LIGHT NOVEL Chapter 66: chapter 66
Eddard Stark had mixed feelings regarding the trial, which mirrored his mixed feelings about Lady Myrcella. The maid was unlike anyone he had ever encountered. Even now, he felt as if she were manipulating him. And yet, opportunity to mete out justice for the deaths of so many of his people, and for Robert, could not be passed up.
The room that the trial would be held in was rather small. It seemed that Lady Myrcella had no wish for there to be a large audience. Given the wide range of what Cersei may say, he could understand. Lady Myrcella, him, and the other two judges, strict instructions that they were there to hold trial over Cersei Lannister over a specific crime, not any crime that could be laid at her feet. Questions, testimony, and the like should be relevant to the matter at hand.
"How fare you this morn, my lord?" Edmure asked him.
"Well enough. Cersei and the others will be brought in soon. It seems your prolonged confinement in Harrenhal has not been damaging."
Edmure shook his head. "Nay, Ser Gladden has treated me well. I have grieved over my father, and the deaths of my good friends, but I have been given wine, food, and company. Other than the unceasing presence of guards that shadow my every move, I cannot complain of my treatment."
Individuals filed into the room. Eddard saw the captive Lord Waxley being led in by a pair of guards, and then behind him came Obara Sand. She was in fetters, and Eddard frowned at that. Myrcella arrived next with members of her Stormguard. Ser Jaspar Storm, Ser Brienne – the existence of a female knight had surprised him – Ser Lum, and Ser Gladden. A pair of what looked to be knights with the sigil of the twin towers of the Crossing were also there, but what relation they had to Lord Walder Frey, Eddard could not say. In addition, Grand Maester Pycelle was helped to his seat by a squire with the heraldry of House Fell.
Finally, Cersei was brought in. She looked haggard, and her eyes were red rimmed. She was dressed in a modest gown, and for the first time he'd seen her, wore no jewels and adornments.
"Stark," Cersei snarled. "So you are the one behind this farce."
"I am as much a prisoner as you, Cersei, but I have been tasked with standing in judgement over a vicious accusation." Eddard then turned to the assembled lords and knights. "The accuser will have the chance to speak first, and then Cersei may state her case. My fellow judges may also ask questions to better understand the events." He turned back to Cersei. "Cersei Lannister, you are accused of attempted kinslaying, you are accused of poisoning your own daughter, and you are accused of doing so after having shared food and drink. Do you understand these charges."
Cersei laughed. It was a shrill sound. "Who are you to stand in judgement before me? Where is my father? Where is my son?"
"Grandfather did not wish to be a part of this, and the King has many duties to learn and master," Myrcella replied in a clear voice.
"Do not call my father your grandfather! You are some creature crafted by the witch Stannis employs! My daughter is dead – she was executed; you are a pretender, and an abomination."
Was Cersei mad? Or an act to try to gain clemency?
"Lady Myrcella is correct; Lord Tywin and your son will not be part of this trial. Do you understand the charges?"
Cersei glared at him, her green eyes alight with indignant rage.
"I understand them, Stark."
"Let us begin, then. Lady Myrcella, you are the accuser; speak your claim."
Myrcella stood up and recounted how she had chosen to dine with Cersei and then suffered the effects of poison. She was calm when she spoke, something that was again an oddity to Eddard. She ought to feel sorrow or rage, but instead her delivery was simply factual.
"When I felt the poison take hold, I was taunted by her, and one of the last words I heard before losing consciousness was that it was too late for a Maester to save me."
Cersei gave an ugly laugh. "What more proof do you need, my lords? She ingested poison and yet she still lives! She is a creature crafted with the dark arts of Asshai."
Eddard shook his head. "Cersei, are you admitting you poisoned Lady Myrcella?"
"No, you witless fool. I poisoned her, not Myrcella," Cersei stated while pointing at her daughter.
Edmure spoke up. "Well, this seems quite clear. Lady Lannister has admitted to it – what more do we need?"
Eddard frowned. "How did you survive the poison, Lady Myrcella?"
"The Grand Maester believes that whoever gave the poison to Cersei gave her two different poisons. The poisons interacted in a way to partially neutralize each other."
"Who do you think gave the poison to your mother?" Eddard asked.
"I am not sure, but I believe it was Lord Varys. Though of course he may have been using a catspaw to deliver the poison," She replied.
