Gawen's smile came only from some deep, private recollection, but at such a moment it was all too easy for others to mistake it for something else entirely.
He forced the muscles of his face into stillness.
A servant in the tent moved quietly, pouring summerwine for both him and Margaery.
She took a sip, her eyes glinting with a faint air of assured victory.
Unperturbed, Gawen raised his own cup, his mind already working—was there a way to keep this "severance fee" without straying from his original purpose?
Setting his wine down, he said,"My lady, if I were to simply return now, do you know what awaits me?"
Not waiting for her reply, he gave a low chuckle."In the Red Keep, great men may err. Lesser men are never allowed to fail—not even once.
The great may disregard the safety of the small, but the small must learn to care for themselves."
With a calm expression, he picked up his cup again, paused, and set it back on the table."One of my forebears was Ser Clarance Crabb, who by the strength of his sword became the legendary hero of the Crab Claw Peninsula.
Ser Claremont Crabb, Ser Lubert Crabb, and another Clarance—called 'the Short'—each in their time served as Kingsguard, counted among the greatest knights in Westeros.
For centuries—perhaps a thousand years or more—the name Crabb has been bound to blood and steel. Even now, that remains unchanged."
He lifted the cup once more, downing the remaining summerwine in a single swallow.
"Because of a war more than ten years past, my house has suffered the Red Keep's suppression for just as long. Only recently has Queen Cersei, honoring the Peninsula's tradition of direct service to the Queen, restored her trust in us.
And yet now, I can already see the dimming of my family's future.
As I said, in the Red Keep only great men may err—lesser men are never allowed to fail, not even once.
Lady Margaery, since this was only a mission to convey Her Grace's greetings to the Duke of Highgarden, I thought it simple, and offered myself for it.
Until moments ago, I held some hope of success. But now, after speaking with you, I am certain—I will fail Her Grace's trust."
His words fell like heavy blows, one after another, leaving her feeling strangely short of breath.
Something in his manner stirred unease within her.
Why? Have I ruined my grandmother's design? Where did I go wrong?
Margaery forced down the flicker of panic. She trusted her own judgment—Lord Gawen was no reckless brute. Is he playing me?
Though her face betrayed nothing, her thoughts grew tangled.
Gawen's gaze softened."Tomorrow, the ring will be dyed red. I will openly draw blood from every challenger until the terrified Reach knights swarm in, and the ground runs with it."
Leaning forward slightly, his tone remained gentle but sure."Ser Jaime Lannister once told me I am greater even than the Sword of the Morning. Believe me, my lady, I can do it."
[Jaime had never said such a thing—this was a kindly lie.]
His voice was even, but his words dripped with the promise of blood.
He waited for her answer. His next step depended entirely on her choice—and he was prepared for any outcome.
Silence in the tent. They locked eyes.
So the little rose means to cow me with those big eyes? He widened his own gaze, unblinking. I can stare just as well.
Does Lord Gawen think I fear him? I may fear at times, but I never cower. She stared back.
After a while, they both looked away at nearly the same moment, perfectly natural.
After a pause, her brown eyes—soft as a doe's—returned to him, lips curving faintly."It seems you already have a better plan, my lord. I'm willing to hear it."
One of his brows lifted. He thought for a moment, then sighed."I imagine, my lady, you wouldn't wish for anything unfortunate to happen in the ring?"
She nodded slightly."Perhaps, but the ring still must be dealt with. Your contests have drawn the eyes of the whole Reach—near and far, almost every swordsman is on his way here."
They had shifted to a different sort of bargain.
She could arrange for him to meet the pufferfish duke—but only if the ring's outcome was handled perfectly.
"And if," Gawen asked, "I were to leave with the gold dragons now, may I ask—what was Highgarden's original plan for the aftermath?"
He's probing me again.
Though their meeting had been brief, Margaery felt she had grown from it.
Perhaps it was the sudden weight of pressure breaking through her smooth, ordered life—or the flowering of long-laid skill—but tonight, she had gained something valuable.
Now, it was easier to read a man's heart.
Gawen's question about the aftermath was not truly about concern for the event—it was a measure of her influence in Highgarden. More precisely, he wanted to know just how much she could decide.
Her brows arched in imitation of his."To be frank, I intended to use this chance to hold a grand outdoor feast. Whatever your station, anyone would be welcome at my table."
Her doe-brown eyes brightened as she spoke.
Ha! Just as I thought—a wealthy lady indeed.
"That would do it," he agreed. "Your beauty and fine wine could wash away all resentment without anyone noticing."
She smiled like a blooming flower."And it seems, Lord Gawen, that you have a better idea?"
For an instant, the ever-composed Gawen was caught off guard, but he quickly recovered.
The flicker on his face did not escape her notice, and it pleased her.
Having achieved a certain aim, Gawen now worked his craft, subtly coaxing the young rose.
He felt a touch of weariness—but the thought of three thousand gold dragons banished it at once.
They had been carried here with such effort—how could he let her take them back?
He also wondered whether he'd spoken too loudly earlier.
Among his words had been mention of the Peninsula's tradition of loyalty to the Queen.
Turned around, that was a reminder: only a Queen with the Peninsula's fealty could be truly complete.
Gawen was a man who prized detail.
And with such details, he could make Margaery Tyrell just a bit more pleased with herself—provided, of course, they first sealed their new bargain.
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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