As soon as Gawen entered King's Landing, he heard from Joffrey that the city's most prominent figures were gathered at the Great Sept of Baelor.
A thought stirred in Gawen's mind, and he immediately rode straight for the Red Keep.
Red Keep, Maegor's Holdfast.
As he approached Maegor's Holdfast, Gawen's keen senses picked up on the heavy tension in the air.
His brow furrowed, and with a flick of his blue cloak, he quickened his pace.
Tap-tap-tap… Only the sound of his hurried footsteps echoed in the empty corridors.
When Gawen reached the Queen's chambers, he quickly spotted Jaime Lannister standing guard outside the door.
Jaime's expression was dark, and his stance carried a faint hint of disarray.
Gawen glanced at the half-open door and offered a polite greeting. "Good day, Ser Jaime. Where is Her Grace the Queen?"
Jaime's smile was tinged with bitterness as he patted Gawen's arm. "Good day. Cersei… the Queen… is not receiving visitors today—"
Before Jaime could finish, Cersei Lannister's voice came from inside.
"Come in, both of you!"
Gawen and Jaime exchanged a glance.
Gawen: Not receiving visitors?
Jaime: Go in and see for yourself.
Gawen gave a faint smirk, withdrew his gaze, and pushed the door open, stepping inside alongside Jaime.
The Queen sat at the edge of her bed, dressed in a wine-red, off-shoulder gown.
A glaring red mark adorned her left cheek, which she made no effort to conceal.
Her back was straight, chin tilted upward in pride.
Before either man could offer their courtesies, Cersei's emerald eyes flicked toward Gawen. "Lord Crabb, come here."
Gawen paused for the briefest instant before moving forward, lowering himself in front of her.
He glanced at the swollen mark on her cheek, his voice tight with restrained anger. "Was this… the King's doing?"
Cersei did not answer, but Gawen caught the thin shimmer of tears in her beautiful eyes.
She's putting on a show for me… Cersei is no fragile woman.
He silently marveled at her talent—how well she understood certain weaknesses in men.
With the atmosphere already so charged, Gawen knew it would break character to draw back now.
In that moment, Jaime's presence gave him a sense of safety.
Gawen's eyes glinted coldly, his voice sharp. "Your Grace, give the word and I'll go and cut him down immediately!"
Cersei leaned forward, drawing Gawen's head into her embrace.
The corner of her lips curled ever so slightly.
Soft… Gawen thought. Perhaps next time I should wear a helm.
"Gawen, this is the medal of honor."
Her hand smoothed the hair at the back of his head as she continued, "What truly angers me is that Robert dared to threaten me with Joffrey! He wants to send Joffrey to Storm's End, to force us apart."
Gawen's voice was muffled against her gown. "Your Grace, what would you have me do?"
She felt the warmth of his breath and her lips curved faintly.
Bending down, she pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head before releasing him.
Her mastery in handling men was unmatched… Gawen blinked, then rose and stepped back to stand beside the unruffled Jaime.
Well, Westerosi men really do have a one-track mind. Ahem.
Shaking off the thought, he looked back to the Queen.
"Jaime, Gawen! That drunken fool dared to use my son against me—I will not swallow this insult."
The memory of Robert's threat reignited Cersei's fury.
Jaime spoke evenly. "Your Grace, we will find a way."
He gave the faintest of nods.
Her gaze softened and her lips curved, her anger melting away.
Gawen seemed not to notice the silent exchange between twins.
After a moment's thought, he spoke. "Your Grace, I've heard that Lord Renly resembles King Robert greatly in his younger years?"
Cersei gave a cold snort, reluctant to answer, but knowing Gawen had never disappointed her, she gave a slight nod.
Gawen smiled faintly. "Robert may have angered you, but he is still the King, so we can afford to bide our time. However… Ser Jaime and I could give Lord Renly a lesson on your behalf. That should be acceptable, yes?"
Jaime, still holding back his own anger, was tempted. Yet he replied, "Lord Crabb, Renly is Lord of Storm's End, the King's brother, and Master of Laws. Even a small matter could become a major scandal."
He might have been speaking reason, but Jaime recalled Renly's past schemes against Cersei… and truth be told, he liked the idea.
Cersei was intrigued. "And how do you propose to do that?"
Eyeing Jaime, Gawen pressed his lips together and replied, "Your Grace, my plan isn't elaborate. Ser Jaime and I are swordsmen, and swordsmen have our own way of settling matters.
"I've heard the great lords are gathered at the Great Sept of Baelor for Lord Jon's funeral. Renly often boasts of his guards' skill, so we could provoke him there… I would take the lead, as Ser Jaime's position makes some matters delicate."
He had no intention of letting these so-called lords enjoy a harmonious gathering.
If they had come together for political gain, then the atmosphere should match.
The devil was in the details—and he would start with a small spark.
Jaime raised a brow. "You're not worried for yourself?"
It was a subtle warning—Renly was not to be underestimated.
Gawen shrugged. "That's why I need your support, Ser Jaime."
Being a Crownlands noble, Renly was not his liege; as long as he stayed within certain bounds, there would be little trouble.
Jaime considered, then gave a silent nod. His anger still smoldered, and this plan seemed appealing.
