Chapter 66: Rumors
"Enough. Enough."
Before the dwarf could finish, the queen regent had already lost her patience.
"But first, we must stop this filth from spreading. Issue a royal decree—anyone who dares speak of incest, or call little Joffrey a bastard, will have their tongue torn out!"
Cersei's brow was tightly furrowed as her palm slapped down onto the stack of letters on the table. She clearly had no interest in hearing another word from her dwarf brother.
Compared to devising a counter to Stannis's accusations, Cersei Lannister was far more concerned with the accusations themselves.
"A wise decision," Grand Maester Pycelle chimed in at once.
He nodded vigorously, his chain of office swaying and clinking as he did.
At that moment, Tyrion finally understood how Eddard Stark had lost his head.
The dwarf let out a quiet sigh.
"Utterly ridiculous," Tyrion said coolly.
"You think ripping out someone's tongue will stop rumors that thrive on cracks and whispers?"
"Tearing out a man's tongue doesn't prove he's lying—it tells the whole world how terrified you are of what he might say."
Cersei was beginning to suspect that her dwarf brother existed solely to oppose her. She turned sharply and glared at him.
"Then enlighten me," she demanded coldly.
"What should we do?"
"Nothing," Tyrion replied, tossing the letter back onto the table.
"Let them talk. Rumors burn themselves out soon enough."
"Anyone with even a shred of sense will recognize this for what it is—a crude excuse fabricated to justify usurpation."
"Does Stannis have proof?" Tyrion pressed.
"It's nothing but baseless slander. Where would he even find evidence?"
Whether it was Tyrion's faintly sweet smile or the simple logic of his words, something caused the lioness's fury to hesitate. Cersei's expression wavered.
"That may be true, but…"
Before she could finish, Petyr Baelish spoke up from the side.
"Your Grace, your brother is correct."
The Master of Coin sat calmly, fingers interlaced, his expression composed.
"If we try to suppress the rumors, it will only make them seem credible. Better to laugh them off—after all, they're nothing more than an absurd lie."
Podrick, quietly watching this living, breathing game of thrones unfold at close range, turned his head toward Littlefinger.
What is he scheming now?
Petyr Baelish was not the type to echo Tyrion without reason.
And sure enough, he continued.
"However," Littlefinger said lightly,
"we can also respond in kind."
Compared to Tyrion's restrained caution, Littlefinger's voice was far more pleasing to Cersei's ears. She studied him closely.
"And how exactly do you propose we respond in kind?"
"By spreading a story of the same nature—one that's far easier for people to believe."
Petyr Baelish spoke evenly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"After all, since his marriage, Lord Stannis has spent most of his time far away from his wife. I can hardly blame him—had I married Selyse, I suspect I'd have done the same."
"If we suggest that her daughter was conceived with some nameless lover, that Stannis is wearing a rather conspicuous green hat… well," Littlefinger shrugged.
"The smallfolk have always delighted in scandals about their betters. And when it comes to someone as proud, rigid, and unforgiving as Stannis Baratheon?"
He let the implication hang in the air, heavy and poisonous.
Compared to Varys the eunuch, Petyr Baelish was probably the one who truly deserved the title rotten bastard.
Just listen to what he was saying.
Podrick had nearly forgotten this part of the story, but now that Littlefinger brought it up himself, the memory came rushing back.
Sure enough, the two of them soon joined forces to fabricate a rumor—that Stannis Baratheon's wife had been sleeping with a fool.
After all, given the looks of Selyse Florent, Podrick thought bitterly, perhaps only someone with a face full of scars would be willing to touch her.
Then, as if that weren't enough, they conveniently dragged Stannis's daughter, Shireen Baratheon, into the tale as well—both to lend the lie a veneer of credibility and to mock the lingering marks left by her greyscale.
At Littlefinger's proposal, Cersei broke into the kind of smile she usually reserved only for Jaime.
"Lord Petyr," she purred,
"you truly are wicked to the core."
Clearly, the queen regent found this method of retaliation immensely satisfying. As for her brother's earlier suggestion—it had long since been thrown to the winds.
Seeing her approval, Littlefinger smiled as well.
"You honor me, Your Grace."
Their shameless duet of mutual flattery made Tyrion inwardly wary.
Petyr Baelish was far more dangerous than Tyrion had ever realized.
"Your talent for lying really has reached perfection," Tyrion remarked dryly.
There was none of Cersei's enthusiasm in his voice.
"We all possess certain gifts from birth, my lord," Littlefinger replied calmly.
He met Tyrion's mismatched eyes with his own pale grey-green ones, his face utterly expressionless.
Cersei, fully absorbed in the fantasy of revenge, noticed none of this. A faint smile curved her lips as she once again became the elegant, composed queen regent.
"A wife cuckolding her husband with a halfwit fool—Stannis will be the laughingstock of the Seven Kingdoms!"
"But the story can't come from us," Tyrion made one last attempt to interject.
"Otherwise it'll look even more like a fabrication."
But truth was irrelevant.
Watching silently from the sidelines, Podrick let out a quiet sigh.
Having lived in an age of information, he understood far better than anyone present what the word public opinion truly meant—and how devastating a rumor could be.
People only cared about what they believed.
And those who delighted in spectacle never cared about the feelings of the one under the spotlight.
At Tyrion's objection, Littlefinger lightly rubbed his fingers together.
"Who loves gossip more than whores?" he said smoothly.
"And I just so happen to own a few brothels. As for taverns and inns—surely Lord Varys can see to the rest."
The answer was perfect.
Tyrion no longer had any grounds to stop Cersei's vengeance.
"Speaking of Varys…" Cersei suddenly frowned.
"Where is he?"
She had just remembered the only man absent from the meeting—especially irritating, since even the dwarf's detestable squire had shown up.
At that thought, her gaze drifted toward the quietly seated Podrick Payne.
She recalled the information she had ordered Varys to collect about this boy.
Something flickered in her mind.
Her eyes gleamed faintly.
The sudden scrutiny made Podrick's scalp prickle, every hair standing on end.
He turned his head—and found the queen regent staring at him with an unreadable expression.
What the hell is this woman planning now?!