After Lancelot established the North Sea Kindergarten and South Mountain Nursing Home, he instituted a rule: two meals a day for everyone, with three dishes and one soup per meal.
For the orphans and the homeless elderly, this was unimaginable luxury.
In the Flea Bottom slums of King's Landing, they were used to starving one day and gorging the next—sometimes catching a rat counted as a feast.
Lancelot also mandated that meat be served once every seven days in honor of the Seven Gods.
Two months later, Lancelot's North Sea Kindergarten had taken in three hundred homeless orphans, mostly under the age of ten.
The South Mountain Nursing Home housed five hundred homeless elderly people, most of whom had lost their sons in war or whose daughters had married and moved away.
From then on, Lancelot made an appearance at the kindergarten and nursing home every day. His Popularity Points grew steadily.
Watching the toddlers play and the elderly bask in the sun, Lancelot felt genuinely good.
However, to further cement his status and popularity among these eight hundred people, Lancelot decided to teach the children of North Sea Kindergarten how to write.
Writing on paper was out of the question; the resources simply weren't there. So, Lancelot taught them to write in the sand or dirt.
Learning this way required no paper, ink, or quill, saving a fortune while still improving their literacy and cultural level.
Lancelot's plan was to wait a few years, then send the older children to knights as squires or to maesters as apprentices.
During this period, Lancelot was busy until late every night before returning to the Red Keep.
One day, just as he was leaving the nursing home, he was stopped by an old man with a full head of silver hair.
"Ser Lancelot, please wait a moment."
Lancelot looked at him, confused.
"Old man, do you need something?"
"I am very grateful for the kindness you have shown to the elderly and children of King's Landing. May the Seven bless you."
"The glory of the Seven is always with me," Lancelot replied.
If anyone else had said such a thing, the silver-haired elder would have thought them arrogant. But when Lancelot said it, the old man nodded in deep agreement.
"Ser Lancelot, I have a map here. It was prepared back when Aerys II planned to send men to explore the Valyrian peninsula. I hope this map proves useful to you."
The silver-haired elder produced a map, yellowed with age, and handed it to Lancelot.
Lancelot took the map but didn't open it immediately. Instead, he asked:
"Who are you? A knight of Aerys II?"
"No, I am his bastard brother. This head of silver hair is proof."
Only then did Lancelot realize that the man's silver hair wasn't the white of old age, but the distinct, lustrous silver of the blood of Old Valyria.
Lancelot took the opportunity to check his stats.
> Name: Baelon Waters
> Identity: Bastard son of Jaehaerys II
> Class: None
> Strength: 3
> Speed: 3
> Intelligence: 18
> Spirit: 15
> Mana: 10
"Although his Strength and Speed are very low due to age, his Intelligence, Spirit, and Mana are far beyond ordinary people! As expected of the Targaryen bloodline," Lancelot thought.
"Thank you for your gift, old man."
Lancelot thanked him again.
Back in the Great Hall of the Red Keep, the royal dinner had already ended. To Lancelot's surprise, however, Cersei had ordered the cooks to save a meal for him.
Lancelot stared at the pork, bread, and ale delivered to his room, falling into deep thought.
Tyrion came to see him as well.
"Lancelot, you're back very late today. It seems you care deeply about the North Sea Kindergarten and South Mountain Nursing Home!" Tyrion sat down next to Lancelot and poured himself a cup of ale.
"Eat! Why aren't you eating? Don't worry, it's not poisoned. If it were, and you died, everyone would know Cersei killed you. She may be foolish, but she wouldn't do something that stupid." Tyrion set down his cup and poured another.
Only then did Lancelot begin to eat. Although this era lacked modern seasonings and spices, it was royal cuisine, and the chefs did a fine job.
Tyrion had intended to chat about life with Lancelot after he finished eating, but then he spotted the map on the table.
"What is this?"
Tyrion opened it to find a map of the Valyrian peninsula from days past, marked with the locations of the forty dragonlord families.
"You brat, where did you find something like this?" Tyrion was visibly excited.
Since childhood, he had dreamed of sailing to other continents, hunting for treasure, and being an adventurer.
But Tywin had forbidden it.
"A kind old man gave it to me!" Lancelot said between mouthfuls.
"What, are you planning to hunt for treasure in Valyria? That place is a forbidden zone. You can't even navigate through the Smoking Sea. Do you know how many ships have sunk there?" Tyrion said seriously.
When he was a boy, he had indeed dreamed of wandering the world, but his perspective had changed. Perhaps Tywin had stopped him for his own good.
After all, his uncle, Gerion Lannister, had gone on such a journey and never returned.
"Uncle, relax. I am a knight protected by the Seven!" Lancelot said, thumping his chest.
"You don't know shit. If the Seven were real, they wouldn't have let my mother die," Tyrion said, his eyes turning red.
He had been discriminated against by Cersei since childhood largely because Lady Joanna had died birthing him.
Cersei believed Tyrion was an ill omen who had killed her mother.
When Lady Joanna was giving birth to Tyrion, Cersei, Jaime, Tywin, and many other Lannisters had prayed to the Seven for protection, but it was useless.
"Uncle, in the ruins of Valyria, there might be the thing we desire most," Lancelot said calmly.
"You mean..."
Lancelot nodded.
What House Lannister desired most was a dragon. Tyrion, too, had dreamed of riding a dragon into the sky as a child.
"This map marks the estates of forty dragonlord families. Perhaps some intact dragon eggs remain there. If we can find a way to hatch them, then..."
Lancelot didn't need to finish the sentence. Tyrion knew that if that day ever came, it might be the Lannisters' turn to sit on the Iron Throne.
"It's still too dangerous!" Tyrion insisted.
"I can spend more coin and hire mercenaries to protect me!" Lancelot countered.
"Mercenaries are unreliable. Uncle Gerion died at sea because the sailors he hired betrayed him," Tyrion argued.
"Then I'll bring more Red Cloaks. Surely the soldiers of House Lannister are trustworthy!" Lancelot said.
Seven days later, Lancelot, wearing a cloak, boarded a merchant ship bound for Pentos.
Before his departure, one hundred Lannister soldiers had already left for Pentos in separate groups.
With Lancelot gone, the North Sea Kindergarten and South Mountain Nursing Home were left in Tyrion's care.
Tyrion owned the largest brothel in King's Landing—won from Baelish—so he wasn't short on money. Plus, his talent allowed him to talk to anyone happily. As a result, the children at the kindergarten and the elderly at the nursing home liked him very much.
Sitting in the cabin, watching King's Landing shrink into a black dot on the horizon, Lancelot was filled with excitement and anticipation.
This was his first time on a ship, and his first time traveling far from home.
Lancelot touched the Valyrian steel dagger hidden in his tunic. Tyrion had given it to him for protection before he left.