Chapter 5 Varys

(Hello everyone! So, this is a fanfic that I've been working on for a while now. I borrowed several elements from Game of Thrones and A Song of Ice and Fire. This is my first fanfic on this site, so constructive criticism is welcome. Appreciate!)

He didn't like the screams, but they were necessary sometimes to get the information he required. Down in the bowels of the Red Keep at King's Landing Lord Varys sat at an old wooden table just outside the torture chamber, looking over a parchment as the screams continued within. The parchment was a map of King's Landing's main castle and keeps and the outer walls that faced Blackwater Bay. On it where the walls were closest to the sea were several crude Xs marked in charcoal on the city's outer walls. Lying on the table was a brass tube with two pieces of curved glass, one at either end. A product of Myr it was, oft called a spyglass by sailors. As Varys examined the items by lamp light another scream came from the other side of the door leading to the torture chamber.

The torture chamber had been here since Maegor the Cruel was king. Not all the rulers since him had made as steady use of it as Maegor did, but most had found it necessary from time to time. Robert Baratheon was not so inclined. In all his many years of rule Varys could not recall him ever ordering Varys to have someone tortured for information. Not that King Robert was a soft man. Far from it. But he saw himself as a hero who had gotten rid of a mad king and had no wish to replace him in all ways. Varys did his best to bring Robert as much information as he desired, and also preferred to use the subtle arts of intelligence gathering to get what he needed. But sometimes he had to use torture, such as now.

Another high pitched scream came from within the chamber and Varys found himself shuddering a bit. He looked at the face of the guard that stood outside the door and he looked very pale. The door to the chamber suddenly opened and a large black haired man came out. He was tall and muscled like a bull. Flecks of blood were sprinkled on his face and hands, and his ham sized fists were bruised and bloody. An equally bloody whip hung coiled at his belt.

"He's ready to talk, my lord," the torturer said and Varys nodded, stood and entered the chamber, taking the parchment with him.

It was a large room, having once contained many hideous instruments of torture but it was mostly empty now. Varys had heard Maegor the Cruel had dozens of people in here at a time. According to the stories, Maegor loved to come down here and whip the prisoners himself, or make them attack each other, sometimes making a father whip a daughter or a son burn out his mother's eyes. It is even said he tortured one of his own wives before executing her when she could not produce an heir. Varys gave another involuntary shudder. There were few instruments of torture in the room now except for a small brazier burning brightly with a red hot poker in its midst, and a few whips on the walls, and that was all that was really needed.

The man being tortured was naked and he hung by the wrists from chains in the ceiling in the center of the room. He was in his thirties perhaps, brown haired and bearded but going a bit bald, with a muscular body and strong arms. Many tattoos covered his upper body and arms, mostly with a maritime motif, fish, whales, sailing ships, and a few pretty women. He claimed he was a fisherman, whose small boat had been damaged the night before on the shores below the city walls on Blackwater Bay.

It had been a moonlight night, and he should have seen the danger, but he had the misfortune of striking a rock and his small boat barely made it to shore. There he was promptly seen by some other fishermen looking for the body of a lost companion who had fallen overboard earlier in the day. They called over some soldiers patrolling the shoreline, who captured the spy. He claimed he was just a fisherman but when his boat was examined they found the Myrish spyglass, and the map of the castle and fortifications of King's Landing. A smart captain of the guard realized the marks on the parchment indicated where the scorpions and catapults were on the walls of the city. The so-called fisherman refused to break under questioning so he was sent to Varys.

It was hard to tell what he really looked like. His face was puffy, his eyes almost swollen shut, his teeth broken, his lips split and bleeding. His body was now covered in small burn marks and strips of bloody flesh were torn off where the whips had flayed him, ruining most of the fine tattoo work he had had done. He had lost control of both his bladder and bowels. The torturer had thrown a bucket of water at him to clean him, but it hadn't cleaned him well nor got rid of the smell. Varys wrinkled his nose as he looked at the man.

"Do you know who I am?"

The man nodded. "The Spider," he said through his broken lips, his words slurred and slowly spoken. That got him another lash of the whip and he screamed once more. "L...L…Lord Varys," he sputtered. "My apologies."

"Graciously accepted," said Varys. "Now to the matter at hand. We found your spyglass and map." Varys held up the map. "Just what were you up to, my good man?"

A moment of hesitation and then he spoke. "Spying."

