Candlelight flickered, the flame casting a faint blue glow across the darkness of the chamber.
Jaime moved his lips, but in the end, said nothing. Explaining further on Gawen's behalf would only make things worse.
Cersei teetered on the edge of rage, and his continued presence would only stoke the fire.
He considered leaving… but hesitated.
When it came to Cersei's safety, he didn't trust anyone else.
"Ser Jaime."
Gawen's voice caught his attention.
He had removed the sword from his belt and now tossed it gently toward Jaime.
Jaime caught it easily, feeling a flush of awkwardness. His feelings for Cersei had clouded his judgment—he had misjudged Gawen's character.
Ever observant, Gawen understood the power of small gestures. Jaime, a knight to the core, felt himself moved once more.
Gawen gave a slight nod and a reassuring glance.
Jaime looked down at the sword, lips quirking slightly. He turned to Cersei, bowed, and with a flourish of his cloak, strode out of the room.
As he passed Gawen, he offered a subtle nod—Jaime Lannister's way of apologizing.
…
Bang.
The door closed behind him, leaving only Gawen and Cersei.
Gawen knew Cersei's temperament well—and he had a knack for striking at just the right nerve.
Over time, he had earned not only her favor, but her trust.
So much so, that in her vision of the realm's future, Gawen had a place.
Once Joffrey ascended the Iron Throne, Cersei intended for Jaime to remain Lord Commander of the Kingsguard—and for Gawen to serve as the Captain of the City Watch.
Through them, she would rule as regent—until her son came of age.
She trusted Gawen completely.
And then he accepted Robert's reward and noble title.
…
When she heard the news, Cersei had been furious.
How dare he betray her?
She was a Lannister. Lions did not tolerate betrayal.
She had already arranged for her best Redcloaks to take action if Gawen failed to satisfy her today.
Did she give him a chance to explain out of mercy? No.
He had proven his value. Jaime's persuasion had helped—not decisive, but it mattered.
Most of all, Gawen had come to Maegor's Holdfast the moment he returned to the capital.
That was why Cersei held back. That was why she gave him this one opportunity—to prove his loyalty.
…
Tap, tap…
Gawen approached with steady steps, stopping two or three paces from the queen.
Cersei lifted her chin, voice cold. "Surrounded by flattery these days, are you? Favored by both the king and the Hand—must feel like a dream, doesn't it… Count Crabb?"
She spat the title with scorn.
Gawen simply met her gaze, calm and unblinking.
Her fury surged.
"Nothing to say? Loyalty fears no trial, and yet your cowardice is laughable. Did you come here begging for a dress to wear? Or are you—"
"Lord Crabb! What do you think you're doing?!"
Startled, Cersei slipped into her old habit, calling him by his lesser title.
Gawen had crossed the distance in two swift steps and hoisted her over his shoulder.
Cersei Lannister played by no one's rules. Neither did Gawen—not when the situation demanded it.
"You dare! I'll have your head!"
She thrashed violently, but Gawen carried her with ease.
After a few wild strikes to his back, she stopped.
His armor had hurt her hands.
She considered yanking his hair—but before she could, he gently set her in a chair.
Cersei, seated firmly, was stunned by how easily he handled her, as if her weight were nothing.
Gawen knelt beside her, took her hand in both of his, and said softly, "Your Grace, loyalty fears no trial."
She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it fast.
To her own surprise, much of her anger dissipated.
Even this offensive act… somehow conveyed loyalty.
Ruffled and slightly breathless, Cersei lifted her chin and looked down on him.
"You've insulted your queen. I could have you hanged."
"My queen," Gawen said, voice low with sadness, "forgive my stupidity. I only wanted to stop your misunderstanding. It pains me deeply."
Her green eyes quivered, lips curving slightly. "So your answer was to throw your queen over your shoulder? Such boldness."
She hadn't expected this. No kneeling. No begging. And somehow… she found it refreshing.
"You're still insulting me," she said. "You should be kissing my shoes—begging for mercy."
Gawen raised her hand instead and kissed it lightly.
"A queen as noble as you," he murmured, "has no shortage of those who kneel. Your beauty commands all. I am no exception—I've long since fallen. I hide it. I cling to what I have. I fear losing it. I dare not offend."
Cersei scoffed. "So now your tongue works?"
"The lion's wrath left me speechless. Forgive me, Your Grace."
She stared into his eyes. "Rise, Count Crabb. That armor of yours is cold and hard—it's uncomfortable."
Gawen stood and stepped back.
"Thank you for your mercy," he said, hand over heart.
She gave a dismissive snort, lifted her chin, and walked gracefully to her dressing table.
As she touched up her makeup, she said coolly, "Mercy? You chose betrayal."
Gawen's voice had a touch of mockery. "Your Grace, what did Robert give me, other than an empty title? The lands I reclaimed were mine to begin with. Their goal is clear: to draw me away from you."
Cersei glanced at him in the mirror. "I know. It's your cowardice that enrages me."
The storm had passed—but Gawen knew to press his advantage.
He said nothing more. Instead, he approached and picked up a comb, gently running it through her golden hair.
She allowed it—then smiled faintly. "What do you intend to do?"
