The flames in the hearth flickered, crackling now and then.
Lady Olenna's figure was slight and wiry, her keen eyes seeming to pierce straight through to a person's heart.
The old woman before him had a talent for making people feel pressured.
Hearing Olenna's words, Gawen's expression did not change. He simply picked up his wine cup and slowly swirled it.
"Honored Lady Olenna, are you advising me to be careful?"
He took a sip of the golden Arbor wine before continuing. "Mm… the women of King's Landing already hate me. Ser Loras is greatly beloved by them."
He glanced briefly at Margaery Tyrell, who seemed to be glaring at him.
Why is the Little Rose glaring at me? Though he felt puzzled, he pretended not to notice—he was, after all, a man of broad mind.
Why was Margaery glaring at Gawen? His manners were outwardly proper, but she could sense a certain casualness—almost dismissiveness—in how he addressed her grandmother, a lack of the deference due.
Could it be true, as he had once said, that in the eyes of the Baron of Whispers Hall there was only the Queen, and everyone else was secondary?
If that were indeed the case, neither the Red Keep nor King's Landing could possibly tolerate him.
Margaery's smile softened. She was a patient observer.
Lady Olenna, her wrinkled face smiling, said, "Gawen, you're a witty man. It has been a long time since this old woman has met someone as amusing as you."
Gawen shook his head slightly. "I'm honored by your praise. I've always felt the Red Keep lacked a sense of humor, and I'm still learning."
Olenna said bluntly, "I learned long ago that in the Red Keep, nothing ever happens without a reason."
The Lord of Whispers Hall was forthright as ever. "Queen Cersei is not particularly fond of His Majesty Robert's younger brother. Today, I happened to learn of the matter as soon as I arrived at Maegor's Holdfast. As the Queen's Chief Officer of Affairs, she entrusted me with the task."
Margaery's rose-colored lips parted as if to speak, but she thought better of it.
Olenna's tone was tinged with mockery. "It's a rare thing indeed for the Queen to share the same dislike as an old crone for a preening lord."
Gawen's brow quirked, his voice mild. "That's a good thing."
Margaery interjected, "Grandmother, Lord Renly is both brave and gracious, and greatly admired."
Olenna scoffed. "He knows how to dress handsomely, he knows which smiles win people over, and he is ever attempting a poor imitation of his kingly brother."
"Grandmother…" Margaery said helplessly.
Gawen chuckled. "Lady Olenna, your eyes are indeed sharp."
The remark made the air at the table go still for a moment.
Margaery recovered quickly. "Lord Gawen, the Lord of Storm's End is a man of high station. We…" She glanced at her indifferent grandmother and Gawen, then continued, "We must not speak rashly."
Gawen shrugged. "Are there any other ears here, Lady Margaery? We're among friends."
The corner of Margaery's eye twitched. She said nothing, instead turning her gaze to her grandmother at the head of the table.
Olenna's eyes narrowed slightly, her voice a touch louder. "Very good, young Gawen. We share much common ground—our conversation will be all the more pleasant for it."
Gawen smiled and gave her a small nod.
After a pause, Olenna suddenly said, "I hear you greatly admire my foolish son?"
Without hesitation, Gawen replied, "Lady Olenna, I have always respected Lord Mace. I may be but a minor lord, yet I know the difficulties of ruling even a small domain. How much more so the Reach? When I had the honor of seeing its prosperity, I could not help but admire Lord Mace's achievements."
Margaery's lips moved, her gaze meeting her grandmother's.
Grandmother, do you hear him?
Olenna looked at Gawen for a long moment. "You have a nimble tongue—and a sweet one at that. No wonder the Lord of Highgarden is so fond of you.
"There are certain matters you surely know better than I. I am but a half-deaf old woman… The Master of Whisperers has passed along some information to us, as though the Golden Rose should be grateful for the crumbs.
"Everyone has their desires—whether known or not. If you ask me, Varys had the most useful part of a man cut away. What joy can he seek other than the pursuit of power?"
"You see clearly, my lady."
"Grandmother…"
"I learned when I was younger than both of you," Olenna went on, "that every stone in King's Landing has ears. And the gardens of Highgarden have their share of spiders too. If they follow the rules, I let them be. But if they get in the way—stamp them dead."
Gawen sat still, eyes closing briefly.
When he opened them, he looked at Margaery. "You needn't worry, my lady. At least this dining room has no hidden ears."
Margaery smiled politely. "Lord Gawen, you are both attentive and considerate."
In the mansion of the Golden Rose, there would never be unwanted listeners without permission.
Beneath the table, her small fist clenched once.
"I discussed the question of the new Hand of the King with several close allies on the Small Council," Gawen continued. "We all believe the Lord of Winterfell will be Robert's choice. Lord Varys was present as well."
Olenna gave a faint, knowing hum. "In a Red Keep thick with lies and intrigue… I wonder, young man, what you intend to do next?"
Gawen's brow lifted. "My lady, you seem to be implying something."
Her voice carried the edge of anger. "Is the Lannister Queen going back on her word?"
"Lannisters do not go back on their word," Gawen replied with a small shrug. "Queen Cersei herself nominated Lord Mace as a candidate for Hand in the Small Council, and confirmed him as an advisor to the former Hand, aiding in the governance of the realm."
