Maegor's Holdfast, the Queen's Hall.
Queen Cersei sat in the high-backed chair at the head of the long table, with Jaime and the Queen's officers seated along either side.
At first, Gawen paid attention with mild interest, but the longer he listened, the more his mind began to wander.
"At recent feasts, there's been more Dornish Summerwine than Arbor gold.""Yes, Summerwine is becoming ever more popular.""Highgarden's off-shoulder gowns—nearly every noblewoman in King's Landing owns one now.""And Highgarden's jewelry is in high demand as well.""Indeed. I hear Lord Janos bought an entire chest of Highgarden jewels to please his new mistress."
[Lord Janos – full name Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch (the Gold Cloaks) of King's Landing]
"Another poor girl—who could bear Janos's frog-like face?""He's built like a wine cask.""Is Janos still taking gold from his own men?""Of course. You can't teach an old dog new tricks.""Nothing to be done—he's in Robert's good graces and commands six thousand Gold Cloaks.""My sympathies to the poor girls.""The best he can do is seduce a bastard-born. No highborn lady would look twice at a butcher's son.""Not necessarily… I heard—""You heard—so it's a rumor."
The officers' discussion had drifted into gossip, prompting Jaime to clear his throat.
Gawen found himself revising his opinion of his colleagues—there was more useful intelligence buried in their chatter than he'd expected, and they seemed to double as the Queen's fashion advisers.
Jaime spoke: "Continuing from our last meeting—the Queen's traditional King's Landing hunt has always departed through the Lion Gate. This year will be no exception."
Silence fell.
For the first time since the meeting began, Queen Cersei's voice cut through: "Why so quiet? Are the peasants still spreading their lies?"
Lancel glanced around. "By tradition, it avoids many troubles. The rumors are spreading well enough already—if we suddenly change the route out of the city, it would play right into their hands and stain Your Grace's name."
A faint smile curved Cersei's lips. "Lancel, go on."
Lancel nodded, clenching a fist. "We have only eight days. My counsel is to punish the slanderers harshly. Only when heads roll will the people learn the Queen cannot be defamed at will."
From where he sat, Gawen could see Lancel's thigh trembling beneath the table.
Was he just trying to please Cersei? Or was this, in truth, her own will put into his mouth?
Jaime countered, his tone firm: "The Queen's District holds nearly twenty thousand commoners, Lancel. How many heads do you think you'd need to take to end a rumor? And if the killing sparks a riot, how would you put it down?"
Jaime's gaze was piercing. Lancel couldn't meet it and looked away.
Their exchange left Cersei's face tight with disappointment and anger.
"Why is that filthy place called the Queen's District, anyway?""Yes—it's one of the poorest parts of King's Landing."
They all knew the origin of the name, but the question was just a way to break the tension.
Cersei took the thread: "I asked a maester. Hah. One of Aegon the Conqueror's queens once drank a bowl of water there, offered by the smallfolk."
"So that's the story.""Shameless. Because a queen drank one bowl of water, they named it the Queen's District? Aegon must have been there as well—why not call it the King's District?"
"The truth doesn't matter. The name is easily twisted for ill use."
"Yes—and now disease spreads there, yet they blame our Queen, claiming her lack of mercy brought it.""During the Queen's hunt, her carriage must pass through the Queen's District. That could spark unrest, threaten Your Grace's safety, and harm your standing in the city.""Trouble is inevitable. This rumor came suddenly and targets the hunt directly."
Cersei turned her head toward Jaime. "Ser Jaime the Merciful—what would you suggest?"
Jaime frowned. "From what I learned today, the mood in the Queen's District is ugly. If there's bloodshed, it could easily become a city-wide riot."
Cersei, clearly impatient, cut him off. "Tell me a concrete solution."
Unbothered, Jaime smiled faintly. "Toss them some gold dragons—it's the quickest way. One or two thousand should suffice."
One or two thousand gold dragons?!
Gawen's ears pricked up.
He saw the flicker of interest in Cersei's expression. A true Lannister.
Time for him to step in—for the sake of the poor folk of the Crab Claw Peninsula.
He cleared his throat to draw attention, stood, and addressed her. "Your Grace, if I may speak."
Cersei seemed to value the newcomer's opinion, her expression softening. She gestured for him to sit and speak.
"Ser Jaime's idea is good, but I must remind you—what of their appetite the next time? Or the time after that?"
Jaime shot Gawen a sidelong look but held his tongue.
So much for the great knightly spirit—he seems to have it in for me, Gawen thought.
"I also agree with Ser Lancel's suggestion," Gawen continued.
Lancel's bright-eyed look made Gawen's heart give a faint jolt.
Hearing Gawen side with Lancel's beheading proposal, Jaime's gaze sharpened again.
Gawen matched him with a sidelong glance. "We mustn't forget the Queen's return from the hunt. Wouldn't her carriage have to pass the Queen's District again?"
The others nodded slightly.
"The rumor is the first problem—and I think it's the easiest to solve."
No one mocked him; instead, they looked on with curiosity.
"Since it's false to begin with, it has a weakness. We can use an even greater rumor to weaken or erase the one against Her Grace."
The officers exchanged glances and murmurs of admiration.
Lancel's green eyes seemed to sparkle as he fixed them on Gawen. "Ser Gawen—for example?"
Gawen smiled, his brown eyes shifting toward Lancel. "A scandal between King Robert and Lord Jon Arryn that cannot be spoken aloud?"
Fifteen years of grievance had made Gawen, self-proclaimed Guardian of the Crab Claw Peninsula, an enemy sworn to the death against the Arryns.
When he finished, he gave a slow blink. The others, almost in unison, took it the wrong way.
Even the upright Jaime found his thoughts straying before he shook his head, pushing away the image Gawen had planted.
As for the rest—well, enough said.
One thing was certain: in the Queen's Hall, aiming barbs at Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn was politically correct—because it pleased Queen Cersei.
"That's the first step—handling the rumor. We can discuss the specifics later. This was only an example."
"Ohh…" The Queen's officers were all ears now.
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