"Obviously," Varys said with a slight titter. "For whom is what I really wish to know. Renly or Stannis?"

Silence. Then a crack of the whip and he screamed again. "King Stannis."

"Joffrey Baratheon is King."

"He's a bastard," the man said with contempt. "Stannis is the rightful king." That got him another lash of the whip. He called Joffrey a bastard, thought Varys. He knew Ned Stark had written to Stannis Baratheon, telling him about his suspicions of Robert's children's true parentage. What has Stannis Baratheon been telling his people? And how soon would the story spread?

After the echoes of the man's scream ended, Varys questioned him again. "What were your orders?"

"Map the defenses of King's Landing," came the answer in slow gasps.

"When will Stannis attack?"

"Don't know. I'm just a fisherman."

"A smart fisherman, it would seem," Varys commented as he peered once more at the parchment. "You can use a spyglass and read a map. Are you really just a common fisherman?"

"Yes."

Varys nodded to the torturer and the whip cracked again. The man sobbed this time. "Just a fisherman," said the man and then the whip cracked once more. "Just…just…one of his captains."

Varys smiled. "That's better. What is your name?"

"Reginald Carlyle."

Varys frowned. "I don't seem to recall you." That was unusual, as Varys thought he knew the names of all Stannis' captains.

"I have been away, trading across the Narrow Sea," Carlyle gasped. "I returned to Dragonstone a few days ago."

"Ah, that explains much. And how many ships does Stannis have?"

"A lot."

"How many?"

"More than one hundred. Galleys and cogs, most built for war. Sallandor Saan is with him."

"The pirate," Varys mused. "How much is he demanding?"

"Don't know."

"Does Stannis have much gold?"

"Don't know."

"When will Stannis attack?"

"Didn't say."

The torturer went to whip him again but Varys held his hand up and shook his head. "No, that is enough for now. A maester will see to his injuries. Then return him to his cell and make sure he is fed. And cleaned."

Varys turned to leave but Carlyle spoke once more. "What is to become of me?"

"That is up to the true king," Varys said and then he left.

Soon he was back in the daylight crossing a courtyard and making his way back to his quarters where a hot bath was in order after being in the smelly dungeons. But as Varys turned towards the entrance to the stairs to his rooms a shadow stepped out from the wall and Joffrey's dog, Sandor Clegane, the Hound, was standing there, in his full armor and with all his weapons as usual.

"The King wants a word," Clegane said without any preamble or even bothering to add Varys' name or title. In his few experiences with the man Varys knew he never stood on formality except when talking to the King or Queen.

"Concerning?" Varys asked, staring at him full in the face, something most people found hard to do because of the hideous burns on the right side of Clegane's head.

"He did not say and I am not stupid enough to ask." Clegane turned and started walking away and Varys knew he should follow. Joffrey's dog not only liked to bark, he liked to bite and Varys knew not to test his patience. His brother Ser Gregor was much worse. An even temper was sorely lacking in the Clegane family.

"And how fairs the King?" Varys asked.

"Better. He only shit five times this morning," Clegane told him.

"Well, that is an improvement over the more than twenty times yesterday. Has Grand Maester Pycelle determined the illness?"

"Bad food."

"It's the heat, spoils everything," Varys said. "What did the King eat to cause this illness?"

"I'm not a fucking maester," Clegane snarled. "Ask Pycelle."

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Varys knew what Joffrey had eaten and he knew why he was sick, because he had caused it, but he had to make a pretense of bewilderment, even to someone like Sandor Clegane. He knew much about the Hound, knew he hated his brother with a burning passion, a hatred that was caused by the burning of his face when they were boys. He also knew Clegane frequented whorehouses and wine sinks when he was not on duty. He drank himself into a stupor most nights when not performing his duties.

Clegane had first come to King's Landing years ago soon after Joffrey's birth. Cersei had asked her father for a strong man for her son's shield and her father had sent Sandor Clegane, thereby providing a stout guard for his grandson and ridding himself of a potential war on his doorstep between the Clegane brothers. When he first came to King's Landing, the Hound was not well known in the capital. A few fools thought to challenge him when he was drunk and soon learned to their peril that the Hound was a killing machine, drunk or sober. And now he was a member of the Kingsguard, the supposed paradigm of virtue and shining knighthood in the Seven Kingdoms. Of course with Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer a member and with Barristan Selmy sent into forced retirement, it was not so virtuous or shining anymore. Clegane had refused to be made a knight, and spit on all those 'Sers' and their airy ways. He was also supposed to wear the white enameled armor of the Kingsguard now that he was a member but he still often went about in his old black armor.