He sighed. "I imagine you know this already. Everything was proceeding smoothly, until…"
He shook his head, a trace of sorrow crossing his features.
Margaery glanced at her grandmother, who was watching Gawen intently, and said, "Though there's been an unforeseen turn, we still hope to see matters through to the end."
"I agree completely," Gawen said seriously. "But…"
Margaery was instantly reminded of the Reach banquet, when Gawen had made her father laugh aloud by saying everything before the 'but' is meaningless. She had been nearby then, and the words had stuck with her.
"The death of the old Hand has dampened Her Grace's enthusiasm," Gawen went on.
"Dampened? Please speak plainly, my lord," Margaery pressed.
"Upon seeing the Lord of Winterfell's name on the list, everyone knew the truth. What happened beneath the Iron Throne ten years ago is still fresh in our minds. In some ways, the bond between the direwolf and the stag is unbreakable. We must acknowledge that."
Margaery had no immediate reply.
"Boy," Olenna said suddenly, "I hear you've taken a liking to the Reach's grain?"
Gawen's eyes flickered. He glanced at Margaery before replying, "Indeed, my lady. My lands are still at war—my thirty thousand soldiers consume vast amounts daily."
When he mentioned thirty thousand soldiers, Olenna's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.
"And yet," she said with faint mockery, "you've already reclaimed your family's old lands. The war could have ended. Are you trying to swallow the whole Crab Claw Peninsula?"
"I must correct you, Lady Olenna," Gawen said evenly. "My forebears once ruled the peninsula. I am merely restoring the Crabb family's rightful dominion."
Margaery raised a brow. She had studied what little history was recorded of the peninsula—primitive, chaotic, and largely ignored by the rest of Westeros. The legendary Clarence Crabb, who had supposedly brought a brief peace to the land, was said to have uprooted pine trees with one hand and hurled them half a mile. She had doubted the tale… and now Gawen used it as a banner of legitimacy.
Perhaps this was one of the peculiarities he so often spoke of. But she could also see it for what it was—a show of power in the game of thrones.
"With strength, a plausible excuse is all one needs. That is sovereignty," Olenna said. "Even now, there are stubborn fools who say the Golden Rose has no right to rule the Reach. And yet, under our hand, the Reach thrives."
Her expression softened. "It's no bad thing to have needs—it's far better than being idle, like that boar of a lord. Come, let us set aside the fickle Lannister woman. I would rather hear your counsel. This old woman enjoys the company of vigorous young men."
Her barb at Cersei pleased Gawen.
After a brief silence, he said, "I am concerned for Lord Eddard's safety. I hear he must pass through the Neck—a land of deep bogs and dense forests. It takes at least ten days to cross."
The weight in his words made Margaery uneasy, though she kept her composure.
"If anything were to happen," Gawen went on, "it would be easy for suspicion to fall on Lord Mace. His Majesty Robert is not a man who listens to counsel—his warhammer is his argument. All we can do is pray the gods see Lord Eddard safely to King's Landing."
Another but. Margaery's hand tightened beneath the table again.
Olenna's gaze held his, and she nodded. "You state the problem, then dismiss it. You're telling truths most dislike hearing. I can bear it—go on."
"Northerners are ill-suited to intricate politics," Gawen said. "Nowhere is more complex than King's Landing. Soon, Lord Eddard will realize he needs a reliable ally."
"An ally?"
"It's simple, my lady," Gawen said, spreading his hands. "Send the Light of Highgarden to Winterfell. The bond between the direwolf and the golden rose will be unbreakable.
"The heir of Winterfell unites the North and the Riverlands—Robb Stark is said to have inherited the red hair and blue eyes of House Tully. A noble lineage indeed.
"With the match made, His Majesty will trust Lord Mace. He will gladly leave the realm in the hands of two great lords. And from then on, the roses of King's Landing will never fade."
His words brought a sudden hush.
Margaery's eyes widened; though she tried to mask it, disbelief flickered in her expression. The vision he painted was so vivid she almost saw the roses blooming across the capital. She could not help glancing at her grandmother.
Olenna remained silent, and Margaery did not interrupt.
At last, Olenna's eyes sharpened. "And why not bring a Stark girl to the warm halls of Highgarden?"
"The answer is obvious, my lady," Gawen said with a shrug.
Olenna turned to her granddaughter. "Margaery, you're the clever one. Tell your half-deaf grandmother."
Margaery blinked, then said slowly, "Lady Sansa Stark… Prince Joffrey… The Starks will wed into the royal family?"
"My granddaughter, give me your hand."
Olenna took Margaery's hand in her own wrinkled fingers. "At last, a clever soul in House Tyrell." She patted her granddaughter's hand in approval.
Whenever she met a quick-witted youth from another house, Olenna worried for the Tyrells' future. Only Margaery's intelligence could ease the Queen of Thorns' mind.
Gawen smiled and added warmly, "Lady Margaery, I learned of this through acquaintances in the Red Keep. But you deduced it from only a few words. Truly, you are the Light of the Reach."
Margaery looked at his sincere expression—and suddenly felt the urge to hit him.
Olenna, her face soft, patted her granddaughter's hand again.
Releasing it, she turned to Gawen. "Now then, tell me what it is you truly want to do. This old woman is rather curious, my lord of the Crab Claw Peninsula."
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