The governor's courtyard was filled with flowers of every color, each in full bloom.
Sensing movement, Gawen and Illyrio both turned their eyes in the same direction.
The first thing Gawen saw was a flicker of pale silver light glinting over a figure robed in purple.
Silver hair, violet eyes — petite yet well-proportioned, with a touch of timidity in her expression that could not conceal her striking beauty.
So young, and already… hair as white as snow, Gawen thought with a faint smile.
He placed a hand to his chest and bowed. "Good day, Your Grace. I am Gawen Crabb, Baron of Whispers Hall. It is an honor to meet you."
When Daenerys saw his face clearly, her eyes widened slightly.
In her mind, the "half-wildling" her brother spoke of should have been burly, rough-featured, and intimidating. No one knew how much courage it had taken her just to walk here.
Yet the so-called "half-wildling" before her was tall and slender, wearing a blue robe, with a longsword at his waist, white trousers, and deerskin boots.
His dark hair and brown eyes framed a fair, handsome face — refined yet without softness, carrying a steadiness beyond his years.
So this is the half-wildling noble, Baron Gawen Crabb? She felt her resistance to meeting him melt away.
When Daenerys continued to stare at Gawen without moving, Illyrio broke the silence. "Princess Daenerys, House Crabb has long been a model of Targaryen loyalty. Though you are far away in Essos, they have never ceased to care for your safety."
Startled back to herself, Daenerys quickly lowered her gaze, her face tinged with both shyness and embarrassment.
She stole another glance at him from the corner of her eye, and seeing no change in his expression, let out a small sigh of relief.
Gawen's brow lifted slightly at Illyrio's words.
Was that a hint?
Steadying herself, Daenerys spoke in a clear, light voice. "Welcome, Lord Gawen."
She extended the back of her hand toward him. Her skin, smooth and delicate, seemed even fairer in the sunlight.
Gawen bent, took her hand lightly, and gave it a symbolic touch.
When the greeting was done, Illyrio smiled. "Princess Daenerys, I think you and Lord Gawen will have much to discuss."
With a wave of his hand, he signaled for the attendants to follow him out, leaving the two of them alone in the courtyard.
Gawen had already noticed that Daenerys was forcing herself to appear calm.
The as-yet-unawakened Daenerys seemed just an ordinary, beautiful girl… No, with the heavy burden of the Targaryen name, she was, for now, simply a pitiable soul.
In the original tale, she had paid dearly — losing her brother, her khal, and her child — before she awakened the queen within. If she could live it all again, would she still choose that path?
Gawen's voice was warm. "Your Grace, you seem troubled."
Without waiting for her reply, he glanced at the flowerbeds and began plucking delicate blossoms in a variety of colors.
Daenerys's lips parted slightly as she watched, uncertain how to speak.
Without pausing in his work, Gawen smiled. "Do not worry, Your Grace — no trace will be left behind."
Curiosity got the better of her, and she moved closer to watch.
His picking was indeed skillful — had she not seen the flowers accumulating in his hand, the beds would have looked untouched.
Her heart began to beat faster. It felt oddly thrilling, as if they were conspiring in some harmless mischief together.
His hands were long-fingered and well-shaped, as handsome as her brother's.
Is he… going to give me these flowers? She pushed aside any thought of the impropriety of "stealing" them.
When he had gathered enough, Gawen stopped and sat down at the edge of the bed.
But instead of handing them to her, he began to weave them into something.
A baron who plays with flowers? She felt a small pang of disappointment.
She remembered her brother's instructions but did not know how to begin.
Gawen glanced up at her hesitant face. "Your Grace, do you wish my help with what troubles you?"
She nodded slightly, her voice crisp but tinged with nerves. "Lord Gawen, would you… could you swear your loyalty to me?"
She could not shape the words into courtly grace, but she did not retreat — she spoke plainly.
He paused in his weaving and asked mildly, "I might consider it. But… should you not first tell me what I would gain by pledging myself to you?"
His tone was gentle, without mockery, as if it were a matter of course.
And Daenerys did not feel he was trying to make things difficult for her.
Yes… what could I give him now? She had never thought of that.
Her eyes grew damp as she faced the truth she least wanted to — all she possessed was the body her brother despised.
She feared awakening Viserys's "sleeping dragon's wrath," feared more that he would cast her aside in disappointment.
Taking a deep breath, she flushed crimson, as though steeling herself for a decision.
Gawen's intent, however, was only to give her a small lesson in the basics of the game of thrones.
She reminded him of Aimparo, the girl who had once misunderstood his words.
He had always known that he was the one who truly did not belong to this world.
Standing, he took her trembling hand from his shoulder — and placed the woven garland gently upon her head.
"In the tourneys of Westeros, the champion may choose the most beautiful maiden present to crown with flowers, naming her the Queen of Love and Beauty."