After many twists and turns and stairs they came to the King's quarters. They were the same rooms he had as a prince, since his mother still occupied the royal suites. Varys was sure that one day soon that would change, as the King asserted himself more. Outside the door stood two Kingsguard men, Ser Boros Blount and Ser Mandon Moore. Without a word they opened the doors, stepped aside, and let Clegane and Varys enter.

In the room Grand Maester Pycelle was seated at a table mixing something in a small bowl, with many vials and jars on the table before him. The King sat near an open window on a cushioned chair with his feet on a padded footstool, a blanket wrapped around him. He looked pale and sweaty and was still dressed in his bedclothes.

"The Spider, Your Grace," said Clegane as they entered the room and the door closed behind them.

"Good dog," Joffrey told him. Varys was about to speak when Pycelle cleared his throat and Joffrey turned his eyes toward him.

"This should be the last purging I think, Your Grace," said Pycelle and he stood with the bowl in his hands.

Joffrey made a face. "Not yet. I must talk to Lord Varys. I can't do it sitting on the privy."

"Of course, Your Grace," Pycelle said as he sat down again.

"How may I be of service, Your Grace?" Varys asked as he dipped his head low.

"I want someone put in the kitchens to spy on the cooks and servants."

"Someone is already there, Your Grace." Varys replied as he stood straight again.

"Good. Then I want to know who poisoned me."

Pycelle sighed. "Your Grace, it is not poison. As I said I checked the food and it was the eggs that were bad. A common problem in the heat and when they sit too long after being laid."

"Then why did no one else get sick?" Joffrey asked in anger, but an anger tempered by the weakness of his body.

"Because your food is prepared only for you, Your Grace," Varys told him. "No one else eats the King's food."

"That will change at once," Joffrey commanded. "I want a food taster. I want every dish to be tasted before I eat it from now on."

"As you command, Your Grace," Varys said in his most fawning way.

"Now, Your Grace..." Pycelle started to say when Joffrey glared at him.

"Not yet!" He returned his attention to Varys. "I have one more task for you Lord Varys."

"Anything, Your Grace."

"I want to know something about my father."

Varys knew where this was going. He had heard Joffrey was asking questions about his father's bastards. "Perhaps this should be discussed in private, Your Grace."

"No," Joffrey said in a sneering tone. "I want them to hear. I want them to know what kind of man my father truly was. I want you to tell me the truth. Dog, if Lord Varys lies I want you to cut his throat for me."

"My pleasure, Your Grace," Clegane said with what Varys thought was glee. At least it sounded like it to his ears. Why did everyone hate the Spider so?

Varys knew Joffrey would not give such a command to his dog, but he made a pretense of gulping. He saw Pycelle start to rise again, about to say something but then changed his mind and sat. Pycelle had no love for Varys and would do nothing to interfere. "I await your questions, Your Grace," Varys said.

"Tell it true," Joffrey began. "How many bastards did my father have?"

Varys answered immediately. "Eight that I know of."

He saw right away that Joffrey did not know it was so many and was truly shocked. "Eight? That's…who are they? Where do they live?"

"The oldest is a girl, Mya Stone, who lives in the Vale and has counted nineteen name days," began Varys. "Then there is Edric Storm, at Storm's End, who your father sired with a noble lady the night of Stannis Baratheon wedding. In the wedding bed actually. Stannis never forgave him for that." Varys tittered a bit after that comment but stopped as he saw the King failed to find it funny. "This Edric Storm your father actually had to acknowledge as his since the boy's mother is of noble birth. Then there is a girl in the Reach, her name and age I cannot recall at the moment. Name of Flowers, no doubt. An older girl in the Riverlands named Bella, who is a whore by all accounts. A boy of five or six somewhere in the North, White Harbor I believe, although your father met his mother here in King's Landing. There is another boy in the west, at Lannisport, about eight or nine years of age, sired when King Robert went west to put down the Greyjoy Rebellion. And there is another boy of fifteen and a baby girl here in King's Landing. Your Grace."

Joffrey was speechless for a moment, then spoke, too shocked to be angry. "Could there be more?"

Varys nodded. "It grieves me to tell you this Your Grace, but you did ask. Your father was a lustful man and rarely spent a night alone, whether here or elsewhere. It would not surprise me if there were more of his bastards in the Seven Kingdoms.

