“Margaery does keep a lively court,” Lady Merryweather was saying. “We have jugglers, mummers, poets, puppets . . .”
“Singers?” prompted Cersei.
“Many and more, Your Grace. Hamish the Harper plays for her once a fortnight, and sometimes Alaric of Eysen will entertain us of an evening, but the Blue Bard2 is her favorite.”
Cersei recalled the bard from Tommen’s wedding. Young, and fair to look upon. Could there be something there? “There are other men as well, I hear. Knights5 and courtiers. Admirers. Tell me true, my lady. Do you think Margaery is still a maiden7?”
“She says she is, Your Grace.”
“So she does. What do you say?”
Taena’s black eyes sparkled with mischief8. “When she wed3 Lord Renly at Highgarden, I helped disrobe him for the bedding. His lordship was a well-made man, and lusty. I saw the proof when we tumbled him into the wedding bed where his bride awaited him as naked as her name day, blushing prettily9 beneath the coverlets. Ser Loras had carried her up the steps himself. Margaery may say that the marriage was never consummated10, that Lord Renly had drunk too much wine at the wedding feast, but I promise you, the bit between his legs was anything but weary when last I saw it.”
“Did you chance to see the marriage bed the morning after?” Cersei asked. “Did she bleed?”
“No sheet was shown, Your Grace.”
A pity. Still, the absence of a bloody11 sheet meant little, by itself. Common peasant girls bled like pigs upon their wedding nights, she had heard, but that was less true of highborn maids like Margaery Tyrell. A lord’s daughter was more like to give her maidenhead to a horse than a husband, it was said, and Margaery had been riding since she was old enough to walk. “I understand the little queen has many admirers amongst our household knights. The Redwyne twins, Ser Tallad . . . who else, pray tell?”
Lady Merryweather gave a shrug12. “Ser Lambert, the fool who hides a good eye behind a patch. Bayard Norcross. Courtenay Greenhill. The brothers Woodwright, sometimes Portifer and often Lucantine. Oh, and Grand Maester Pycelle is a frequent visitor.”
“Pycelle? Truly?” Had that doddering old worm forsaken13 the lion for the rose? If so, he will regret it. “Who else?”
“The Summer Islander in his feathered cloak. How could I have forgotten him, with his skin as black as ink? Others come to pay court to her cousins. Elinor is promised to the Ambrose boy, but loves to flirt15, and Megga has a new suitor every fortnight. Once she kissed a potboy in the kitchen. I have heard talk of her marrying Lady Bulwer’s brother, but if Megga were to choose for herself, she would sooner have Mark Mullendore, I am certain.”
Cersei laughed. “The butterfly knight4 who lost his arm on the Blackwater? What good is half a man?”
“Megga thinks him sweet. She has asked Lady Margaery to help her find a monkey for him.”
“A monkey.” The queen did not know what to say to that. Sparrows and monkeys. Truly, the realm is going mad. “What of our brave Ser Loras? How often does he call upon his sister?”
“More than any of the others.” When Taena frowned, a tiny crease16 appeared between her dark eyes. “Every morn and every night he visits, unless duty interferes17. Her brother is devoted18 to her, they share everything with . . . oh . . .” For a moment, the Myrish woman looked almost shocked. Then a smile spread across her face. “I have had a most wicked thought, Your Grace.”
“Best keep it to yourself. The hill is thick with sparrows, and we all know how sparrows abhor19 wickedness.”
“I have heard they abhor soap and water too, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps too much prayer robs a man of his sense of smell. I shall be sure to ask His High Holiness.”
The draperies swayed back and forth20 in a wash of crimson21 silk. “Orton told me that the High Septon has no name,” Lady Taena said. “Can that be true? In Myr we all have names.”
“Oh, he had a name once. They all do.” The queen waved a hand dismissively. “Even septons born of noble blood go only by their given names once they have taken their vows22. When one of them is elevated to High Septon, he puts aside that name as well. The Faith will tell you he no longer has any need of a man’s name, for he has become the avatar of the gods.”
“How do you distinguish one High Septon from another?”
“With difficulty. One has to say, ‘the fat one,’ or ‘the one before the fat one,’ or ‘the old one who died in his sleep.’ You can always winkle out their birth names if you like, but they take umbrage23 if you use them. It reminds them that they were born ordinary men, and they do not like that.”
“My lord husband tells me this new one was born with filth24 beneath his fingernails.”
“So I suspect. As a rule the Most Devout25 elevate one of their own, but there have been exceptions.” Grand Maester Pycelle had informed her of the history, at tedious length. “During the reign26 of King Baelor the Blessed a simple stonemason was chosen as High Septon. He worked stone so beautifully that Baelor decided27 he was the Smith reborn in mortal flesh. The man could neither read nor write, nor recall the words of the simplest of prayers.” Some still claimed that Baelor’s Hand had the man poisoned to spare the realm embarrassment28. “After that one died, an eight-year-old boy was elevated, once more at King Baelor’s urging. The boy worked miracles, His Grace declared, though even his little healing hands could not save Baelor during his final fast.”
