The night was still, lit only by the soft glow of candlelight.
"A performance match?"
Gawen nodded. "Lady Margaery, think of it as a theatrical play. A performance doesn't have to be real — we could present the recent challenges on the platform as nothing more than a display of swordsmanship."
Margaery's brown eyes flickered with interest. "Please, continue, Lord Crabb."
"Difficulties walk hand in hand with opportunities. All we need is to give it a different name, and what has already happened will seem perfectly reasonable.
"For example, these past six days of duels could be rebranded as a grand tourney for the Reach's swordsmen — one that you, Lady Margaery Tyrell, have secretly arranged.
"As the very Light of Highgarden, raised in the nurturing springs of Highgarden's wisdom, you have found a harmless, elegant way to ignite the passion of every swordsman in the Reach, gathering them here in the name of its glory."
Pausing for a moment, Gawen went on. "And you have two pieces of irrefutable evidence to support this. First — swords have no eyes, yet of all those defeated in the previous matches, none suffered more than minor wounds.
"Second — I, Gawen Crabb, Baron of Whispers Hall, am acting under your employ. My position makes me the perfect figure to inspire the swordsmen of the Reach.
"No one will think it deceit. They will all believe it was one of the Reach's rare delights."
Leaning forward, Gawen's lips curved into a smile, and he lowered his voice. "Every swordsman I defeated on that platform will be grateful to you, for you will have restored their honor with your own hands."
Gawen's proposal outshone her own original plan.
If it went smoothly, she — Margaery Tyrell — would be the greatest beneficiary.
She would not only be the Light of Highgarden, but the Light of the Reach.
Baron Crabb's wit was no less formidable than his sword arm.
Pleased though she was, Margaery remembered her grandmother's teachings. Her expression remained composed, but inwardly she kept her guard up.
His words were far too pleasing to the ear — dangerous enough to make one lose their way without realizing it.
Gawen ignored the brief flicker of caution in her gaze and asked, "Lady Margaery, this is the first tourney you've ever hosted, isn't it?"
Margaery gave a slight nod. "Strictly speaking, yes, it is."
Gawen spread his hands. "In traditional tourneys, there's only one champion. As the contest nears its end, it becomes increasingly brutal. That doesn't suit the kindness of the Light of the Reach."
A bright spark lit Margaery's doe-brown eyes. "Do you already have a proper solution in mind, Lord Crabb?"
"This is your event," Gawen replied. "And because of your kindness, it should be different from all the rest. This will be a tourney that shows people who you truly are.
"In the past, there was only one champion, which made the contest cruel. But what if this time, there were ten champions?"
"Ten champions?" she repeated, surprised.
Gawen nodded. "Ten champions — ten times the excitement, ten times less cruelty."
Is it really as simple as that? Margaery wondered.
"Of course, the title can't be 'champion,'" Gawen continued. "The word implies there can only be one. It would be misleading, and that wouldn't serve you."
Exactly what I was thinking, Margaery noted silently.
"Call them the Ten Blades."
"Ten sword blades?" she asked after a moment's thought.
"Yes, my lady. From your very own tourney will emerge ten Blades of the Reach — warriors who will go on to guard the land. And because of you, their names will be known throughout Westeros."
By the time his words fell silent, Margaery's breath had quickened, and her chest rose and fell with excitement, her earlier caution forgotten.
When she had steadied herself, she met Gawen's gaze directly, her eyes now openly filled with admiration.
Rising from her seat, she lifted her skirts with both hands and dipped her head. "Margaery Tyrell will not forget the aid of Baron Gawen Crabb."
Gawen stood and returned the bow with a hand to his chest.
He could not help but admire her. The Little Rose was a woman who understood perfectly how to win hearts — graceful and pleasing in every movement, yet with a courage that rivaled any man's.
For his eager counsel, Gawen received the Little Rose's gratitude.
The three thousand gold dragons Margaery had brought in Highgarden's name were, in the end, left to him as a personal gift from her.
[Progress in Arming the Crab Claw Peninsula +1]
This was a private token of thanks, meant to be kept secret.
Gawen accepted it in good faith — it suited him well enough. Such a matter reaching Queen Cersei's ears would be all too easily misunderstood.
The Gold Rose family played their part flawlessly. The Puff Fish Duke was now "arranged" to be inspecting lands outside Highgarden.
Before departing, Margaery told Gawen that Duke Mace was already on his way back and could receive him no later than the day after tomorrow.
Once she was gone, Gawen immediately ordered the banners on the platform taken down.
The rest would be handled by the Rose's own people.
Red Keep — Late at Night
Lancel tossed and turned on his bed, unable to sleep.
He wondered if he'd been poisoned — for whenever he closed his eyes, the Queen's face filled his thoughts.
His feelings were tangled. Had he been too hasty in refusing her earlier?
The longer he lay there, the faster one emotion grew among the rest: regret.
If the reward… If I could just please her with my work… Lancel shook his head quickly, forcing the thought away.
He didn't know when sleep finally took him, but his dreams were warm and tinted gold.
Elsewhere in King's Landing, Jaime Lannister moved in secrecy.
He needed to investigate quietly, but he was far too conspicuous by day. Only under cover of night could he avoid prying eyes.
A heavy purse of coins left his hand, landing in the grasp of a shadowed figure.
The figure nodded, then vanished into the dark.
Once again, the trail pointed toward the Riverlands.
By day he was bound to his duties, by night to his inquiries — and after so many days without rest, Jaime was growing weary.
Running a hand through his hair, he felt only more puzzled the deeper he dug.
Gawen had told him not to rush, but Jaime was desperate to remove the danger lurking near Cersei. He could not bear the thought of her being harmed in the slightest.
The sooner this was resolved, the better.
If only the young baron were here… Jaime was certain that, with the information he had gathered, Gawen would already have deduced the truth — perhaps even identified the culprit outright.
Maybe it was the fatigue of this night, but Jaime found himself missing Gawen more than ever.
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