Chapter 56: Hanna

The sun shone with merciless brightness over King's Landing, casting sharp shadows across the Red Keep's towers and courtyards.

From the Crown Prince's chambers—spacious and lofty, with windows that commanded a sweeping view—Hanna leaned against the stone embrasure, her gaze taking in the sprawling expanse of the castle below. The Prince's favor had granted her this privileged vantage point from which to observe the subtle workings of the court.

Four months had passed.

The Red Keep now stood bereft of king, queen, princes, and princesses. The royal family's absence left a void that even the ancient stones seemed to feel.

The four members of the Small Council pursued their individual interests with increasing boldness. Courtiers wandered the halls like lost children, uncertain to whom they should turn for guidance. Petitions in the Throne Room had ceased entirely. The servants simply performed their daily tasks by rote, maintaining a façade of normality that grew thinner with each passing day.

During daylight hours, the Red Keep bustled with activity, seemingly as lively and peaceful as it had always been.

But Hanna's keen eyes had already perceived the treacherous currents that ran beneath this placid surface.

In the shadow of the empty Iron Throne, she watched courtiers feast gluttonously upon unseen delicacies named power and coin.

She observed Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin called Littlefinger, accelerating both the pace and scale at which he acquired brothels, taverns, and diverse enterprises throughout King's Landing. Courtiers and their lackeys gathered around him like flies to honey, each taking their small share of the profits.

No man or woman could say with certainty what Littlefinger did with the royal treasury and the taxes he collected in the crown's name.

She watched Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers, spending increasingly long hours sequestered in his dark, modest chamber, even absenting himself from the weekly Small Council meetings that had once been sacrosanct.

The Prince had confided in her that this unassuming room connected to every secret passage within the Red Keep, like the center of an elaborate spider's web.

She noted Grand Maester Pycelle summoning an endless succession of young serving girls to his chambers. His apprentice, Samwell Tarly—installed at the Prince's command—had been reduced to little more than a common servant, fetching and carrying for the lecherous old man.

She observed Lord Renly Baratheon, Master of Laws and the King's youngest brother, addressing legal matters with growing laxity while dedicating his days to dalliances with Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers.

The whispers concerning the "Rose of Highgarden" had almost certainly originated from House Tyrell's machinations.

In recent days, denizens of both the Red Keep and the city beyond had taken to extolling the beauty of Margaery Tyrell, comparing her to the fairest Winter Rose—though most who sang her praises had never laid eyes upon the maid.

Why invoke the Winter Rose? Hanna wondered.

With her finely honed instincts and extensive experience of court life, Hanna quickly connected this reference to Lyanna Stark, the king's former betrothed whose abduction had sparked Robert's Rebellion.

Could Margaery Tyrell truly be plotting to usurp Queen Cersei's place beside the king?

The silent struggle between House Lannister and House Tyrell represented yet another deadly game played within the court's shadowed corners. Countless nameless souls would likely perish in obscurity because of these highborn ambitions.

Hanna no longer concerned herself with such matters.

She understood that once the Prince achieved his objectives, all the Tyrells' careful schemes would crumble to dust.

The Prince had transmitted seven messages through magical means, each more terse than its predecessor. All contained instructions regarding the affairs of the Red Keep and King's Landing, devoid of personal sentiments or explanations.

Yet she could divine his intentions.

If King Robert were expected to reach King's Landing alive, why would the Prince have sent the signal "Action in seven days" the previous evening?

King's Landing would soon descend into chaos, and the King would breathe his last—these events would unfold within the week.

And she would serve as the Prince's eyes, mouth, and strong right arm within the Red Keep—scrutinizing courtiers, conveying commands, and quelling rebellion.

"Steward Hanna, do you require anything of me?"

An unremarkable man of middle years stood respectfully at her back, his voice little more than a murmur.

This fellow represented one of life's fortunate few—first blessed with employment within the Red Keep, then fortuitously noticed by Hanna, the Crown Prince's newly appointed steward. Now he had risen to the position of deputy steward, a remarkable ascension for one of common birth.

Hanna knew him by his code name: "Hidden Stag."

"Has aught of interest transpired of late?" she inquired casually. "The Prince's absence renders life exceedingly tedious."

Hanna gestured for all other servants to withdraw from the chamber.

The attendants departed silently, exchanging knowing glances that spoke volumes about their speculation regarding the relationship between these two. Small wonder this common man had secured appointment as deputy steward.

