Gawen's smile ca only from so deep, private recollection, but at such a mont it was all too easy for others to mistake it for sothing else entirely.
He forced the muscles of his face into stillness.
A servant in the tent moved quietly, pouring sumrwine for both him and Margaery.
She took a sip, her eyes glinting with a faint air of assured victory.
Unperturbed, Gawen raised his own cup, his mind already working—was there a way to keep this "severance fee" without straying from his original purpose?
Setting his wine down, he said,"My lady, if I were to simply return now, do you know what awaits ?"
Not waiting for her reply, he gave a low chuckle."In the Red Keep, great n may err. Lesser n are never allowed to fail—not even once.
The great may disregard the safety of the small, but the small must learn to care for themselves."
With a calm expression, he picked up his cup again, paused, and set it back on the table."One of my forebears was Ser Clarance Crabb, who by the strength of his sword beca the legendary hero of the Crab Claw Peninsula.
Ser Claremont Crabb, Ser Lubert Crabb, and another Clarance—called 'the Short'—each in their ti served as Kingsguard, counted among the greatest knights in Westeros.
For centuries—perhaps a thousand years or more—the na Crabb has been bound to blood and steel. Even now, that remains unchanged."
He lifted the cup once more, downing the remaining sumrwine in a single swallow.
"Because of a war more than ten years past, my house has suffered the Red Keep's suppression for just as long. Only recently has Queen Cersei, honoring the Peninsula's tradition of direct service to the Queen, restored her trust in us.
And yet now, I can already see the dimming of my family's future.
As I said, in the Red Keep only great n may err—lesser n are never allowed to fail, not even once.
Lady Margaery, since this was only a mission to convey Her Grace's greetings to the Duke of Highgarden, I thought it simple, and offered myself for it.
Until monts ago, I held so hope of success. But now, after speaking with you, I am certain—I will fail Her Grace's trust."
His words fell like heavy blows, one after another, leaving her feeling strangely short of breath.
Sothing in his manner stirred unease within her.
Why? Have I ruined my grandmother's design? Where did I go wrong?
Margaery forced down the flicker of panic. She trusted her own judgnt—Lord Gawen was no reckless brute. Is he playing ?
Though her face betrayed nothing, her thoughts grew tangled.
Gawen's gaze softened."Tomorrow, the ring will be dyed red. I will openly draw blood from every challenger until the terrified Reach knights swarm in, and the ground runs with it."
Leaning forward slightly, his tone remained gentle but sure."Ser Jai Lannister once told I am greater even than the Sword of the Morning. Believe , my lady, I can do it."
[Jai had never said such a thing—this was a kindly lie.]
His voice was even, but his words dripped with the promise of blood.
He waited for her answer. His next step depended entirely on her choice—and he was prepared for any outco.
Silence in the tent. They locked eyes.
So the little rose ans to cow with those big eyes? He widened his own gaze, unblinking. I can stare just as well.
Does Lord Gawen think I fear him? I may fear at tis, but I never cower. She stared back.
After a while, they both looked away at nearly the sa mont, perfectly natural.
After a pause, her brown eyes—soft as a doe's—returned to him, lips curving faintly."It seems you already have a better plan, my lord. I'm willing to hear it."
One of his brows lifted. He thought for a mont, then sighed."I imagine, my lady, you wouldn't wish for anything unfortunate to happen in the ring?"
She nodded slightly."Perhaps, but the ring still must be dealt with. Your contests have drawn the eyes of the whole Reach—near and far, almost every swordsman is on his way here."
They had shifted to a different sort of bargain.
She could arrange for him to et the pufferfish duke—but only if the ring's outco was handled perfectly.
"And if," Gawen asked, "I were to leave with the gold dragons now, may I ask—what was Highgarden's original plan for the aftermath?"
He's probing again.
Though their eting had been brief, Margaery felt she had grown from it.
Perhaps it was the sudden weight of pressure breaking through her smooth, ordered life—or the flowering of long-laid skill—but tonight, she had gained sothing valuable.
Now, it was easier to read a man's heart.
Gawen's question about the aftermath was not truly about concern for the event—it was a asure of her influence in Highgarden. More precisely, he wanted to know just how much she could decide.
Her brows arched in imitation of his."To be frank, I intended to use this chance to hold a grand outdoor feast. Whatever your station, anyone would be welco at my table."
Her doe-brown eyes brightened as she spoke.
Ha! Just as I thought—a wealthy lady indeed.
"That would do it," he agreed. "Your beauty and fine wine could wash away all resentnt without anyone noticing."
She smiled like a blooming flower."And it seems, Lord Gawen, that you have a better idea?"
For an instant, the ever-composed Gawen was caught off guard, but he quickly recovered.
The flicker on his face did not escape her notice, and it pleased her.
Having achieved a certain aim, Gawen now worked his craft, subtly coaxing the young rose.
He felt a touch of weariness—but the thought of three thousand gold dragons banished it at once.
They had been carried here with such effort—how could he let her take them back?
He also wondered whether he'd spoken too loudly earlier.
Among his words had been ntion of the Peninsula's tradition of loyalty to the Queen.
Turned around, that was a reminder: only a Queen with the Peninsula's fealty could be truly complete.
Gawen was a man who prized detail.
And with such details, he could make Margaery Tyrell just a bit more pleased with herself—provided, of course, they first sealed their new bargain.
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