When Gawen's words fell, the hall suddenly went silent.
Duke Mace Tyrell, still digesting what Gawen had just said, slowly puffed out his cheeks.
Like an inflated fish… Gawen thought to himself with some amusement. Truly, that nickname fits him well.
Though Margaery Tyrell was also surprised by what she had heard, her gentle smile on the surface did not falter.
As a daughter, Margaery knew her father well; she understood he would need a moment to recover, so she took the initiative to speak.
"Baron Gawen, this is no small matter. On behalf of House Tyrell, I thank you sincerely for your candor. However…"
Her beautiful eyes locked on Gawen's as she continued, "I enjoy hearing your wise insights. Could you first tell us your reasons?"
Gawen pressed a hand to his chest in thanks before replying, "Lady Margaery, think nothing of it. I am willing to be frank with you."
Margaery's smile blossomed like a flower, and she inclined her head.
Gawen parted his lips, paused for a moment, then lowered his voice. "The Hand of the King, Jon Arryn's condition is quite serious—it has already affected the governance of the realm, far more than most people realize."
Margaery covered her mouth with a fair hand, her eyes widening.
Gawen silently praised her performance. The little rose truly is an excellent conversational partner.
…
Mace Tyrell murmured to himself: If I became Hand of the King, House Tyrell's standing in the Seven Kingdoms… The thought was deeply tempting.
Finally returning to himself, Mace coughed lightly. "Gawen, tell me what you have in mind."
Gawen nodded. "Your Grace, although the Hand's health no longer allows him to bear such burdens, he remains unwilling to let go of the realm's affairs—even working from his bed during his most severe bouts."
He painted a picture of a dutiful Hand, heedless of his own health, pouring his heart and soul into the kingdom.
Mace and Margaery exchanged a subtle glance.
Mace thought Jon Arryn had it rather hard.
Margaery, however, sensed the double meaning behind Gawen's words. On the surface it sounded like praise, but beneath it lay another message: Jon Arryn's condition had already stirred the dissatisfaction and ambition of others.
…
Looking at Mace, Gawen said respectfully, "Duke Jon has served tirelessly for over a decade. For the sake of his health, the Red Keep has no choice but to consider a new candidate for Hand of the King."
Mace had to suppress the smile tugging at his lips. In a warm tone, he asked, "Has someone already been chosen?"
Margaery sighed inwardly at her father's eagerness and added, "Baron Gawen, is there some difficulty?"
Gawen's gaze shifted toward her, and he nodded. "After all, this is a matter of the realm. Everyone is taking it seriously—either recommending others or putting themselves forward as the one to assist King Robert in ruling the kingdom."
A faint tension appeared on Mace's face as he asked, "And who are they?"
Gawen hesitated, looking reluctant to speak.
Margaery glanced briefly at her father before saying earnestly to Gawen, "Baron, I believe my father has already guessed your thoughts. What we need now is mutual trust and honesty. House Tyrell never forgets those who aid us."
Shaking his head, Gawen replied just as sincerely, "Your Grace, my lady, I will of course be forthright. Because of Queen Cersei's trust in me, as her Chief Administrative Officer, Her Grace did consult me on this matter—and I boldly recommended Duke Mace Tyrell to her."
Mace stroked his beard, a flicker of satisfaction in his expression.
Margaery's brown eyes quivered slightly. "Baron Gawen, did you persuade the queen? Or… may I ask how you did so?"
"Of course."
After a pause, Gawen said, "To my knowledge, the two most strongly supported candidates are Lord Stannis Baratheon, Master of Ships, and Lord Renly Baratheon, Master of Laws."
Margaery's fair brow creased in puzzlement. "Lord Renly and Lord Stannis?"
Mace Tyrell frowned.
Placing a hand over his chest, Gawen said respectfully, "Here is how I reasoned it: Lord Renly, though Master of Laws, is seldom seen in the Red Keep—he lacks the sense of duty and governing skill Your Grace possesses.
"As for the upright Lord Stannis, compared to you he lacks flexibility and mercy. The Hand must help His Grace unite the hearts of the people.
"At present, only you can fill the void Duke Jon would leave and swiftly stabilize the realm."
An excellent analysis… Mace smiled, stroking his beard once more.
…
Margaery's fingers curled slightly.
She found that in dealing with Gawen, she would unconsciously lower her guard—only for the content of his words to raise it again. This cycle repeated itself.
Her grandmother's teachings, coupled with her father's example, had taught her never to relax her vigilance.
Maintaining such focus was tiring, yet the feeling was oddly familiar—almost welcome. Highgarden life had been too easy for too long.
Her brown eyes caught a gleam of light. This silent contest between them stirred a quiet excitement within her.
…
Gawen said, "Though Queen Cersei has little interest in governing, she must think of Prince Joffrey, who needs broader support.
"The Baratheon family already holds two important seats on the Small Council—giving them more would not be conducive to stability.
"At this moment, Your Grace, your ability and influence make you the queen's natural ally. Because of you, I persuaded Her Grace to support your appointment as Hand of the King."
He added, "It is all for the realm—that is my sole motive."
Mace was grinning broadly now. "Gawen, you are rare indeed. I will not forget what you have done."
Inwardly, Mace marveled that the man who understood him best in all the Seven Kingdoms was this young baron who had always admired him.
…
"Baron Gawen," Margaery asked suddenly, "do you already have a plan?"