"I plan to visit Essos soon."
That sparked another flash of anger in her eyes—
—but his next words cooled it instantly.
"Official business, of course. But more than that, I wanted to bring back something for you. A small gift. Something to add to your brilliance."
Cersei gave him a sideways glance. "That might please some silly girl."
Gawen set the comb down.
Cersei studied herself in the mirror. "Not bad, squire."
Gawen bowed slightly. "Thank you for the compliment. It is my honor."
She stood, lifting her gown, and approached him.
He could feel her breath again.
His eyes trembled. He felt her hand… reaching downward.
But she paused, frowning—his ancestral armor was fitted too tight. The scene with Lancel wouldn't be repeated.
Cersei withdrew, resting her hand instead on his cheek.
"Don't let King Robert have his way so easily. Do you understand?"
She hated Robert. She wanted him to die bitter and defeated.
"You have my word. To me, your orders come first."
She nodded, pleased. "And your plan?"
"My reports from Essos will reach the Small Council through you."
She patted his breastplate. "Don't take too long. You know how to prove your loyalty. I want proof."
Gawen inhaled sharply, cheeks flushed.
Cersei smiled slightly. "You may go, Count Crabb."
Gawen bowed and left—his steps just a little uneven.
…
Outside, he met Jaime's eyes and shrugged.
Jaime smiled and handed back his sword.
Gawen accepted it, then tossed a silver stag his way.
"For storage," he said.
Jaime laughed and shook his head. The tension between them dissolved.
"Next time," Jaime said, "I charge a gold dragon."
Gawen held up two fingers, then glanced toward the door and walked off.
Jaime watched him go, smiling faintly, then turned back inside.
…
Inside, Cersei sat quietly in her chair.
"That boy has some character. More dependable than most."
As he spoke, Jaime approached her.
She seemed to only then notice him.
Her eyes swept over his armor. She frowned. "Hmph. He's my future Commander of the Goldcloaks. And you—my Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."
She never hid her ambition from Jaime.
He sighed. "Cersei, I'll support you. But we mustn't rush. This is no small matter."
"I know, Jaime," she snapped. "Don't repeat it."
Then she scowled again. "And why are you still wearing that armor? It's cold. And hard. Take it off."
She spoke sharply, her anger rising.
Jaime looked down at himself, confused.
…
King's Landing — Hook Alley
Davos Seaworth looked up at the starlit sky, exhaustion weighing on him. But he steeled his resolve.
The Onion Knight was planning how best to help Lord Stannis Baratheon become Hand of the King.
His strategy: secure endorsements from key nobles and push Stannis's own nomination.
Davos knew Robert would be the hardest obstacle. But if enough nobles supported it, even the wine-soaked king would have no choice—for the kingdom's stability.
Who else but Stannis could restore order after Jon Arryn? he thought.
He had already secured promises from several Crownland lords.
Tomorrow, he would journey to his most important destination—Storm's End.
The road was long and hard, but Davos believed it would be worth it.
Everything he had came from Stannis.
It was Stannis who knighted him. Who gave him the right to stand among lords. Who let him command ships of the royal fleet.
Davos had seven sons.
Dale captained the Sea Spirit, Allard the Lady Mariya. Matthos served as oarmaster on the Fury. Maric was first mate on the Black Betha. Devon would soon serve as Lord Stannis's squire—and surely be knighted one day.
His two youngest sons, Stannis and Steffon, would walk the same path in time.
His wife Mariya ran their small castle at Cape Wrath, where even the servants called her "my lady." Davos hunted red deer in his own woods.
…
All of it, thanks to Stannis.
And what he paid… was only a few fingertips.
Stannis's punishment had been just. Davos had once defied the law—he'd deserved it.
But Stannis had rebuilt him.
Now, that same Stannis still placed his trust in him.
…
In King's Landing, Davos had heard that Gawen Crabb had been gifted a fine manor by Queen Cersei.
The Lannisters never gave without cause.
From that alone, Davos knew—Gawen's place as Cersei's favorite was no rumor.
Lord Stannis had chosen wisely.
But with Lannister gold in play, Davos could only rely on Stannis's own presence to win him back.
With those thoughts swirling, Davos followed his guide into the estate—and found Gawen waiting in the great hall.
Brown-haired, brown-eyed, with a modest appearance and a thick gray beard, Davos wore a plain black robe. He looked thin and worn.
He came on behalf of Stannis—and Gawen met him with proper respect.
"Good evening, Ser Davos. Please convey my regards to Lord Stannis. It's an honor to meet you."
Davos bowed in return. "Good evening, Lord Crabb. I bring Lord Stannis's gratitude. It is my honor as well."
Once formalities were complete, the two men sat.
Gawen's tone was warm. "Ser Davos, the royal fleet's diligence has allowed my port to prosper. I've long wanted to thank you in person—now the chance is here."
Davos answered humbly, "My lord, it's the duty of the royal fleet. The credit belongs to Lord Stannis."
Gawen nodded. "Lord Stannis is a pillar of the realm. I admire him deeply."
Davos sighed softly. "Yes. I agree. He is just, tireless… impossible not to respect."
Gawen's eyes glinted. "Indeed. The gods know it."
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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