Cersei Lannister leaned back in her chair, hands on the armrests, her voice icy.
"Varys, what kind of answer are you hoping to get from me?"
Her question caught Varys slightly off guard.
Glancing briefly at Jon Arryn, the Spider fell silent.
Queen Cersei let out a cold snort and lifted her smooth chin proudly.
Renly Baratheon glanced at the silenced Varys with amusement.
"Your Grace, it seems you have a better idea? We're all ears."
Cersei shot him a sidelong glance and rolled her eyes.
"Have Lord Mace Tyrell serve temporarily as an advisor to the Hand. He can help shoulder some of the responsibilities. As for the rest, you can sort that out amongst yourselves."
At this point, Renly also sensed something was off—Cersei wasn't acting like the woman he remembered.
He turned to look at Jon Arryn.
Seeing this, the Hand of the King felt a quiet relief and nodded ever so slightly.
The Lannisters were aligning with the Tyrells. This was a power grab.
Renly's expression became more composed.
"Your Grace, that is not a good idea. Lord Jon is still the Hand of the King."
Cersei's gaze toward him was laced with contempt.
"Lord Renly, if the Hand were capable of fulfilling his duties, would your Queen even need to be present at this meeting?"
Renly opened his mouth, paused, then finally replied,
"Lord Jon's health is improving."
Cersei snapped back,
"Even you admit the Hand is unwell!"
Renly spread his hands and forced a smile.
No wonder King Robert despised her—this overbearing attitude would put off anyone.
But today Cersei wasn't just overbearing—she was calculated, logical, and left them no ground to argue.
Like Jon Arryn, Renly suspected Tywin Lannister was behind everything that had happened today.
With Jon's health failing, the lion was ready to pounce.
Renly quietly reminded himself: The Lannisters have never let go of their ambition to control the Red Keep. I must remain vigilant.
Petyr Baelish saw Renly fall silent and curled his lips in a thin smile.
"Your Grace…"
Cersei cut him off coldly.
"That's enough! First one of you speaks, then the other—are you conspiring against your Queen?"
Her disdain for Petyr wasn't rooted in his low birth. In her eyes, he was Jon Arryn's lapdog, not worth listening to.
Petyr's mouth twitched, and he shrugged, closing his mouth with a bitter smile.
Just as the rest were rising to offer apologies, Jon Arryn raised a hand to stop them.
He fixed his gaze on the still-furious Queen.
"Your Grace, the Small Council is meant to speak freely and exchange views. None of us intended to offend the Queen of the realm."
Cersei's expression softened slightly.
"Hmph. You'd better not."
Her tone made Jon's eye twitch involuntarily.
Grand Maester Pycelle stepped in quickly.
"Your Grace, rest assured—Lord Jon will give your suggestions due consideration."
Seeing Cersei staring at him, Jon stiffly nodded.
"Lords and ladies, that will be all for today. I hope you move quickly and don't interfere with the King's merrymaking."
With that, Cersei rose from her seat. The others followed, nodding their respects.
She tilted her chin up proudly, cast a glance over them, nodded slightly, and swept out of the chamber.
Once she was gone, they resumed their seats.
Petyr spread his hands with a wry grin.
"My lords, I dare not face the lioness' roar again!"
A few chuckles followed. The tension in the throne room finally eased.
Petyr had discreetly sent a signal on Jon's behalf.
Even without the hint, the council members all understood—Cersei's sudden appearance had caught them off guard, but they would now unite to keep the Lannisters out of the council's affairs.
In the game of thrones, patience was everything—and none of the councillors lacked it.
The game had only just begun.
Red Keep – Maegor's Holdfast
Wearing a thin, slit-silk gown, Cersei sipped her summerwine with a contented smile.
Her triumph at the council left her in high spirits. The thrill of political victory now pleased her more than the pleasures of the bed.
In the days before Gawen left King's Landing, he had described possible council scenarios to her like telling a story.
His tongue was as sweet as ever, and Cersei had listened with great interest.
What Gawen did brilliantly was make it feel like she had discovered everything herself—rather than being taught by him.
I am Cersei Lannister, the lioness of the West—I need no one to teach me how to wield power.
From today's results, she had won the battle in the council chamber.
According to the rules of the game, today was not the end—but merely a temporary victory.
Would she worry about what came next? Never.
To Cersei, in power struggles there were only winners and losers. She had won—now the others would submit.
If anyone dared resist… it would be war.
The lioness's roar would make them feel the full cost of defying her.
Her golden eyes turned to the window, her lips curled in satisfaction.
At the time, she had supported Gawen on a whim. She never expected he'd become such a useful administrator.
She twirled her cup slowly in her hand. But can I truly trust Gawen?
The more valuable he became, the more she doubted his loyalty.
Cersei craved control. Gawen's performance had been excellent, but it still fell short of her expectations.
And that tiny shortcoming—only she could personally address.
Downing the rest of her wine, her face glowed with triumph.
Father's greatest regret was never having a true heir. I could've been his perfect successor… if only I hadn't been born a woman.
After a moment of reflection, her eyes gleamed.
She had played the dutiful daughter, the blushing bride, the obedient wife.
