"The Queen approaches!"
A heavy wooden door at one end of the throne room creaked open.
Cersei Lannister entered, wearing a crimson off-shoulder gown and her queen's crown.
Following closely behind her was her loyal protector, Jaime Lannister.
The lords of the Small Council rose in surprise, placing their hands over their chests in salute.
Jon Arryn, seated at the Hand's chair, looked at the proud expression on Queen Cersei's face with a complex gaze.
Cersei came to a halt, her eyes meeting Jon's.
Jon sighed inwardly. Until the truth was revealed, she was still the queen in the eyes of the realm.
His trembling hand gripped the armrest as he rose and bowed his head slightly toward her.
Cersei lifted her chin, the faintest of smirks curling her lips.
She glanced at the vacant royal seat and then at Jon Arryn beside it.
She stepped forward and said, "Good day, my lords. I'll sit here. Ser Jaime, fetch me a chair."
Without concern for the stares he received, Jaime placed a wooden chair behind her.
Ser Barristan glanced at the Kingsguard in silver armor and white cloak, then closed his eyes, as if offended by the sight.
He deeply disapproved of Jaime's presence—a Kingsguard who had slain the very king he had sworn to protect. In Barristan's view, Jaime's white cloak should be black.
Once Cersei was seated, the council resumed their seats.
Renly smirked and said, "Your Grace, what a surprise. You rarely grace us with your presence. I can't recall the last time you joined a council meeting… it must have been years."
Cersei disliked Renly and his mocking tone—he reminded her too much of Robert.
With a cold laugh, she replied, "Lord Renly, if your sincerity matched your charm, I'd attend every meeting—for your sake and the realm's."
Renly laughed, but said no more. He knew the council had long maintained a silent consensus to exclude Cersei whenever possible.
Her presence now made the room fall quiet.
The tension at the table grew thick. Petyr Baelish's eyes flicked toward Jon Arryn, who gave a subtle nod.
Petyr shifted his gaze to the queen and broke the silence. "Your Grace, if I may be so bold—what brings you to the Small Council today? I am, as always, at your service."
But before he could finish, Cersei's disdain was palpable. She had no interest in speaking to Petyr, her expression scornful.
Petyr shrugged, a touch of resignation on his face, and said nothing more.
Would he secretly resent her for this? No. In the Red Keep, everyone was used to Cersei's arrogance. If anything, Petyr would've been suspicious if she had been kind.
A moment later, Jon finally spoke. "Your Grace, please—speak freely."
Cersei offered a thin smile, but her voice was sharp. "Lord Arryn, it seems your health is indeed failing. I'll have one of my ladies light a candle for you at the sept."
Jon frowned. Her appearance was too well-timed—it made him wonder if his secret investigation had been compromised.
But he dismissed the thought. If she knew the truth, she wouldn't be sitting across from him exchanging barbs.
Jon's gaze hardened. "Your Grace, please speak your mind. The Council has important matters to address."
Before Cersei could respond, Grand Maester Pycelle interrupted.
"Your Grace, the Hand speaks true. Before your arrival, we were discussing plans to close the city. Many urgent matters remain."
Petyr's pupils dilated. The old fox had revealed the plan too early.
It may have sounded like Pycelle was defending Jon, but by bringing up the city closure in front of Cersei, he had effectively sabotaged it.
The plan had nearly passed—only a formal vote remained. Now, that final step had been derailed.
...
While the great powers clashed in the throne room, Gawen Crabb was sailing through the stormy waters of the Narrow Sea.
"Lord Gawen!" Rick Snow called out. "We're being tailed by pirates—but don't worry. The wind favors us. We'll shake them before nightfall!"
Gawen glanced at the three dark specks in the distance. "Rick, you're the commander of the Crabb fleet now!"
He grabbed a rope and pointed toward the pirate ships. "Turn the ship. Head for them!"
"Yes, my lord!"
Rick's fighting spirit ignited. Wiping seawater from his face, he shouted, "Helmsman, hard to port! Secure the ropes!"
"Aye, Captain! Hard to port!"
The ship leaned heavily as it turned. Rick studied the waves. "Steady the course!"
"Aye! Steady course!"
The sailors hauled on the ropes, adjusting the sails as the ship surged forward, leaving a wake of white foam behind.
