King's Landing, River Gate (the Mud Gate).
Ser Jacelyn Bywater, captain of the Mud Gate garrison of the Gold Cloaks, saluted Tyrion Lannister, who had come to inspect the defenses.
"My lord Hand."
Tyrion looked Ser Jacelyn up and down and smiled.
"I like your straightforward greeting."
Ser Jacelyn hailed from a cadet branch of House Bywater of the Crownlands. He had fought in the siege of Pyke during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion. There he lost his right hand, yet his valor earned him a knighthood from King Robert I. Afterwards he rose to command among the Gold Cloaks.
He gave no response to Tyrion's jest, only stepping aside and gesturing courteously.
Ser Jacelyn was a tall man. Tyrion reached up to pat his thigh.
"I like you even more, good ser."
On the city walls, Tyrion clasped his hands behind his back as he gazed out at Blackwater Bay. Turning, he asked:
"Ser Jacelyn, if the enemy comes from the sea, would they strike here?"
Jacelyn's brown hair was streaked with grey; his eye sockets were deep, his brow heavy, and his wide jaw made him look rather like a pumpkin.
After a pause, he answered seriously:
"My lord Hand, every part of King's Landing could become the enemy's target. The Mud Gate is simply more likely than most."
Tyrion's eyes flicked to the squire standing nearby with his chest puffed out.
"Pod, I'd like a private word with Ser Jacelyn."
"As you command, my lord."
Leaning against the battlements, Tyrion cast a glance at Jacelyn's iron prosthetic hand and said lazily:
"As I recall, you've been captain of the Mud Gate for three years now?"
"Yes, my lord Hand."
Tyrion straightened.
"Ser Jacelyn, could you serve as Commander of the City Watch?"
Jacelyn studied him for a time before shaking his head.
"My lord Hand, no one can replace Lord Gawen. The men love him deeply."
Tyrion grinned.
"You stand before a Lannister Hand of the King. Who doesn't love golden dragons?"
Jacelyn shook his head again.
"Lord Gawen is just. The men trust him."
Tyrion nodded slightly. The man's meaning was plain: true loyalty could not be bought with coin alone.
"Does a warrior understand a warrior?" Tyrion mused, before continuing:
"Ser Jacelyn, Lord Gawen is my friend. It was he who recommended you to me… a secret, but I trust your honor."
Doubt flickered in Jacelyn's eyes.
Tyrion shrugged his small shoulders.
"A new Hand needs a commander he can trust. Alas, Lord Gawen bears King Robert's dying command. I have no grounds to keep him here."
Jacelyn was astonished.
"My lord Hand, why would Lord Gawen leave King's Landing?"
Tyrion chuckled.
"Don't mistake me. This isn't exile, but the highest honor. Next we meet, Earl Crabb will likely be seated at the Small Council table."
Jacelyn lowered his gaze to his iron hand.
"That is indeed good news, my lord Hand."
Tyrion's smile vanished as he spoke solemnly.
"Then, new Commander of the City Watch—will you pledge your highest loyalty to the new Hand?"
The next day, in the throne room.
Around the Small Council table sat Cersei Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys, Gawen Crabb, and Lancel Lannister.
Pycelle's tedious recitations of court affairs droned on. Gawen stared motionless at the wood grain of the table. Lancel, watching him, imitated his composure.
Queen Regent Cersei lifted her hand and cut in, her face sharp with impatience.
"Enough. We are not here today to prattle over trifles."
She glared, her voice rising.
"You all received Stannis's letter, did you not? I will see him punished for his vile slanders!"
At her words, both Pycelle and Varys pulled letters from their sleeves and laid them on the table.
Tyrion leaned far forward, snatched one up, and read with great interest.
"Hah. The same as the one I saw yesterday—only the names changed. Clever fellow."
Pycelle blinked his rheumy eyes.
"Your Grace, every minister in the Red Keep has been given a copy."
Tyrion rubbed his chin.
"Could it be that every noble house in the realm has received one as well?"
Varys inclined his head toward the Queen Regent.
"My little birds tell me the Hand's suspicion is very likely true."
Cersei trembled with rage.
"I will burn them all. Not a word must reach my son or my father!"
Tyrion sighed.
"Dearest sister, Stannis will already have sent his birds to Casterly Rock. As for burning these letters… the water is spilled. You cannot scoop it back."
He spread his hands.
