Gawen hesitated.
For the sake of strength and advancement, with his knowledge of the tale, Gawen chose—out of practical self-interest—to temporarily join Queen Cersei's camp.
Indeed, whether great or small, nothing in King's Landing ever happened without cause.
To sabotage the bond between king and queen required a hidden hand of considerable ambition. Even before the game's true pieces were set upon the board, the undercurrents of intrigue had already begun to surge.
Those who stood to profit from such matters proved their own strength, marking themselves as true players in the game of thrones—or as factions of conspirators, bound together by shared ambition.
Gawen's mind quickly named the few houses most likely to be involved.
Feigning avoidance, Gawen signaled Mondon to prepare him a plate of stewed meat.
He deliberately shifted aside, dodging the piercing stare of Jaime Lannister.
Mondon placed a generous cut of lamb onto the plate and presented it like a treasured gift.
Gawen chewed slowly, lowering his lashes as he savored the tenderness of the broth-soaked meat. The fatigue of a dozen hours of strain seemed to vanish in an instant.
Jaime sensed that Gawen had noticed something and pressed to continue—but Gawen was clearly evading him.
Watching Gawen relish the food, Jaime's temper flared. "Little savage, are you planning to feast alone? Not even offering your guest a share?"
Gawen blinked in mock surprise, swallowing his mouthful. "Do Lannisters eat lamb stew as well?"
Jaime gave a short, incredulous laugh. "What do you think? That Lannisters dine on gold?"
Gawen chuckled and ordered Mondon to serve Ser Jaime at once.
Accepting the plate, Jaime set aside his knightly grace and tore into the meat with a hearty bite. To his surprise, the plain fare tasted far better than expected.
After a while, Jaime spoke: "Baron Crabb, I know I lack the sharpness you possess. If you've uncovered anything, I'd ask you to confide in me. I could even keep it from Cersei—consider it a debt owed. And Lannisters always pay their debts."
At that, Gawen's ears twitched, as though he had heard the clink of golden dragons.
He paused, his expression turning grave, then sighed. "Ser Mondon, take the meat and keep watch around us. Nothing—no one—must come near."
"Nothing?" The clever soldier understood at once, quickly gathering the food and moving off to rally the distant guards, spreading the perimeter.
Gawen pulled his chair closer to Jaime's and sat again. "Ser Jaime, I can feel a black net descending over Her Grace. It hangs above Queen Cersei now—woven into the night itself, unseen yet already at work."
Jaime's pupils narrowed. The fog he had never noticed before seemed pierced by Gawen's words.
Though Gawen had offered no names, his description conjured thoughts: Robert and Cersei's quarrels, each more vicious than the last.
"Do you know who it is?" Jaime pressed. "What do they want?"
Gawen did not flinch. "As for the culprit, I'll not say. But the aim is easy to guess."
He paused, then continued: "To replace Her Grace."
Jaime shot to his feet, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword, veins standing out along his wrist. Fury burned in his eyes.
And yet, beneath the rage, a forbidden thought whispered: If Cersei were no longer queen… could I take her away from King's Landing, back to Casterly Rock?
Gawen read the flicker of conflict on Jaime's face, and inwardly scorned the knight's naivety. Outwardly, he acted as though he had seen nothing.
"Ser Jaime," he said calmly, "only death of the body—or a stain upon one's name so deep it cannot be cleansed—could make way for a new queen under law."
Jaime's fury vanished, replaced by a jolt of dread.
Forcing himself back into his seat, he glanced at Gawen. The boy's face was solemn, unaware of his lapse. Jaime exhaled slowly, relieved.
To mask his turmoil, Jaime spoke. "Baron Crabb, your guess may well be right. This year more than any other, I've felt something amiss—vexing without reason. Your words bring clarity."
Inwardly, Jaime felt an odd trace of unease at Gawen's perception—and laughed at himself for it.
Then, as if driven by guilt, he murmured, "I've failed her. Cersei stands in peril, and I… I have failed her…"
Gawen's heart stirred, though his face betrayed nothing. He spoke in a reassuring tone: "Though she is queen, to you, Her Grace is first and always family."
"Love blinds you within the walls, while those of us outside can see the changes more clearly. But remember—Her Grace's trust in you is absolute. Matters have not yet gone beyond repair. You hold the sword, Ser Jaime, and even the darkest webs can be cut apart."
His voice was steady, calm, tinged with youthful earnestness yet bearing a weight that instilled confidence.
From Gawen's gaze, Jaime felt not only care and trust—but a glimmer of reverence.
As a Kingsguard knight, celebrated as Westeros's finest swordsman, Jaime was unsurprised by such respect. Yet to his own surprise, his regard for Gawen grew.
He recalled how he had scorned the boy before even meeting him, and how Tyrion's praise of Gawen had only hardened his bias.
Now, he remembered his brother's words—and shame pricked him.
For in truth, Jaime realized, Gawen Crabb understood him better than most.
He truly understands me.
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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