If Varys used an intermediary, it is possible that mistakes could occur, or if Cersei somehow had her own poison… my wife's Gods surely must be smiling down on Lady Myrcella for such chance to work out in her favor.
"Thank you for your statement, Lady Myrcella. Cersei – you have admitted to the poisoning. Is there anything you wish to say in your defense?"
Cersei scowled at him. "Poisoning someone who is impersonating my daughter should not be a crime. But I know my words are wind. You have already decided my fate. Not that it matters. I know what the future holds; I am not destined to die by your hand."
"I've heard enough. Do we need to convene privately?" Ser Horas asked. "She freely admits her guilt."
Edmure agreed, and Ned bowed his head. "We are all in agreement, then. Cersei Lannister, of House Lannister, you have been found guilty. You are sentenced to die by beheading. I would give you a night with your Gods, and will take your head in the morning."
Cersei looked fearful, but defiant. She looked around the room and spotted one of the knights.
"You! Larys? Leamon? Tell them, this is not my daughter."
Eddard looked at the man – he was one of the Stormguard but was not adorned with plate.
"It is Lum, Lady Lannister. And I swear by the Seven, this is Myrcella Baratheon. You had me spy on her to see if she would sneak away and spend time with the Stark children. She is your daughter."
Cersei sagged and was led away. Eddard had troubled sleep that night. Cersei was guilty, of this crime and a whole host of others. Not least of which was murdering his friend, Robert.
Mayhaps it is the thought of executing a woman.
In the morning, Cersei looked panicked. The courtyard of Harrenhal had several lords and knights in attendance. A block was placed out in front. Ser Brienne and Ser Gladden were the ones who had Cersei by the arms, pulling her forward.
"No, no, no, this can't be happening. I am a lion of Casterly Rock! Unhand me! Where is my father? He will have your heads! Let go of me!"
The former Queen was pushed to her knees.
"No! Wait, let me see my son. Please, let me see him one last time."
Myrcella approached. "I decided that my brother did not need to see you like this. You will not see him again."
Eddard could feel the coldness radiate from the girl of three-and-ten. He could not blame her; how would he react if his own mother had killed his father and tried to poison him?
As Cersei's chest was forced onto the block, allowing her head to be outstretched, she began to cry out.
"STOP! PLEASE! I'll confess to any crime! I'll admit it! I fucked my brother! My children are bastards! STOP THIS!"
The crowd murmured, but Myrcella signaled Eddard to get on with it.
He gave her a look and steadily recited words that would irritate the lords and knights assembled.
"In the name of STANNIS of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, carry out the sentence of death."
The sword he had been given for the task was sharp, and he struck cleanly, separating Cersei Lannister's head, and cutting off her screams. Some of the crowd cheered, but not many. The rest were solemn. Myrcella moved forward, not a care in the world that her enemy had bare steel within arm's reach of her. He could feel Brienne's presence as she had moved directly by his right arm. Myrcella gently pulled her mother's body from the block and placed the severed head in the crook of the corpse's arm.
She rose and addressed her men.
"She was my mother, but she had committed unspeakable crimes. As Paramount Lady of the Stormlands, I will always strive to uphold the virtue of justice, for the low, and the high. Her depravities drove her into utter madness; her words were less than wind in the end. I will mourn with my brother. Please return to your duties, and leave me with my grief."
Eddard watched as her lords and knights departed. He could hear a few speak – words of admiration for the courage and resiliency of Lady Myrcella's to hold even her own mother accountable to the laws of the Seven. Eddard could only shake his head, understanding that somehow even Cersei's declaring Myrcella a bastard had not moved sentiment against the girl one jot.
"Lord Stark, Lord Edmure, Ser Horas. You have done your duty and adjudicated with wisdom. I will continue to treat you as the noble prisoners that you are. I shall also allow you to write to your families. Your letters will be read, and no word or statement will be allowed that could confer a military advantage. If you try to write in cipher or code, it will be discovered, and the freedom of the quill will be revoked."
They thanked her, and then Edmure looked at her.
"The people here believe you are virtuous. They sing your praises, call you the Maiden made flesh, call you blessed by the Seven. If this is so, when will you bring Tywin Lannister to justice for his crimes?"
"Lord Edmure, it is not my responsibility to right every wrong in Westeros. Any crimes that may have been done in the Riverlands can of course be brought forward by Lord Walder Frey, the new Paramount Lord of the Riverlands, before King Tommen. Granted, that my grandfather is the Lord Regent would probably put a damper on any trial."
