Chapter 34: The Terrified Lannister

Red Keep, Maegor's Holdfast

Cersei stood by the window, her eyes shimmering as she listened to Lancel's quivering account. A flicker of disdain crossed her gaze.

"Poor Lancel," she said, lips curling ever so slightly. "You look positively terrified."

Lancel's voice still trembled. "Forgive me, Cousin Cersei… I approached Lord Grinn on my own. It was I who first suggested executing the rumor-mongers during the council of stewards…"

"But—but I've seen executions before, just never… never that many at once!"

"Hundreds! Lord Grinn gave a single gesture, and the heads just—rolled. The whole square ran red with blood!"

"I… I don't even remember how I got back to the Red Keep."

Cersei listened in silence. A deeper flush crept into her cheeks, and her breath grew faintly unsteady, rising and falling from chest to belly.

Suppressing the warm rush within, she murmured, voice hushed, "So I wasn't wrong about him after all."

Grinn's ruthless efficiency had stirred something in her—an unfamiliar thrill that surpassed any carnal pleasure.

Beneath her flowing skirts, her body shifted with unease. "Where's Robert?" she asked.

"I heard… he's gone hunting again."

"And Jaime?"

"At this hour, Ser Jaime should be training Prince Joffrey in the yard."

[Joffrey Baratheon, Cersei's eldest son]

"Then go. Take Jaime's place with Joffrey—and send him to me. At once."

"Y-yes, my lady."

But before leaving, Lancel hesitated. He glanced at her, troubled, as though sensing something amiss. He said nothing.

Cersei narrowed her eyes. "Why are you still here?" she snapped. "Go!"

Startled by her sharp tone, Lancel flinched, bowed awkwardly, and fled the chamber.

Once alone, Cersei stepped back and settled into a chair, her movements slightly unsteady. She undid the ribbon that bound her golden hair, letting it fall in shining waves across her shoulders and collarbones.

Her fingers toyed with a lock of hair as her lashes lowered, veiling the glimmer in her eyes. Her lips curled faintly.

The feeling still lingered—brief, foreign, and intoxicating.

Red Keep, the Gardens

Lancel Lannister was convinced this was the worst day of his life.

What began as enthusiastic curiosity about Lord Grinn's public executions had ended with him trembling, barely able to stand. He had staggered back to the Red Keep, reported to Lady Cersei as quickly as duty allowed—only to be dismissed with cold impatience.

Now, he stood in the gardens, a large apple perched atop his head. Across from him stood Prince Joffrey, crossbow raised, aiming with all the glee of a boy playing a game.

When Ser Jaime was present, Joffrey was a model student—modest, eager, princely. But with Jaime called away, Lancel had taken his place, hoping to endear himself to the heir of the Iron Throne.

It seemed a good career move at the time.

He didn't want to appear cowardly before the prince—but his legs wouldn't stop trembling.

Joffrey, twelve years old, with fair skin and golden curls, looked every bit the dashing royal. His lips curled in amusement as he took aim.

"Lancel, if you twitch again, I can't promise I'll shoot straight."

Lancel shuddered harder.

Suddenly, Joffrey barked, "Dog! My hound! Do something—make this coward hold still!"

The tall, silent figure standing nearby stirred. With a sword slung over one shoulder, the hulking knight strode forward.

He had sharp cheekbones, a twisted mess of scars down one side of his face, and wore dull grey armor beneath an olive cloak. His gray eyes were unreadable.

Sandor Clegane—the Hound. Appointed by House Lannister to guard the prince.

Lancel stared in horror as Sandor approached, one heavy step at a time.

"What in the Seven Hells is going on here?!"

The voice cut through the air like a blade. Lancel's legs gave out completely, and he collapsed onto the ground, barely avoiding disgrace.

Tyrion Lannister stormed into the garden, fury in his stride.

Joffrey lowered the crossbow, scowling. "Why are you here?"

His expression was a mirror of his mother's.

"My prince," Tyrion said coolly, approaching. "Is that how you greet your uncle?"

"You ruined my game!" Joffrey snapped. "Why would I greet you?"

Tyrion's voice softened. "Joffrey, Lancel is family. He's a Lannister too, and he's here to serve you. You shouldn't treat him this way."

Joffrey sneered in response.

Tyrion's eyes narrowed. "That crossbow is no toy. You could have killed him. Do you understand what that means? You think an apology would undo it?"

"I didn't kill him," Joffrey said coldly. "He's fine. I don't want your lectures. I am heir to the Iron Throne—I can do as I please. Now leave!"

Smack!

Tyrion slapped him across the face.

Joffrey gasped, clutching his cheek. "You dare strike me?! I'll tell my mother!"

Smack!

Tyrion struck him again.

Joffrey howled in pain. Tears welled in his eyes.

"Go on then!" Tyrion roared. "Tell my sweet sister what her precious boy was doing just now!"

He stepped closer, eyes blazing. "Now. Apologize to Lancel—and swear you'll never treat human lives like sport again."

Joffrey shouted, "Dog! Beat him! Hurt him for me!"

Sandor stepped behind the prince—but did nothing.

"You! You…!"

Joffrey kicked Sandor's leg and pointed at Tyrion. "You'll regret this! I won't forget!"

Tyrion raised his hand again. Joffrey yelped and scrambled backward.

Watching the prince flee, wiping tears from his face, Tyrion sighed.

Then he turned to Lancel and offered a hand.

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion," Lancel murmured. "I was truly frightened… It's been a dreadful day."

Tyrion gave a crooked grin. "You did well. You didn't piss yourself. In your shoes, I might have."

Lancel grimaced. "I still owe you. But… Joffrey's a prince. Will there be consequences?"

Tyrion shrugged. "Cersei already hates me. Whether I slap her son or not, her undying love remains unchanged."

He paused, then added, "I just wish the boy could be taught."

Lancel still looked uneasy. "But he's heir to the throne. What if he takes revenge in the future?"

Tyrion chuckled. "King Robert will thank me for disciplining his son. And when our beloved nephew ascends the Iron Throne… I'll be in Casterly Rock, behind thick walls, far from his reach."

Lancel nodded slowly, his fears at last beginning to ease.

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