Joffrey stared off into space for a few moments and no one said a word. "Did he love my mother?"

"I did not know his heart, Your Grace."

"He went to war when Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped Ned Stark's sister," Joffrey said with disgust. "He loved her, didn't he?"

"It was well-known that Lyanna Stark was his first love, Your Grace," Varys replied. "But that was before he met your mother."

No one said a word for a long few moments and the silence lengthened as Joffrey brooded on his father's actions, staring out the window. Then Joffrey looked back at Varys. "I knew there were two of his bastards in King's Landing. I heard Jon Arryn and Stark had been asking around about my father's bastards in the city. Tell me more about these two."

"The girl is just a baby. She was born to a whore in one of Littlefinger's establishments. The boy is named Gendry and has counted fifteen name days and is an apprentice in the Street of Steel, Your Grace. His mother died seven years ago." It was all true and Varys knew he had to tell it true because he did not know exactly what Joffrey had learned on his own. Hopefully Joffrey did not know Varys had arranged for Gendry to leave with the Night's Watch group yesterday morning.

"You will provide all details on these two bastards to Lord Slynt, commander of the gold cloaks, today, right now," Joffrey commanded. "Now leave us."

"As you command, Your Grace," Varys said and without another word he bowed and left the room. Not surprisingly he found Janos Slynt outside the room waiting for him. Varys had no liking for the man, an upjumped commoner who had betrayed Ned Stark and was now Lord of Harrenhal.

"Lord Slynt," he said in greeting.

"Lord Varys," Slynt replied. "The King said you would have some names for me."

"And what did the King say you were to do with those names?"

Slynt bristled, his jowls quivering. "That is of no concern to you."

"Of course not," Varys answered in a genial manner. He told Slynt the details of the two bastards as Joffrey had commanded and then made his way back to his rooms. Varys always lived life on a knife's edge, and a mistake one way or the other could mean the end of him. So he told Slynt, and knew if he found the baby and Gendry they would soon be dead. But that was out of his hands now.

A bath did wonders to ease his cares and the sore back he had been plagued with for years. His bad back was a result of his ample stomach and his life long bad habit of sleeping on said stomach, causing his back to twist in a bad way. Try as he might his stomach never seemed to grow smaller, nor grow much bigger. Varys was a eunuch, a fact well-known to all, and believed his rotund figure more a product of his lack of manhood than a prodigious appetite. All eunuchs were prone to plumpness. In his youth Varys had known other eunuchs and all were plump like he was. There were few eunuchs in Westeros but across the Narrow Sea they were common, mainly slaves, and were used to guard high born women and whorehouses. Varys had heard a maester once say that the plumpness was due to the lack of manly parts, that it turned eunuchs more feminine than masculine.

After his bath and a light lunch and a perusal of all new information, he was preparing to leave to tell the Queen about this news from the captured seaman when a messenger came calling Varys to a sudden council meeting with the Queen. He arrived to find Pycelle and the Queen already there. In front of the Queen were two raven scroll parchments, opened and somewhat crumpled. Cersei looked distraught, and seemed red eyed, as if she had also been crying recently. Varys said nothing of this. He bowed to Cersei, "Your Grace." She said nothing and so he looked to Pycelle. "How fairs the King?"

"Better. He should be well enough to resume his duties on the morrow." Oh, joy, Varys thought. And what folly will the King get up to? He had stopped him from killing Ned Stark, but that trick won't work again. Not now.

Cersei turned her eyes to Varys as he sat down. She now glared at him with fury, her voice harsh. "What lies have you been telling my son?"

Ah, Pycelle told her everything, Varys knew in an instant. Varys glanced over at him and both knew that he knew. "Yes, he told me," Cersei snapped. "Grand Maester Pycelle is a loyal subject who told me all that was said in my son's bed chambers not a few hours past."

"Your Grace, I did as the King commanded me. With his dog at my throat, what choice did I have?"

"You could have lied to him," Cersei said and then smiled in a nasty way. "You're good at that, aren't you? Lying? A man like you doesn't get to where he is without being a good liar."

"If I have somehow offended Your Grace, I sincerely apologize," Varys offered in his most obsequious manner.

"Yes, you have offended me!" Cersei almost shouted at him. "Any mother would be offended if some fool told her son about his father's infidelities. If Tommen or Myrcella hear about this I swear I will have Joffrey's dog rip out your throat."

