After a long conversation, Gawen came to better understand Ser Davos Seaworth.
Davos was a man who took everything seriously.
That trait, passed down through example, had shaped his sons into capable officers within the royal fleet.
Moreover, Davos's admiration for Lord Stannis ran deep—something that surpassed loyalty and bordered on reverence.
Gawen listened with a calm expression as Davos spoke, though his mind was already turning.
Davos himself wasn't a viable entry point—but his sons might be. Petyr Baelish had provided him with three ships and their crews, and while Gawen would extend the trust they deserved, he would never place all his faith in a man who had only just pledged allegiance.
The sea was not like land, and trust was not the same as indulgence. Excessive indulgence only bred ambition.
Even a small fleet required a balanced structure—a system of checks and loyalties, all tethered back to House Crabb.
The original crew wouldn't be enough. Gawen would need to recruit sailors to fully man the three vessels.
Some could be brought in from Mermaid's Port, but beyond sailors, he also needed to appoint a dependable deputy fleet commander—someone with character and loyalty.
If he wanted this done right, it would require some careful maneuvering.
...
Gawen nodded slightly. "Ser Davos, I'm honored by Lord Stannis's invitation. In about ten days, once I settle affairs at the Red Keep, I'll be heading to Essos. Do you think I'd have time to visit Dragonstone on the way?"
Davos replied evenly, "Lord Stannis is diligent. Other than inspections, he spends most of his time at Dragonstone attending to state matters. He just returned from one such inspection. The island is always open to you."
Gawen placed a hand to his chest in thanks. "My harbor at Mermaid's Port is preparing to establish a small escort fleet. It would be the perfect opportunity to seek Lord Stannis's advice."
"For merchant convoy protection?" Davos asked.
"Yes, Ser. Blackwater Bay is protected by the royal fleet, so we've no worry there. This fleet is for future trade routes with Essos."
Davos nodded in agreement. "Indeed. The royal fleet appearing across the Narrow Sea would only stir suspicion. It's best for merchant ships to have their own protection."
Gawen shrugged. "Once I dove into it, I realized how difficult it is to build a fleet. If not for Lord Petyr's help, I'd have nearly given up."
"The Master of Coin?" Davos asked.
Gawen inclined his head. "Yes. With his assistance, I've taken in a small group of sea-bound mercenaries. My three warships are finally seaworthy."
Davos's tone was sincere. "The sea is a different beast. Separated by water, it requires patience."
"I agree," Gawen said. "The sea breeds distrust. Thank you for the reminder, Ser. For now, patience is all I have."
He paused. "But I believe that in time, genuine trust will earn me a fleet commander worthy of the title."
"May the gods watch over all those who act with sincerity," Davos said.
They spent some time discussing naval matters further. Gawen asked questions with humility; Davos answered them with patient clarity.
At one point, Gawen even revealed the beginnings of an ambitious plan: the future Crabb Fleet would boast ten warships.
Before long, night had fallen.
Davos stood and took his leave.
Gawen, never stingy with praise for those he admired, said warmly, "Ser Davos, this evening has been most enlightening. Your counsel has been invaluable. Your skill is impressive—and your character even more so."
Davos remained humble. "My lord, I'm nothing but a captain who learned to sail before he could read."
They agreed to meet again in three months' time. Gawen would call on Davos for further advice.
Davos even offered to show him his pride and joy—the Black Betha—when the time came.
...
After bidding farewell to Davos, Gawen made his way to the smaller hall.
He preferred the wide-open view there. It wasn't private, but his sworn men were better than any wall.
He sat at the table and ordered the maids to light more candles.
Then he spread a sheet of fine parchment across the table and picked up his quill.
By flickering candlelight, he began to write.
Today, Cersei Lannister had finally revealed her true stance. With her reassurances, Gawen could safely write to Lord Mace Tyrell.
Had the day ended in a falling-out with the Queen, he would've needed a new way to push Mace's path to the Hand of the King.
If things had soured, Cersei wouldn't care what Gawen had promised Highgarden. She'd wash her hands of the consequences.
After all, Cersei was never one for cleaning up the mess after the killing.
And House Tyrell was nothing if not united. If they felt deceived—even for the sake of appearances—they would never let it slide.
Gawen had even considered a personal journey to Winterfell as a backup plan.
One way or another, he had prepared for all eventualities.
After sealing the letter to Mace, Gawen leaned back and rubbed his temples.
Thankfully, he had managed to calm the Queen.
There had been turbulence, but not disaster. His plans would proceed as intended—order within chaos.
At that moment, Gawen found himself thinking of Cersei again.
Today had revealed something: he meant more to her than even she realized.
Outside the Lannister family, he was likely the most trusted man in her circle.
Which made her possessiveness all the more dangerous.
What Gawen sought was freedom—the right to disembark at will. But he felt his armor no longer protected him. He needed a shield besides Jaime.
He picked up a second sheet of parchment and began another letter—this one to the Little Rose of Highgarden.
If he was going to be caught in the storm, best to make sure everyone else was just as busy.
...
The next day, in the administrative chambers of the Red Keep.
Gawen met with Lord Varys.
