Harald Orm almost immediately confined Orton Merryweather and his wife to their private apartments, along with several lesser nobles whom we knew to be receiving gold from the queen's own hands.
I also spoke with both stewards and offered them a final choice: whom did they serve—the king or his mother?
I addressed them calmly, giving them the opportunity to preserve their dignity. There was something in the situation itself—and perhaps in my tone—that even fifteen-year-old Robert Brax could barely restrain his tears, so eager was he to prove his loyalty.
In short, I had no worries about the stewards. It was clear the lads would not fail me. As for the cupbearer, Gunt Holy, he remained at his post and continued to carry out his duties without interruption.
The following day, the entire Red Keep saw Cersei off. She looked exhausted—apparently she had not slept all night—shaken, yet as always coldly unapproachable and full of fury. Jaime told me, his voice heavy with pain, that Cersei had been utterly stunned by the fact that no one cared about her. What struck her most of all was Jaime's own betrayal—or at least what she perceived as betrayal. After all, until the very end she had believed and waited that her twin brother would raise his banners and defend his love. And now everything she had lived for lay shattered into sharp fragments. Her son had betrayed her, and the man she loved had not stood by her.
The entire situation did nothing to improve Jaime's mood. His gaze burned with anger and barely restrained rage; it seemed at any moment he might lose control and kill someone. Knights and servants alike tried to keep out of his path.
"You remember I did this for two reasons," I said as my gelding drew level with Jaime's horse. "It was necessary—for her good as well as for the good of the realm."
"To hell with the realm," he cursed. "Do you even understand how I feel? It's as if there's an open wound in my heart."
Jaime dug his spurs into his horse's flanks and rode ahead of our procession.
We had staged the scene as though we were sending Cersei to the Westerlands with full honors. In the salt-scented southern wind, the banners bearing the sigils of House Lannister and House Baratheon fluttered brightly. Trumpets rang out proudly, and everything looked as though it were a celebration.
And yet on most faces one could see not joy, but unmistakable relief. Had it not been for the numerous guards present, I am more than certain there would have been mockery and jests.
We parted from Cersei at the Lion Gate. Her path, accompanied by a considerable retinue, led farther along the Gold Road all the way to Casterly Rock.
She did not say a single word to me, nor did she so much as glance in my direction. At first I had intended to allow Myrcella to accompany her mother—it would have been easier for them both. But then, on Kevan's advice I abandoned the idea. There was no knowing what a wounded and furious Cersei might do in retaliation, nor to whom she might betroth my sister out of spite.
Tommen also remained in the castle. The boy was growing far too quiet and timid; it was time to drive such weakness from his mind and character.
Jaime reined in his horse and watched his love for a long time. The vanguard riders of the procession climbed a distant rise and began to disappear beyond the crest of the hill. Then the luxurious royal carriage, drawn by six snow-white mares, reached the highest point, lingered for a brief moment—and vanished from sight…
The pain in Jaime's eyes slowly faded, giving way to a quiet sorrow.
"It's time to return," I said, touching his shoulder. He shook himself, nodded, and made an effort to regain his composure, driving away that momentary weakness.
***
Summoning Ser Hasty, I gave him an order: his "Hundred" was henceforth to be renamed the Holy Order, and he was to expand its ranks to five hundred men as swiftly as possible.
A conversation followed with Lancel Lannister. After the Battle of the Blackwater, he had changed greatly—repentant, even turning toward religion. I did not allow matters to drift. I spoke with Lancel more than once. Margaery and Myrcella did not stand aside either. Perhaps because of this, Lancel did not renounce the world entirely but chose a different path.
During our discussion, he asked to be admitted into the Holy Order.
"I was a worthless man," Lancel said quietly but firmly. It seemed that the mere fact Cersei was no longer here had granted him a great measure of courage at once. "You know I committed many wrongs. And though you have forgiven me, here"—he pressed a hand to his chest—"I still feel the guilt. Allow me to atone."
"I believe you can become a splendid knight. You will earn renown, Lancel, and songs will be sung of your honor and loyalty," I replied, looking into his eyes and speaking both what I thought and what I wished to see.
And all of this, without doubt, gladdened me. Lancel had chosen the path of a devout and faithful knight rather than that of a deranged religious zealot. And on this road he would succeed—I was certain of it. And it was precisely what I had hoped for, for we all have need of loyal and honorable men.
After the Blackwater he had earned his spurs, and so he could not serve as a common soldier. To begin with, Ser Hasty placed him in command of a squad of ten. Both he and I were curious to see what would come of it.
(End of Chapter)
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