Gawen glanced at Mace's kindly gaze before answering, "I have an unpolished idea, but I would need Your Grace's consent first."
…
King's Landing – Silent Sisters Street
The pale blue sky above was as clear as if it had been washed.
Gawen's steward, Leyton, was standing in the shadow of a corner, watching several goldcloaks in the distance.
His attention was fixed on their leader.
The man's face was thin and sharp. Though he wore the uniform of the City Watch, his frame was so gaunt one might fear a strong wind could topple him.
Leyton's brow furrowed.
This goldcloak bore the Crabb surname, yet he looked nothing like a man of House Crabb.
A long-lost branch of Crabb blood? If he bore the name, that meant he was a trueborn son.
Leyton decided this matter warranted serious attention.
As one of the few clerks in Whispers City, he did not act rashly.
After all, the man was a goldcloak—handle it poorly and the trouble would outweigh the gain.
More importantly, matters like this could not be decided without the lord's order.
Conveniently, the Intelligence Corps was also in King's Landing. Leyton resolved to have them shadow this man and gather all relevant information.
…
Red Keep – Maegor's Holdfast
Jaime Lannister's dark circles had deepened from lack of rest.
Queen Cersei Lannister cast him a sidelong glance as he stifled a yawn. "Jaime, you've been in unusually high spirits lately."
He looked at her in puzzlement. "High spirits? What do you mean?"
Her only reply was a cold snort.
At once, Jaime's drowsiness vanished. After a moment's thought, he ventured, "You mean my going out at night?"
Cersei took a sip of summerwine. "King's Landing has a hundred brothels—plenty to occupy you for the rest of your days. I suggest you not be in such a rush."
She snorted again, then added, "Don't be like your dear little dwarf brother, treating those places as his bedchamber. You are a Lannister."
Jaime smiled wryly. "Cersei, it's not what you think. You know I dislike such places. You are the only one for me, always."
As he spoke, he stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
Cersei tilted her chin, lips curling. "I do not like you hiding things from me."
His hands froze for an instant.
Her green eyes narrowed. "So, you choose to keep hiding it."
She shrugged his hands off and turned to face him.
Jaime's thoughts jumped instantly to Gawen.
…
"It's about Gawen," he explained. "He suspects there's another hand behind the incident in the Queen's Ward. He and I have been investigating quietly."
Sensing her rising anger, Jaime quickly added, "I wasn't trying to deceive you—we were only guessing, so we didn't tell you. It's just a precaution. You know me—I want to ensure your absolute safety and find the truth quickly."
"I'm not so fragile, Jaime."
Cersei stepped closer, her white hand pressing against his chest. Her lips curved. "Jaime, when you are inside me, only then do I feel whole. If I demand you keep nothing from me, then I will keep nothing from you."
He held her hand, their eyes locked. "Cersei, nor will I from you."
He was lost in her warmth—until her next words sent a chill down his spine.
"Jaime, I have already begun."
"???"
"I'm done with that drunken Robert. Jaime, it has already started. You can't stop it—you can only help me."
…
Dragonstone – Overcast Skies
The volcanic island of Dragonstone, carved into the shape of a dragon, sat at the mouth of Blackwater Bay.
In Targaryen times, it was traditionally granted to the heir to the Iron Throne, who was styled Prince of Dragonstone.
After Robert's Rebellion, King Robert Baratheon granted it to Stannis Baratheon—but without its former meaning.
Inside Dragonstone Castle, Stannis sat at the long table, his expression taut as he worked through documents with rigid precision.
Ser Davos Seaworth stood quietly to one side.
Scratch, scratch, scratch—the quill moved. With a heavy thump, Stannis stamped the parchment.
Looking at Davos, he asked, "Is everything arranged?"
Davos bowed his head. "Lord Stannis, I have another matter to report—concerning Baron Gawen Crabb."
Stannis set down his quill. "What is it?"
"Our sources have learned that Lord Jon intends to send Gawen across the Narrow Sea to deal with the Targaryen hatchlings."
Stannis frowned. "I thought Varys was handling that matter…"
Suddenly, anger flashed. "Again—it's all shadows and deceit. Jon has let the office of Hand strip him of all honor."
Closing his eyes, Stannis fell silent.
Davos looked at him with quiet concern, but offered no comfort—Stannis did not need it.
Before long, those sharp eyes opened again.
"Loyal Davos, do you think I should continue supporting Jon Arryn?"
"Lord Stannis," Davos said earnestly, "forgive me, but you need a change of strategy."
Stannis gave the barest nod. "I cannot let him stain my honor."
"What do you suggest?"
Davos stepped forward and bowed. "My lord, while looking into Baron Gawen, our men uncovered information on the Hand. The truth is—the Red Keep holds no secrets.
"Our intelligence says Jon Arryn is no longer fit to serve. The realm needs a new Hand to restore order. I sincerely advise you to compete for the office—only one as great as you can steady King Robert's realm."
Robert… Stannis shook his head slightly. "Davos, I feel your loyalty, and I would give all for the realm. But Robert will never agree."
Kneeling, Davos replied, "I understand, my lord. But Robert has drowned himself in wine and women for years. His authority in the Red Keep is not what it once was."
Stannis fixed him with a piercing gaze. "What do you propose?"
Davos raised his head. "Permit me to travel and seek allies to support you. If you can become Hand of the King, they will be your strength in the future."
.
.
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