The Spider's head shone like a polished egg. He wore a loose-fitting purple silk robe and a vest embroidered with golden thread. On his feet, he wore soft, wide velvet slippers. He smelled faintly of lilac.
Gawen bowed. "Good day, Lord Varys. I never did thank you for your assistance. I won't forget it."
Varys clasped his hands together and inclined his head. "Good day, Lord Crabb. I merely acted in passing. But I was glad to see both the King and the Hand entrust you. That gave me great joy."
Gawen replied with a note of weariness, "I'd honestly have preferred it if they hadn't."
Varys had long claimed to be born in Lys, one of the Free Cities of Essos. Once a slave, he befriended the assassin Illyrio Mopatis in Pentos, and the two started a new enterprise.
[Varys and Illyrio worked together: Varys would steal items from thieves, and Illyrio would return them to their owners for reward.]
But Varys soon realized that information was more valuable than gold or gems. He bought orphans and trained them into a network of spies.
Their fortune grew tenfold. So did Varys's reputation—or infamy.
His talents eventually reached Westeros. King Aerys II, who trusted no one, brought him into the Red Keep.
After the Rebellion, Varys stayed on, serving King Robert as Master of Whisperers.
...
Varys smiled. "With your abilities, Lord Crabb, three years will be more than enough."
Gawen raised an eyebrow. "Lord Varys, I'm more suited to the battlefield. When it comes to tracking people down, no one outmatches you."
Varys nodded. "That's precisely why we're meeting."
"Oh?"
Seeing Gawen's confusion, Varys gestured for him to sit. Only then did he speak in a lowered voice. "They're likely in Pentos."
Gawen leaned in. "Likely?"
Varys nodded slowly. "You're perceptive. No wonder the Queen trusts you. Yes, I used the word 'likely'—because I am not certain."
Gawen spread his hands. "Good news is always followed by bad, isn't it? Please, Lord Varys, don't keep me guessing."
Varys chuckled. "You've been blessed by the wisdom of the Crab Claw Peninsula. Few are as sharp as you."
Gawen acknowledged the compliment with a humble nod.
Varys sobered. "They're living in a manse provided by the Magister of Pentos, under his protection."
"The Magister?" Gawen asked, frowning.
"Ilyrio Mopatis," said Varys. "We were once close, but I haven't seen him in over a decade."
He shook his head. "It's a delicate situation. If it were me, I'd wait for the dragons to leave their den on their own. After all, Pentos is a Free City."
Gawen stroked his chin. "You're not wrong. Everyone understands your dilemma, even if they don't say it outright. That includes me."
His words made Varys smile more warmly.
"How many soldiers does Pentos have?" Gawen asked.
Varys's smile stiffened. "Lord Crabb, what are you thinking?"
"My king has entrusted me with enough gold dragons. If you can get me a map, I believe I could launch a successful surprise assault."
A direct strike? Varys watched carefully. He wasn't joking.
Though surprised by Gawen's boldness, Varys showed no alarm. Perhaps this was why the Queen favored him.
The game needed slight adjustment. Varys, master of schemes, was already formulating his next move.
"I must admit," Varys said, "the King and Hand showed excellent judgment. You are indeed worthy of their trust."
Gawen thought to himself, But…
Varys leaned forward. "Still, I must selfishly put your safety first. I believe your plan could work. But…"
Gawen tilted his head. "But?"
"You remind me of the war years ago. Prince Rhaegar was dead. Most bent the knee immediately. Only the silent warriors of the Crab Claw Peninsula fought to the last man. That was loyalty—honor itself."
He sighed. "I failed in my duty. I warned King Aerys not to trust the Lannisters. And we all know how that ended."
"Now we serve King Robert. This isn't about sides. It's about character. I've always admired loyalty—not out of pity, but out of respect."
He looked Gawen in the eye. "You are their descendant. I see you differently. Where I can offer kindness, I will—with no expectation of reward."
Gawen looked visibly moved. His eyes lowered, and he sighed heavily.
Silence fell between them.
Then Gawen straightened, hand over heart. "Thank you, Lord Varys. Your kindness will not be forgotten. The Crabb name remembers."
Varys smiled. "But in the game of great powers, it is always the small who suffer most. Even if you succeed in Pentos, they may sacrifice you to serve 'the greater good.' You'd be accused of an unprovoked act of war."
Gawen fell silent, face unreadable.
Is this the real Gawen? Varys wondered. Based on his intel, Gawen was not a reckless man.
Which version is true?
Varys didn't rush to judge. As a man who dealt in shadows, he knew never to assume.
Men's hearts were ever-shifting. Nothing was fixed.
...
"I just can't think of a better way," Gawen finally admitted. "I thought three years would be enough, but I was too naive."
"You've overlooked something," said Varys.
"What is it?"
Varys stood, looked out the window, then returned.
He stared into Gawen's eyes.
"Have you considered that this might be an impossible task?"
Gawen frowned.
Varys leaned forward. "If a Targaryen heir stood before you… would your blade truly strike their heart?"
Gawen faltered. His lips moved, but no words came. His eyes fell.
Varys smiled faintly. "I see your hesitation."
Gawen stood. "Thank you for your counsel, Lord Varys."
With a respectful nod, he turned and walked out.
Varys clasped his hands and watched him go.
.
.
.
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