Only a small number of those who came to pay respects were ladies of the realm bringing along nieces or younger sisters. Most were noblewomen who had brought their own daughters.
Queen Cersei wore a perfunctory smile as she received wave after wave of ladies and maidens.
Yet no matter how half-hearted her expression, it did nothing to lessen the fervor of these women.
After the formal courtesies, they would first heap lavish praise upon the queen, then extol Princess Myrcella's beauty and grace, then boast endlessly of their own daughters, and finally turn to trivialities of daily life and noble gossip. They seemed entirely oblivious to the stiffness that had already crept into Cersei's face.
Gawen wondered if these ladies were secretly competing among themselves—perhaps to see whose audience with the queen would last the longest.
At first, while the women filed past, the comely features of Gawen Crabb drew the occasional lingering glance.
But his fleeting self-satisfaction ended the moment Ser Jaime entered the tent and stood across from him.
From then on, Gawen was instantly forgotten.
He was utterly convinced—he and Jaime were utterly incompatible!The golden-haired knight in his crimson cloak, beautiful as a painting, charmed both young and old alike. That all knew a Kingsguard could never wed mattered little; it did nothing to dampen the women's adoration of Jaime Lannister.
Seeing her twin so adored, Queen Cersei's own smile grew noticeably warmer.
Lowering his eyes, Gawen ceased paying attention to the scene inside the tent, and let his thoughts drift toward the Reach and the coming journey to Highgarden once the royal hunt concluded.
The Westerlands, Casterly Rock
On the western coast of Westeros rose the great fortress of Casterly Rock—a towering stronghold carved out of the very stone of a colossal cliff. Seat of House Lannister, it was the capital of the Westerlands.
Its defenses were legendary. Never once taken, the Rock was said to be the largest, richest, and most impregnable castle in all the Seven Kingdoms.
Kevan Lannister, now fifty-three, stood within its halls. His beard and hair were still gold, though cropped short, and his frame had grown broad and stout with age.
During the War of the Ninepenny Kings, at the age of sixteen, Kevan had distinguished himself in battle and had been knighted personally by Ser Roger Reyne, the "Red Lion."
Kevan's voice was deferential."Lord Tywin, this is the latest intelligence from King's Landing."
From his earliest days Kevan had recognized his elder brother's brilliance, and for decades he had served faithfully as Tywin's most trusted lieutenant, his loyalty renowned throughout the realm.
Tywin Lannister, who held fast to the belief that quills and ravens could win as many battles as swords, did not look up from the parchment before him. His pen did not cease its steady scratching.
"Kevan," he asked evenly, "any developments?"
Kevan replied, "At present, the chief concern in King's Landing is the health of Lord Jon Arryn. It was discovered that his solar had been secretly spied upon, which angered him greatly. He has fallen ill and will need a period of healing."
For a heartbeat, Tywin's pen paused, then resumed its measured rhythm."And Lancel?"
Kevan inclined his head. "All has gone well. Lancel has been appointed as King Robert's squire."
Though he kept his composure, pride stirred within him. His son now served the king—just as Tywin himself, in his youth, had been a page and squire at the Red Keep to King Aegon V.
"And Jaime?"
"Jaime never slackens in his swordsmanship."
"And clever Cersei?"
There was a subtle edge to Tywin's tone when he spoke his daughter's name.
"Cersei is very pleased with her new officer, Gawen Crabb. The way he managed matters in the Queen's District has satisfied her greatly. She has already raised him to the post of her chief chamberlain."
Tywin laid aside his quill, folding the finished letter and pressing it with the seal of the lion."My self-proclaimed clever daughter knows only the lesson of striking back hard, never the wisdom of what must be done. Has she, at last, found a servant who pleases her?"
Kevan added, "Even Tyrion speaks highly of Gawen Crabb. Under his influence, my nephew has shown new interest in governance."
At Tyrion's name, Tywin's brows drew together, though only briefly.
"Both Jaime and Lancel, too, seem to hold Gawen Crabb in good regard," Kevan continued.
Tywin placed the sealed letter aside and fixed his pale green, gold-flecked eyes upon his brother."Has a fox crept into the lion's den?"
"Forgive me, my lord, but I would call him rather a beast—one who has deliberately stepped among lions."
Bald now, Tywin shaved his head clean once his hair began to thin, though he kept a full golden beard along his jaw. At fifty-five, he remained tall and broad of shoulder, his presence commanding.
He lifted the letter once more. "Kevan, I trust your judgment."
"My lord, what do you wish arranged next?"
"Let it be. My children fancy themselves grown, yet they are more naïve than babes. It is time they learned how to deal with a cunning subordinate."
"So we remain observers."
"For now. Jon Arryn's failing health has already hindered his hand upon the realm's affairs. But it is not yet the hour to act."
That day marked the second of the royal hunt. Diligent as ever, Gawen Crabb patrolled the length of the column with his guards.
Midway through, his sharp ears twitched.
"Don't be fooled by his looks. My mother has already made inquiries," whispered one voice.
"Yes, I asked as well. Terrifying, truly."
"No wonder Her Grace entrusted him with our protection!"
Gawen raised a hand, signaling his men to halt and listen.
"But what I cannot fathom," another girl fretted, "is why the queen would put such a man in charge of our safety?"
"Tell us! Quickly!"
"Well, you see, wildlings grow up among beasts. Their ears are not like ours—they can hear for miles."
"Like a hound?"
"Shh! He is a baron, after all. I've heard Her Grace thinks highly of him."
"Bah, he cannot hear us. You are too timid. My uncle is the Lord of Maidenpool—why should I fear a mere baron?"
The Lord of Maidenpool? House Mooton?Gawen rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Then another voice, faltering:"Th-then… is it true he eats only raw flesh?"
"Oh, Seven help us—you still haven't given up on him?"
"I… I just thought… he doesn't look the type…"
"Wildlings are sly. You think such a savage would let you see the truth so easily?"
"My mother said the same—and that if one of them fancies you, he'll sling you over his shoulder and carry you straight to his cave!"
"There, you see? I wasn't lying. If not for me, you'd already be some wildling's tribal wife, living in a cave and gnawing raw meat."
"Th… thank you…"
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