Upon reaching the riverbank, the first thing the group did was set up a pot to boil water.
Unknowingly, the Crabb retainers had adopted some of Gawen's habits—Like drinking boiled water.
As Mondon Waters liked to say: "Boiled water and meat? Perfect combo!"
...
Gawen's midday meal consisted of horse sausage from the Reach and a slice of white bread.
As he chewed thoughtfully, his mind was occupied with everything he had seen so far in the Reach.
From the details he'd observed and the intelligence he had gathered, one conclusion was clear:The Reach was simply too powerful.
As long as House Tyrell remained united, their resources alone could grind any rival into the dust through sheer attrition.
This wasn't paranoia—Gawen was simply being rational.
He wasn't the sort to scare himself with imaginary threats.
After finishing the last bite of sausage, he brushed his hands clean and stood up.
The Crab Claw Peninsula isn't weak either—not while I'm still here.
...
After a short noon break, the group resumed their journey south along Rose Avenue, toward Highgarden.
Mondon Waters, sharp as a beast, could sense the change in Gawen's presence.
The young baron, always humble and reserved, now exuded a faint aura of arrogance—A little reminiscent of Jaime Lannister when they had first met?
Gawen was adapting to a new persona.
His conduct in the Reach would be markedly different than before.
He was no longer just a landed knight—he was the young noble who had defeated twenty thousand wildlings with just a thousand men, retaking lost territory in a single campaign.
To others, he was also the Queen's favored envoy—her chosen representative.
He was proud. He feared no one.
Men like Randyll Tarly, so-called battlefield legends, barely registered in his eyes.
There was only one man Gawen truly admired—Duke Mace Tyrell of Highgarden.
From a young age, Gawen had held a deep respect for Mace Tyrell's military genius.
Others might scoff, but Gawen understood the subtle brilliance behind Mace's strategies—Where others saw blunders, he saw art.
They don't understand you, but I do, Gawen thought with quiet pride.
Yes. This is who I am.
...
The next day, while on the road, Gawen spotted a stationary carriage ahead.
As they drew closer, the golden rose sigil came into view.
Anguy rode up and whispered, "That's the same carriage I saw yesterday. The brown-haired lady handing out food was near it."
Gawen gave a small nod and signaled for the group to slow their horses.
He had deliberately avoided contact the previous day—but now, he was certain this was no coincidence.
...
With a flick of the reins, Gawen guided his horse toward the "Golden Rose" carriage, flanked by his men.
He raised an eyebrow.
Stuck in the mud, is it?No matter. If it works, it works.
Now that he had confirmed it bore the Tyrell sigil, he had no reason to avoid the encounter.
...
Four people stood beside the carriage—judging by their dress, three were handmaids and one a coachman.
Anguy's gaze shifted. He leaned closer to Gawen and said quietly, "My lord, I spotted at least four guards yesterday. They're gone now."
Gawen nodded slightly.
He dismounted first, handing the reins to his squire, Martil, and walked toward the carriage.
...
The group's arrival had not gone unnoticed—every one of them was mounted, and the noise had already drawn attention from the people around the carriage.
Gawen stepped forward and bowed with a hand to his chest. "Good day. I am Baron Gawen Crabb, Chief Affairs Officer to Her Grace the Queen. I ride on her behalf to meet with the Duke of Highgarden."
At his courteous greeting, those beside the carriage quickly stepped aside with polite nods.
From within the carriage came the sound of movement. One of the handmaids immediately opened the door.
A stunning young woman stepped down with grace, lifting her skirts slightly.
She had soft, light-brown curls and an elegant figure.Her fair skin seemed to glow in the sun.
With warm, doe-like brown eyes, she looked at Gawen and said, "Good day, Baron Gawen Crabb. I am Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden."
For a moment, Gawen seemed stunned by her beauty—but he quickly composed himself.
...
House Tyrell had once been stewards to the Gardeners—the former kings of the Reach.
Though their wealth rivaled the Lannisters, the Tyrells were often dismissed by other great houses as upstart nobility with no true royal blood.
Thus, elevating their status had become the Tyrell family's sacred mission.
And the most effective path to prestige? Marriage alliances.
To have a Tyrell queen would fulfill that long-standing dream.
From birth, Margaery Tyrell had been raised to be just that—a queen.
Intelligent and politically astute, she had been taught to read hearts, master courtly intrigue, use her beauty to captivate noblemen, employ charity to win over the smallfolk, and earn praise wherever she went.
...
With a clear and melodic voice, Margaery spoke, "I sent my guards to purchase grain. I didn't expect the wheels to sink into the mud the moment they left. It's stuck quite deep—it's been quite the nuisance."
"My lady Tyrell, it would be an honor to assist. Allow me to handle it."
Gawen turned and called back, "Mondon, help get the carriage unstuck."
The big man gave a cheerful nod and strode toward the carriage.
Gawen stepped aside and gestured with a hand. "Lady Tyrell, please take a few steps back."
Margaery glanced at him, then nodded and moved away with grace.
Mondon approached the rear of the carriage, examining the sunken wheel with his head tilted.
Once he had a sense of the problem, he bent low, placed both hands under the carriage—
And let out a beast-like roar.
Startled, the coachman grabbed the reins to calm the frightened horses.
The handmaids cried out in alarm.
Even Margaery herself gasped and instinctively covered her mouth. Her heart nearly stopped—she had barely stopped herself from crying out.
...
With a surge of raw strength, Mondon lifted the wheel clean out of the mud.
Thud. The carriage groaned back into place.
Job done, Mondon looked at Gawen with a goofy grin.
At Gawen's nod, he lumbered back to the group.
Margaery's eyes sparkled. "Baron, your guard is astonishingly strong—a true natural-born warrior!"
Gawen replied nonchalantly, "Thank you for the praise, Lady Tyrell. He's just a new recruit. Still plenty of room to grow."
With a flutter of her long lashes, Margaery smiled. "Baron Crabb, thank you for your help. Please, call me Margaery."
.
.
.
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