"They will never hear it from my lips, Your Grace," Varys said in reply. "But in my defense Your Grace, the King already knew some about his father's bastards. He also knew Jon Arryn and Ned Stark were making inquires."

"Inquires?" said the voice of Littlefinger as he entered the room with his ledger book in his hands as usual. He bowed to Cersei. "Your Grace. Has the meeting started without me?"

"Sit down," commanded Cersei. "If you spent more time worrying about the problems of the realm than the coins you collect at your whorehouses you'd be here on time."

"Ah, apologies your Grace," said Littlefinger. "It so happens there was a problem at one of my whorehouses. That is why I am late. Lord Slynt and some of his honorable gold cloaks were there."

Oh dear, thought Varys. It has already happened. Cersei's eyes narrowed. "What does Slynt have to do with your whorehouse? Was he a customer or arresting one of your whores?"

"His men were killing a baby girl," Littlefinger said without any hint of emotion.

Pycelle muttered a prayer to the gods, and Cersei's face blanched. "A baby girl?"

"One of your late husband's bastards, I believe," Littlefinger told her. She took a deep breath and then another and her eyes turned to Varys. For a moment he thought she would shout at him but he knew in her eyes that it was fear she felt, and disgust. She knew Joffrey had given the order. She knew her son was truly a monster.

Cersei recovered and spoke calmly. "We have more pressing matters to deal with my lords. There is news from the Riverlands." She turned to Pycelle.

"Dire news, I am afraid," the Grand Maester began. "War has begun in the Riverlands despite our desires to avoid it. We have had two ravens from Lord Tywin. The first message told us that his host defeated a Stark contingent on the Green Fork."

"That sounds like good news," said Littlefinger. He turned to Varys. "News you had not yet heard. How surprising."

Varys smiled. "Even my little birds take time to fly to me."

Cersei snapped at them. "Listen you two fools or the small council will grow smaller." She nodded to Pycelle to continue.

"The second raven message said the Stark contingent they defeated was a minor part of the Stark host. The majority slipped past Lord Tywin's army and struck at Riverrun and raised the siege."

"Oh dear," said Varys. This was indeed news to him. "How fared our forces?"

"Lord Tywin did not say," Pycelle told them. "But he did mention one loss."

Pycelle cast his eyes at Cersei. "The Starks have my brother," she said through clenched teeth.

"Lord Tyrion has been captured again?" asked Littlefinger and Varys just rolled his eyes and knew it was a mistake.

"MY OTHER BROTHER!" Cersei shouted at him in all her fury. She took several deep breaths and slowly calmed down as no one said a word. "Jaime was captured in an ambush."

"How dreadful," said Varys. My, oh, my, this does make the game more interesting. But how?

"A great loss," said Littlefinger and even seemed sincere about it.

"He's not dead," Cersei said quietly, her wall of steel nerves almost cracking but she quickly recovered.

"We can ransom the Stark girls for Ser Jaime," Pycelle said quickly. "He will be back with us soon, Your Grace."

Littlefinger scoffed. "Robb Stark will never give up Ser Jaime for two girls."

"One," said Varys.

"One," echoed Cersei. "Arya Stark has not been found."

"Why not, Lord Varys?" Littlefinger asked with a slight smirk. "I thought you were the master of all whispers."

Varys ignored the insult. "Oh, several things could have happened to her. Perhaps she is a corpse in a shallow grave. Or she is hiding or has fled the city. When I mentioned her being missing to Eddard Stark he seemed to think the latter as well. Claimed she was a wild one and would not be found unless she wanted to be found. My mistake was to be searching for a high born lady. She is not a lady, not yet at least, and is not afraid of a little mud or dirt between her fingers."

"Then widen your search and look in the eye every gutter rat girl in the city," Cersei told him. "As for my brother, we will bring Ned Stark back to the city and trade him for Jaime. It was a mistake to let him go so easily." A mistake you agreed to, Varys thought, but said nothing.

"Yes," Pycelle said, ever the sycophant. "Your Grace is correct. We must bring Ned Stark back. We must then ransom him for Ser Jaime." A fawning fool to the end, Varys thought.

"And what of Ned Stark's agreement to take the black?" asked Varys. "The Night's Watch has traditionally been beyond the touch of kings and queens."

"The men of the Night's Watch take their final oath at the Wall," Pycelle told them. "After completing training. He is not a black brother yet."

