Maegor's Holdfast.
Afternoon.
Queen Mother Cersei had already washed away the filth from her body. Along with the excrement, rotten fruit, and other filth flushed into the sewers, her former cowardice and tears had also been swept away.
Only endless shame and deep hatred remained etched into her heart. Clear water could not cleanse them—only blood could.
"Lannisters always pay their debts!"
At this moment, the Queen Mother had changed into a soft, pale green wool dress and was seated at the table enjoying a hearty lunch: broccoli with crushed walnuts, lemon cakes, roasted sparrows stuffed with fruit, beef brisket in a thick barley soup, and ribs wrapped in garlic and herbs.
Crunch, crunch. Cersei chewed forcefully on the crispy, savory head of a sparrow, doing her best to imagine it was the High Sparrow himself.
Roast sparrow was a dish she had specifically ordered the cooks to prepare. The plate beneath the sparrows was decorated with onion strips arranged in the pattern of the Faith's seven-pointed star.
Her gaze turned cold as she looked at her spymaster and Grand Maester, and she declared, "A Lannister never forgets a grudge. From today onward, I am the hand of vengeance!"
Now, Cersei possessed less flirtatious charm and foolishness, and more menace and hostility. Qyburn, the "biochemical sorcerer," couldn't help but grow more cautious in his heart.
He gave her a kindly smile, like a grandfather admired by a little girl. "Your Grace, you shall surely taste the sweet waters of revenge."
Cersei's expression remained blank. "Before revenge, I must first pass the trial by combat. Where is my White Knight?"
Both the Queen and Queen Mother had once been married to a king. For the king's honor, during a trial by combat, they were not allowed to appoint anyone but a Kingsguard knight to fight on their behalf.
Yes, only a White Knight could represent the king.
So, after her brother Loras Tyrell was seriously injured, Queen Margaery had chosen to face a trial by the Faith rather than clear herself through combat.
Besides the Knight of Flowers, the remaining six White Knights were either old, sick, disabled, or weak—hardly reliable.
Worse yet, they were all aligned with the Lannisters.
Knowing her mother-in-law Cersei had reported her to the Faith for adultery, would Margaery dare to let Cersei's men fight for her?
The problem was, while Cersei could trust the other White Knights besides Loras, she didn't dare let them fight on her behalf either.
Jaime had lost a hand and disappeared—he was out. Boros Blount was blustering but cowardly and had even betrayed Tommen. Meryn Trant was loyal and brave, but his swordsmanship was lacking—he'd been beaten like a dog in a tourney by the Knight of Flowers. Osmund Kettleblack, Cersei's lover, was currently imprisoned in the dungeons.
Balon Swann had gone to Dorne to receive Princess Myrcella.
Ser Arys Oakheart was also in Dorne, serving as Myrcella's bodyguard.
None of the seven White Knights were useful. Cersei should have despaired—until Princess Arianne of Dorne helped her, indirectly: by seducing Ser Arys, which led to his death in the coup when Darkstar slashed Myrcella's face.
That left a vacancy in the Kingsguard, and into that void stepped Qyburn's creation—"Frankenstein."
"Your Grace, this is Ser Robert Strong, the newest member of the Kingsguard."
The man entering the hall was a 2.5-meter-tall giant. His legs were thicker than tree trunks, his chest like a warhorse, and his shoulders rivaled a bull's.
A massive helm covered his face, with seven silk plumes trailing from it, each dyed a different color to represent the Seven.
He wore pristine enamelled white steel armor, shining like a maiden's hope, with gilded mail beneath. Two golden clasps in the shape of seven-pointed stars held his flowing white cloak in place over his shoulders.
"Ser Robert…" For a moment, Cersei's expression faltered.
She shook her head and narrowed her eyes. "Ser, I want you to kill someone for me. No—five people!"
Robert Strong remained silent and still. Only his white cloak stirred faintly, like a statue come to life.
