Crabb Estate.
Having just finished tidying up, Gawen was now reading a letter from Empajo, commander of the Thorn Legion.
…This was written in Westerosi pictographs?Judging from Empajo's personality and the current state of the Thorn Legion, Gawen furrowed his brow and analyzed it for quite some time before roughly deducing what Empajo was trying to convey.
Empajo has learned to compete with other legions for equipment? Gawen chuckled quietly.
Empajo, whom Gawen had set as the role model for the Crabb spear-maidens, had always performed excellently, but her character was far too straightforward.
There is no absolute good or bad in personality traits, but as a legion commander, Empajo needed a bit more flexibility.
Thus, Gawen was pleased to see this change in her and felt he should offer some encouragement.
He folded the letter back into the envelope and resealed it.
Someone like Empajo was not prone to accumulating many "black marks" in her life; this illustrated letter might well be one of the few such marks she would ever have. So Gawen decided to keep it.
He was curious—perhaps years or decades later—what kind of expression Empajo would have upon seeing this letter again.
…
Gawen cleared his throat and handed the sealed envelope to Surana."Surana, keep this safe for me."
Her eyes flickered slightly, but she accepted the envelope without a word, replying respectfully, "Yes, my lord."
Gawen continued, "Surana, write to Herschel on my behalf. Two matters… First, find a clerk for the Thorn Legion. Second, increase the allocation of the new short swords assigned to them. As for the exact number… let him decide."
Surana had become quite adept at handling the extra duties that fell to her.
Although merely a steward, she had long been in contact with the very core of the domain.
In the past—before they reclaimed their old lands—they had more than enough personnel.
Now, the size of House Crabb's domain had multiplied, yet they were still operating with the same manpower. For a time, these trusted people could only take on multiple roles to help the lord keep control.
…
Queen Cersei lacked patience, and before long, Gawen would have to leave Crabb Estate for King's Landing.
After working through the backlog of correspondence, he rubbed at his brow.
"Oh, and make sure to have some clothes made for Samwell soon. Mondon's clothes are still a bit too large for him."
When Samwell Tarly had left Horn Hill and joined Gawen's ranks, he had only the clothes on his back. His broad, stout frame made it hard to find ready-made garments, so they would need to be tailored.
Because of the one-month arrangement with Jon Arryn, Gawen's time was tight, forcing him to travel at speed.
Fortunately, in a pinch, the good-natured Mondon Waters had lent Samwell one of his robes, ensuring he had something to wear.
It was a small matter, yet it added a measure of dissatisfaction in Gawen's heart toward Duke Jon.
Here he was, running back and forth for Queen Cersei, while the Hand in the Red Keep could wield his authority to tie Gawen's hands—an irksome feeling indeed.
Outwardly, Gawen showed nothing, but inwardly he was a bit angry.
He silently declared: The Vale is an inseparable part of the Crab Claw Peninsula.
…
Gawen welcomed Samwell's arrival wholeheartedly.
Not only for his keen mind, but because his presence elevated the prestige of House Crabb.
Not everyone knew the inner workings of House Tarly; most only saw that the eldest son of the renowned Lord Randyll Tarly had become the squire of the Baron of House Crabb.
Samwell's service bolstered what Gawen most sorely lacked—status.
…
Surana nodded. "Mondon needs enough cloth for three men. Now that we have Samwell, should I order a few more garments in special sizes in advance?"
Gawen laughed. "Surana, are you making a joke with me?"
She answered earnestly, "My lord, making casual jokes to one's lord would be disrespectful. I truly mean it."
Gawen shook his head, eyes glinting with amusement. "Go on—what is it you wish to say?"
Surana inclined her head, stepped closer, and lowered her voice."You've been away so long, yet I noticed there wasn't a single lady from the Reach in the company."
Gawen raised a brow and leaned in slightly.
His sharp eye caught the sparkle in Surana's gaze. So the ever-serious Surana has a gossiping side?"I did meet an interesting lady," Gawen murmured.
Surana blinked—and?
"Her station is far too high; she wouldn't look twice at your lord."
Surana paused. "Did you declare your feelings?"
Gawen shook his head. "To grasp the rose, one must bear the thorn. I see no point in futile efforts."
