Sansa Stark shook her head at once, eyes brimming. "Lord Crabb, I knew nothing of it. I only knew my father meant to send us away. The Queen Dowager can attest to that."
Gawen arched a brow. "Your Grace, why should you testify for a rebel's daughter?"
At his words, Sansa's hot tears spilled over. She crumpled helplessly. "No! He'd never do such a thing—there must be some mistake!"
Gawen pressed on. "Did you not see it with your own eyes this morning? The blood in the throne room has yet to be scrubbed clean. Shall I take you back to help your memory?"
Sansa wept openly, heartsick and afraid. Why would Father do such a thing? Was she truly to be the daughter of a traitor? Could she still love Joffrey?!
She shouted, "That was his own doing—it has nothing to do with me!"
Gawen had meant to hint plainly—Crabb forgets nothing—but abandoned the thought. Love had blinded the little maid.
Until she saw the true faces of Cersei and Joffrey, he would not reach out his hand.
Tap—tap—each step Gawen took made Sansa's heart pound faster. He stooped and caught her cheek between his fingers.
"Amusing, isn't it? A father a rebel, and his daughter betrays him as well. True kin, through and through."
Sansa tried to shake her head, but his grip was iron; she could not move.
"No, no, no…"
She denied him desperately. She remembered Lord Crabb as a good man—why was he doing this to her, pinning crimes upon her?
"Please," she pleaded weakly, "let me go. I truly know nothing."
"Lady Sansa, you look a touch more agreeable now. My anger cools—slightly."
He released her cheek. "Without Lord Ned, who will care for your feelings?"
His ear twitched; he straightened slowly.
"Such is your lot now. Do you understand?"
Sansa stole a wary look at this stranger wearing Gawen's face and whispered, trembling, "I…I understand."
"Tell me—where is Arya Stark?"
How should she know where Arya had run? It was too unfair—why must everything be laid at her feet?
Seeing her fall silent, Gawen's face went cold.
Sansa had sworn to be a proper lady: gentle as a queen, steadfast as her mother. But the man before her frightened her to the bone, and she could not stop shaking.
"Please—spare me, I truly—"
The door swung open, cutting off her sobs.
Gawen turned. Cersei Lannister entered, Ser Boros Blount and Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard at her back.
Ser Boros of the Crownlands and Ser Meryn of the Stormlands were both Robert's white cloaks; rumor had it they had bent the knee to Cersei even while the king yet lived.
And there—at the rear—Lancel waved furtively at Gawen, swearing with that gesture he had not tattled.
Gawen bowed. "Good day, Your Grace."
Cersei cast him a sideways glance, went to Sansa, lifted the girl and drew her into an embrace.
"My poor child," cooed the Queen Dowager as Sansa gulped back tears, "how could I not believe you?"
She looked up at Gawen. "Lord Crabb, how dare you interrogate Lady Sansa without leave? She is no criminal."
"Your Grace," Gawen said evenly, "I only meant to ask the young lady a few questions. Lord Eddard's surprise has left me…ill at ease."
Cersei's lip curled in contempt. "The wolf's little ploys are clumsy indeed."
She smoothed Sansa's hair. "I believe the girl innocent, Lord Crabb. I will not have her frightened for naught."
Gawen dipped his head. "As you command, Your Grace."
Sansa felt safe at last, nestling obediently in the Queen's arms.
"There now," Cersei murmured, "rest a while."
The Red Keep, the Dungeons
Ned saw Robert as a youth again—tall and splendid, stag-helmed, warhammer in hand, astride his destrier like a horned god.
Laughter boomed in the dark, and Robert's eyes were summer-lake blue."Seven hells…"
"Eddard," Robert seemed to sigh, "we brought down the Targaryens and won the Iron Throne together… and now you rot here while I'm gored by a boar. How did we come to this?"
Ned's mouth would not open; no sound came.
Brother, friend—I failed you. I lied, hid the truth. I killed you with my silence.
"You stubborn fool," Robert snarled, somehow hearing his thoughts. "I found my own death, and you're finding yours. Will pride feed you? Will honor shield your children?"
You're right. I'm a hopeless fool. We'll meet again soon, Robert.
"Begone, then! Leave me to Lyanna. Seven bloody hells, I've no wish to see your long face."
He was already passing out of reach.
"Robert!"
Ned Stark jolted awake. After a long moment, he remembered where he was—no light, the straw under him stinking of piss.
His hand found slick, freezing stone. He was blind here. Dead, in truth.
The king feasted; the Hand… did not.The king died; the Hand was buried with him.
A fitting grave for a thrice-damned fool.
He had lost this game of thrones, and his men had paid in blood for his folly.
"In the game of thrones, you win—or you die."
Cersei's mocking voice seemed to whisper in his ear as his lids grew heavy, some crushing weight pressing them down.
