Gawen was silent for a moment before saying, "After that night, she vanished—along with the guards I sent with her."
His brown eyes shifted slightly. "I only hope my men can keep Her Highness safe."
Varys looked at him, the smile long gone from his face. "It seems the killer's identity is all too clear."
Gawen shrugged. "She was a kind girl—something truly unthinkable must have happened… Could it have been her brother?"
A faint smile touched Varys's lips. "The dead are gone, and the living must go on."
Gawen raised a brow—was that Varys's way of saying he would not pursue justice for Illyrio's death?
Varys's smile deepened. "And congratulations on returning from Pentos so laden with gains. Truly enviable."
In Varys's eyes, Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen had now become political pieces in Gawen's hands.
The accident Daenerys had caused was an unexpected turn—perhaps enough to force Varys to adjust years of meticulous planning.
Gawen mused that both Cersei and Daenerys seemed skilled at delivering "surprises."
He was frank. "Lord Varys, the timing was too much of a coincidence… I even wondered if it was the work of some schemer. But then again—it might have been sheer luck."
Varys folded his hands, his tone light. "A happy result all the same. The future of House Crabb will be one of greater freedom to maneuver."
Gawen ran a hand through his hair. "What began as a simple precaution for the princess's safety… your words make it sound rather glorious."
Varys inclined his head. "Lord Gawen, the struggle for the Iron Throne is far from over. The Baratheon king has yet to secure his rule. My little birds tell me that currents of unrest have been flowing all along."
Without Illyrio, Varys had lost his means of controlling Viserys.
As Westeros had yet to be thrown into chaos, his "Young Aegon" still had to remain hidden.
Now, the man behind the curtain would have to step onto the stage himself.
Gawen's gaze flickered; his voice was grave. "My lord, this will be difficult."
"You're not alone, Lord Gawen. I will aid you," Varys said earnestly.
"I appreciate the offer, but I must caution you—I see only danger ahead. King Robert will never forgive anyone who aids the Targaryens."
Varys countered smoothly, "The Baratheon king will never trust House Crabb as the Targaryens would. We both know this."
Gawen's expression shifted; after a moment's hesitation, he shook his head. "If I can protect the princess in secret, that will be enough for me."
Varys patted his shoulder. "A noble intent, but a hard one to fulfill. No one can stop a Targaryen from trying to reclaim the Iron Throne.
"And how can we possibly avoid being drawn in? Remember—the big fish eats the little fish."
Gawen looked toward Myrcella and Tommen, laughing as they played.
Varys's eyes followed. His question seemed casual. "What do you think makes a good king?"
A trace of dry humor tinged Gawen's reply. "I never thought about it before, but since coming to the Red Keep, I've learned what the great lords think makes a good king."
"Oh?"
"One who does whatever they tell him to—that's their idea of a good king."
Varys shook his head with a smile. "You surprise me. Your answer is… sharply accurate."
Gawen shrugged. "And you, my lord—have you found the answer yourself?"
Varys's tone grew solemn. "A good king knows that ruling is his duty, and that his people come first. His reign, his very survival, are for them."
Gawen was taken aback before replying, "Everyone wishes for such a king. Forgive me, but—do we have any hope of seeing one?"
Varys's eyes gleamed. "Prince Viserys, to escape the Baratheons, has wandered since boyhood with his young sister in tow.
"He has seen the suffering of the lowborn. He knows what it is to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid.
"Because he has endured these hardships, when he becomes king, he will know his responsibilities. He will strive to see his people neither starve nor live in fear."
Gawen's gaze sharpened—was the Spider trying to win him over?
Varys knew rebuilding trust was slow and costly. Using Gawen, who had seemingly earned Daenerys's trust, could be his quickest path to winning over the Targaryens.
And perhaps, with such access, a fine gift as well…
A dragon egg, for example.
It seemed Varys had inherited Illyrio's treasures.
If all went to plan, Varys would soon have the Targaryens firmly in hand again, moving the pieces as before: Viserys returning to Westeros with an army, the Seven Kingdoms aflame in war; the great houses weakened; Viserys dying at the opportune moment; and finally, Young Aegon raising his banner to unite the realm and take the Iron Throne by right.
Too bad for him—Gawen Crabb was not prey easily caught by the Spider.