She had endured Robert's drunken fumbling, and Jaime's volcanic jealousy.
But in the end, she believed only one thing mattered—who laughs last.
She had promised herself: The Seven Kingdoms will be my compensation.
That long-awaited day was now within reach.
And the people she hated most… would soon be ash.
Narrow Sea – Stormy Waters
Two pirate ships closed in on Gawen's vessel from either side.
Sailors on both sides prepared for boarding combat, hurling thick ropes with iron hooks toward the enemy. The air filled with the sound of lines snapping taut.
High on the deck, Gawen stood steady, awaiting the clash.
Rick Snow roared,
"Prepare to fight!"
"Aye! Prepare for battle!"
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
The crew responded with fervor, loyal to their captain.
The stormy seas made movement perilous—no one dared jump across using the ropes. They all waited silently for the ships to collide.
CRASH!
The waves amplified the impact. Sailors staggered and fell. Some were thrown straight into the sea—beyond saving.
CRASH!
Moments later, the second pirate ship struck.
Everyone clung desperately to the rigging.
"Draw swords!" Rick shouted.
Shield in one hand, short sword in the other, he pushed to the front.
The pirates were struggling too. Many cursed their captain's insanity.
They couldn't understand how enraged their leader was—provoked by prey that fought back.
Gawen himself was surprised by the pirates' madness. He had almost thought the ship would split apart.
Lesson learned, he thought. I should leave ship maneuvers to the captain—this wasn't the weather for boarding battles.
The pirates howled as they charged from both sides. Battle broke out in a blur of steel and blood.
Though cramped, the ship's narrow deck left Gawen's men at a disadvantage. Being attacked from both flanks made things worse.
Gawen raised his bow and began picking targets.
Thwip!
Each shot made Martil Beck flinch—the air sang with killing intent.
Whoever shouted the loudest died first.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Each arrow ended a life. Gawen's aim was deadly.
His powerful body quickly emptied a full quiver.
He extended a hand. Martil, carrying multiple quivers, immediately passed him another.
Rick, drawing on his years of experience, fought steadily despite the rolling deck.
After killing his third pirate, he drew their attention—more came charging toward him.
He tightened his grip on his shield.
This fight could've been avoided…
But now his lord was on the ship—this was a battle they could not afford to lose.
These pirates were more insane than expected. Rick regretted not convincing Lord Gawen to reconsider.
Normally cautious, today he had been swept up in the heat of the moment.
Too late for regrets now. All that's left is to fight—for honor. Never surrender!
But just as Rick was about to charge forward—he paused.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Pirates fell before reaching him. Some were pinned to the masts by arrows.
Rick's eyes widened. He looked toward the source.
Gawen, calmly receiving a new quiver from Martil, loosed another arrow.
Thwip!
The slaughter resumed.
Rick couldn't help but shout,
"Long live the Lord!"
"Long live the Mermaid!"
"For Crabb!"
"For Whispers Hall!"
Buoyed by Gawen's support, the crew's morale surged.
Pentos – Illyrio's Mansion
Illyrio Mopatis, though grotesquely fat, moved with surprising elegance.
His layers of red silk swayed with each step.
On a couch, Viserys Targaryen sneered at the man.
"My future Master of Coin, Illyrio… any good news?"
Viserys already knew Illyrio was reaching out to the Khalasar of the Dothraki.
But things were progressing too slowly for his taste—he longed to return to Westeros with an army and seize his throne.
Illyrio, seemingly unfazed by Viserys' impatience, bowed slightly.
"Your Grace. May the Lord of Light bless you."
Viserys scoffed.
"I don't need blessings—I need an army strong enough to reclaim the Iron Throne."
"My king, you will soon have good news. The wedding gift includes ten thousand riders."
"Oh?" Viserys sat up eagerly.
"How long?"
"Your Grace, the Dothraki have their customs. Patience is required. But it will be worth it."
Viserys beamed.
"Of course. I will be patient."
Illyrio bowed again.
"You are a king by nature."
But Viserys quickly added,
"Just don't make me wait too long."
Illyrio's smile faltered for a split second—but the proud prince didn't notice.
"Trust in my loyalty, Your Grace. I, too, am eager. You have but one sister, and I must negotiate thoroughly before I feel secure."
Suddenly, Viserys muttered,
"Dany's far too thin. Are you sure they like such small women?"
"She has the blood of Old Valyria. She's the daughter of the old king, and the sister of the new one. And now, thanks to your care, she bears true royal grace."
Illyrio grinned, yellow teeth gleaming.
"She will earn you ten thousand howling Dothraki warriors."
Viserys, reassured for now, eased back.
"So—what brought you to me? I only care about soldiers."
"I received new intelligence from King's Landing. The usurper Robert has assigned someone new to lead the hunt for House Targaryen."
Viserys shot up, eyes wide, voice trembling.
"These usurpers—I'll see them all dead by my hand!"
Illyrio bowed his head.
"This place is safe, Your Grace. Their efforts are laughable."
Viserys caught himself, smoothed his hair, and darkly said,
"I believe you. But I don't want to see assassins at my door. Throw them into the sea."
Illyrio smiled again.
"If you knew who this new agent was, perhaps their stupidity would actually amuse you."
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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