In Whisper City, Maester Arl, seeking to bolster the credibility of his report, described in ticulous detail to the Citadel the Crabb family's campaign to reclaim their ancestral lands.
It was not Arl's intent to leak House Crabb's secrets—his precise scholarly habits and a touch of pride in his pupil's achievents simply carried him away.
The lords of the Crab Claw Peninsula had always been brave, but they lacked learning.
From the mont Gawen had learned his letters, it was under Maester Arl's tutelage. The old man enjoyed reminiscing; looking back now, he felt a deep sense of accomplishnt.
Though well-read, Arl was no commander. Without aning to, he had let slip certain details that could be called military intelligence.
Under his quill, the Crabb campaign took on an artistic flair. To most of the nobles of Westeros—save for a select few with keener minds—it was hardly impressive. "Just wildlings," they scoffed. "Give the chance, and I could do the sa."
Samwell Tarly, Randyll's eldest son, desperate for his father's approval, was among that small minority who looked deeper.
Once the report reached the Citadel, it would be condensed again before being sent by raven to the maesters of "friendly" lords across Westeros.
At Horn Hill, Samwell—ever the reader—took notice. He even persuaded the castle's maester to request the more complete original from the Citadel.
In his father's presence, Samwell always spoke haltingly, which only deepened Randyll's disdain.
"F-father, I… I've been studying the Crabb family's campaign."
Randyll acted as though he had not heard.
Samwell pressed on. Simply standing here and speaking up was the greatest courage he had ever mustered.
"I've read a great deal. The wildlings of the Crab Claw Peninsula are natural warriors… not weak at all. For Lord Gawen to defeat them with so few n—he is worthy of attention. His thods are unlike those we are used to—"
Randyll Tarly was a proud man, and with reason.
In Robert's Rebellion, he had led the only force ever to defeat Robert Baratheon in the field, at the Battle of Ashford.
Straightforward and unbending, with a will of iron and a keen mind, he had once been called by Kevan Lannister the man most capable of ending war in Westeros after Tywin's death.
Naturally, he had read the brief account of the Crab Claw campaign. His elder son was weak, his younger still too young. All he had thought was, A pity he is not mine.
Randyll cut Samwell off.
"So—you've studied all this, and to what end? If you t Crabb on the battlefield, could you defeat him? Or do you think yourself braver than those death-seeking wildlings? When a warhorse charges and screams in your face, will you even be able to hold your sword?"
"Get out of my sight."
Samwell's heart pounded. He was certain there was sothing about Crabb's archers worth knowing—that Horn Hill ought to have this knowledge ahead of ti. There were more details to share, more argunts to make…
Sweat stread from his brow to his jaw, dripping like rain.
"Out!!"
Samwell flinched. Under that cold, unyielding gaze, all his hard-won courage dissolved. He fled the hall in sha.
Tyrion returned again, bearing word that the queen was "recuperating," and would not see Gawen until the scars on her face were gone—for they marred her noble image.
After quietly sharing this "confidential" tidbit, Tyrion hauled him off to drink and hear music.
For five evenings in a row, Gawen found the Imp's small form swaying toward him at dusk.
Each ti, Tyrion had so compelling reason that made refusal awkward.
Gawen knew the ga well; he had played it himself in another life—Start with sincere advice, drop a piece of seemingly important intelligence, leap past the unfamiliar stage to a sense of camaraderie, add wine and won… and if it went smoothly, the other would soon have no defenses—and no secrets—left.
He wanted to tell Tyrion: the finest hunters often appear as prey.
Still, he followed Tyrion into the opulent life of King's Landing's nobility, all the while playing his role to perfection—humble, honest, rciful, wise, brave, just, self-sacrificing, and honorable.
A fully committed Gawen was dangerous indeed; he played the part so well he almost believed it himself.
Red Keep – Gardens
With dark circles under his eyes, Tyrion sat slumped on a wooden bench, staring blankly as his niece Myrcella and nephew Tomn played.
He raised a small hand to catch the apple tossed his way, bit into it with a crisp crunch.
Jai, amused, sat beside him, his gaze on the children warm.
Tyrion let out a long, wine-laden burp."Jai, I've decided—starting tomorrow, I'm giving up all wine. Seven save as witness!"
Jai chuckled."I've lost count of how many tis I've heard that."
"All right, I forget myself sotis. But I really do an to rest for a few days."
"You've been getting on well with the little wildling?"
Tyrion nodded."So young, yet without urgency or petulance. Born to the wilds, but quick to learn and hungry for knowledge. He has desires, but not greed—and rarest of all, a good heart."
Jai leaned back comfortably."Are you describing him—or yourself, dear brother?"
Tyrion blinked, then grinned."Am I so magnificent in your eyes, dear brother?"
"Seems you've taken a liking to the boy," Jai said, glancing sidelong at his toothy smile.
Shuffling closer, Tyrion lowered his voice."If I were Cersei…"
He tipped his chin toward Myrcella. Jai's gaze shifted to his niece.
"Myrcella's betrothal could be to this young wildling. He's worthy. This is—"
"Enough!" Jai's voice cracked like a whip.
Tyrion was unfazed, only puzzled."That's quite a reaction. You can trust my judgnt—it's not made lightly."
Jai paced a few steps, hand gripping the hilt at his belt."Myrcella is still a child. I won't see her used in any political ga. I'll keep her far from such sches, always happy. My sword will cut down any shadowed claws that reach for her."
Tyrion blinked, taking in his brother's vehence.
Jai caught himself, looking embarrassed. He sighed, sat back down, and patted Tyrion's shoulder."My apologies. I detest marriages made for profit. I was… irrational. I hope I didn't wound you. It wasn't aid at you."
Tyrion shook his head."When Father arranged Cersei's match to Robert, it was the first ti I saw you lose control—and the first ti you defied him. I can understand your feelings. I adore Myrcella as well; she embodies every good thing I can imagine."
"This was a sincere suggestion—not so cynical bargain. I am her uncle, too."
"But I'll also remind you, my dear brother… our na is Lannister. Lannister…"
"Enough. You know I like to jest, Jai."
Jai remained silent, hands clenched, brows drawn tight.
.
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