Littlefinger shook his head. "Robb Stark may be reluctant to trade a battle commander and fine swordsman like Ser Jaime for his father who will be of no use to him because of his oath to take the black."

"We will give him Sansa as well," said Cersei, seemingly clutching at straws. "And Arya when we find her."

"Sansa Stark is betrothed to the King, Your Grace," Varys reminded her. "He may be reluctant to let her go."

Cersei snarled at him. "I'll find Joffrey another little wench to bed on his wedding night, I assure you. My lords, we will find Ned Stark and Arya Stark and trade all three for my brother. Where is Ned Stark now do you suppose?

"Many leagues to the north by now, but still far south of Gods Eye," said Varys. "They have been gone more than a day and half now."

"Send a fast party of horsemen, the fastest horsemen in the city," Cersei ordered. "Lannister men. Not gold cloaks. I want him back here alive."

"He should not be hard to find," Littlefinger commented. "A party of Night's Watch recruits on the Kingsroad. I am sure if we question the throngs coming down the Kingsroad they should know a thing or two."

Cersei looked at him in puzzlement. "Throngs? What throngs?"

Varys spoke first. "There is turmoil in the Riverlands and between here and the God's Eye. Many of the small folk are heading our way, Your Grace. They seek protection and food. We will soon be overrun."

"Close the gates to them," she commanded. "Give them no food. With the road south closed by Renly's host and with Stannis choking Blackwater Bay from Dragonstone we will need all the food we have in storage."

"Speaking of which, Your Grace," said Varys. "The fisherman captured yesterday has broken. He is one of Stannis' captains, who was spying, plotting our defenses on a map. He told me that Stannis has over one hundred ships, plus the Lyseni pirate Sallandor Saan's ships."

"Can it get any worse?" Cersei muttered. "What are our options, my lords?"

"Such numbers," said Pycelle in worry. "Can we withstand attack from land and sea?"

"A siege, yes," said Littlefinger. "A sustained attack, I am not so sure. But we have enough food to withstand a siege of a few months." He was looking at his ledger books. "If the attack comes soon. But our present food stocks will not last more than a few months, especially with so little coming in. We also have precious few soldiers in the city except your personal guard and the gold cloaks.

"I commanded father to bring his army here!" Cersei almost shouted again. Just then Janos Slynt entered the room and Cersei saw him first and her lips curled in disgust. "Lord Slynt."

"Apologies Your Grace, I had matters to attend to." Slynt went to sit but Cersei spoke first. "Do not sit," she told him. Slynt looked confused for a moment but did as he was bidden. "I hear you have been killing babies of late."

Slynt quickly glanced at Littlefinger who grinned at him. "It was by the King's command, Your Grace."

Cersei's nostrils flared. "The King is a boy. I am the Queen Regent. All commands from the King should come to me first, you fool. How many other babies have you killed today?"

"No more, Your Grace," Slynt said, his brow now covered in sweat. "The other bastard is not in the city any more."

"What other bastard?" she demanded, looking at Varys.

"An apprentice armorer," Varys said. "A boy of fifteen. He was the one Lord Arryn and Ned Stark were questioning, Your Grace."

Cersei bristled and turned back to Slynt. "Where is he now?"

"His master said he kicked the boy out yesterday and told him to join the Night's Watch."

"Kicked him out? Yesterday, to join the Night's Watch," Cersei said in a very suspicious tone with a look to Varys. "Almost like the boy knew someone was coming to kill him today."

"Ned Stark knew who he was," Varys replied calmly, the lie already prepared. "Perhaps he slipped a message out of the prison. He did speak to that Night's Watch man Yoren before he left. A final act of kindness for his dead friend Robert, perhaps."

Cersei sighed in disgust and then stared at Slynt and he quailed under her gaze. "Lord Slynt, do you want a riot in the city?"

"No, Your Grace."

"If you keep killing babies and people find out the King ordered it, there will be riots. We have enough enemies outside these walls. We do not need any inside them."

"Wise words, Your Grace," Pycelle commented but Cersei ignored him as she continued to talk to Slynt.

"You will stop killing my late husband's bastards. If the King commands it you will nod and say yes and come to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Grace. But, but…"

"But what?" she asked in a seething tone.

"I've already sent a party of six men up the Kingsroad to find the boy that went with the Night's Watch party."

"With what orders?" the Queen demanded to know.

Slynt gulped. "To kill him and bring his head back to King's Landing."