After the issue with the carriage was resolved, Margaery's carriage naturally continued on alongside Gawen and his retinue.
…
Margaery Tyrell's first impression of Gawen Crabb was quite different from the image she had sketched in her mind beforehand.
Though a noble from the Crab Claw Peninsula, he carried himself more like a knight from the South.
Gawen's mannerisms always maintained just the right distance—close enough to be warm, yet far enough to be respectful. Comfortable.
That was rare. Having experienced it herself, Margaery knew how difficult such refined social grace was to master—it required not only sensitivity but talent.
She thought to herself: No wonder he became Queen Cersei's favored envoy. Gawen must indeed possess something exceptional.
There was something else—his guards. Margaery noticed how unusually quiet they were.
She'd seen the disciplined troops of the Reach, who followed orders in silence until commanded. But this was different. The silence of Gawen's men felt almost unnatural.
Still, Margaery had little interest in military affairs. The thought passed fleetingly and did not stay with her.
…
They traveled in silence until midday, when they stopped to rest by a flat stretch of riverbank.
Invite Lady Margaery Tyrell to dine together?
Gawen and Margaery had only just met by chance on the road. They were still strangers.
And between strangers, especially those of such different status, too much enthusiasm could be inappropriate.
Of course, for someone like Gawen, none of that would be a problem—if he set his mind to it.
But truth be told, even though Margaery was the daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell, Gawen's heart had space only for one person—and that was the Duke of the Inflatable Fish.
…
After a simple lunch, the ever-considerate Gawen deliberately walked off alone to the riverbank to admire the scenery.
The water was clear to the bottom, like a ribbon of sapphire silk.
…
Sure enough, he didn't wait long before Margaery approached, gently lifting her skirts as she walked.
When she came within a polite distance, Gawen gave her a respectful nod, feigning mild surprise.
Margaery met his gaze, her doe-like brown eyes gleaming with a smile.
In that moment, Gawen's heart skipped a beat.
If only—He quickly reined in the thought.
For Gawen as he was now, indulgent love would only dull the sharpness of his sword.
…
Margaery gave a slight nod as her gaze turned toward the still water.
Just then, a kingfisher skimmed across the surface, leaving a series of delicate ripples.
A shimmer lit her eyes.
"Lord Crabb, do you like the Reach?"
Gawen's eyes flickered. "The Reach is warm. It's beautiful and bountiful."
As a daughter of the Reach, Margaery smiled. "Thank you for your kind words."
Gawen gave a faint smile and nodded.
After a brief pause, Margaery said, "I only recently learned that Queen Cersei had sent her chief envoy to visit my father."
She turned slightly, looking at him sideways. "To be honest, Lord Crabb, I was a little surprised. If it's not too much to ask, could you satisfy my curiosity?"
Her eyes were warm and clear—hard to refuse.
Gawen fell silent for a moment, then quickly regained his composure.
He was a man of strong will, and Margaery's expression remained soft and composed.
…
Most women of power in Westeros regarded their beauty as a weapon.
And they preferred to believe that no man could resist that weapon.
But Gawen's mind was firm. His resistance to such charms was strong—not just out of caution, but out of simple courtesy.
And besides, under Queen Cersei's relentless tutelage, Gawen's performance skills had improved by the day. He sighed inwardly. It wasn't easy being him.
…
His brown eyes shifted slightly as he gave a polite cough and said, "Lady Margaery, although this matter is… technically confidential for now, it will no longer be a secret after I meet with Lord Tyrell. And since he's your father, I don't believe it's wrong to tell you in advance."
Hearing that, Margaery's eyes sparkled with the delight of being entrusted with a secret.
Gawen lowered his voice. "King Robert, mighty in battle as he is, constantly worries about the realm's safety. Most of his energy must go toward military affairs.
A man's energy is finite. Out of necessity, King Robert has somewhat neglected communication with the great houses.
To serve the realm, the compassionate Queen Cersei has taken it upon herself to strengthen those ties. Beginning this year, she will send envoys to each of the major houses, to deepen their bonds with the royal family."
Margaery, an excellent listener, leaned in slightly when she noticed his voice drop.
Robert Baratheon's "greatness," spoken of in such terms?She blinked thoughtfully, processing his words.
…
Then Gawen added, "This mission—I volunteered for it myself. I've long heard of the Reach's legendary swordsmen. I've always hoped for the chance to witness their skill firsthand."
He even shared his personal motives with her.
Had they misjudged him? But... her grandmother—
Margaery didn't have time to dwell on the thought. She first thanked him for his honesty.
After that, the two naturally shifted topics.
Margaery took the initiative to chat, introducing the customs and culture of the Reach.
Gawen thought: perhaps Margaery's willingness to stay and talk with him was a reward for his sincerity?
Sometimes, truth didn't matter much—only mutual goals.
No one could guarantee a second meeting, but a bit more patience now could make the next one just as pleasant.
Margaery Tyrell, though a high noble of Westeros, had chosen a subtle, approachable grace.
In contrast, Queen Cersei often acted without restraint, and few dared object.
The nobles of Westeros had long accepted the hierarchies of blood and status.
But compared to Queen Cersei's commanding presence, Margaery's gentleness won hearts more easily.
…
Later that afternoon, they encountered the guards Margaery had sent to purchase grain.
That was where Gawen and Margaery parted ways.
Gawen and his men continued their journey toward Highgarden.
As he rode, he stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Hopefully, what he had done today would ease the road ahead in the halls of House Tyrell.
.
.
.
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