While waiting outside the wall earlier, Gawen had taken time to analyze Petyr Baelish's path of schemes.
Jon Arryn, Duke of the Eyrie, was himself Warden of the Vale. Through his marriage alliance with House Tully, he held sway in the Riverlands, and as foster father to the Stark of Winterfell, he indirectly influenced the North as well.
Jon Arryn alone could directly or indirectly control the Vale, the Riverlands, and the North.
In the original tale, it was Petyr who first engineered the betrothal between King Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell, thereby forging the Lannister–Tyrell alliance.
As reward, Petyr was raised to Duke of Harrenhal and made Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.
Next, Petyr betrayed House Tyrell's secret plan to bring Sansa Stark to Highgarden and wed her to Willas Tyrell. He whispered this to Lord Tywin Lannister, giving him time to marry Sansa off to Tyrion instead.
Thus, in exchange for Tywin's support, Petyr wed Lysa Tully as Lord of Harrenhal, drawing the Vale into his grasp without spilling a drop of blood.
The third step was to turn to the North, preparing to use Sansa Stark to seize power there.
Petyr's path was clear: to seize influence over the Vale, the Riverlands, and the North.
His ambition and achievement overlapped with those of Jon Arryn. Was Petyr then Jon's imitator—or his admirer?
Gawen's voice was calm enough to chill the blood."Lord Petyr, do you like gambling? I, myself, do not care for it."
Petyr shook his head, his smile faintly strained.
Gawen went on:"If someone dies in this chamber tonight, I'd wager it won't be me. I would still walk free, return to Whispers Hall, and go on enjoying my noble honors."
In that moment, Petyr at last understood why others called the Crabb family 'half-wild nobles.'
Too savage—they did not play by the rules of the game!
At that thought, Petyr's heart filled not with alarm but with raw fear.
Gods, I may die tonight!
How could he see through my designs? At his age, he should not have this insight.
No—it must be Tyrion. That Lannister dwarf!
Petyr recalled that the servant he had sent to deliver his summons had reported seeing Gawen together with Tyrion.
And as for the intelligence about where I would lodge tonight… Petyr cursed Tyrion in the dark. That loose-tongued fool—he too does not play by the rules!
Petyr's gray-green eyes shifted."Baron Crabb, I think a vile tongue has poisoned your ears, and a grave misunderstanding has arisen between us. In truth, I have always borne you goodwill. If we were to join hands, it would be strength meeting strength!"
Leaning back into his chair as if to bolster himself, Petyr said,"You and I—we share much in common. We were born to wield greater power."
Gawen was unmoved. Instead he invented a family maxim:"The Crabb ancestors taught me—of a thousand stratagems, none is worth more than a single, straight blade."
Petyr's heart sank. This barbarian would not heed reason.
Gawen leaned back, crossing one leg over the other."I am not like you, Lord Petyr. My forebears bled for centuries to forge House Crabb into a military nobility. I have inherited all of that."
Petyr forced a brittle smile.
Gawen suddenly said,"Anguy, there on the table is a flagon of Arbor gold. Pour us each a cup."
The heavy air seemed to lift, and Petyr exhaled in relief.
Yet the shift only deepened his wariness of the young Crabb before him.
Anguy, harmless in appearance, poured the wine with perfect courtesy.
Gawen raised his cup to Petyr, whose smile was still stiff, then sipped the golden Arbor vintage.
The mellow richness soothed Petyr, and he asked:"Then, honored Baron Crabb—what is it you want of me?"
Gawen lightly waved a hand."You are a great lord. I am but a trifling man."
Cutting off Petyr's empty flattery, Gawen's fingers idly stroked the rim of his cup."My ambitions are too small. I have no taste for the great game, no desire to entangle myself in it. Between us there should be no conflict. Do you understand?"
The fleeting change in Gawen's gaze in that instant made Petyr's skin crawl.
Petyr stiffly nodded.
Rising to his feet, Gawen's smile turned warm."Forgive my intrusion this night. At dawn I must attend the Hand of the King. Whispers Hall esteems peace. I would ask that you help persuade Lord Jon Arryn of that."
Sensing that Gawen had set aside thoughts of killing him, Petyr finally allowed himself a quiet breath.
"Did I not say? We are friends now. I am most eager to aid my friends—I swear it."
Gawen nodded politely."If you don't mind, I'll take the front door."
Petyr, outwardly restored to composure and elegance, lifted the small silver bell at his bedside and rang.
Soon there was a gentle knock at the door.
But as Gawen stepped away, he suddenly turned back. He came close again, seizing Petyr's robe. Petyr's pupils constricted, but reason held him still.
A flash of steel—the dagger traced a shallow line across Petyr's chest.
The cut was deft; though blood welled forth to stain his chest crimson, the wound was not deep, hardly painful.
"This is the last time."
Gawen opened the door, calmly ordering the servant outside to lead the way.
Petyr disliked inquisitive servants. Seeing his master give no further command, the man, though puzzled, dared not ask questions and obediently guided Gawen and Anguy out.
Long after they were gone, Petyr stood frozen before finally sinking into a chair, his gray-green eyes brooding.
The Crabb's knife-work was masterful: a shallow wound dressed in blood, impressive yet harmless.
At last Petyr let slip a smile—complex and inscrutable.
The next morning, Red Keep, near Maegor's Holdfast.
Tyrion yawned so widely it was almost grotesque.
Jaime glanced at the faint light of dawn with a weary sigh.
Cersei had been overly ardent the night before, and Jaime had spent himself to exhaustion. Now, roused early by Tyrion, he too was forcing himself awake.
"Where did you go carousing last night?" Jaime asked.
Half-lidded eyes, voice drained of strength, Tyrion replied:"First at Gawen's manse, drinking the night away. Then to Chataya's house—Jeyne, Araya, Dancy… they were far too welcoming. Gods, I've slept less than two hours."
Jaime chuckled."Then you ought to be abed instead of troubling me at dawn. What business drags you here so early?"
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
📯 Lords and Ladies of the Realm, heed the call! 📯
The saga burns ever brighter—30 chapters ahead now await, available only to those who swear their loyalty on Patreon. 🐉❄️🔥
Walk among dragons, defy the cold, and stake your claim in a world where crowns are won with fire and fury.
🔗 Claim your place: www.patreon.com/DrManhattanEN👤 Known on Patreon as: DrManhattanEN
Your loyalty feeds the flame. And fire remembers.