Lady Merryweather gave a laugh. “Eight years old? Perhaps my son could be High Septon. He is almost seven.”
“Does he pray a lot?” the queen asked.
“He prefers to play with swords.”
“A real boy, then. Can he name all seven gods?”
“I think so.”
“I shall have to take him under consideration.” Cersei did not doubt that there were any number of boys who would do more honor to the crystal crown than the wretch29 on whom the Most Devout had chosen to bestow30 it. This is what comes of letting fools and cowards rule themselves. Next time, I will choose their master for them. And the next time might not be long in coming, if the new High Septon continued to annoy her. Baelor’s Hand had little to teach Cersei Lannister where such matters were concerned.
“Clear the way!” Ser Osmund Kettleblack was shouting. “Make way for the Queen’s Grace!”
The litter began to slow, which could only mean that they were near the top of the hill. “You should bring this son of yours to court,” Cersei told Lady Merryweather. “Six is not too young. Tommen needs other boys about him. Why not your son?” Joffrey had never had a close friend of his own age, that she recalled. The poor boy was always alone. I had Jaime when I was a child . . . and Melara, until she fell into the well. Joff had been fond of the Hound, to be sure, but that was not friendship. He was looking for the father he never found in Robert. A little foster brother might be just what Tommen needs to wean him away from Margaery and her hens. In time they might grow as close as Robert and his boyhood friend Ned Stark31. A fool, but a loyal fool. Tommen will have need of loyal friends to watch his back.
“Your Grace is kind, but Russell has never known any home but Longtable. I fear he would be lost in this great city.”
“In the beginning,” the queen allowed, “but he will soon outgrow32 that, as I did. When my father sent for me to court I wept and Jaime raged, until my aunt sat me down in the Stone Garden and told me there was no one in King’s Landing that I need ever fear. ‘You are a lioness,’ she said, ‘and it is for all the lesser34 beasts to fear you.’ Your son will find his courage too. Surely you would prefer to have him close at hand, where you could see him every day? He is your only child, is he not?”
“For the present. My lord husband has asked the gods to bless us with another son, in case . . .”
“I know.” She thought of Joffrey, clawing at his neck. In his last moments he had looked to her in desperate appeal, and a sudden memory had stopped her heart; a drop of red blood hissing35 in a candle flame, a croaking36 voice that spoke37 of crowns and shrouds38, of death at the hands of the valonqar.
Outside the litter, Ser Osmund was shouting something, and someone was shouting back. The litter jerked to a halt. “Are you all dead?” roared Kettleblack. “Get out of the bloody way!”
The queen pulled back a corner of the curtain and beckoned39 to Ser Meryn Trant. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“The sparrows, Your Grace.” Ser Meryn wore white scale armor beneath his cloak. His helm and shield were slung40 from his saddle. “Camping in the street. We’ll make them move.”
“Do that, but gently. I do not care to be caught up in another riot.” Cersei let the curtain fall. “This is absurd.”
“It is, Your Grace,” Lady Merryweather agreed. “The High Septon should have come to you. And these wretched sparrows . . .”
“He feeds them, coddles them, blesses them. Yet will not bless the king.” The blessing41 was an empty ritual, she knew, but rituals and ceremonies had power in the eyes of the ignorant. Aegon the Conqueror42 himself had dated the start of his realm from the day the High Septon anointed him in Oldtown. “This wretched priest will obey, or learn how weak and human he still is.”
“Orton says it is the gold he really wants. That he means to withhold43 his blessing until the crown resumes its payments.”
“The Faith will have its gold as soon as we have peace.” Septon Torbert and Septon Raynard had been most understanding of her plight44 . . . unlike the wretched Braavosi, who had hounded poor Lord Gyles so mercilessly that he had taken to his bed, coughing up blood. We had to have those ships. She could not rely upon the Arbor45 for her navy; the Redwynes were too close to the Tyrells. She needed her own strength at sea.
The dromonds rising on the river would give her that. Her flagship would dip twice as many oars46 as King Robert’s Hammer. Aurane had asked her leave to name her Lord Tywin, which Cersei had been pleased to grant. She looked forward to hearing men speak of her father as a “she.” Another of the ships would be named Sweet Cersei, and would bear a gilded47 figurehead carved in her likeness48, clad in mail and lion helm, with spear in hand. Brave Joffrey, Lady Joanna, and Lioness would follow her to sea, along with Queen Margaery, Golden Rose, Lord Renly, Lady Olenna, and Princess Myrcella. The queen had made the mistake of telling Tommen he might name the last five. He had actually chosen Moon Boy for one. Only when Lord Aurane suggested that men might not want to serve on a ship named for a fool had the boy reluctantly agreed to honor his sister instead.
“If this ragged49 septon thinks to make me buy Tommen’s blessing, he will soon learn better,” she told Taena. The queen did not intend to truckle to a pack of priests.
