"D–don't… please don't… I didn't—I never…" Lancel Lannister stammered, wild with fear.
Gawen Crabb arched a brow. "Don't what? Never what?"
Lancel crawled forward and clutched at Gawen's calf. "Gawen, believe me—I didn't seek it out. I obeyed orders, I… I…"
His lips quivered; no pretty excuse would come.
Gawen looked down at Lancel's reddening eyes and said, cold as iron, " 'Obeyed orders'… Lancel, are you claiming that the noble Queen Dowager opened her legs for you of her own accord, in the night?"
Lancel's eyes lit—because that, in fact, was the truth. Gawen saw it at once. Lancel bobbed his head in frantic assent.
Gawen met those clear green eyes, then flicked his leg free of Lancel's grasp. "Ser Lancel, how dare you slander Her Grace? Words cannot hide the truth. I daresay the Queen was forced—by your filthy devices."
Tears welled. "I would never—how could I—"
"Enough," Gawen cut him off. "I'll turn you over to King Joffrey."
Terror shook Lancel to his bones. "In the name of our friendship—please, my lord Gawen!"
"Save it for His Grace," Gawen said, glacial. "I recall how he relishes a good plea."
The image of Joffrey's questioning made Lancel shudder. "I won't stand against you again—only don't give me to the king!"
Gawen hesitated, face unreadable. "You would have me deceive His Grace?"
"If you spare me, I'll quit the city at once," Lancel blurted. "I swear it!"
Gawen studied his wretched face a moment, then sighed, bent, and hauled him gently to his feet. "You've only just been knighted. I'd hate to see your bright future squandered."
He patted Lancel's shoulder. "I haven't forgotten we were friends. Stay."
Disbelief wavered into sudden joy, and Lancel's tears flowed anew. "G–Gawen… Seven take me, I deserve a flogging…"
Gawen poured a cup of wine and pressed it into his hands. "No one will know. Remain by the Queen Dowager. Keep her trust. Satisfy her every need… for the sake of our unchanging friendship."
Still sniffling, Lancel accepted the cup and peered at him, puzzled.
"Hide our steadfast bond," Gawen said mildly. "Play your part. Keep envying the favor Her Grace shows me."
Lancel lowered his eyes, thinking, and at last seemed to catch the drift. "Gawen, you mean I should…"
Gawen dipped his chin and clapped his arm. "It serves us both. The Queen will lean more and more on the two of us. Lancel—you won't be content with a paltry knighthood, will you?"
Stars sparked in Lancel's eyes. "You're clever as ever. I understand! Say the word and I'll do it—I swear!"
Gawen lifted his cup. "Then to friendship—and to our bright prospects."
They drank.
After a moment, Lancel faltered. "And… after this… if Her Grace still… requires me…"
Gawen's brown eyes flicked to Lancel's flushing face. "As before, so hereafter. Take heart—the Queen Dowager is a great beauty. She works hard; she needs delight. What you do, you do for the realm."
Lancel nodded, dazed.
Gawen set down his cup. "Now—why have you come?"
Lancel glanced up at him, then ducked his head. "I asked Her Grace to place me within the City Watch."
"What did you say? What did she answer?"
Barely daring to breathe, Lancel answered plainly. "I said… the Gold Cloaks should not lie wholly in the hands of men who are not Lannisters."
He risked a look. Gawen did not flare. Lancel went on. "Her Grace said… I should ask you directly."
"That was all?"
Lancel nodded quickly.
Gawen's eyes flickered. "Then she still trusts you. Remember that debt."
Lancel frowned, scratching his head.
"Beyond affairs of state, the Queen has… private matters," Gawen said. "Some things she'll prefer to entrust to family. A Lannister will set her more at ease."
And you are easy to steer, Gawen added, only in his heart.
Lancel's mouth twitched upward despite himself.
Gawen watched him. The boy could run hot. To make him steadier, Gawen resolved to bring him nearer to Joffrey now and again, and bind the two with cords of friendship.
He sighed inwardly. Once it was only Pycelle. Now Lancel as well. How many ducklings must he shepherd?
"Ser Lancel," Gawen said at last, "I name you Captain of the Red Keep Guard among the Gold Cloaks. You'll protect the Queen Dowager—alongside the Lannister Red Cloaks."
Lancel straightened, thrilled. "At your command, my lord!"
Gawen smiled. "Then the Red Keep—and Her Grace—are yours to keep safe. See to her private business as well. Do not disappoint her."
"I understand," Lancel said solemnly. "I'll remember."
Gawen laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. "We are friends, Lancel. I'll back you."
He paused, then added softly, "And remember—Robert is dead. Do not swell the Queen's belly. Not even the Seven could save you."
Lancel flushed to the roots. "Gawen, I… we… Her Grace forbids it. I always… on her belly…"
Gawen's brow twitched. He understood at once. "A… lovely belly," he said dryly. "Just don't forget the cost, my friend."
Hundreds of marsh-marigold banners rippled above the training yard of the East Barracks. Armor and steel glittered under the sun.