Edmure scowled. "As I suspected. You are no true incarnation of the Seven."
"I never claimed to be, my lord." Myrcella turned away from Edmure and looked toward Eddard.
"Lord Stark, I will also allow you to be with your son. I've tried to question him, but he was resilient."
Eddard inhaled sharply, but Myrcella shook her head.
"No, Stark. I did not harm him. I asked him questions, and he refused to partake in conversation. It was rather rude. Ser Brienne, please see Stark to his chambers; I will have Robb fetched shortly."
Eddard had the blade taken from him, and Brienne walked with him through the blackened walls of Harrenhal.
"Why do you distrust her so much, Lord Stark? She has shown you every courtesy, over the objections of her own family. She returned Bran to you. Lady Myrcella is the only reason you and your daughters still draw breath. And yet, at every turn, you view her with a suspicious gaze."
Eddard frowned. Brienne of Tarth did speak truly. He owed debts to Myrcella that he doubted he could repay in a lifetime. But he also owed loyalty to Stannis, his King. Only one other time in his life had he been so torn, and that was in regard to Jon. Lying to his Catelyn, and to Robert, to protect his nephew had tested competing loyalties. Now he was torn as well.
"I serve Stannis. She is his enemy. She is also kind, clever, a skilled orator, a fearsome combatant, and more dangerous than I can possibly imagine. I fear her, Lady Brienne. I fear how even now, as I speak to you, I wonder if my honor and loyalty to Stannis is dooming Westeros to a harsh winter of starvation." He paused to sigh. "And for all her virtues, she knew that her mother was behind Robert's death. She knew her mother cuckolded the King. She knew that her brothers were bastards. If she had not brought the Stormlords to the Lannister banner, so much death and destruction could have been avoided. I no longer believe she is a bastard; she is Robert's daughter, aye, but she is also Cersei's daughter."
Brienne tightened her fist, and Eddard watched as her jaw clenched.
"The pull between family and honor is a difficult one, Lord Stark. To expect a maid of two-and-ten to sacrifice her family is a tall order. You are one man in a thousand to seek to uphold the honor of your vows over the lives of your loved ones. I am a knight. It is the only thing I have ever desired, but if you were to make me choose between a vow and damning all my kin… I do not know."
Eddard understood. There was no more said between them, and soon Eddard busied himself with writing to his dear Catelyn.
***
Margaery was standing within the Great Sept of Baelor. Her brother Garlan had taken the place of their dearly missed father in the ceremony. He had removed the cloak with her house colors, and then Aegon had placed a cloak with the three red dragons of his house sigil upon her shoulders. It was a momentous occasion. She was to be wedded and crowned in one day.
As the High Septon recited from the Seven-Pointed Star, Margaery couldn't help but dwell on her disquiet from her arrival in the city. She had hoped her triumphant appearance would be cheered by the crowds of smallfolk. Ahead of them had been sent criers. Food and wine were to be given out, and a great celebration was in the offering. Knights from across the Reach, along with the most resplendent members of the Golden Company, had spoken to the people of the return of the Targaryen dynasty.
And yet there were few cheers. Some looked on with curiosity, but most had looked sullen. Margaery had done her best to make eye contact with the smallfolk, to flash a warm smile that her mother had said could melt the hardest of hearts, but aside from a bare handful of friendly faces, her efforts bore little fruit.
Fortunately, none of the crowd had done anything untoward or violent. She had not taken their… indifference to her as a slight. These people had suffered much. Burnt buildings and bloodstained streets could cast a pall over anything.
Her mind returned to the wedding as she spoke her words to Aegon, "With this kiss, I pledge my love…"
A deep kiss was shared between her and her husband, one that held a bit less passion than their normal nightly ones. The King had been crowned, and wed, and now she was, in truth, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
Or at least I shall be once the wars have been settled.
Aegon had promised a swift resolution, but Garlan had told her otherwise. He had told her that much depended on the response to the ravens that had been sent out. Garlan thought it unlikely that Stannis Baratheon would ever bend the knee, nor would the overly proud Old Lion of Lannister. The Greyjoys were evidently going through some sort of strange kingmaking process instead of just having Theon Greyjoy inherit. Garlan was deeply unimpressed with the Ironborn and had warned that even as allies he'd had to watch his back.