The litter halted yet again, so suddenly that Cersei jerked. “Oh, this is infuriating.” She leaned out once more, and saw that they had reached the top of Visenya’s Hill. Ahead loomed50 the Great Sept of Baelor, with its magnificent dome51 and seven shining towers, but between her and the marble steps lay a sullen52 sea of humanity, brown and ragged and unwashed. Sparrows, she thought, sniffing53, though no sparrows had ever smelled so rank.
Cersei was appalled54. Qyburn had brought her reports of their numbers, but hearing about them was one thing and seeing them another. Hundreds were encamped upon the plaza55, hundreds more in the gardens. Their cookfires filled the air with smoke and stinks56. Roughspun tents and miserable58 hovels made of mud and scrap59 wood besmirched60 the pristine61 white marble. They were even huddled62 on the steps, beneath the Great Sept’s towering doors.
Ser Osmund came trotting63 back to her. Beside him rode Ser Osfryd, mounted on a stallion as golden as his cloak. Osfryd was the middle Kettleblack, quieter than his siblings64, more apt to scowl65 than smile. And crueler as well, if the tales are true. Perhaps I should have sent him to the Wall.
Grand Maester Pycelle had wanted an older man “more seasoned in the ways of war” to command the gold cloaks, and several of her other councillors had agreed with him. “Ser Osfryd is seasoned quite sufficiently,” she had told them, but even that did not t them up. They yap at me like a pack of small, annoying dogs. Her patience with Pycelle had all but run its course. He had even had the temerity66 to object to her sending to Dorne for a master-at-arms, on the grounds that it might offend the Tyrells. “Why do you think I’m doing it?” she had asked him scornfully.
“Beg pardon, Your Grace,” said Ser Osmund. “My brother’s summoning more gold cloaks. We’ll clear a path, never fear.”
“I do not have the time. I will continue on afoot.”
“Please, Your Grace.” Taena caught her arm. “They frighten me. There are hundreds of them, and so dirty.”
Cersei kissed her cheek. “The lion does not fear the sparrow . . . but it is good of you to care. I know you love me well, my lady. Ser Osmund, kindly67 help me down.”
If I had known I was going to have to walk, I would have dressed for it. She wore a white gown slashed68 with cloth-of-gold, lacy but demure69. It had been several years since the last time she had donned it, and the queen found it uncomfortably tight about the middle. “Ser Osmund, Ser Meryn, you will accompany me. Ser Osfryd, see that my litter comes to no harm.” Some of the sparrows looked gaunt and hollow-eyed enough to eat her horses.
As she made her way through the ragged throng70, past their cookfires, wagons71, and crude shelters, the queen found herself remembering another crowd that had once gathered on this plaza. The day she wed Robert Baratheon, thousands had turned out to cheer for them. All the women wore their best, and half the men had children on their shoulders. When she had emerged from inside the sept, hand in hand with the young king, the crowd sent up a roar so loud it could be heard in Lannisport. “They like you well, my lady,” Robert whispered in her ear. “See, every face is smiling.” For that one short moment she had been happy in her marriage . . . until she chanced to glance at Jaime. No, she remembered thinking, not every face, my lord.
No one was smiling now. The looks the sparrows gave her were dull, sullen, hostile. They made way but reluctantly. If they were truly sparrows, a shout would send them flying. A hundred gold cloaks with staves and swords and maces could clear this rabble72 quick enough. That was what Lord Tywin would have done. He would have ridden over them instead of walking through.
When she saw what they had done to Baelor the Beloved, the queen had cause to rue6 her soft heart. The great marble statue that had smiled serenely73 over the plaza for a hundred years was waist-deep in a heap of bones and skulls74. Some of the skulls had scraps75 of flesh still clinging to them. A crow sat atop one such, enjoying a dry, leathery feast. Flies were everywhere. “What is the meaning of this?” Cersei demanded of the crowd. “Do you mean to bury Blessed Baelor in a mountain of carrion76?”
A one-legged man stepped forward, leaning on a wooden crutch77. “Your Grace, these are the bones of holy men and women, murdered for their faith. Septons, septas, brothers brown and dun and green, sisters white and blue and grey. Some were hanged, some disemboweled. Septs have been despoiled78, maidens79 and mothers raped80 by godless men and demon81 worshipers. Even silent sisters have been molested82. The Mother Above cries out in her anguish83. We have brought their bones here from all over the realm, to bear witness to the agony of the Holy Faith.”
Cersei could feel the weight of eyes upon her. “The king shall know of these atrocities84,” she answered solemnly. “Tommen will share your outrage85. This is the work of Stannis and his red witch, and the savage86 northmen who worship trees and wolves.” She raised her voice. “Good people, your dead shall be avenged87!”
A few cheered, but only a few. “We ask no vengeance88 for our dead,” said the one-legged man, “only protection for the living. For the septs and holy places.”
“The Iron Throne must defend the Faith,” growled89 a hulking lout90 with a seven-pointed91 star painted on his brow. “A king who does not protect his people is no king at all.” Mutters of assent92 went up from those around him. One man had the temerity to grasp Ser Meryn by the wrist, and say, “It is time for all anointed knights to forsake14 their worldly masters and defend our Holy Faith. Stand with us, ser, if you love the Seven.”