It wasn't quite enough to fully capture Cersei's interest—had Gawen suggested killing Renly outright, that might have been different.
Still, with Jaime's clear stance and Gawen's performance, she was pleased enough to indulge them.
Her voice was unusually gentle. "Two knights—I await your victorious return."
They weren't going to war, and bringing too many men would make their provocation obvious.
So Gawen kept his entourage to just four Crabb bluecloaks.
Jaime chose twelve Lannister redcloaks—the minimum for his own security.
Buoyed by Cersei's encouragement, Jaime's spirits were high.
On the road, Gawen cautioned, "Ser Jaime, your main task is to watch the show."
Jaime, golden hair flowing and white cloak billowing, looked the picture of gallantry.
He shot Gawen a sidelong glance. "Lord Crabb, I thought you liked making a spectacle of things?"
Gawen spread his hands. "Ser Jaime, I'll keep my word."
Jaime understood he meant the promise to deal with Renly.
A smirk touched his lips. "A Lannister always pays his debts."
Great Sept of Baelor, White Marble Square.
Jaime reined in his horse and tilted his chin toward a spot in the crowd.
Following his gaze, Gawen saw a flash of green beneath the crowned stag banner.
The green figure was surrounded by a group of laughing courtiers.
Renly is certainly making a display of himself.
And in such high spirits? Wasn't Lord Jon's funeral still underway?
So this was Westerosi-style mourning, was it?
Gawen dismounted, handing his reins to a guard.
He glanced at Jaime. "Ser Jaime, seeing Lord Renly now—doesn't it make you feel fonder of Tyrion?"
Jaime shrugged. "He has his flaws, but he's always been capable."
Gawen sighed. "I heard Renly had barely come of age when Lord Jon brought him from Storm's End to the Small Council as Master of Laws—he truly invested in his training…"
Jaime cast him an odd look.
He remembered well that Gawen had once wanted to execute Lord Jon himself. And the Crabb Claw Peninsula's enmity with the Vale's nobility led by Lord Jon was hardly a secret.
"…Perhaps you've mellowed," Jaime said dryly.
They spoke as they walked toward Renly's group.
"Ser Jaime, the mood here is so festive—is there a wedding? You said Lord Jon's funeral wasn't over yet."
The remark carried clearly, and the laughter around Renly ceased.
Before Jaime could answer, Gawen pointed toward the banner. "That's House Baratheon's crowned stag, isn't it? Does that mean Lord Stannis is here as well?"
Not what Jaime had hoped for—though he kept his face calm, inwardly he winced.
He played along. "Quite possibly. Stannis and Lord Jon were close allies."
"Jaime, are you going to ignore me?"
Renly approached with a sly smile.
About twenty years old, dressed in green, tall and broad-shouldered, with black hair falling to his shoulders and a clean, handsome face. His blue eyes sparkled with easy charm.
Jaime shrugged. "I see you now."
Renly laughed, seemingly unfazed by the cool greeting.
Gawen, the connoisseur of performance, noted that Renly's joviality lacked the natural ease of Robert's—it was the mirroring of a younger brother.
Leaning closer to Jaime, Gawen asked, "Who is he?"
Though his voice was pitched low, everyone heard clearly.
Renly's smile faltered.
Jaime's lips curved faintly. "Lord Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and Master of Laws."
Gawen's brows lifted, and he bowed slightly. "Good day, Lord Renly. I am Lord Gawen Crabb of Whispers Hall."
Renly inclined his head with the barest of nods.
Resting a hand on his sword hilt, Gawen glanced around. "I could hear laughter from afar… Has Lord Jon's funeral already ended?"
The air seemed to grow still.
Whispers Hall? From the Crab Claw Peninsula?
Some Crownlands nobles considered rebuking this half-wild lordling, but seeing him beside Jaime, they held back and decided to watch.
They could tell Gawen's words carried deliberate edge—something more was at play.
"Master of Laws, forgive my boldness—my question may have nothing to do with the law."
He arched a brow. "Lord Renly, I only ask out of curiosity."
Jaime's green eyes flicked toward Gawen.
This isn't provocation—he's outright questioning a lord's honor.
And on the way here, he had the gall to warn me not to make a scene… Well done.
Renly's smile faded entirely, his blue eyes fixed on Gawen.
Gawen's tone remained warm. "Lord Renly?"
The tension was palpable, the crowd watching closely.
Suddenly, a young man in golden armor stepped forward from behind Renly.
"You dare insult Lord Renly!" he declared.
Slender and fine-featured, with long brown hair and striking golden eyes, his beauty was almost delicate.
Gawen had to admit—he felt a rare twinge of aesthetic pressure.
He recognized the man: Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, Renly's close "attendant."
Feigning ignorance of the prominent golden rose on his breastplate, Gawen asked Jaime, "And who is this, ser?"
All for Cersei… sigh.
Jaime glanced at him. "The Golden Rose of Highgarden, Ser Loras Tyrell."
Gawen gave a slight nod. "Ser Loras, how exactly have I offended Lord Renly? Speak plainly."
The beautiful knight hesitated, at a loss for words.
After a pause, Gawen's brows arched. "Ser, are you falsely accusing the Queen's Chief Officer?"
It was not a grand title, but a peculiar one—one that, when outside the Red Keep, meant he represented the Queen to some extent.
.
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