Surana exhaled softly. "Then I am reassured—it's not what I feared most."
Gawen: "???"
"When I welcomed you back, I saw your retinue looked grander, yet I noted there wasn't a single woman. I've long harbored a quiet worry I dared not voice."
Gawen touched his forehead, speaking with rare helplessness: "Surana, you were my mother's most trusted maid. To me, you are family. Before me, you may always speak your mind."
She gave a little shrug. "I've confirmed there's nothing wrong. When I attended your bath earlier, I observed your reactions—they were normal. Combined with your… premature but harmless stirring, I see I was overthinking."
Gawen chuckled. "In any case, thank you for your concern."
"My lord, I have known many promising young men to be undone by impossible love, wasting away for it. A golden blossom will wither; a woman's beauty is fleeting, and most men's passions begin with looks that intoxicate.
The future Lady Crabb needn't be too exalted—a noble lady slightly below House Crabb's standing would be ideal. She can bear your heirs, and you can give her rank and protection. That is the balance that ensures a family's peace.
If it is beauty that stirs you… you can find that in a mistress. You have many gold dragons to spend now."
Gawen listened quietly, then asked, "Surana, is this my mother's counsel?"
She nodded. "I knew I couldn't hide it from you. I do not possess the Lady's brilliance. She always worried for you. Before her passing, she left me words to share at the right moment."
Silence lingered a while.
Then Gawen asked, "Surana… can you tell me the full truth now?"
She hesitated, then replied, "My lord, your wisdom is no less than the Lady's. I believe you have guessed—it all began with that war more than a decade ago."
…
By evening, Gawen, surrounded by his household guard, passed through the Lion Gate and entered King's Landing.
As soon as he reached Hookport, he spotted Jaime Lannister on a white horse.
Jaime's golden hair still flowed in the wind, and his bearing remained proud, but Gawen's sharp eyes detected something new—a certain edge that hadn't been there before.
Dismounting, Gawen handed his reins to his retainer Matil.
With Samwell—now sporting slicked-back hair—at his side, he walked toward Jaime.
Jaime dismounted as well, tossing something to Gawen.
Catching it, Gawen looked down. "A key?" he asked.
Perhaps absence had made the heart fonder; after some time apart, Gawen felt closer to Jaime.
Jaime spread his hands. "Queen Cersei thought you'd been running around quite a bit on her behalf, so she prepared a small house for you—to make your stay more comfortable."
A small house by Lannister standards… of course, still extravagant.
Passing the key to Samwell, Gawen raised a brow. "Ser Jaime, this was your idea, wasn't it?"
Jaime smirked. "You guessed right, young baron. I'm not one for flowery speeches, so I picked up a key along the way—it's an easy way to show the Queen's reward."
Samwell scratched his head, unsure what to do with it, until Gawen told him with a smile, "Take it, Sam. Keep it."
Jaime glanced at Mondon, then at Samwell. "Are they brothers?"
At that, Mondon and Samwell exchanged looks—Mondon grinned, Samwell looked away shyly.
Gawen introduced them. "Sam, this is Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard."
Samwell bowed clumsily. "Good day, Ser Jaime. An honor to meet you. I'm Samwell Tarly, of the Reach, squire to Baron Gawen Crabb."
Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Tarly of Horn Hill?"
Samwell faltered, looking to Gawen for help.
Gawen said, "Ser Jaime, Sam is a Tarly of the Crab Claw Peninsula."
Jaime nodded casually. "Come on, I'll take you there. This is the Queen's order."
…
On the way, Jaime remarked, "Baron Gawen, I've been investigating during this time—gathered a lot of intelligence."
Gawen's interest piqued. "Any useful finds?"
"Plenty—perhaps too many," Jaime said.
"Sounds like you've spent a lot of gold dragons," Gawen noted.
"That's the method I know best," Jaime replied.
Gawen thought for a moment. "Most of what you've gathered is likely meant to mislead."
Jaime adjusted his horse. "You're good at this, Baron. I feel the same, but I can't pinpoint why."
"That's normal. Plotters will hide themselves while deliberately feeding us false trails," Gawen said.
Jaime's green eyes glinted coldly—he despised such shadowy schemers.