Stepping back, he said, "Princess Daenerys, I am the preordained champion of the next tourney. I claim the right to crown you early."
This isn't what my brother told me at all… But she felt the sincerity in his gesture, and an unguarded, genuine smile touched her lips.
Blinking, she thought Gawen suddenly looked even more handsome than Viserys.
When she found him watching her intently, she looked down quickly, cheeks warm.
The air between them was too gentle. Gawen cleared his throat. "Let me guess — someone told you to seek my loyalty?"
Her brother's anger flashed in her memory, cooling the sweetness of the moment.
Looking at his kind face, she murmured, "Right now, I have only myself."
He shook his head. "A true dragon would never wed the so-called half-wildling noble."
Does he already know? Her eyes widened. "You are no half-wildling, my lord — that is but a false rumor."
He shrugged. "The world cares little for the truth — unless… my sword rests at their breast. Only then do they face what they'd rather not. Power comes from the sword in your hand, Your Grace."
Her gaze flicked to the weapon at his side.
Her brother, too, had a fine sword — but he did not know how to wield it. It was a symbol, nothing more.
Perhaps she understood something then, though only faintly.
"You are young, Your Grace, and your road is long. There's no need for worry."
Clap! Clap!
At his signal, two tall, broad-shouldered women entered.
"This is Borona, and this is Osanna," Gawen said. "They were both centurions in House Crabb's Thorn Legion. If you wish, they will serve as your attendants from today onward."
Daenerys could sense they were formidable fighters.
She wanted to agree at once — but worried her brother might resent her decision.
She remembered the maid who had died protecting her.
Gawen read her hesitation. "If you agree, I will speak to Magister Illyrio myself."
She shook her head. "Thank you for your kindness, Lord Gawen. I will remember it always. And I will protect them as well."
She realized she could be brave. That tragedy would not be repeated.
"They are Crabb centurions, employed by you," Gawen said. "They answer only to you, and their loyalty is yours alone."
He turned to them. "Warrior Borona. Warrior Osanna. Do you understand your duty?"
They gripped their sword hilts, standing tall. "Yes, my lord!"
"Anyone who harms them without your leave is declaring war on House Crabb," Gawen added.
By now, Daenerys understood why Viserys wanted Gawen's loyalty — he commanded the forces her brother most coveted.
But for the Iron Throne's sake, she believed he would not harm her new attendants.
Gawen raised a finger. "One more thing.
"The Iron Throne does not trust House Crabb — not since the war over a decade ago. I cannot stay in Pentos for long."
Though they had just met, Daenerys felt a safety with him unlike anything before. The thought of his departure brought a flicker of sadness to her face.
Timidly she asked, "Weren't you sent to hunt… us? If you return so soon, will you not be blamed?"
He shrugged. "I am still the Queen's Chief Attendant — I must tend to that role as well."
Seeing her puzzlement, he smiled. "It's like being a squire — only freer."
That drew a small laugh from her.
He went on, "One of my kinsmen will remain here. He made a mistake, and for convenience he will pose as a Crabb bastard. His name is Dick — tall and thin, looks rather like a thief. You'll recognize him easily."
Looks like a thief? She laughed again.
"You can trust him," Gawen said. "He will be at the Crabb Trading Company here in Pentos."
The Reach – Highgarden
Margaery Tyrell's steps were quicker than usual.
As she neared the terrace garden, she slowed back to her usual measured pace.
She found her grandmother and father there, and curtsied.
Mace Tyrell stroked his beard with a smile. "My dear Margaery, when you appear, every flower pales."
Olenna Redwyne, the Queen of Thorns, gave her son a sidelong look. "And you, Lord Mace, could make even these flowers wilt."
Mace laughed heartily, taking no offense — if anything, as if it were praise.
Margaery had grown up hearing her grandmother's barbs at her father, yet they still made her smile.
Lady Olenna sniffed and turned to her granddaughter. "Weren't you meant to be embroidering? Why have you come here?"
Margaery's smile faded. "Grandmother. Father. A letter from the Hand of the King."
Mace straightened. "Margaery — is there news?"
She nodded. "Father, Lord Jon Arryn invites you to the Red Keep to serve as his adviser. You are among the candidates to be the next Hand of the King."
Mace blinked, murmuring, "Gawen — I knew he would prove reliable."
He sprang to his feet, stroking his beard with excitement. "Mother, Margaery — at last, it is the Gold Rose's turn to claim the Hand's seat!"
Olenna looked as though she could hardly bear the sight, and held out her hand to Margaery. "Is there more?"
Margaery handed her the letter. "Grandmother — some of the names on the list of candidates are… unexpected."
Olenna glanced at her granddaughter's troubled face, then narrowed her eyes and began to read.
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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