Cersei was furious.
She burst into my chambers like a storm and shouted at full voice for a long while, calling me ungrateful, irresponsible, shortsighted—a foolish boy. And all because I had neither sought her counsel nor appointed her man, Lord Orton Merryweather, as Hand. And, of course, because I had made several other appointments without consulting her.
In the end, we quarreled beyond repair. I do not know how it might have ended, since she refused to leave my chambers, hurling accusation after accusation, and I would not abase myself by using force against her, though she had truly driven me to anger. The servants, too, were in no hurry to escort the Queen Mother out. The situation was saved only by Jaime's arrival—he simply seized her by the waist and, despite her cries, carried her off to her own apartments.
As if in retaliation, that very evening she staged another spectacle—she had the High Septon arrested, accusing him of vague intrigues against the Crown and of "flirting" with its enemies.
It was so implausibly foolish that, when I learned of it, I was momentarily stunned, unwilling to believe such absurdity. Earlier, Kevan—then still Master of Whisperers—and Harald Orm had reported that Cersei sought to strengthen her position by placing loyal men in key posts. But why touch the High Septon? The people had not nicknamed him the Weathercock without reason—he had a keen sense for shifting winds in the realm and always turned in the proper direction. As the saying goes, tell him to face forward—he will. Tell him to turn his backside—he will do that too, and lower his breeches while he is at it. A useful, convenient man, ready to close his eyes to very much indeed—for the proper compensation. And now he was in a cell.
With an effort of will, I restrained my irritation and fury. What Cersei was doing had gone far beyond all bounds, and I wanted to act immediately.
But then I realized that my so-called mother had all but dug her own grave. With every deed, every word, she pushed people further and further away without even noticing. The only thing that could still purchase her the loyalty of other hearts was gold.
But gold is not hers alone! As for the High Septon — let him spend a day or two in a cell. Confinement will do him good and help him understand more quickly whom he ought to serve—especially once I am the one to release him.
***
The next day, Ser Addam Marbrand requested an audience.
Jacob admitted him into my solar. Orm, not wishing to interfere, withdrew to a far corner of the room and leaned against the wall.
"Please, sit, Ser Marbrand," I said, gesturing hospitably to the chair opposite me.
"Thank you for the honor, Your Majesty." He cleared his throat and carefully perched on the edge of the seat. The commander of the Gold Cloaks was an experienced warrior, an excellent horseman and swordsman, a serious man—but now he was plainly uneasy.
"I am listening."
"The matter is this, Your Majesty: Her Grace, your mother, Queen Cersei, has just ordered me to burn the Tower of the Hand. And for that, I am to use Wildfire."
"And you?"
"And I thought that might not please you." He adjusted his splendid golden cloak and straightened in his chair.
So. The man had made his choice. As a boy he had served as a squire at the Rock and had been on friendly terms with Jaime there. Seeing now that Jaime and I worked well together, he had decided where he stood.
I made an effort not to betray any undue emotion. Only in Cersei's impulsive mind could the idea arise to burn an entire tower to satisfy her doubts and fears. And as for how much it would cost, how much coin would quite literally go up in flames, and what would need to be built in its place—of course she had not considered such trifles. Such "details" plainly do not trouble her thoughts.
It seemed the Tower of the Hand inspired in her some irrational sense of Lannister vulnerability, associated in her mind with our father's death, and now she demanded its destruction. And not merely destruction—destruction by wildfire. Unbelievable!
Of course, I won't go along with such a thing — it would be far too foolish and senseless to destroy a structure so grand and powerful. And for what? Merely because of a woman's superstition and caprice?
"Thank you, Ser Addam. You have done rightly," I said, rising from my seat, walking around the desk, and, unable to restrain myself, clasping his hand.
"I am glad of it," he smiled. "But there is one problem. You understand how the queen will perceive my conduct?"
"Yes, it is… delicate." I stroked my chin and paced thoughtfully across the solar. "Let us do this—I'll put on a show of anger and tell my mother that I happened to learn of the plan, and that I want to place you under arrest for insubordination until the matter is clarified. Agreed?"
Marbrand nodded.
"Return to your men for now," I continued.
He departed, and I began preparing for a serious conversation. If Cersei isn't neutralized and calmed down, she'll stir up such trouble here that we won't need any enemies at all.
(End of Chapter)
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