"And truthfully, what is written is not so dreadful."
The lioness turned her green eyes upon him, furious.
"Do you have no wits, Tyrion? Did you not read? He calls my son a bastard, and dares accuse me of inces and adu!"
Tyrion almost blurted: Because it's true!
But for his own life's sake, he pressed his lips tight. Better his mouth follow his mind, not outrun it.
That Cersei raged over charges she knew to be true amazed Tyrion. Yet behind her golden hair he glimpsed a glimmer of cunning. She was not a fool entire.
He glanced at Gawen: Was she always so fierce?
Gawen's look returned: A lioness roaring.
Cersei had a talent for theater—something Gawen had witnessed firsthand, so he was not surprised.
Lancel seized the moment.
"Your Grace, how shall we proceed—"
But under her cold stare, his eager voice dwindled and his back stiffened, then shrank.
Tyrion coughed lightly.
"Your Grace, Stannis needed a pretext to question Joffrey's claim. We have long known this was coming. Did you expect him to write us flattering words instead?"
"I will not suffer to be called a whore!" she spat.
At least Stannis didn't claim Jaime paid you, Tyrion thought bitterly, biting back a smile.
Quiet, fool. You've not secured the City Watch yet.
Bowing over the letter, his eyes caught on a line.
"'In the light of the Lord of Light…'" he murmured.
He looked up.
"A strange turn of phrase."
Varys explained with a smile.
"My lord Hand, it is common in the Free Cities. Like our 'under the eyes of the gods.' The Lord of Light is the god of the red priests, also called the Heart of Fire, the Shadow and the Flame. Years ago, Lady Selyse Florent, Stannis's wife, fell under their sway."
Tyrion chuckled, flicking the letter.
"Varys, I begin to like your little birds. So her husband follows as well. This we may use—let the High Septon denounce Stannis for abandoning the Seven."
Cersei cut him off impatiently.
"Enough. First we must stop these filthy lies from spreading."
Lancel straightened, emboldened.
"Your Grace, issue a decree: any who spread rumors, let their tongues be torn out."
Pycelle stroked his beard.
"Swift action could strangle the rumors quickly enough."
Gawen's brown eyes shifted to Pycelle. More cutting, again?
Given how many letters Stannis had sent, half the city would lose their tongues before he left King's Landing.
But Tyrion spoke first.
"Sister, cutting out tongues only stops words, not thoughts. Worse, it shows how greatly you fear the tales."
Cersei sneered.
"Then what brilliant scheme do you propose?"
Tyrion smiled broadly.
"Any man with sense will see these accusations as Stannis's poor excuse to usurp the throne. Best do nothing. Let them rant, and soon it will pass."
"Coward! You would sit idle and wait for doom?"
He showed her a saccharine grin.
"Does Stannis have proof? These are empty words. Where will he find evidence?"
Cersei frowned, uncertain.
Gawen leaned forward.
"Your Grace, your caution is wise. Most people will not weigh truth; they will believe even the most absurd rumor."
Her face softened at his words.
"My Earl of the Crab Claw, continue."
Gawen inclined his head.
"Stannis spins tales. But if we release a truer, more compelling tale…?"
He swept his gaze around the table.
"The truth of Jon Arryn's death. A gentle wife poisoning her husband. The heir of the Eyrie a bastard born of incest. The Hand who uncovered the truth silenced by his wife. Evidence from Lord Eddard Stark's own investigation—and from a witness, the escaped former Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish."
Gawen spread his hands, smiling.
"This is the tale the people will devour. And unlike Stannis's, it is true."
Lancel gripped his arm eagerly.
"Lord Gawen, last year when we quelled rumors in the Queen's Quarter, you used this very trick. You're brilliant!"
Gawen smiled gently.
"This time differs. Now the tale we release is a true one."
Varys chuckled.
"Queen Regent, Lord Gawen's story is delicious indeed. Even I am curious."
Pycelle nodded, chains clinking softly.
"All loved Lord Arryn. Alas, truth is cruel."
Tyrion grinned.
"Why not give Stannis a tale too? Put a green hat upon his head."
To his surprise, Cersei's lips curved in a rare smile.
Gawen interjected.
"My lord Hand, the Arryn tale is enough to quash the present rumors. Stannis's story we may save… until he crowns himself king."
Tyrion's smile faded.
"You mean—"
Gawen nodded.
"Yes. For when Stannis declares himself king."
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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