Jon Arryn's clouded gaze sharpened, turning razor-keen.
Facing that piercing look, Gawen's expression only deepened into confusion. His youthful face appeared harmless, his puzzled expression almost childishly curious.
Have I misjudged him? For an instant the thought crossed the Hand's mind—then he dismissed it as absurd.
No noble born of the Crab Claw Peninsula had ever been anything but warlike. Warlike meant bloodthirsty.
From the reports Varys had provided, this young baron before him had not only reclaimed his family's old lands, but had been relentlessly subduing the hill tribes in the eastern peninsula. A half-wild noble such as this would never let a Gulltown merchant who insulted his house go unpunished without blood being spilled.
Jon's gaze softened slightly. "The matter of House Meka—everyone knows it was your doing."
Gawen could already guess his purpose: the Hand wanted him to confess openly, to admit the crime.
And then what? Gawen suspected Jon meant to drive him out of King's Landing.
And why exile me? His thoughts turned to the Lannisters. What he had not seen clearly before now lay plain as day.
Gawen had no interest in answering the Hand's pressing questions. Instead, he asked lightly:
"My lord Hand, I have always wondered—fifteen years ago the war was already won. Why did you still insist on stirring up hatred between the Vale and the Peninsula?"
The words dropped like stones into the room, and the air grew heavy.
Jon Arryn's eyes narrowed further, his silence pressing down like a weight.
"Fortunately," Gawen added, "the Crab Claw Peninsula has no ships, and the Vale lies across the straits."
The little half-wild baron was mocking his authority. Rarely did Jon lose his temper, but anger stirred now—and with it doubt. This youth was no simple hot-blooded brute. Why is he so bold?
Jon sighed inwardly. He truly was growing old.
Still, he did not forget his purpose in granting this audience. "Young man, do you think to deflect from your crimes with idle questions? That is cowardice."
Gawen arched a brow.
Both Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon had been Jon's wards, raised by his hand. And seeing him now, Gawen at last understood why both men were political fools.
No wonder Petyr cuckolded him and still dared covet his power. All his titles forged the image of strength, but face-to-face he shows only decline.
Gawen's keen instincts felt that weakness all too clearly.
With a quiet sigh, Gawen inclined his head respectfully. "My lord Hand, you keep speaking of 'crimes.' Forgive my ignorance—might you be more specific? What crime, what evidence, what events?"
Jon stared at him in silence, contempt flashing in his eyes. "Do you remember what it means to hold the honor of a noble?"
Unmoved, Gawen replied, "Because I am a minor lord, must I shoulder guilt that is not mine?"
Jon almost drifted into memory—Eddard Stark as a boy had once told him of some northern beast, small and bristling with quills… what was its name again? He nearly let himself wander.
Suppressing his fatigue, Jon said firmly, "I can absolve House Crabb's debts."
Gawen's ears pricked up. Seven thousand and five hundred gold dragons—that was no small sum.
His brown eyes flickered. "Then… I must thank you for your generosity?"
His odd expression made Jon actually smile. "You should leave King's Landing."
So that was the price of debt forgiveness.
Gawen spread his hands. "My lord Hand, the Crab Claw Peninsula is poor. To survive, every man must hunt. For over a decade the Vale's lords have kept us under blockade—our hunters shed blood daily over scarce game. The weak cannot survive there.
"I do not wish you to misunderstand me—the hatred between our peoples fills me with dread as well. But the truth is this: the peninsula holds ten thousand hunters, each a warrior born. Should anyone stir them to war, I would be powerless to resist their will.
"And only while I remain here in King's Landing can I prevent such unity. If I were gone, no one else could keep them divided. That, my lord Hand, is why I have come."
His words were calm and earnest.
Save perhaps for the number—ten thousand might be an exaggeration—Jon nevertheless recognized the gesture of goodwill. And beneath that goodwill, the veiled threat of war.
He began to doubt. Was this youth truly of the Crab Claw Peninsula? His manner reminded him more of a southern lord.
Jon's next words confirmed to Gawen that this was indeed the foster-father of both Ned Stark and King Robert.
"Young man, the Lannisters already wield too much influence in King's Landing. You should not ally yourself with them."
Gawen was left momentarily speechless at the bluntness.
The Hand was tailoring his words to fit this unusual baron.
Jon's lips curved faintly. "But you are not without reason. Sending you back now would waste your intent." He leaned forward. "I could name you Warden of the Crab Claw Peninsula—governor of the whole region."
Power shapes men. Politically, Jon might seem naive, but his eye for leverage was still keen. He had struck at what would tempt any Crabb.
Gawen only shrugged. "That won't be easy."
Jon smiled with grandfatherly kindness. "In the past your people were too loyal to the Targaryens. Though the dragons are gone, no opportunity for trust has arisen since. In this Red Keep, such ties are not easily forgiven."
Privately, Gawen scorned the old man.
By now he had uncovered the true reason why the Baratheon crown had so long oppressed the peninsula: its ancient tradition of loyalty to the queen. And now the queen was a Lannister.
When Cersei had become Robert's queen, House Lannister had already grown too powerful to suppress, so instead the Crabbs had been made the scapegoat, their strength curbed as a counterbalance.
Decades of such measures had left the peninsula safely weakened. Even Gawen's rise as Cersei's Master of Household Affairs had stirred no unease in Jon's heart.
There was no need to hurry; the Hand could proceed at leisure.
Yet Gawen's words had made their mark—Jon realized the hatred festering on the peninsula might yet be turned into war if left untended. That, too, would imperil the Vale first of all.
He remembered well the ferocity the Crabb men had shown in Robert's Rebellion. Most striking of all, they had no notion of surrender. They fought to the last man, the last moment. To be precise—they never surrendered to outsiders.
At last Jon added, "Of course… loyalty is a virtue. And a virtue worth praising."
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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