Hidden Stag produced a tightly furled scroll. "A red-robed priestess with hair like copper flame has recently appeared within the city walls. She calls herself Melisandre and hails from distant Asshai. I am told she serves as an emissary of the Lord of Light, R'hllor."

Hanna unfurled the parchment with deliberate care.

Hidden Stag's mouth twisted in derision. "Her beauty alone has driven many men throughout the city to contemplate abandoning their faith in the Seven, seeking instead the fiery embrace of R'hllor."

"Is that so?" Hanna remarked absently. "I wonder whether the men of King's Landing will bestow their adoration upon the Rose of Highgarden or this foreign priestess. May the gods grant mercy, lest blood be spilled over such matters." All the while, her eyes scanned the words upon the page with practiced efficiency.

Our strength: Thirteen mid-level officers, forty-six junior officers, and two hundred and fifty-eight loyal men within the King's Landing City Watch. More than one thousand committed agents and upward of three thousand peripheral associates. One hundred and fifty-six Lannister guards, more than thirty personal attendants, and in excess of four hundred servants.

The power that the Master of Coin commands: One hundred and fifty sellswords, more than ten officers and fifty men within the City Watch, nearly half of the courtiers in regular attendance, and virtually all stewards of the treasury, mint, harbor, tax collectors, and trade representatives.

The power that the Master of Whisperers commands: More than five hundred "little birds," nearly half of the courtiers with whom he maintains contact, and upward of twenty officers in the City Watch. (The target suspects surveillance. Immediate action recommended.)

The power that the Master of Laws commands: More than twenty Baratheon household guards, more than twenty sellswords, upward of fifty knights in good standing, with potential allies difficult to enumerate with precision.

Hidden Stag's face betrayed regret. "One matter remains. The fleet dispatched to intercept the last scions of the dragon has returned to port. No vessels bearing the pretenders were discovered along the Pentos route. It appears Lord Varys received false intelligence."

"Most unfortunate," Hanna sighed with practiced sincerity. "May the gods in their mercy consign them to the depths of the sea."

She mentally compared these figures with those she had received a fortnight past. Their own strength remained largely unchanged, but the number of identified adversaries had grown considerably. Should the investigation continue, these numbers would likely increase further.

Littlefinger, the Spider, Lord Renly, the City Watch—who in their right mind would willingly confront these four forces simultaneously?

Mere months ago, she could only stand silently behind Queen Cersei and bow respectfully to these powerful figures, who scarcely acknowledged her existence.

She had heard the Queen converse with them, her measured words concealing veiled opportunities, a sentence or two encompassing vast interests that might drive lesser souls to madness. Throughout these deadly games, countless pawns were sacrificed while the principal players remained unscathed.

Now, at last, the blade would taste their own flesh.

"Steward, the decorations you commissioned have been prepared. When shall we arrange for their placement?" Hidden Stag inquired.

Hanna passed him a folded note. "It seems my enthusiasm for them has waned. I shall reconsider the matter."

The elegant handwriting on the parchment read: "Action at dawn in five days. Arrest the former Master of Coin and Master of Whisperers according to His Majesty's will. Eliminate City Watch conspirators.

Discreetly remove Lord Renly Baratheon

Remaining vassals need not be pursued at present.

Seal the city completely—none to enter or depart. Show no mercy to those who resist.

Extend invitation to Lord Tywin to enter the Red Keep for discussion of matters of state."

The plan, while potentially viable, fell considerably short of perfection and entailed substantial risks.

The enemy's strength had not been fully assessed. How much resistance would they encounter?

Neither Hanna nor the Lannister forces possessed sufficient authority to issue commands in the King's name. How would the court respond to such presumption?

And if, against all odds, they succeeded, how would they justify their actions afterward?

Hanna's concern mounted. Why did the Prince place such implicit trust in her abilities? What gave him such confidence in their success?

"Steward, a small token for your consideration. I intend no disrespect." Hidden Stag presented a silver salver upon which words had been inscribed using fruit preserves: The Hound has returned to King's Landing.

What use could a single warrior be, even one of Clegane's formidable reputation?

Hanna remained deeply apprehensive, yet no alternative strategy presented itself.

In any case, five days would reveal all.

"Go," she commanded, turning once more to gaze upon the sprawling castle and the city that lay beyond, unaware of the storm that approached.

...

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