“Unhand me,” said Ser Meryn, wrenching93 free.
“I hear you,” Cersei said. “My son is young, but he loves the Seven well. You shall have his protection, and mine own.”
The man with the star upon his brow was not appeased94. “The Warrior95 will defend us,” he said, “not this fat boy king.”
Meryn Trant reached for his sword, but Cersei stopped him before he could unsheathe it. She had only two knights amidst a sea of sparrows. She saw staves and scythes96, cudgels and clubs, several axes. “I will have no blood shed in this holy place, ser.” Why are all men such children? Cut him down, and the rest will tear us limb from limb. “We are all the Mother’s children. Come, His High Holiness awaits us.” But as she made her way through the press to the steps of the sept, a gaggle of armed men stepped out to block the doors. They wore mail and boiled leather, with here and there a bit of dinted plate. Some had spears and some had longswords. More favored axes, and had sewn red stars upon their bleached97 white surcoats. Two had the insolence98 to cross their spears and bar her way.
“Is this how you receive your queen?” she demanded of them. “Pray, where are Raynard and Torbert?” It was not like those two to miss a chance to fawn99 on her. Torbert always made a show of getting down on his knees to wash her feet.
“I do not know the men you speak of,” said one of the men with a red star on his surcoat, “but if they are of the Faith, no doubt the Seven had need of their service.”
“Septon Raynard and Septon Torbert are of the Most Devout,” Cersei said, “and will be furious to learn that you obstructed100 me. Do you mean to deny me entrance to Baelor’s holy sept?”
“Your Grace,” said a greybeard with a stooped shoulder. “You are welcome here, but your men must leave their swordbelts. No weapons are allowed within, by command of the High Septon.”
“Knights of the Kingsguard do not set aside their swords, not even in the presence of the king.”
“In the king’s house, the king’s word must rule,” replied the aged33 knight, “but this is the house of the gods.”
Color rose to her cheeks. One word to Meryn Trant, and the stoop-backed greybeard would be meeting his gods sooner than he might have liked. Not here, though. Not now. “Wait for me,” she told the Kingsguard curtly101. Alone, she climbed the steps. The spearmen uncrossed their spears. Two other men put their weight against the doors, and with a great groan102 they swung apart.
In the Hall of Lamps, Cersei found a score of septons on their knees, but not in prayer. They had pails of soap and water, and were scrubbing at the floor. Their roughspun robes and sandals led Cersei to take them for sparrows, until one raised his head. His face was red as a beet103, and there were broken blisters104 on his hands, bleeding. “Your Grace.”
“Septon Raynard?” The queen could scarce believe what she was seeing. “What are you doing on your knees?”
“He is cleaning the floor.” The speaker was shorter than the queen by several inches and as thin as a broom handle. “Work is a form of prayer, most pleasing to the Smith.” He stood, scrub brush in hand. “Your Grace. We have been expecting you.”
The man’s beard was grey and brown and closely trimmed, his hair tied up in a hard knot behind his head. Though his robes were clean, they were frayed105 and patched as well. He had rolled his sleeves up his elbows as he scrubbed, but below the knees the cloth was soaked and sodden106. His face was sharply pointed, with deep-set eyes as brown as mud. His feet are bare, she saw with dismay. They were hideous107 as well, hard and horny things, thick with callus. “You are His High Holiness?”
“We are.”
Father, give me strength. The queen knew that she should kneel, but the floor was wet with soap and dirty water and she did not wish to ruin her gown. She glanced over at the old men on their knees. “I do not see my friend Septon Torbert.”
“Septon Torbert has been confined to a penitent’s cell on bread and water. It is sinful for any man to be so plump when half the realm is starving.”
Cersei had suffered quite enough for one day. She let him see her anger. “Is this how you greet me? With a scrub brush in your hand, dripping water? Do you know who I am?”
“Your Grace is the Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms,” the man said, “but in The Seven-Pointed Star it is written that as men bow to their lords, and lords to their kings, so kings and queens must bow before the Seven Who Are One.”
Is he telling me to kneel? If so, he did not know her very well. “By rights you should have met me on the steps in your finest robes, with the crystal crown upon your head.”
“We have no crown, Your Grace.”
Her frown deepened. “My lord father gave your predecessor108 a crown of rare beauty, wrought109 in crystal and spun57 gold.”
“And for that gift we honor him in our prayers,” the High Septon said, “but the poor need food in their bellies110 more than we need gold and crystal on our head. That crown has been sold. So have the others in our vaults111, and all our rings, and our robes of cloth-of-gold and cloth-of-silver. Wool will keep a man as warm. That is why the Seven gave us sheep.”
He is utterly112 mad. The Most Devout must have been mad as well, to elevate this creature . . . mad, or terrified of the beggars at their doors. Qyburn’s whisperers claimed that Septon Luceon had been nine votes from elevation113 when those doors had given way, and the sparrows came pouring into the Great Sept with their leader on their shoulders and their axes in their hands.