On the dais, Gawen lifted his hand, paused, and let it fall. Heads—those of former Commander Slynt's adjutant Yaral Dim and several dozen others—tumbled to the sand.
Since taking command, Gawen had made the headsman's work a daily lesson. These were Slynt's last loyalists, fattest feeders at the trough.
He had kept them for this day, to kill them before every eye.
Ser Lancel, now one of the Watch captains, stood frozen where he was. When it ended, he scanned the ranks below—blue squares and gold squares alike—struck into a hush that made the heart thud.
At Gawen's side, Lancel whispered, voice shaking, "Aren't you afraid of a mutiny?"
Gawen glanced at him. "Her Grace gave me ten days. And…"
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Without cutting out rot, where would I find coin for common men's pay? And where would I place the eager hands that come over to us?"
A common Gold Cloak earned at least two gold dragons a year; officers more by rank. Under Slynt, most of those wages were shaved away by the commander and his cronies.
The Watch, both garrison and law, had clawed the shortfall from the smallfolk. Decay fed upon decay.
Back when Cersei first promised him the command (see Ch. 136), Gawen had already marked the Gold Cloaks for his own—and begun to plan the taking.
Before he slipped away, Petyr Baelish—"worried" for Gawen alone in King's Landing—had handed him his informants. In return, Gawen promised to mind Petyr's holdings in the city.
Once he took over the network, he saw how like they were: each had fixed his eye on the Watch—though truthfully, Baelish had been hunting the city's greatest armed force for some time.
With Slynt dead, the Watch had splintered. Gawen had two thousand Crabb Blue Cloaks, sharp information, and a royal warrant. He moved swiftly to break Slynt's remnant.
As their necks met steel, their coffers met Gawen's chests—nearly three hundred thousand gold dragons in all.
Lancel managed a pale smile. "I could never have done this."
"In the end," Gawen said, gazing over the ranks, "it turns on gold."
He had already laid out fifty thousand dragons to subsidize the Watch. Nearly a thousand men on the sands that day were the second wave to receive his "gift."
Chest after chest came forward, brimming with dragons. As before, Gawen would oversee every coin paid out.
Why only fifty thousand? Gawen only raised a brow—and left the question unanswered.
After Lancel withdrew, Gawen beckoned to Jeffrey, captain of the King's Landing investigative squad. "Set a watch on Lancel Lannister."
Red Keep, Throne Room
"Make way for Joffrey of Houses Baratheon and Lannister—King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men—Lord of the Seven Kingdoms!"
"Make way for his mother, light of the westerlands—Protector of the Realm—the Queen Regent, Cersei of House Lannister!"
Ser Barristan Selmy, resplendent in bright silver plate, led the way. Ser Arys Oakheart escorted the Queen Dowager; Ser Boros Blount walked beside the king.
Before the Iron Throne Joffrey halted: black velvet slashed with crimson thread, a high golden collar on his shimmering cloak, and a crown of gold set with rubies and black diamonds.
He smiled thinly at the gathered court and seated himself. "To punish treason and reward loyalty is a king's duty. Grand Maester Pycelle—read my decree."
Pycelle rose and bowed toward the throne, splendid in heavy red velvet, fur at the collar, bright gold trim and drooping sleeves embossed with gilt curls.
He unfurled a parchment and read a long roll of names: "Lord Stannis Baratheon and his lady wife—and their daughter; Lord Renly Baratheon; … Lord Mace Tyrell and all his issue; … Lady Lysa Arryn and her son; … Prince Doran Martell of Dorne and all his issue; … Lord Walder Frey and his heir; … Lord Hoster Tully, his brother Ser Brynden, his son Ser Edmure; … Lady Catelyn Tully, Robb Stark, Brandon Stark, Rickon Stark, Arya Stark…"
It was most of the great of the Seven Kingdoms.
"In the name of the King and the Small Council, all so named will come at once to the Red Keep and swear fealty. Refusal will be counted treason, and their lands and titles forfeit to the Crown."
A susurrus became a storm—gasps and cries breaking across the hall.
Pycelle rolled the first scroll and spread another. "To replace the rebel Eddard Stark, and at the will of the Queen Regent and His Grace, Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, is appointed Hand of the King, to administer the realm in the king's name."
"Lastly," he rasped, "the late King Robert, much beloved, perished by mischance. The Small Council holds the safety of King Joffrey paramount…" He glanced to the Queen.
Cersei inclined her head and rose. "Lord Commander Barristan Selmy—attend."
The old knight, who had stood guard beneath the throne, came forward and knelt. "Your Grace. Barristan Selmy obeys."
"Rise, Ser Barristan," Cersei said coolly. "Remove your helm."
Puzzled, he obeyed, cradling the high-crested helm in one arm, and met the Queen's eyes.
"For long years you have served the realm with honor," she said, lifting her chin. "Every good man and woman of the Seven Kingdoms owes you thanks. Yet I fear your service must now end. The king and his council would have you lay down your heavy burden."
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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