"Ser Robert?" Cersei raised her voice.
"Your Grace, Ser Robert has taken a sacred vow of silence. He will not speak a word until all your enemies lie dead.
If you want someone killed, simply say the word. Your command is his purpose," Qyburn said gently, a faint smile at his lips.
"Good. Excellent," Cersei nodded with excitement. "Now, take off your helm and let me see your face."
Qyburn's face flickered with hesitation, but before he could stop him, Robert Strong had already removed the great helm.
"Ah—ahh! It's you! How can it be you? Get away! Get away from me!"
Cersei's cheeks, still flushed from the apple cider, turned deathly pale in an instant. Her beautiful blue eyes filled with terror as she flailed her arms and shrieked uncontrollably.
"Your Grace, don't be afraid. He won't hurt you again," Qyburn rushed to reassure her.
Clank, clank. Like a soulless automaton, Robert Strong placed his helm back on his head and silently turned to leave the room.
Once he was gone, Cersei regained some composure and loudly questioned her biochemical sorcerer, "Why is it him? Qyburn, what have you done?"
"Your Grace, I already reported this to you!" Qyburn replied with an innocent look.
"Seven hells!" Cersei's face twisted with rage. "You said you were conducting immoral medical experiments, but this—this is beyond what medicine should be able to do!"
"It's medicine from Yi Ti and Asshai," Qyburn argued.
Then he added, "Besides, he's the most loyal knight you could have—just like me. He will never betray you. Even if you order him to bathe the Great Sept in blood, he will not hesitate or show an ounce of mercy."
"…Fine. Fine," color slowly returned to Cersei's face as she accepted his words.
"Send him to kill those five lowborn scum who insulted me."
"Er… which five? Many people insulted Your Grace during the procession," Qyburn asked uncertainly.
"Then kill as many as possible. The more he kills, the happier I'll be," Cersei snapped impatiently.
"My experiments are reaching a critical point—I could use some fresh specimens," Qyburn said, rubbing his hands together with a benevolent smile.
"They can. Their wails will make for a pleasant dream." (There's a dungeon beneath the Red Keep, and the cries of prisoners can be heard from the first floor.)"Of course, what I most want to hear are the confessions of those three old septas—Unella, Scolia, and Morla," Cersei said.
"We can't act against the Church just yet, Your Grace," Qyburn advised.
"I know. Vengeance must wait until after the trial by combat, until I reclaim full control over King's Landing, until the Lannister elite return from the Riverlands. Hmph!"
"Your Majesty is wise," Qyburn flattered her.
"By the way, that Daenerys..." Cersei suddenly recalled the toad witch's prophecy. Her expression darkened, and her eyes flickered with uncertainty. "Is she as beautiful as I am?"
"Well..." Qyburn hesitated, unsure of her intent. "It is said that members of House Targaryen are generally quite good-looking."
"Damn it. It's her," Cersei's expression changed, and she snapped, "Qyburn, get in touch with the Faceless Men. I want her dead!"
"Uh..." Qyburn's face grew strange, and he whispered, "The Dragon Queen burned Braavos. The Faceless Men no longer dare to accept assassination contracts on her."
"What? What did you say?" Cersei's eyes widened.
Qyburn quickly recounted the events that had taken place in Braavos just days earlier.
After the "escape" of the Spider, Varys, Qyburn had become Cersei's new master of whisperers.
Even after her arrest, his outstanding abilities—about four or five-tenths of Varys's capacity—kept him in his position, despite Pycelle and Kevan taking power.
"Dragons can talk? I don't believe it," Cersei said, shaking her head after hearing Qyburn's report.
"May the Light bless you, people of Westeros!" a loud and commanding voice suddenly rang out from outside the window.
The tone was unusual—deep, gravelly, like the combined roars of tigers, lions, and bison. It was certainly not a human voice.
"Ahhh! A dragon! A dragon is attacking! The Mother of Dragons has come to King's Landing!" a panicked castle guard cried out.