She fixed114 the small man with an icy stare. “Is there someplace where we may speak more privily115, Your Holiness?”
The High Septon surrendered his scrub brush to one of the Most Devout. “If Your Grace will follow us?”
He led her through the inner doors, into the sept proper. Their footsteps echoed off the marble floor. Dust motes116 swam in the beams of colored light slanting117 down through the leaded glass of the great dome. Incense118 sweetened the air, and beside the seven altars candles shone like stars. A thousand twinkled for the Mother and near as many for the Maid, but you could count the Stranger’s candles on two hands and still have fingers left.
Even here the sparrows had invaded. A dozen scruffy119 hedge knights were kneeling before the Warrior, beseeching120 him to bless the swords they had piled at his feet. At the Mother’s altar, a septon was leading a hundred sparrows in prayer, their voices as distant as waves upon the shore. The High Septon led Cersei to where the Crone raised her lantern. When he knelt before the altar, she had no choice but to kneel beside him. Mercifully, this High Septon was not as long-winded as the fat one had been. I should be grateful for that much, I suppose.
His High Holiness made no move to rise when his prayer was done. It would seem they must confer upon their knees. A small man’s ploy121, she thought, amused. “High Holiness,” she said, “these sparrows are frightening the city. I want them gone.”
“Where should they go, Your Grace?”
There are seven hells, any one of them will serve. “Back where they came from, I would imagine.”
“They came from everywhere. As the sparrow is the humblest and most common of the birds, they are the humblest and most common of men.”
They are common, we agree on that much. “Have you seen what they have done to Blessed Baelor’s statue? They befoul the plaza with their pigs and goats and night soil.”
“Night soil can be washed away more easily than blood, Your Grace. If the plaza was befouled, it was befouled by the execution that was done here.”
He dares throw Ned Stark in my face? “We all regret that. Joffrey was young, and not as wise as he might have been. Lord Stark should have been beheaded elsewhere, out of respect for Blessed Baelor . . . but the man was a traitor123, let us not forget.”
“King Baelor forgave those who conspired124 against him.”
King Baelor imprisoned125 his own sisters, whose only crime was being beautiful. The first time Cersei heard that tale, she had gone to Tyrion’s nursery and pinched the little monster till he cried. I should have pinched his nose t and stuffed my sock into his mouth. She forced herself to smile. “King Tommen will forgive the sparrows too, once they have returned to their homes.”
“Most have lost their homes. Suffering is everywhere . . . and grief, and death. Before coming to King’s Landing, I tended to half a hundred little villages too small to have a septon of their own. I walked from each one to the next, performing marriages, absolving126 sinners of their sins, naming newborn children. Those villages are no more, Your Grace. Weeds and thorns grow where gardens once flourished, and bones litter the roadsides.”
“War is a dreadful thing. These atrocities are the work of the northmen, and of Lord Stannis and his demon-worshipers.”
“Some of my sparrows speak of bands of lions who despoiled them . . . and of the Hound, who was your own sworn man. At Saltpans he slew127 an aged septon and despoiled a girl of twelve, an innocent child promised to the Faith. He wore his armor as he raped her and her tender flesh was torn and crushed by his iron mail. When he was done he gave her to his men, who cut off her nose and nipples.”
“His Grace cannot be held responsible for the crimes of every man who ever served House Lannister. Sandor Clegane is a traitor and a brute128. Why do you think I dismissed him from our service? He fights for the outlaw129 Beric Dondarrion now, not for King Tommen.”
“As you say. Yet it must be asked—where were the king’s knights when these things were being done? Did not Jaehaerys the Conciliator once swear upon the Iron Throne itself that the crown would always protect and defend the Faith?”
Cersei had no idea what Jaehaerys the Conciliator might have sworn. “He did,” she agreed, “and the High Septon blessed him and anointed him as king. It is traditional for every new High Septon to give the king his blessing . . . and yet you have refused to bless King Tommen.”
“Your Grace is mistaken. We have not refused.”
“You have not come.”
“The hour is not yet ripe.”
Are you a priest or a greengrocer? “And what might I do to make it . . . riper?” If he dares mention gold, I will deal with this one as I did the last and find a pious130 eight-year-old to wear the crystal crown.
“The realm is full of kings. For the Faith to exalt131 one above the rest we must be certain. Three hundred years ago, when Aegon the Dragon landed beneath this very hill, the High Septon locked himself within the Starry132 Sept of Oldtown and prayed for seven days and seven nights, taking no nourishment133 but bread and water. When he emerged he announced that the Faith would not oppose Aegon and his sisters, for the Crone had lifted up her lamp to show him what lay ahead. If Oldtown took up arms against the Dragon, Oldtown would burn, and the Hightower and the Citadel134 and the Starry Sept would be cast down and destroyed. Lord Hightower was a godly man. When he heard the prophecy, he kept his strength at home and opened the city gates to Aegon when he came. And His High Holiness anointed the Conqueror with the seven oils. I must do as he did, three hundred years ago. I must pray, and fast.”
“For seven days and seven nights?”
