In the eyes of most, the Crab Claw Peninsula was a backward and savage place, and Gawen—Baron of Whispers Hall—was but a half-wild noble from those shores.
Perhaps that was why Taenya Mooton believed that her family name carried greater weight before him, that she need only crook her finger and Gawen should feel grateful, even honored, to yield.
Gawen could only conclude that Lady Taenya knew how to strike at rivals and possessed a little cunning, but no more than that.
To him, her clumsy tricks were like trying to swing a warhammer before King Robert himself.
Gawen resisted the sudden urge to draw his blade.He felt that the honest simplicity of his own clansmen was beginning to rub off on him.
Rubbing his jet-black hair, he raised his hand to cut her words short.
"Lady Mooton, I must ask—are your actions at the bidding of Lord William of Maidenpool, or are they your own?"
The interruption sparked a surge of anger in Taenya, but along with it came the dawning realization of what he truly meant. Her heart gave a jolt.
He knew all along?
Flustered, her first thought was to retreat."Lord Crabb, I… I don't quite understand what you mean. It's late, and I should—"
But Gawen's expression hardened, his gaze turning sharp."If this is Lord William's design, then I shall take it as a declaration of war."
Kind as he was, Gawen decided to give the girl a lesson.
"Perhaps it is part of your family's legacy. Long ago, the house of Mooton, in its folly, sought to conquer the Crab Claw Peninsula, banding together with lesser lords. The weak trout of Riverrun were routed, armor and banners cast aside. Had the dragons not intervened, the name 'Mooton' would already be dust."
"You dare insult my house?!" Taenya's voice trembled with indignation.
"And what are your actions, if not an insult?" Gawen replied coolly.
At that, she faltered, her lips parted but no words came forth.
Gawen waved a hand dismissively."It grows late. Return to your tent, Lady Mooton."
She worried she had invited disaster upon herself, but after a moment's thought, deemed it unlikely. Lord Crabb was aloof, but he did not seem the sort to make mountains out of molehills. Surely their houses would not come to blows over so small a matter.
Relieved, Taenya allowed her fear to ebb. She also knew then that any designs she had upon Gawen were finished.
It was a pity, she thought. A young man who had inherited his house at such an age and remained unwed was a rare prize.
Reflecting, she realized she had relied too much on pride and assumption, never truly observing the strange young lord from the Peninsula.
Without strength and cunning, he would never have risen to be known as the Queen's favored vassal.
In the end, she had learned something from the exchange. A trace of guilt stirring, Taenya curtseyed and excused herself.
Gawen's brown eyes followed her retreating figure. He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
The next day, in the Tower of the Hand.
Lord Jon Arryn, though still unwell, could not bear to leave the realm's affairs unattended. After several days bedridden, he returned to his solar, determined to tackle the piled-up work of state.
Petyr Baelish stood at his side, ever eager to offer his counsel.
Jon was in the midst of reading reports when a servant entered to announce:
"Lord Stannis Baratheon seeks audience."
Jon's brows rose. Stannis? Back already?
He ordered the man shown in.
Soon after, Stannis entered the solar, his face a rigid mask. He gave his greeting, then—without waiting for invitation—sat.
What courtesy he owed, he never neglected; what he deemed excess, he would never feign.
Petyr's grey-green eyes flickered, lips curving faintly as he stepped aside in silence.
"Lord Hand," Stannis said, "I have heard troubling things about this chamber. On my way here I was told you left so grave a matter to Janos Slynt's investigation—that greedy, witless swine?"
With a thud, Jon Arryn set down the parchment in his hands. His cloudy eyes fixed upon Stannis."Is that why you have returned so suddenly?"
"Why allow slander against the Queen to spread unchecked?" Stannis demanded.
Jon's lips trembled, but no answer came.
"And Renly?" Stannis pressed. "As Lord of Laws, does he not know the penalty for defaming the royal house without proof? Or is there some foul intrigue in this as well? Most laughable of all—that the matter was left in the hands of a mere officer of the Queen's household. Such impotence from the king's own councillors!"
Before coming, Stannis had toured the Queen's Quarter, examining the records of executions.
Diligent Gawen had seen to it that every charge was carefully documented, defamation of the Crown among them. The thoroughness of the record was striking—yet Stannis read every word with care.
Even the stern Baratheon lord was compelled to nod in grudging approval.
This Baron of Whispers has a mind for law.
Jon Arryn's gaze sharpened."Stannis… is this an inquiry, or an accusation?"
A bitter twist touched Stannis's lips."Were it not futile, I would call it an impeachment."
Jon's chest heaved, his breath quickening."Stannis, the kingdom cannot be ruled by law alone!"
Stannis straightened, voice like iron."Then tell me, my lord—what does it take to govern? The power to condemn a man with a song? Is that your justice?"
"Shall any murderer escape the noose so long as he sings a ballad from the Crab Claw Peninsula, and we call him Gawen Crabb instead? Is Renly's incompetence not yet plain enough to you—you would make him seem all the more a fool?"
"You are too rigid, Stannis. This is not merely law. This is politics!" Jon wheezed, sweat beading on his brow.
Stannis gave another harsh snort."Then you would make the law your private tool. I will not allow it!"
"You—you—" Jon broke into a violent cough.
Petyr, silent until now, darted forward, concern painted on his face. Jon waved him off, stubborn as ever.
Baelish then turned smoothly to Stannis."My lord of Dragonstone, Baron Crabb is but a small man from a savage shore. He poses no threat to the justice of the realm, and the Hand has chosen not to pursue the matter further."
Stannis's brows knotted, his eyes flashing as he fixed Petyr in his stare."A 'small man,' is he? Then he may flout the law as he pleases? Remember this, Baelish: before the law, there are no small men. A single crack may sink a ship, and you—Master of Coin—would do well to know it. Is this how you keep the realm's coffers?"
Petyr opened his mouth, then closed it again, lips caught in a thin, awkward smile.
Jon was seized by another fit of coughing."Petyr," he wheezed, "leave us."
Petyr cast him a look of dutiful concern, then—shoulders lifted in feigned resignation—slipped quietly from the chamber.
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