Aegon held her hand aloft once they had left the Great Sept, and a roar of approval was voiced from the throats of the knights of the Reach and the Golden Company. The smallfolk did not participate.
It will be my duty to win their hearts.
After the feasting and festivities were complete, it was time for Aegon to form his Small Council. Margaery sat at the table next to her husband, the King of the Seven Kingdoms. At the table were Lord Jon Connington, Lord Anders Yronwood, Ser Gerold Dayne, Lord Varys, two of the commanders of the Golden Company, Lord Orton Merryweather, Ser Leo Blackbar, and her brother, Ser Garlan Tyrell.
"My lords and faithful knights, and of course my Queen, we have much business to discuss," Aegon began. "First are the appointments necessary to manage the kingdom. My foster father, Lord Connington, will serve as my Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, as well as my Hand."
Margaery would have preferred to have those duties separated, but Aegon wished to add honors to the man who had raised him. It wasn't unheard of for the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to also serve as Hand, but it was rare.
"Lord Varys has provided faithful service, and will remain as my Master of Whisperers. For my Master of Coin, I would appoint Lord Anders Yronwood. Are there any objections to either post?"
Those at the table looked at each other, but none spoke.
Aegon continued. "Lord Paxter Redwyne is not here, but I can think none more qualified to serve as Master of Ships. All that remains to complete my council is for the Citadel to send us the new Grand Maester, and an appointment for the Master of Laws. Are there any suggestions for Master of Laws?"
Garlan shrugged. "Your Grace, it may be wise to keep a position open that can be used to sway a lord to come to your side. We have only just sent out the ravens; while the Lannisters and the North have already responded refusing peace, we know not what additional support will come beyond the Reach and Dorne."
"Ser Garlan makes a good point, Your Grace," Connington agreed. "More importantly, the administering of the law can await our victory. Stannis Baratheon managed to slip away, but not before mauling a third of the vessels carrying our men."
Aegon grimaced. "Aye, we owe him a debt that can only be repaid with blood. Half of our elephants drowned because of his ships, and I hear we only managed to sink two of their vessels?"
Connington nodded sharply. "The Golden Company fights best on land, and many of our ships were hired simply to sail us to Westeros. Some of the captains tried to get in close to come to grips with the enemy, but they were too canny. We did capture a few at Dragonstone when we surprised the island, and sank another when we made our approach on King's Landing before Baratheon formed up against us."
Her husband looked vexed. "Dorne does not have a fleet that can match Stannis. We will need Redwyne to sail around Dorne and smash what remains of the blockade. The food coming from the Reach will prevent outright starvation, but being able to import it properly through Blackwater Bay will resolve everything."
Margaery frowned and spoke up, despite the look she got from Connington. "My love, doing so could create problems in the west. Has there been word of what the Ironborn will do? Before you revealed yourself, they were allies to Stannis. If they remain so, they can devastate the Reach."
Varys shook his head. "Sadly, there has been no response. My little birds do not fly so far as the Iron Islands, but what I do know is that there has been no decision on who will be the next ruler of House Greyjoy."
Merryweather frowned. "Theon Greyjoy is the only surviving son of Balon. Surely, he will rule, unless something has happened to him."
"Nothing is ever simple with the Greyjoys. Many will view his fostering, at such a tender age, as having made him more of a Stark than an Ironborn. His uncle will likely push his own claim, and it will be up to the captains of the Ironborn to choose who will lead them."
"If they still have not chosen, we have no way of knowing what they will do. We cannot allow our fleets to remain idle for mere potential of harm when we need those ships to end Stannis once and for all," Connington said firmly.
Aegon looked to Margaery thoughtfully, and then back to Jon.
"Can we make do with half the Redwyne fleet?" Aegon asked.
Lord Yronwood shook his head. "Perhaps, if we combine the Dornish fleet with half of the Reach fleet, we could fight Stannis on equal footing. But that could still be a loss, and if the worst were to occur, half of the Redwyne ships would not be able to stop a determined Greyjoy naval strike. My counsel is: either send for the full armada, or don't."
The newly-made Hand growled, "We cannot leave such an asset in place on the chance that the Ironborn attack. Those raiders do not represent a serious threat, outside of trade by sea. Keep the coastal houses adequately manned and defeat them if they dare come to shore. It isn't ideal, but the faster we bring Baratheon to heel, the faster we can restore order to the Seven Kingdoms."
