A faint smile tugged at Gawen Crabb's lips.
"Princess Myrcella Baratheon."
Tyrion Lannister covered his face. "Seven hells…"
After a pause, he slumped back in his chair and muttered weakly,
"Gawen, how did you figure it out?"
"This wasn't hard to guess."
Tyrion's eyes flickered.
"Everyone knows the Prince of Dorne is a man of deep feelings. The Dornish haven't forgotten their hatred for the Lannisters."
Gawen shook his head slightly.
"The Prince of Dorne is the leader of his people. Personal feelings don't outweigh Dorne's interests. And right now, the Seven Kingdoms' turmoil plays directly to their advantage."
Tyrion straightened.
"Gawen, Doran Martell is proud and stubborn. How could he simply put aside such blood-deep grudges?!"
It sounded as though he were arguing with himself, then he added:
"First soothe their pride a little—with the Mountain's head…"
Gawen lifted a shoulder. "Doesn't it sound obvious?"
Tyrion said nothing. He filled his empty cup, slid it across the table to Gawen, and looked at him with sudden seriousness.
"Gawen, will you help me?"
Gawen arched a brow.
"Tyrion, you make it sound as if you're asking me to betray Queen Regent Cersei."
Tyrion swirled his wine.
"My sweet sister Cersei… gentle as Maegor the Cruel, selfless as King Aegon the Unworthy, and wise as Aerys the Mad.
"She never forgets a slight—whether someone actually wronged her or only in her imagination. Her judgment comes from what she thinks she knows.
"She can't tell the difference between caution and cowardice. She never listens to unwelcome truths. And worst of all… she's insatiably greedy for power and glory."
His gaze sharpened.
"She trusts you enough to make you commander of the Goldcloaks, yet it is because you command the Goldcloaks that her trust in you may waver at any moment."
Gawen showed no change of expression.
"I like the Queen Regent's bluntness. Starting over to rebuild loyalty… that's too tiring."
Tyrion sipped his wine, studying him. Well, sometimes my sister can be surprisingly easy to handle.
After a beat, he set his cup down.
"Gawen, for three hundred years the Crabb peninsula has sworn direct loyalty to the queen. Soon Joffrey will have a queen of his own. You wouldn't abandon family tradition, would you?"
Gawen's tone was even.
"Tyrion, has the king found his bride yet?"
Tyrion hesitated, then sighed.
"Lady Sansa would have been the perfect choice. If Joffrey married her, we'd bind the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale together. But my dear nephew's methods of wooing women are… unusual."
The smile faded from Gawen's face.
"Tyrion, Joffrey is only thirteen. You may discuss the Crabb tradition again once he actually has a queen."
Tyrion longed to clutch his forehead. But I need something now.
Gawen pressed, "What exactly did you say to Cersei?"
"My dear sister was boasting to her dear brother that she held King's Landing in her grip. My mouth outran my brain…"
Tyrion grinned crookedly.
"I asked her if she ruled this city with the weapon between her legs."
Gawen's eyes flickered. Words like that would certainly plant doubts in Cersei's mind—doubts about his loyalty. In her eyes, only those who shared her bed could truly be trusted.
Was Tyrion telling the truth? Or was he hiding behind the excuse of a careless tongue?
Gawen set his thoughts aside, fingers brushing the rim of his cup.
"Tyrion, I have no interest in throwing my lot in with anyone else."
Tyrion's eyes gleamed with amusement.
"Then what do you take an interest in these days?"
"The Vale."
Tyrion blinked.
"You're aiming for Lady Lysa?!"
He paused, as if persuading himself:
"Well… close your eyes and get it over with, married life might be bearable."
Gawen: "…"
Tyrion chuckled.
"Relax, you look so grim it makes me nervous."
Behind his jest, his mind was spinning. He'd studied the long hostility between the Vale and the Crabb peninsula. More precisely, the Crabb folk bore a centuries-old hatred of the Vale.
Is he really offering to trade the command of the Goldcloaks for support in his peninsula's war of vengeance?
But Cersei can barely hold King's Landing together—she can't spare troops. If the Crabb peninsula strikes while the Vale is in chaos, wouldn't that help them end their civil strife by uniting against a common foe?
Tyrion squinted at Gawen. This man can't possibly be so naïve.
He probed with a smile:
"Gawen, until the king's two uncles are dealt with, the Red Keep's support will be… limited. You know that, don't you?"
Gawen nodded.
Tyrion pressed further:
"And yet you'd trade six thousand Goldcloaks just to have the Red Keep beat the war drums for you? Even my sister enjoys such games."
Gawen's brown eyes fixed on him.
"That is only the second path…"
A faint smile curved his lips.
"Tyrion, I believe your wit can save this crisis. On one condition—if you can step past the Queen Regent and rule King's Landing yourself."
Tyrion studied him for a long moment.
"Gawen, can you truly give me command of six thousand Goldcloaks?"
Gawen gestured to his hand.
"Not the Goldcloaks. I can put King's Landing itself in your palm."
"Ha…" Tyrion laughed, masking his thundering pulse and his distrust.
He raised his cup toward Gawen. Compliments pleased him. The offer was tempting. But what was Gawen's true aim?
The wine went down smooth and rich. Would Gawen betray me? Was this Cersei's hand moving behind the curtain?
But if Gawen truly could help him seize the city… the lure was undeniable.
Tyrion scratched his cheek with a finger. He almost longed to see his sister's face when she lost—for that alone, it might be worth it.
Gawen rose.
"Lord Hand, take your time considering."
Pausing beside Tyrion's chair, he laid a hand on the dwarf's small shoulder.
"If you don't wish to end up in the black cells, I suggest you contact Lord Tywin. At least convince the Queen Regent that Tyrion the Hand is nothing more than father's dutiful errand boy."
Tyrion called after him:
"Hey, my friend, stay a while longer—we can talk more."
Already at the door, Gawen glanced back.
"I don't accept invitations without sincerity."
With a sweep of his blue cloak embroidered with golden marigolds, he left the tavern.
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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