"Ser Jaime, you once told me that as long as something threatens Queen Cersei, you don't care who the mastermind is—you'll face them. Is that still true?"
Jaime fixed him with a look. "Do you already know who it is?"
"Hmm. I stumbled on something during my trip," Gawen said gravely. "We may need to work together this time—if you're willing."
…
Highgarden, balcony.
The sky was blue as parchment, thin clouds drifting lazily on the breeze.
"Margaery, let me hear it."
The speaker was Margaery Tyrell's grandmother, Lady Olenna Redwyne, the famed Queen of Thorns.
Born to House Redwyne of the Arbor, sixty-nine-year-old Olenna had long since lost her teeth; small of stature, her silver hair was wrapped in a deep green headdress.
Rumor had it she needed a cane and was nearly deaf, though many suspected she only pretended so to mislead others.
Never one to avoid speaking her mind, Olenna's wit was as sharp as it was barbed, earning her title.
Though she often teased members of the Tyrell family, Margaery knew her grandmother was a staunch defender of the family's interests.
Knowing Olenna's impatience, Margaery recounted recent events in detail from memory.
When she finished, Olenna gripped her chair's armrest. "I don't like that young man's tricks, but I admit he has skill. A bug has crept into the rosebush, unafraid of the thorns. How to deal with him is up to you—and yours."
Margaery nodded obediently. "I understand, Grandmother…"
"No, you don't, my granddaughter." Olenna cut her off. "I'm a sharp-tongued old woman; I speak plainly. Whether you like it or not, you must make the little bug work for the rose—pollinate it. That is how the golden rose endures."
Margaery's brown eyes trembled. "I've never thought you harsh. I can feel your love—for me, for our family."
Olenna, her back bent with age, gazed at her beautiful granddaughter as if looking into her own youth.
A fond smile touched her lips. "Thank you for your praise, light of Highgarden. Come, sit by me, and let me bask in the Reach's sun."
Blushing, Margaery sat beside her, taking her wrinkled hand in her own soft, pale one.
"My granddaughter, I can sense you're uneasy. Why? Is it that pig-headed duke of a father?"
Her grandmother never spared her father from mockery. Over time, it had become a Tyrell family tradition—so much so that Lord Mace once joked he felt something missing from life if he went too long without it.
Margaery couldn't help but laugh, covering her mouth too late.
Olenna laughed with her for a moment, then patted her hand. "Don't be so hard on yourself, my dear. You're not a statue in the garden."
Still blushing, Margaery nodded.
"Now, tell me—why are you uneasy?"
"I'm hesitant… Since dealing with the Queen's officer from the Crownlands, I've felt pressured. He's hard to handle, yet Father needs my help. I'm afraid I can't control him."
"Then remove him," Olenna said firmly.
Margaery's pupils tightened.
"See? The choice is yours. Baron Crabb is only one man—you have the Golden Rose at your back.
Look at your father. A wild boar could do better in his seat. Back then… I was blinded by my husband's charms in bed, and didn't notice my son's stupidity in time. Had I realized earlier, I might have knocked sense into that fat head with a wooden spoon… Where was I? Ah—yes. One person's strength is nothing before a great house; it can be ignored entirely.
You have talent, Margaery. Don't compare your weaknesses to another's strengths—that's folly."
Olenna's words lifted the shadow from Margaery's heart. "Thank you, Grandmother. I understand now."
"Mm. This time, you truly do," Olenna said, studying her.
"I'm not one to sit idle," she went on. "I've looked into that young man—he reminds me of Tywin, another who bore his family's burdens from youth.
When their houses passed to them, both were in decline. Without achievement, they would have faded into obscurity."
Margaery's eyes widened. "Lannister?"
"Yes—the cunning lions who devour gold yet shout about repaying debts. Now there's a Lannister queen, and the Iron Throne's heirs have Lannister blood. But people forget—under Tywin's father, the lion's roar was a joke."
Olenna tapped her chair's armrest.
"If Baron Crabb can keep Mace so pleased, let him be Hand and happily foolish forever. That too can be the Golden Rose's chance."
Margaery pressed her lips together, then nodded solemnly.
.
.
.
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