"The demon dragon can talk! The demon dragon is speaking—Seven save us!"
Cersei's expression shifted. Downstairs, she heard the voice of her uncle, Ser Kevan.
What was he saying?Unconsciously, she quickly walked out to the balcony.
"I am the firstborn of the Mother of Dragons. I am the Holy Light, the Left Hand of the Seven's Radiance."
Cersei froze, staring at the thunderous, faraway dragon. Her body stiffened, and she was struck dumb.
At that moment, one thought blazed wildly in her mind: The demon dragon is speaking!And it wasn't just speaking—it could prophesy too!
"I have come to King's Landing today for three reasons.First, I swear by the Seven that the Citadel has violated the rights of guests and distorted the truth."
The holy dragon detailed the upheaval at the Citadel, then continued,"Such actions that go against the doctrines of the Seven are outrageous.
Therefore, the Dragon Queen and the High Septon have agreed to initiate a Church-led inquisition of the Citadel, effective immediately.
Secondly, I received a vision in a dream from the Crone and found a stone tablet in the velvet hills of Andalos, dating back over six thousand years to the Hugo Dynasty.
The tablet contained a prophecy: After the Long Summer, the stars will bleed, and cold darkness will shroud the world. The Son of Light will be born in the Riverlands. Barefoot, he will traverse the Seven Kingdoms, wielding a sword forged of devout faith, fearless courage, and unyielding will. He will drive away the darkness and end the Long Night."
Er... the High Sparrow helped revise the prophecy slightly. He believed the dragon's version was unclear, unorthodox, and lacked depth.
"The Son of Light? The Sword of Light? What are those?" Cersei asked dumbly.
"Sounds a bit like the prophecy from Asshai... the rebirth of Azor Ahai," Qyburn replied with a strange expression.
"Er, then who's the Son of Light?" Cersei and Qyburn exchanged glances and screamed together,"No way! How could the High Sparrow be the prophesied one? He's old and ugly!"
Yes, in Cersei's mind, the chosen one of prophecy should look as divinely handsome as Rhaegar.
"Ah! His Holiness is the Son of Light!"
From the Red Keep's guards to the nobles atop Aegon's High Hill, to the merchants, commoners, and the Beggar's Army in the streets, everyone, like Cersei, immediately guessed the identity of the prophesied Son of Light.
Compared to the cryptic metaphors in the Asshai prophecy, the clues in the Seven's prophecy were far too obvious.
It was suitable for all ages!
"Lastly, regarding the Dragon Queen's sacred oath at the Wall—to crown the one who ends the Long Night as king."
"A Targaryen's word is as solid as stone. My mother keeps her promises. She will honor this one too."
"Phew... that's good news," Cersei let out a long breath."Seven help us—Deathwing can pluck stars with one hand and hurl meteors with the other. If she sneaks up to the Red Keep in the middle of the night and drops a meteor on us, we're doomed."
"Indeed!" Qyburn nodded with a chuckle."If we just send a group of thugs and rogues from King's Landing to the Wall every month, the Iron Throne is technically part of the 'United Front Against the Undead,' so she won't act against you."
"Let's hope this winter lasts a little longer, to give me enough time," Cersei sighed."With my wit and experience, taking back the regency from my aging uncle won't be hard, nor will purging the court of traitors.
As long as the Seven Kingdoms are stable and all are under my control, the High Sparrow will be nothing more than a roasted sparrow—crispy and soft. All that's left is the Mother of Dragons..."
"Sigh... how I wish the Long Night were real—let that woman go fight the White Walkers. Let the Night King take her and her dragons away!"Cersei clasped her hands together, her expression more devout than ever before, and prayed toward the Great Sept of Baelor:"Seven bless us. Let the Long Night be real. Let the White Walkers be as fierce as dragons. Let the winter come harder and colder!"
(End of Chapter)
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