Red Keep, Maidenvault Garden Hall.
Gawen followed Jaime into the flower hall, where he caught sight of Princess Myrcella's small figure.
Surrounded by handmaidens and septas, the princess turned her gaze toward him.
A look of delight lit up her delicate little face, and her small body stirred as if she wished to move.
At that moment, an older septa gave a discreet cough.
At once, Myrcella straightened her back and suppressed her smile. Lifting her small chin, she adopted a face of "dignity."
Myrcella Baratheon was Queen Cersei's second child, with milk-pale skin and a head of golden curls.
It was the first time Gawen had come so close to the princess, who looked like a younger version of Cersei herself.
Earlier that noon, during luncheon in Maegor's Holdfast, Myrcella had been present as well, but Gawen had only spared her freckled little face a glance before turning away.
Before Gawen and Jaime could exchange courtesies, Myrcella, mimicking her mother's haughty poise, opened her mouth with a child's tender voice:
"Forgive my boldness, Ser Gawen—"
Another discreet cough from the septa cut her short. Myrcella blushed and lowered her head at once.
Keen-minded as ever, Gawen realized he had just found a way to take his leave sooner.
As the newly appointed organizer of the royal hunt, he was far too busy to waste time entertaining the queen's children.
He pressed a hand to his chest and bowed. "Your Grace."
The princess answered his courtesy. "Baron Crabb, forgive me for summoning you so suddenly. I hope I have not disturbed you."
Gawen smiled warmly. "It is an honor to be summoned by Your Grace."
Hearing his words, Myrcella's face blossomed with joy.
Her septa hesitated, then refrained from interrupting.
The little girl's smile was like ripples spreading across a clear spring.
Pure and untainted, it seemed to sweep away all the shadows in Gawen's heart.
In that moment, he began to understand Jaime a little more, and found himself with more patience for the queen's daughter.
"My lord," Myrcella asked with eyes bright as emeralds, "I have heard the tale of the mermaid. They say Mermaid's Port belongs to you. Have you ever seen one?"
The question nearly caught even the quick-witted Gawen off guard.
He crouched to meet her gaze, brown eyes glinting with amusement. "Does Your Grace wish to see a mermaid?"
They were only a few steps apart. When Myrcella saw him lower himself, she no longer had to crane her neck, and her little shoulders relaxed.
Gawen's attention to detail won him another measure of her favor.
For a moment the princess looked conflicted, then shook her head. "No… mermaids are very shy. Best not to disturb them."
Gawen nodded gently. "Even if we never see them, we can still bless the kind and beautiful mermaids, wishing them joy forever beneath the waves. Is that not so?"
"Yes," Myrcella agreed with a smile. "I shall bless them too. Thank you, Baron Crabb."
He could not help admiring her precociousness.
Her gaze drifted toward the distant sea beyond the windows, and she murmured softly, "How I envy their freedom in the ocean…"
Again, the septa coughed into her hand.
Gawen decided he had tarried long enough.
His gentle expression hardened into cold steel.
He rose to his feet, hand gripping the hilt of his sword.
His eyes fixed upon the hooded septa with a cutting glare. "How dare you, little septa—showing such disrespect to the princess before me, and more than once!"
The change came too swiftly; the hall was stunned.
Even Jaime, who had been ready to intervene, found himself thinking that Gawen's words rang true.
The septa in question was Septa Yagris, entrusted with instructing Myrcella in matters of etiquette. In her lessons, her corrections could be justified. But with an outsider present, her constant interruptions were indeed an insult to the princess's dignity.
Faced with Gawen's menacing presence, Septa Yagris faltered a step back. "W-what do you intend to do?"
The young baron's eyes glimmered with killing intent as he began to draw his sword.
Jaime moved quickly, his large hand pressing down on Gawen's. His voice was firm. "Baron Crabb, you must not bare steel before the princess."
Hotheaded, sword always at the ready—Jaime thought, perhaps calling him 'wildling' was not so wrong after all.
The handmaidens shrieked belatedly in alarm.
But Myrcella, with a child's solemnity, ordered them to silence. The hall quieted at once.
Her clear emerald eyes swept over her attendants with a warning gleam, and the women stilled their breaths.
She stepped forward. "Baron Crabb, I thank you for your loyalty, but I believe Septa Yagris meant no harm."
Her words were flawless, fitting for a princess.
Still glaring, Gawen let his threat linger. "If there is ever a next time, I will hang your head from the city gate."
"You dare!" the septa gasped. "I am a servant of the Seven—you blaspheme the gods themselves!"
His killing intent flared once more. "Then test me. See if I dare."
The young baron's tone left no doubt. Terrified, Yagris's lips trembled as she tried to speak again.
"Enough, Septa Yagris!"
Myrcella's childish but firm voice silenced her. The septa lowered her head and stepped back among the handmaidens.
"I trust there will not be a next time," the princess said.
Gawen glanced at Jaime, released his grip on the hilt, and bowed. "Forgive my rashness, Your Grace. I have spoiled your delight."
Myrcella shook her head. "Baron Crabb, you are a righteous and loyal knight."
At those words, Jaime's face darkened once more.
Crab Claw Peninsula, Mermaid's Port.
The sun shone upon the tranquil sea, the breeze glittering upon the waves.
The warship Black Betha eased into the harbor.
Lord Stannis Baratheon, Master of Ships, stood stiffly upon the prow, his stern features fixed upon the port that already bore hints of prosperity.
Broad of shoulder and tall of frame, his skin was bronzed and weathered from years beneath the harsh sun, hardened like iron.
At only thirty-three years of age, Stannis bore but a thin fringe of black hair around his head. His beard was cropped short and neat, framing his square jaw and cheeks.
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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