My children… His cracked lips trembled, and darkness took him again.
Maegor's Holdfast, Little Hall
Lancel, seeing Gawen make no move against him—and remembering their old camaraderie—slowly calmed. Before Cersei, he recovered his knightly bearing.
The Queen Dowager stood at the window. Gawen and Lancel waited behind her; two Kingsguard watched from afar.
Gawen spared one look for Lancel—so absorbed in playing at chivalry—then lowered his eyes and did not stir.
After a while, Cersei spoke."You both heard: Janos Slynt is dead…"
She turned, green eyes on Gawen.
His gaze flickered. He bowed. "Your Grace, Lord Slynt betrayed your trust."
Cersei's mouth curved in approval. "And why is that?"
"You had planned it all. But for his blundering, he would be awaiting your reward this moment—and helping you bring the City Watch to heel."
Cersei blinked, then smoothed her face once more.
She stepped close. "Then, Gawen—will you satisfy me?"
Hand to heart, his voice trembled. "Your Grace, I am loyal to you alone."
Lancel, stung by her warmth toward Gawen, thought him a fool—she asked if you could satisfy her, and all you offer is oath and honeyed words…But what came next left him slack-jawed.
Cersei's chin lifted; a smile ghosted her lips."Lord Crabb, from this day, you are Commander of the City Watch—the Gold Cloaks."
Gawen dropped to one knee, struggling to master his emotion. "Your Grace, House Crabb will never forget your favor."
Lancel gaped, mouth hanging open.
Cersei crossed to the table in the little hall, sat, and drew a sheet of clean vellum."Rise."
She dipped a quill and wrote as she spoke. "Lord Crabb, have you men enough?"
Gawen inclined his head. "At most ten days, Your Grace. You will command eight thousand swords."
The quill scratched on. Cersei said no more.
When the patent of office was finished, she signed: Cersei of House Lannister, Queen Regent, Protector of the Realm.
The Next Day, Maegor's Holdfast — Council Chamber
Papers and candles crowded the long table. The Queen Dowager presided. Sansa stood at her side; Grand Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys sat to left and right.
"With regret," said Cersei, "this was found on a Stark guardsman. Addressed to my late husband's brother, Stannis Baratheon—your father invites him to seize the crown."
The letter lay shredded and bloodstained upon the table, the direwolf of Winterfell still plain upon the seal remnant. Panic swam through Sansa; the room tilted.
Pycelle blinked awake. "We all heard Lord Eddard swear to King Robert that he would protect the prince as his own son. And yet, no sooner is the king dead than he convenes the great lords to steal what is rightfully Joffrey's."
Varys looked stricken. "Who would have thought Lord Stark would rebel for power? It beggars belief."
"Your Grace," Sansa begged, "please—bring my father here. He will explain. He was King Robert's friend—he would never write such a letter."
"Robert thought so too," Cersei sighed. "Were he alive, this would have broken his heart. The gods were merciful to spare him the sight."
She softened her voice. "My sweet child, I know how heavy this sits upon you. We all know it is not your doing. But you are a rebel's daughter. Tell me—how can I dare wed you to my son?"
A rebel's daughter… Gawen had said those very words yesterday. Would they judge her too? Would she still marry Joffrey?
"I love him," Sansa sobbed. "Your Grace, I love Joffrey."
It was not meant to be like this. Had not the Queen promised her the match? She had dreamed the wedding—only for Father's deeds to tear them apart?
"Hush now," Cersei murmured. She glanced to her councillors. "Pycelle, Varys—what say you of the girl?"
Varys' face was all pity. "A poor child indeed. To deny such pure devotion would be cruel, Your Grace… and yet her father's crime is no small thing. What can we do?"
Pycelle spoke slowly. "If she is a rebel's seed, the rebel's bent may already have taken root. Today she is a sweet child—but in ten years, who can say?"
He shook his head, peering at Sansa. "No man alive."
"No!" Sansa cried, horrified. "I am not—and I will not—betray Joffrey. I love him. I swear it."
Varys sighed. "Ah, but oaths are not so sure as blood."
Sansa turned pleading eyes to the Queen.
Cersei seemed sorely troubled on her behalf—but in those clear green eyes Sansa saw motherly affection, and hope kindled anew.
"Your Grace, I have no traitor's blood. I obey. Ask Septa Mordane if you doubt me. I only wish to be Joffrey's loyal, loving wife."
The Queen studied her earnest face, then spoke gently. "My child, I believe you."
Sansa wept and smiled together. "Thank you, Your Grace. I will never betray Joffrey. I swear I truly love him."
Cersei nodded with a small smile and looked to her councillors. "Grand Maester. Lord Varys. The girl would break my heart. To my mind, this was Lord Stark's doing alone. If her kin at Winterfell will bend the knee and swear fealty to King Joffrey's Iron Throne, then we need not fear for Sansa."
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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