“For as long as need be.”
Cersei itched135 to slap his solemn, pious face. I could help you fast, she thought. I could t you up in some tower and see that no one brings you food until the gods have spoken. “These false kings espouse136 false gods,” she reminded him. “Only King Tommen defends the Holy Faith.”
“Yet everywhere septs are burned and looted. Even silent sisters have been raped, crying their anguish to the sky. Your Grace has seen the bones and skulls of our holy dead?”
“I have,” she had to say. “Give Tommen your blessing, and he shall put an end to these outrages137.”
“And how shall he do that, Your Grace? Will he send a knight to walk the roads with every begging brother? Will he give us men to guard our septas against the wolves and lions?”
I will pretend you did not mention lions. “The realm is at war. His Grace has need of every man.” Cersei did not intend to squander138 Tommen’s strength playing wet nurse to sparrows, or guarding the wrinkled cunts of a thousand sour septas. Half of them are probably praying for a good raping139. “Your sparrows have clubs and axes. Let them defend themselves.”
“King Maegor’s laws prohibit that, as Your Grace must know. It was by his decree that the Faith laid down its swords.”
“Tommen is king now, not Maegor.” What did she care what Maegor the Cruel had decreed three hundred years ago? Instead of taking the swords out of the hands of the faithful, he should have used them for his own ends. She pointed to where the Warrior stood above his altar of red marble. “What is that he holds?”
“A sword.”
“Has he forgotten how to use it?”
“Maegor’s laws—”
“—could be undone140.” She let that hang there, waiting for the High Sparrow to rise to the bait.
He did not disappoint her. “The Faith Militant141 reborn . . . that would be the answer to three hundred years of prayer, Your Grace. The Warrior would lift his shining sword again and cleanse142 this sinful realm of all its evil. If His Grace were to allow me to restore the ancient blessed orders of the Sword and Star, every godly man in the Seven Kingdoms would know him to be our true and rightful lord.”
That was sweet to hear, but Cersei took care not to seem too eager. “Your High Holiness spoke of forgiveness earlier. In these troubled times, King Tommen would be most grateful if you could see your way to forgiving the crown’s debt. It seems to me we owe the Faith some nine hundred thousand dragons.”
“Nine hundred thousand six hundred and seventy-four dragons. Gold that could feed the hungry and rebuild a thousand septs.”
“Is it gold you want?” the queen asked. “Or do you want these dusty laws of Maegor’s set aside?”
The High Septon pondered that a moment. “As you wish. This debt shall be forgiven, and King Tommen will have his blessing. The Warrior’s Sons shall escort me to him, shining in the glory of their Faith, whilst my sparrows go forth to defend the meek143 and humble122 of the land, reborn as Poor Fellows as of old.”
The queen got to her feet and smoothed her skirts. “I shall have the papers drawn144 up, and His Grace will sign them and affix145 them with the royal seal.” If there was one part of kingship that Tommen loved, it was playing with his seal.
“Seven save His Grace. Long may he reign.” The High Septon made a steeple of his hands and raised his eyes to heaven. “Let the wicked tremble!”
Do you hear that, Lord Stannis? Cersei could not help but smile. Even her lord father could have done no better. At a stroke, she had rid King’s Landing of the plague of sparrows, secured Tommen’s blessing, and lessened146 the crown’s debt by close to a million dragons. Her heart was soar-ing as she allowed the High Septon to escort her back to the Hall of Lamps.
Lady Merryweather shared the queen’s delight, though she had never heard of the Warrior’s Sons or the Poor Fellows. “They date from before Aegon’s Conquest,” Cersei explained to her. “The Warrior’s Sons were an order of knights who gave up their lands and gold and swore their swords to His High Holiness. The Poor Fellows . . . they were humbler, though far more numerous. Begging brothers of a sort, though they carried axes instead of bowls. They wandered the roads, escorting travelers from sept to sept and town to town. Their badge was the seven-pointed star, red on white, so the smallfolk named them Stars. The Warrior’s Sons wore rainbow cloaks and inlaid silver armor over hair shirts, and bore star-shaped crystals in the pommels of their longswords. They were the Swords. Holy men, ascetics147, fanatics148, sorcerers, dragonslayers, demonhunters . . . there were many tales about them. But all agree that they were implacable in their hatred149 for all enemies of the Holy Faith.”
Lady Merryweather understood at once. “Enemies such as Lord Stannis and his red sorceress, perhaps?”
“Why, yes, as it happens,” said Cersei, giggling150 like a girl. “Shall we broach151 a flagon of hippocras and drink to the fervor152 of the Warrior’s Sons on our way home?”
“To the fervor of the Warrior’s Sons and the brilliance153 of the Queen Regent. To Cersei, the First of Her Name!”
The hippocras was as sweet and savory154 as Cersei’s triumph, and the queen’s litter seemed almost to float back across the city. But at the base of Aegon’s High Hill, they encountered Margaery Tyrell and her cousins returning from a ride. She dogs me everywhere I go, Cersei thought with annoyance155 when she laid eyes on the little queen.
