"Using slowness to defeat speed?"
Gawen nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. What I most regret on your behalf is that others did not think as you did — considering the entire field. They only cared for short-term gains and losses."
"Lord Randyll Tarly, as Highgarden's vanguard, did indeed rout the Stormlands host and earned the name of a famed commander. But… looking back now, his victory was, in truth, a disguised boon to the Stormlands host, planting the seeds of the Targaryen host's eventual defeat."
Mace Tyrell's tone cooled. "Baron Crabb, Lord Randyll Tarly is my bannerman."
Gawen's expression did not change, as though he had not noticed. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I respect Lord Randyll Tarly greatly — I mean no offense. I am only seeking your counsel on military matters."
Mace Tyrell hesitated, then inclined his head. "I believe your candor… ahem. Tell me, then — why do you say Lord Randyll's victory was detrimental to the campaign as a whole?"
"With your permission, Your Grace, I am only analyzing the situation as it was at the time," Gawen replied respectfully.
Spreading his hands, he went on, "Whatever the cause, the Stormlands host's role was that of rebels. Rebels always share a weakness: their morale burns high at first, but such unity cannot last. The longer the war drags on, the more it turns against them. They must accelerate the pace of war, must force a decisive battle with the Targaryens while their spirits are high."
He paused. "I call this 'speed against speed.'"
Mace Tyrell gave a slight nod, stroking his pointed beard. "To view the matter from the whole board… that is rare. Go on."
Gawen inclined his head in thanks.
"This is only my speculation, but I imagine that in the Red Keep, where talent was plentiful, the Targaryens must have considered employing Your Grace's tactic of slowness against speed. Yet Lord Randyll Tarly's victory made it seem the Stormlands host could be easily crushed.
"The result was that no one could persuade them — or perhaps no one tried — to keep the Targaryens patient. From that moment, Prince Rhaegar led the Targaryen host to seek battle with the Stormlands. The advantage began to shift to the rebels, and perhaps from then, the Targaryens' defeat was sealed."
Gawen sighed. "This is the curse of every military strategist. Wars depend on generals, but generals often know nothing of strategy — only how to raise their swords and charge. They trust only in immediate victory and take it for glory.
"Meanwhile, the common folk are short-sighted, drawn to the heat and blood of battle. They cannot understand what true victory on the field looks like, nor can they appreciate your art of war."
Well said… Gawen's words soothed a pain Mace had long buried deep in his heart.
He had given voice — and proof — to Mace Tyrell's own military talents.
This young man from afar understands me!
Mace's eyes were warm, his tone kindly. "I recall the Crabb family has given more than one member to the Kingsguard. It seems that though you lost much in that war, there was at least some gain."
Gawen nodded. "Indeed, Your Grace. You see clearly. That bitter experience taught House Crabb that courage and the sword alone are not enough — one must also master the wisdom of strategy."
He shrugged lightly, smiling. "My mother's only ambition was… to raise me into a man like Your Grace. She was strict beyond measure, so my childhood was nothing but books and swordplay. Looking back, I've no idea how I endured it."
The words — and the gesture — made Mace laugh aloud.
In good spirits, the Duke clapped Gawen on the shoulder. "You are a guest from afar. Stay the night — we shall dine together."
Hand to his chest, Gawen bowed. "Your Grace honors me."
Margaery Tyrell, listener and observer, watched the rapid warming of her father's rapport with Gawen.
Is this the same father Grandmother calls a simpleton? Could she have been mistaken?
She quickly shook her head. No one knew her grandmother's brilliance better than she.
From an early age, she had understood that while Mace Tyrell bore the title of leader of the Gold Rose, the power was largely in name only.
The "Puff Fish Lord" might try to point to his role in the Usurper's War as proof of his military prowess, but most believed he had contributed little to that conflict.
What her father needed was prestige.
What Gawen had just said, when combined with what she already knew, was powerfully convincing.
To Margaery's mind, Gawen's words were not mere flattery meant to win her father's favor — they were an attempt to restore Mace Tyrell's reputation.
And Margaery knew her father — he was even more pleased than he appeared.
She suspected that in his excitement, her father had yet to realize the true value hidden in Gawen's novel assertions.
But how to use that value… that would require careful planning.
Her father's prestige was tied to the Gold Rose's interests.
Now she began to wonder — what exactly was Baron Gawen Crabb's aim?
Gawen, for his part, had not forgotten Margaery's presence.
His original plan was to spend today winning Mace Tyrell's goodwill and a measure of trust, and tomorrow find an opening to state his true purpose.
But he feared that, after today, the Gold Rose — with its history of guarded dealings — might once again shield Mace away from him.
A second meeting would be harder to justify.
He resolved to seize the moment. It might not be perfect, but he could adapt.
Leaning forward slightly toward Mace, he spoke softly. "Your Grace, have you heard any news regarding the health of Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King?"
Mace looked puzzled. "Mm. I've heard his health has not been the best these past years."
Gawen glanced briefly at Margaery, who was still watching him intently — the meaning unspoken.
What is he implying? Margaery maintained her polite smile, using the etiquette honed over more than a decade to mask her reaction.
Mace chuckled warmly. "Gawen, there's no need to be so cautious. Highgarden Castle is perfectly safe for you."
Father's tone is almost too familiar with him, Margaery thought, glancing at her father's genial expression.
"Your Grace," Gawen asked, "have you ever considered the burden of the office of Hand of the King?"
"The Hand of the King?"
"Yes — the one who aids the king in governing the realm, commands in his name, oversees the armies, holds the highest judicial authority. In the king's absence, the Hand sits the Iron Throne and rules the realm in his stead."
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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