On the fourth day of the challenge bouts, the crowd's curiosity was sharper than ever.
Before dawn had even broken, people were already gathering around the platform.
They were eager to see what new sign would hang above the stage. Gawen's dueling platform had become the hottest spectacle in the Reach.
As night faded and the pale red sky rose, Gawen did not disappoint them.Beside the banner that read "Reach Swordsmen Are Not Men", a new one appeared: "Reach Swordsmen Lack a Man's Heart."
A low hum ran through the crowd, their mood instantly ignited.
Outrageous! Was swordsmanship so great that he could insult them like this?Strung together, the two slogans carried an unmistakable sting—some even felt personally insulted.
On the fifth day, a new sign was added: "All Reach Swordsmen Are No True Men."
On the sixth day, another appeared: "Reach Swordsmen Need a Fine Dress."
Evening – Crabb Encampment
In his tent, Gawen pondered tomorrow's banner.
After the dress… jewelry, or cosmetics?
He shook his head. Too mild.
Rubbing his chin, he mused, A husband? A Reach swordsman in a dress should have a husband?Would that be going too far? Would it be hard to reel things back afterward?
The thought made him chuckle.
If the proud House of the Golden Rose thought to dismiss him lightly, they could hardly blame him for making a spectacle of things.
If it became a scandal, so be it.
As a man fiercely protective of Queen Cersei's honor, Gawen had no interest in polite talks with a family that looked down on him.To sit with them under such circumstances would itself be an insult to the queen.
The arrogant Tyrells had already betrayed her friendship.Baron Gawen Crabb, loyal to the queen, would instead grind the Reach's pride into the dirt and win back her dignity.
The consummate schemer, Gawen decided to write her a letter tonight—laying the groundwork, preparing for the worst.
At that moment, Steward Rossell entered the tent."My lord, Highgarden has sent word—Lord Willas Tyrell invites you to dine with him."
Willas Tyrell? The man whose polite exterior hid a core of arrogance?
So the Tyrells were finally willing to stir themselves?
As one who had crossed worlds, Gawen had no trace of the "fawning" instinct toward so-called great houses.
His goals were clear, and he had no time for Willas's posturing.
This was now a contest of patience.
He raised a brow. "Rossell, decline on my behalf—politely. Tell him I've suffered no small number of hidden injuries from the recent challenges. Out of respect for the Reach's love for their swordsmen, and so as not to spoil tomorrow's… emotional exchange, I must rest for the night."
Love? Emotional exchange?Rossell, a professionally trained steward, allowed only the faintest twitch in his cheek.
Bowing respectfully, he withdrew.
Though there had been delays, the situation was finally starting to loosen.
The day to meet the "Inflated Fish" Duke no longer seemed far off.
Sitting at his table, Gawen took up his quill.
The letter would serve as both preparation and self-praise—at the very least, it would let his patron in the Red Keep know how hard he was working.
He read over the finished words and smiled faintly.
Perhaps because things were moving at last, his pen had flowed without pause.Sealing the letter with wax and his signet, his hand hesitated.
He thought of Lord Jon Arryn.
He had not forgotten the month-long deadline Jon had given him.
The Hand might be frail, but he was not senile—he would not let Gawen slip away so easily.
How much had his plotting with Petyr Baelish achieved?
Setting the letter aside, Gawen leaned back in his chair.
He could not simply let Jon Arryn be; the man needed to be dealt with—or removed—soon.
And then there was the Vale.The Crab Claw Peninsula's enmity with the Vale lords was the deepest, most immediate hatred of the past decade.
Ending the peninsula's chaos and securing his hold on it was only the first step.
He would prepare a war of vengeance against the Vale—its blood would reclaim the loyalty of the peninsula's people and cement his unrivaled prestige.
Once that was done, Gawen would be the peninsula's true king in all but name, the Crabb family its undisputed rulers.
Gawen's thumb rubbed lightly against his forefinger.The Vale… needed chaos.
The Red Keep – Maegor's Holdfast
Once bright and handsome, Lancel Lannister now looked a different man.
His eyes were dull, the corners of his mouth pulled down, his shoulders slumped as if under a crushing weight.
The handiwork of King Robert Baratheon.
In the chamber, only Queen Cersei and Lancel were present.
She regarded his timid demeanor with a flicker of contempt.
"Are you well, cousin?" she asked.
"I… I'm fine, cousin," he murmured.
Seated in her chair, Cersei sighed softly and beckoned him closer."Come here."
Lancel hesitated, then obeyed.
She beckoned again.
He leaned down, thinking she had something secret to tell him.
For the first time, he caught the heady, overwhelming scent of her perfume—so strong it made him dizzy.
Her hands rose to cup his cheeks."Lancel… tell your cousin—do you hate Robert?"
She's so beautiful…His face flushed crimson, and without thinking, he nodded.
Her lips curved, her green eyes bright."Lancel, we are going to make that wretched oaf understand the roar of a lion. A Lannister always pays his debts."
The cold in her voice made him shiver, snapping him out of his daze.
He stumbled back several steps, voice trembling. "Cousin Cersei… what… what do you mean to do?"
Cersei rose smoothly, chin lifting, her gaze cutting into him."You heard me. And now you pretend you didn't? Will you betray me?"
Lancel felt on the verge of tears.Why would his cousin make him hear something so terrifying?
He had come to King's Landing as the king's squire to make his father proud—to bring honor to House Lannister.
But with King Robert's constant drunken abuse… and now Cousin Cersei—Was the king and queen's plan to drive him to his grave?
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