Behind Margaery came a long tail of courtiers, guards, and servants, many of them laden156 with baskets of fresh flowers. Each of her cousins had an admirer in thrall157; the gangly squire158 Alyn Ambrose rode with Elinor, to whom he was betrothed159, Ser Tallad with shy Alla, one-armed Mark Mullendore with Megga, plump and laughing. The Redwyne twins were escorting two of Margaery’s other ladies, Meredyth Crane and Janna Fossoway. The women all wore flowers in their hair. Jalabhar Xho had attached himself to the party too, as had Ser Lambert Turnberry with his eye patch, and the handsome singer known as the Blue Bard.
And of course a knight of the Kingsguard must accompany the little queen, and of course it is the Knight of Flowers. In white scale armor chased with gold, Ser Loras glittered. Though he no longer presumed to train Tommen at arms, the king still spent far too much time in his company. Every time the boy returned from an afternoon with his little wife, he had some new tale to tell about something that Ser Loras had said or done.
Margaery hailed them when the two columns met and fell in beside the queen’s litter. Her cheeks were flushed, her brown ringlets tumbling loosely about her shoulders, stirred by every puff160 of wind. “We have been picking autumn flowers in the kingswood,” she told them.
I know where you were, the queen thought. Her informers were very good about keeping her apprised161 of Margaery’s movements. Such a restless girl, our little queen. She seldom let more than three days pass without going off for a ride. Some days they would ride along the Rosby road to hunt for shells and eat beside the sea. Other times she would take her entourage across the river for an afternoon of hawking162. The little queen was fond of going out on boats as well, sailing up and down the Blackwater Rush to no particular purpose. When she was feeling pious she would leave the castle to pray at Baelor’s Sept. She gave her custom to a dozen different seamstresses, was well-known amongst the city’s goldsmiths, and had even been known to visit the fish market by the Mud Gate for a look at the day’s catch. Wherever she went, the smallfolk fawned163 on her, and Lady Margaery did all she could to fan their ardor164. She was forever giving alms to beggars, buying hot pies off bakers’ carts, and reining165 up to speak to common tradesmen.
Had it been up to her, she would have had Tommen doing all these things as well. She was forever inviting166 him to accompany her and her hens on their adventures, and the boy was forever pleading with his mother for leave to go along. The queen had given her consent a few times, if only to allow Ser Osney to spend a few more hours in Margaery’s company. For all the good it has done. Osney has proved a grievous disappointment. “Do you remember the day your sister sailed for Dorne?” Cersei asked her son. “Do you recall the mob howling on our way back to the castle? The stones, the curses?”
But the king was deaf to sense, thanks to his little queen. “If we mingle167 with the commons, they will love us better.”
“The mob loved the fat High Septon so well they tore him limb from limb, and him a holy man,” she reminded him. All it did was make him sullen with her. Just as Margaery wants, I wager168. Every day in every way she tries to steal him from me. Joffrey would have seen through her schemer’s smile and let her know her place, but Tommen was more gullible169. She knew Joff was too strong for her, Cersei thought, remembering the gold coin Qyburn had found. For House Tyrell to hope to rule, he had to be removed. It came back to her that Margaery and her hideous grandmother had once plotted to marry Sansa Stark to the little queen’s crippled brother Willas. Lord Tywin had forestalled170 that by stealing a march on them and wedding Sansa to Tyrion, but the link had been there. They are all in it together, she realized with a start. The Tyrells bribed171 the gaolers to free Tyrion, and whisked him down the roseroad to join his vile172 bride. By now the both of them are safe in Highgarden, hidden away behind a wall of roses.
“You should have come along with us, Your Grace,” the little schemer prattled173 on as they climbed the slope of Aegon’s High Hill. “We could have had such a lovely time together. The trees are gowned in gold and red and orange, and there are flowers everywhere. Chestnuts174 too. We roasted some on our way home.”
“I have no time for riding through the woods and picking flowers,” Cersei said. “I have a kingdom to rule.”
“Only one, Your Grace? Who rules the other six?” Margaery laughed a merry little laugh. “You will forgive me my jest, I hope. I know what a burden you bear. You should let me share the load. There must be some things I could do to help you. It would put to rest all this talk that you and I are rivals for the king.”
“Is that what they say?” Cersei smiled. “How foolish. I have never looked upon you as a rival, not even for a moment.”
“I am so pleased to hear that.” The girl did not seem to realize that she had been cut. “You and Tommen must come with us the next time. I know His Grace would love it. The Blue Bard played for us, and Ser Tallad showed us how to fight with a staff the way the smallfolk do. The woods are so beautiful in autumn.”
“My late husband loved the forest too.” In the early years of their marriage, Robert was forever imploring175 her to hunt with him, but Cersei had always begged off. His hunting trips allowed her time with Jaime. Golden days and silver nights. It was a dangerous dance that they had danced, to be sure. Eyes and ears were everywhere within the Red Keep, and one could never be certain when Robert would return. Somehow the peril176 had only served to make their times together that much more thrilling. “Still, beauty can sometimes mask deadly danger,” she warned the little queen. “Robert lost his life in the woods.”