Margaery had a deep sense of foreboding. Her grandmother had always said that the Ironborn were drawn to weakness like wild dogs to a carcass. She took Aegon's hand within hers.
"Your Grace, I fear for the lives of my people if we send the fleet away. Can we not wait until we know the outcome of the Greyjoy internal strife?"
Aegon looked as if he were about to speak, but Connington spoke up again.
"There isn't time. It's not as if it would be a short journey by vessel to go around Dorne and cross the length of the Narrow Sea."
"Lord Connington, I understand the concern, but the Reach must be defended. That is the source of the food for the Crownlands and King's Landing. The Lannisters may also wish to seek revenge for our invasion of the Westerlands. We have but a small portion of our muster still uncalled, but those men are sorely needed to fully bring in the harvest if we are to feed ourselves and King's Landing," Garlan countered.
"A most vexing situation," Aegon muttered.
The Master of Whisperers nodded. "The decision you make regarding the fleets will be critical, but perhaps we can wait a day or two for the responses from the lords of this land. I have some hope that some houses like Darry will side with us. More importantly, the stance of the Vale will be enlightening."
"How so?" Connington asked. Margaery sensed some frustration in his tone.
"Sporadic fighting has been reported in the Vale between those who are loyal to Lady Arryn and those calling for her head. Many believe guest right was violated, and the crushing defeat their host suffered as proof the Seven have punished them for their sins. They will have little love for the Lannisters, and if we can win their loyalty, it will give Stannis few options. He has suffered extreme casualties in the wars. I suspect even just the Dornish host could match him at this juncture."
Margaery knew that the mustered Dornish host numbered around 9,000. If Stannis was truly so weakened, the war with him should not last much longer. He could get reinforcements from the North, but that vast land had always been sparsely populated.
"True enough," Jon agreed. "Even diminished, the Golden Company could likely win if we fought on land. I am not so confident about facing the Bold without numbers. His victories in this war are astonishing."
Aegon sat up. "Yes, it is a pity he has sworn to Tommen. I've been told he was responsible for taking Harrenhal, smashing the Vale host, holding off a large host at the Trident while outnumbered, and more. Defeating Ser Barristan will be a tall order."
"Your Grace," Varys began, "Ser Barristan is a stalwart knight, but he is not the true threat."
Aegon looked at him in surprise. "Then who is?"
"Myrcella Baratheon. She is the disturbing intellect behind the stratagems of our foes, and for inspiring her army to feats unheard of."
One of the Golden Company leaders chuckled as if it were a jest. Margaery knew, even with only being around him for a short time, that Varys would not jest in that manner. He was deadly serious. Margaery wished she had been able to meet Myrcella. Dubbed the "Perfect Princess," the girl had captured the hearts of the people of King's Landing even before the wars had broken out. Now, there were all sorts of stories. Margaery assumed Myrcella knew how to control information and rumors and was stretching the truth to make herself look even more illustrious.
"Really?" Aegon asked. "I know the smallfolk are viewing her as some sort of manifestation of the Maiden, but is a girl of three-and-ten the one planning strategy over Ser Barristan and the Old Lion?"
Varys nodded. "She is, Your Grace. Lord Tywin defers to her; I was just as astonished as many of you when I saw this. Her men are fanatically loyal, and her Stormguard has proven to be as deadly as the Kingsguard. Myrcella is the most dangerous individual at the strategy table, at a parley, or on the battlefield. I fear her over anyone else."
"Leave it to a eunuch to be further unmanned by a maid," Connington spoke coldly, before sighing. "Forgive me, Lord Varys, that was too harsh."
Varys inclined his head. "Tempers flare; we are not where we hoped to be."
"Can we begin to work against her reputation?" Margaery asked. "Perhaps use the High Septon to talk of Cersei's sins and how Tommen is a bastard child. He could further speak how those who would support putting a bastard on the throne are just as guilty and vile."
"Only very carefully; were the High Septon to name Myrcella or even hint at her being a target for his sermon, it would mean his life. The mob would tear him limb for limb," Varys replied.
Margaery gave a small shiver. She was even more impressed with what Lady Myrcella had accomplished. She wished her grandmother was here to advise her, but this was also her time to put her mark on the city. As the men continued their war council, Margaery was already thinking of ways she could also win the people's loyalty. It would take some coin, but if she could win even a fraction of the fanatical fervor the smallfolk had for Myrcella, it would be well worth the expense.