Gawen, surrounded by the crashing of waves, took a custom longbow from Martyl Beck. "Martyl, stay with me!"
The archer, his belt heavy with quivers, shouted back, "Yes, my lord! I won't leave your side!"
Meanwhile, the pirates had also noticed the approaching prey.
They had three ships to the Crabb fleet's two. "They think they can face us? This sea belongs to me!" the pirate captain roared. "Close in!"
As the ships neared, the waters calmed.
"Reef the sails! Prepare for boarding!"
Both fleets gave the same order.
...
On the other Crabb ship, Mondon put on a steel bucket helm.
"Careful out there, Anguy. The deck's narrow and the waves are rough."
"I've got my sea legs," Anguy replied, eyes sharp. "It's the narrow deck you should worry about."
Mondon chuckled, raising his visor. "So, have you picked who to marry yet?"
Anguy had become popular among the spearwives in the Crabb lands—especially after he bested a few particularly burly ones.
Despite his fame, he had his own worries.
Trying to change the subject, Anguy said, "Mondon, I've noticed you've been avoiding Lord Gawen lately. You used to follow him everywhere."
Mondon tried to scratch his head but hit his helmet. "You must be mistaken."
He turned toward the enemy ship, lifting his shield. "I'll take the front."
Despite the swaying ship, Mondon's footing was solid.
Anguy watched him for a moment before checking his bow again.
...
Red Keep, Throne Room.
Cersei's smirk was sharp. "Jon Arryn, not only are you sick, but you've grown senile."
The room froze at her words.
Jon clenched his fist. "Queen Cersei, this is the Small Council, not your private chamber!"
His words were followed by a coughing fit.
Petyr rushed to his side, but Jon waved him away.
Cersei, though offended by the word "chamber," was delighted to see Jon weakened.
As he slumped against his chair, looking frail, she felt nothing but cruel satisfaction.
Would she pity him? Never. Cersei had no sympathy for the weak.
She said coolly, "Has the Hand developed a sudden interest in my bedchamber? I must say, I'm surprised."
"You—!"
Jon's chest heaved. "Do not tarnish my honor!"
Cersei sneered, "Only a coward would lock down King's Landing just to feel safe. I'll have a dress sent to you for next time."
As suspicious glances swept across the room, Jon nearly choked on rage. How could Tywin have a daughter like this?
Cersei had no idea Jon's real plan was to prepare the city for the fallout once the royal bloodline secret was revealed.
To her, he was simply panicking over secret tunnels.
But what angered Jon most wasn't the remark about the dress—it was her veiled insinuations, her shamelessness. This is the queen I chose for Robert?
Everyone knew there were no secrets in the Red Keep. Did she not care about her reputation?
Of course she did—but ever since Gawen Crabb, her chief agent, had shown no mercy to her enemies, Cersei had embraced a new creed.
I, Cersei Lannister, do not know the meaning of fear!
...
Among the council, only one dared step into this storm—Renly Baratheon.
He had considered removing Cersei and installing Margaery Tyrell as queen, gaining both power and the Reach's support.
But Jaime had unleashed a storm of bribes and investigations that forced him to retreat and hide his trail.
Intrigue was always risky. If exposed, it would stain House Baratheon's honor.
In the end, Renly had to back down, though he had spent months preparing his plot.
Suddenly, Renly burst out laughing, his voice echoing like Robert's.
He said, "Your Grace, Lord Arryn doesn't know the meaning of humor. My brother Robert always hated that about him!"
The room erupted in laughter.
Cersei sniffed but said nothing—not because of Renly's joke, but because of the name "Robert."
Renly had subtly reminded her that Jon Arryn and Robert were like family. Pressing him too far might provoke the king.
Cersei missed the hint. All she could see was Robert's younger likeness in Renly's face—and it made her sick.
She despised everything about Robert, and everyone connected to him.
Ironically, Renly thought: If she weren't a Lannister, she might have made a decent queen.
Smiling, he said, "Your Grace, I'm sure your visit today means you have something important to share. Shall we begin with your business?"
He turned to Jon, who only nodded.
Cersei rolled her eyes. "I've heard that due to your health, Petyr has been acting in your stead as Hand. Are you grooming him to be your successor?"
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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