Margaery smiled at Ser Loras; a sweet sisterly smile, full of fondness. “Your Grace is kind to fear for me, but my brother keeps me well protected.”
Go and hunt, Cersei had urged Robert, half a hundred times. My brother keeps me well protected. She recalled what Taena had told her earlier, and a laugh came bursting from her lips.
“Your Grace laughs so prettily.” Lady Margaery gave her a quizzical smile. “Might we share the jest?”
“You will,” the queen said. “I promise you, you will.”
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1
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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9
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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10
consummated
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| v.使结束( consummate的过去式和过去分词 )；使完美；完婚；（婚礼后的）圆房 | |
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11
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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12
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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13
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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14
forsake
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| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
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15
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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16
crease
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| n.折缝，褶痕，皱褶；v.(使)起皱 | |
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17
interferes
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| vi. 妨碍，冲突，干涉 | |
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18
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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19
abhor
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| v.憎恶；痛恨 | |
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20
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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21
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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22
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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23
umbrage
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| n.不快；树荫 | |
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24
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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25
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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26
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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27
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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28
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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29
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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30
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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31
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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32
outgrow
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| vt.长大得使…不再适用；成长得不再要 | |
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33
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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34
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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35
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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36
croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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37
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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38
shrouds
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| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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39
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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41
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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42
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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43
withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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44
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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45
arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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46
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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47
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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48
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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49
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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50
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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51
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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52
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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53
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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54
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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55
plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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56
stinks
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的第三人称单数 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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57
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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58
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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59
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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60
besmirched
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| v.弄脏( besmirch的过去式和过去分词 )；玷污；丑化；糟蹋（名誉等） | |
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61
pristine
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| adj.原来的，古时的，原始的，纯净的，无垢的 | |
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62
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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63
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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64
siblings
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| n.兄弟，姐妹( sibling的名词复数 ) | |
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65
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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66
temerity
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| n.鲁莽，冒失 | |
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67
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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68
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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69
demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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70
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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71
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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72
rabble
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| n.乌合之众，暴民；下等人 | |
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73
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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74
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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75
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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76
carrion
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| n.腐肉 | |
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77
crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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78
despoiled
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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80
raped
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| v.以暴力夺取，强夺( rape的过去式和过去分词 )；强奸 | |
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81
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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82
molested
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| v.骚扰( molest的过去式和过去分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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83
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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84
atrocities
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| n.邪恶，暴行( atrocity的名词复数 )；滔天大罪 | |
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85
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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86
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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87
avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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88
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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89
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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90
lout
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| n.粗鄙的人；举止粗鲁的人 | |
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91
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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92
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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93
wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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94
appeased
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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95
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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96
scythes
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| n.（长柄）大镰刀( scythe的名词复数 )v.（长柄）大镰刀( scythe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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97
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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98
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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99
fawn
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| n.未满周岁的小鹿；v.巴结，奉承 | |
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100
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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101
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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102
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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103
beet
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| n.甜菜；甜菜根 | |
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104
blisters
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| n.水疱( blister的名词复数 )；水肿；气泡 | |
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105
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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107
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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108
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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109
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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110
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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111
vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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112
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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113
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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114
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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115
privily
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| adv.暗中，秘密地 | |
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116
motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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117
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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118
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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119
scruffy
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| adj.肮脏的，不洁的 | |
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120
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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121
ploy
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| n.花招，手段 | |
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122
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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123
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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124
conspired
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| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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125
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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126
absolving
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的现在分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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127
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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128
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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129
outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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130
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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131
exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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132
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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133
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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134
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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135
itched
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| v.发痒( itch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
espouse
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| v.支持，赞成，嫁娶 | |
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137
outrages
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| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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138
squander
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| v.浪费，挥霍 | |
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139
raping
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| v.以暴力夺取，强夺( rape的现在分词 )；强奸 | |
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140
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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141
militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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142
cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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143
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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144
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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145
affix
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| n.附件，附录 vt.附贴，盖(章)，签署 | |
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146
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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147
ascetics
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| n.苦行者，禁欲者，禁欲主义者( ascetic的名词复数 ) | |
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148
fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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149
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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150
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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151
broach
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| v.开瓶，提出(题目) | |
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152
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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153
brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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154
savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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155
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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156
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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157
thrall
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| n.奴隶；奴隶制 | |
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158
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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159
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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160
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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161
apprised
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| v.告知，通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 )；评价 | |
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162
hawking
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| 利用鹰行猎 | |
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163
fawned
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| v.（尤指狗等）跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的过去式和过去分词 )；巴结；讨好 | |
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164
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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165
reining
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的现在分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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166
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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167
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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168
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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169
gullible
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| adj.易受骗的；轻信的 | |
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170
forestalled
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| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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171
bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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172
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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173
prattled
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| v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话( prattle的过去式和过去分词 )；发出连续而无意义的声音；闲扯；东拉西扯 | |
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174
chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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175
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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176
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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