Robert Baratheon's warhamr was, without question, a fearso thing.
Cersei Lannister's solution was simple: make it so Robert could not stay sober, could not even stand straight—how could he possibly wield his hamr then?
Jai's repeated warnings still carried so weight with her.
This ti, the Queen was willing to be patient. Such waiting felt like a gamble, one that made her heart race—perhaps one day it would suddenly bring an unexpected reward.
Inwardly, she was quite pleased with herself. In House Lannister, apart from Tywin, only she could devise a sche so clever and flawless.
Cersei stepped toward Lancel. Instinctively, he kept backing away.
It wasn't long before his back hit the wall—there was nowhere left to retreat.
The Queen now stood no more than a fist's distance away, and Lancel wished he could lt into the stone.
She lowered her gaze for a mont, then lifted it to et his."Lancel, what you need to do is very simple—switch what I give you for Robert's wine. That drunkard might even praise you for it."
His pupils contracted, his teeth chattering."Cersei… you want to poison him?"
She frowned slightly, raising her voice."Have you gone stupid, Lancel? Do you still dare call yourself a Lannister lion?"
He hesitated, but the thought of family honor seed to steel him."What is it you want to give him, cousin?"
The Queen's expression softened just a fraction, her lips curling."I've prepared a large amount of high-strength red wine. Get him to like it—perhaps you won't need to lift a finger after that. The filthy drunk will get himself hooked."
Just stronger wine?
Relief washed over him. He had been imagining far worse.
With an innocent smile, sweat still trickling down his face, he said,"You nearly scared to death with that joke, cousin. Leave the wine to —I think the King might even like it. If he's pleased, maybe he'll yell at less. Thank you for your trouble; I can't believe I didn't think of it—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Cersei was smiling, but in his eyes that smile grew stranger and stranger, until he felt like a fool.
She patted him lightly."Adorably stupid."
Lancel froze. He felt unfamiliar, soft hands roaming lower.
"There are two types—one twice the usual strength, the other three tis…"
"Cou… cousin… your… hand…"
Without looking up, her voice turned cool."Don't move, Lancel. Tell how we should arrange it."
His breathing grew heavier, but he clung to so shred of clarity."The double-strength… for His Grace's daily wine. The triple… I can't think of…"
"Other than drinking, what else does Robert enjoy?"
Whores.
The thought ca instantly, but he bit it back."Hunting?"
She raised her eyes to his."Do you know what to do now?"
He swallowed and nodded silently.
"Then, my future man of rit, do you want your Queen's reward now, or after the deed is done? You seem overly restless—your cousin could make an exception this ti."
Lancel's Adam's apple bobbed. His gaze flicked downward before he quickly looked away."Cersei… I'm your cousin."
She only held his eyes, lips curled, saying nothing.
No—she must be drunk. He needed to get out now.
Everyone in the Red Keep knew the Queen's cup was never far from her hand.
Drawing a deep breath, Lancel broke free of her grasp, straightening his clothes."You can count on , cousin."
Without even taking his leave, he fled the room.
Once he was gone, Cersei humd a light tune, lifted her cup, and sipped sumrwine.She had secured what she wanted, and her mood was buoyant.
Night, Crabb encampnt.
"Good evening, Lady Margaery."
"Good evening, Lord Gawen."
After dinner, Gawen was t with the unexpected arrival of the young rose of Highgarden.
He offered her a seat and instructed a servant to light several more candles in the tent.
Watching her with a gentle smile in her eyes, he thought that the young rose was far more pleasing to look at than the politely deceptive Willas Tyrell.
Unlike the understated elegance of their first eting, Margaery Tyrell's attire tonight was far more sumptuous.
Her light-brown hair was swept to one side, draping languidly over her lovely collarbones. She sat upright, hands folded, her posture impeccable.
From her dress, to her bearing, to her expression, it was clear: this was the Duke of Highgarden's daughter—not the warm, approachable young lady from before.
A duke's daughter… The thought brought to mind Petyr Baelish, who seed to fall only for won of such rank.
"I heard in Highgarden that you were injured, Lord Gawen," she said, a glimr of humor in her eyes. "I was concerned, so I ca to visit you tonight."
Another man might have been flustered, but Gawen was no ordinary man.
He furrowed his brow slightly, placing a hand over his chest, his voice taking on a strained, weakened tone."I thank you for your concern, my lady. I am fine."
For a heartbeat, the tent fell silent.
Margaery covered her mouth with a soft laugh, her eyes curling like crescent moons."I must admit I admire… your swordsmanship, ser."
"I must thank you again for your kindness," he replied, before adding, "I am a swordsman, not skilled in delicate words. If there is anything you need of , please say it plainly—I will be glad to serve you."
Her slender fingers curled slightly, then relaxed."Upon hearing you were hurt, I wanted to ensure you were safe. You are our guest, and House Tyrell must see to your safety in the Reach—it is a matter of our honor."
He dipped his head politely.
"To make ands for our lapse," she continued, smiling, "and so that you may return ho to rest in peace, my grandmother asked to bring you a gift."
His thoughts flicked to her grandmother—the Queen of Thorns, Olenna Redwyne, mother of the pufferfish duke.
With a faintly curious expression, he asked,"May I be so bold as to ask how much your grandmother sent?"
Margaery blinked, pausing only briefly before replying in her usual soft tone."Three thousand gold dragons."
Just as he suspected.
Gawen lifted his eyes to the tent's ceiling.
In his mind, the words rang clear: I'll give you five hundred thousand… just stay away from my son.
.
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