed in chain armor, covered with the colors of the Beesburys. Their swords were already drawn when the one on the right spoke. "A golden dragon — now, where do a baker's son and a petty blacksmith find a golden dragon?"

Lowis did not say anything. He weighted his chances in his mind and tried not to look at where the gold was, wishing he had hidden it better. The other soldier added in a more serious, emotionless voice "Ye an' that boy is coming with us, and ye'll tell exactly what happen'd." And, when he stepped forward to take hold of him, Lowis reached with stunning velocity for a hammer on an anvil behind him and tried to hit the guard. He easily blocked the hit with his sword. In reaction, Lowis used his left hand to grab a handful of ashes and throw it at the guard's face. He screamed with frustration, and blindly waved his weapon at Lowis with one hand while he tried to clear his eyes with the other.

As Lowis stepped back to dodge the strikes, he saw the other soldier circulating the furnace and approaching from the left. Knowing he had to act soon or face two enemies at once, he launched himself forward. Summoning all his strength, Lowis stroke the blinded guard on the right side of his head, rendering him unconscious — but not before getting cut in his waist. Lowis screamed with pain and fell over, letting go of the hammer. By that time, the other guard already was close, pointing his sword at the fallen blacksmith with fury in his eyes. He loomed the weapon, ready to strike…

When Quinn jumped on his back, stabbing the guard in the throat with the bronze tip of a spear. Thick, dark blood gushed into Quinn's face and clothes, and both fell forward — the dead guard on his face, Quinn on his right shoulder. He screamed with pain. Afterwards, the forge was silent as a grave.