Petyr spread his hands. "A pity the distance was too great — I missed what must have been a most spectacular wager."
Varys smiled. "I agree. Without the Master of Coin's betting table, the tourney has lost a measure of its brilliance."
The two men shared a glance and a knowing smile.
After a brief pause, Varys's smile softened. "How is the recovery of Lord Jon Arryn?"
Petyr's eyes were unreadable, his shoulders lifting slightly. "It's no secret — Lord Stannis has visited. Their meeting was… less than pleasant. All I can say is that he is improving."
Varys let out a quiet sigh. "I had heard as much. While I don't know every detail, many saw Lord Stannis as he departed, and speculation is running high."
Petyr shook his head with a hint of resignation. "Nothing can be done. Lord Stannis has ever been rigidly upright."
Varys's tone remained unhurried. "Are you suggesting that such uprightness can be… intimidating?"
The corner of Petyr's eye twitched, but his lips curved faintly. "In truth, most hold a certain respect for Lord Stannis, deep down."
Varys nodded. "That would suggest some goodness still survives in men's hearts."
Petyr's smile froze for a moment, his eyes glinting faintly. "It seems you hold Lord Stannis in high regard, Lord Varys."
Varys folded his hands together. "My opinion is of little importance. I am but one small soul among many."
Petyr's smile did not falter. "Lord Stannis always hurries about for the good of the realm. Perhaps next time we should try to persuade him to linger."
Varys returned the smile. "That would require your wisdom."
Petyr leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands. "Perhaps if we sent away every whore in King's Landing, Lord Stannis might be in better spirits. We both know he disapproves of them."
Varys chuckled and shook his head. "If we did that, we might never see King Robert again. In the end, we must choose our priorities."
Petyr smiled faintly and changed the subject. "It seems I will need your assistance in this matter. The Hand is particularly attentive to it."
Varys rose and inclined his head. "Gladly. My little birds will ensure that Baron Gawen Crabb receives the Hand's concern."
Petyr thanked him with a smile, though it did not reach his eyes.
Highgarden Castle
At last, Gawen finally met the much-anticipated Puff Fish Duke.
Lord Mace Tyrell had a head of curly brown hair, a tall and powerful frame grown slightly stout with age, yet his appearance remained handsome.
From his bearing alone, Mace Tyrell was every inch the leader of the Gold Rose.
Gawen glanced briefly at the Little Rose standing beside her father, then bowed to Mace. "Good day, Your Grace. I am Her Majesty's envoy, Chief Attendant to the Queen, Baron of Whispers Hall — your admirer, Gawen Crabb. It is a great honor to meet you."
My admirer? Mace's first impression of the young baron was favorable enough.
Margaery's brown eyes flickered. She first looked at Gawen, who seemed barely able to contain his excitement, then at her father, who remained composed, her own polite smile never faltering.
Mace's voice was deep, resonant, and rich. "Welcome, Baron Gawen Crabb, who has come so far."
Gawen placed a hand to his chest and bowed. "Your Grace's fame echoes through King's Landing. I am commanded to convey Queen Cersei's most sincere greetings to you."
Mace nodded. "Please thank Her Grace for me. House Tyrell is grateful for her favor."
After the formalities, Mace invited Gawen to sit.
The Duke, seasoned by storms both literal and political, found himself unaccustomed to the unguarded admiration in Gawen's gaze.
Ah, youth, Mace thought. He hasn't yet learned to mask his emotions.
Without realizing it, Mace's opinion of Gawen improved.
It seems the young baron truly admires Father… Margaery observed, filing the moment away as another lesson.
Gawen spoke respectfully. "I grew up hearing your stories, always hoping to meet you. When I learned Queen Cersei meant to send an envoy to Highgarden, I volunteered at once. I beg your pardon for my presumption."
Mace's expression stayed even, though a hint of curiosity colored his voice. "Oh?"
Gawen leaned forward slightly. "That war, fifteen years ago — I have heard its tale countless times from my mother since I was old enough to understand."
Mace seemed to drift into memory. "Fifteen years already? Time slips by unnoticed."
He glanced toward Margaery. "You were not yet born then…"
The Duke sighed. "That great war held many blessings, but far too many misfortunes as well."
Margaery's eyes softened with concern, her hand coming to rest gently on her father's.
Gawen's brow lifted slightly. Is the Duke growing sentimental before his time?
Seizing the moment, he said, "Your Grace, there is no need to dwell on it. You did your utmost, and your deeds will never be forgotten. At the very least, the people of the Crab Claw Peninsula will always understand the difficulties you faced."
At this, both Mace and Margaery turned to him, their eyes unreadable.
Gawen's expression did not change as he sighed lightly. "You may not know how dearly the Crab Claw Peninsula paid in that war. I can only say they fought to the very last for loyalty and honor.
"That war claimed more than half the nobility of the peninsula. Many houses vanished forever… the Crabb family now has only me as its last male heir.
"My mother often says that if, at the time, the Dragonlords had heeded your strategy, perhaps the Iron Throne in King's Landing would still be theirs."
He shook his head slightly. "It is only my regret that they refused your command. In truth, the Dragonlords lost that war to their own stubbornness."
Mace seemed lost in thought at Gawen's words.
Before long, he stirred, cleared his throat, and waved for the attendants to leave the hall.
Margaery blinked, then spoke softly. "Baron Crabb, your words could be easily misunderstood. You are a sworn bannerman to King Robert now."
Gawen bowed slightly. "Thank you for the reminder, Lady Margaery. My intention today was only to seek the Duke's counsel on military matters. In speaking of the past, I let my emotions carry me. Please forgive my boldness."
Mace chuckled. "It's of no consequence. It was long ago. This is nothing more than the discussion of military affairs — no one will truly mind."
After a pause, he added, "I have read a little about you — impressive. To lead your forces alone at such a young age, defeat an army twenty times your size, and reclaim your lands… Tell me, are you well-versed in that war's history?"
There was encouragement in Mace's gaze, as if to say, Go on… speak more.
Gawen nodded firmly. I understand.
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