"I regret I could not meet Prince Viserys in Pentos," Gawen said sincerely.
"In time," Varys answered with a smile. "I'm sure His Highness will value you greatly."
Why did Gawen feel the Spider meant him harm?
Even if Illyrio had been the one to meet Viserys, Varys surely knew him just as well.
And what sort of man was Viserys? One obsessed with the Iron Throne, caring nothing for his people's suffering—and incapable of even pretending to be the merciful ruler Varys described.
Varys spoke so freely because he knew Gawen would never meet Viserys, spinning a lie that would collapse in an instant if they did.
Their words might have sounded casual, but what they discussed was rebellion—and treachery.
In the game of thrones, deceit and conspiracy were constant companions.
Gawen's long fingers tapped the hilt of his sword.
As the self-proclaimed guardian of the Crab Claw Peninsula, he had inherited some of its blunt, straightforward ways.
If Varys had insulted Myrcella or Tommen, perhaps he might not have resisted drawing steel then and there—let the two children bear witness… No. Best not corrupt them. He was a knight of honor, after all. Trial by combat would do.
His gaze warmed, hiding his darker thoughts.
"My lord, your heart is with the realm. I would gladly introduce you to Princess Daenerys. As for other matters… I will need time to think."
For now, the chaos in the Seven Kingdoms could not do without both Petyr Baelish and Varys.
To Gawen, these two "men behind the scenes" were in fact standing on the stage, while he himself moved in the shadows.
Still, he could not remain idle. He would return home and plan how best to secure Young Aegon first—and reach out to Daenerys as well. The good-hearted Princess of Dragonstone could easily be deceived by the wrong sort.
And no, he did not believe Varys would rely solely on him to reach the last living dragons—Varys had eight legs, after all.
In this game of thrones, trusting either Gawen or Varys was already half a loss before the first move.
Varys's smile was mild, his eyes glinting. "As it should be, Lord Gawen."
Not long after Varys departed, a tired Myrcella and Tommen wandered into the shade where Gawen sat.
The well-trained attendants of Maegor's Tower quickly set the prince and princess in order.
Myrcella's bright green eyes shone with curiosity and innocence. "Lord Gawen, they say you defeated the Knight of Flowers from Highgarden?"
Though they were the Queen's children, Gawen found their company surprisingly pleasant.
Overhead, clouds drifted lazily across a blue sky, rolling like waves—gathering, parting, ever at ease.
Leaning back against the tree, he turned at Myrcella's voice.
His victory over the Knight of Flowers had made him one of King's Landing's most talked-about figures—and the thought tempted him again.
He put on a wry look. "Yes, Princess. I hear no maiden in the city dislikes Ser Loras. It's a bit of a problem—many friends tell me I should stay indoors for now, as the ladies of King's Landing are grinding their teeth at me."
At this, Tommen burst into delighted laughter.
Myrcella's lips curved in a sweet smile. "Then you should take care, just in case."
She giggled, her golden curls dancing in the breeze.
With exaggerated solemnity, Gawen said, "Thank you for the warning, Your Highness. I'll bring plenty of guards."
By evening, Gawen left the Red Keep and returned to his residence.
Scratch, scratch, scratch—the quill danced over parchment as he wrote an order to redeploy one hundred soldiers from his lands to King's Landing.
Sliding the letter into an envelope, he sealed it with a firm press of wax.
Setting it aside, he stroked his chin.
It was time to think about when to leave the capital.
Trying to do everything at once often meant achieving nothing. Choices had to be made.
Folding his hands behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling.
The Vale might be an inseparable part of the Crab Claw Peninsula in his eyes, but relying on force alone would be costly and draining. Political maneuvering had to play its part.
Perhaps there might even be an opening to claim a seat on the Small Council.
Yes… Lord Gawen, Small Council member.
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
📯 Lords and Ladies of the Realm, heed the call! 📯
The saga burns ever brighter—30 chapters ahead now await, available only to those who swear their loyalty on Patreon. 🐉❄️🔥
Walk among dragons, defy the cold, and stake your claim in a world where crowns are won with fire and fury.
🔗 Claim your place: www.patreon.com/DrManhattanEN
👤 Known on Patreon as: DrManhattanEN
Your loyalty feeds the flame. And fire remembers.