Chapter 70: The Queen and You Are Heart to Heart
Cersei, who had never been particularly quick-witted to begin with, frowned the moment Podrick finished speaking.
She did not truly understand a word of his rambling explanation—but she knew one thing for certain:
She was being played.
Before her anger could fully ignite, the young man restrained by the red-cloaked guards suddenly raised his hand.
Thumb and forefinger snapped together, pinching the sword point resting on his shoulder.
In the next instant—
Her vision blurred.
A thunderous, explosive crack tore through the chamber, and a dark shape streaked past her in a gale, whipping her golden hair into the air.
The entire sequence lasted less than a blink.
Cersei had not even had time to comprehend what she was seeing before the red-cloaked guard who had stood between her and Podrick vanished.
Simply—gone.
Only when a deafening impact boomed from the stone wall behind her did realization finally catch up.
At the same time, a strange murmuring echoed faintly in her ears.
The confident smile on the Queen Regent's face froze, stiff and unnatural, like a cracked porcelain mask.
Her body tightened instinctively.
She tried to turn—
But at that very moment, the servant she had ordered restrained moved again.
This time, the two fingers holding the blade relaxed.
The sword slipped free, clattering to the floor with several sharp metallic chimes.
Then—
Her vision blurred again.
The two red-cloaked guards gripping Podrick's arms were still staring blankly at their companion—who had just been kicked into the wall—when suddenly the arms they were holding transformed.
Like awakening dragons.
An overwhelming, unstoppable force yanked them forward and flung them upward in one brutal motion.
No ordinary man could withstand such inhuman speed and strength.
With a casual shake of his arm, Podrick tore free of their grasp.
Their own arms were dragged skyward with his movement, bodies pulled off balance, pitching backward—
Reality seemed to mock them.
Before they could even finish falling, two massive hands slammed down on their helmets.
All momentum died instantly.
The world went dark.
Another strange whisper brushed against Cersei's ears.
Rewind three seconds.
—
Podrick had no intention of submitting quietly to Cersei's flamboyant threats.
He had many virtues—but patience for intimidation was not one of them.
He did not respond to pressure.
He crushed it.
His thumb and forefinger locked around the blade on his shoulder, stopping it dead.
In the next heartbeat, he kicked.
The force was monstrous.
The red-cloaked guard in front of him had his breastplate caved inward as his entire body lifted off the ground, smashed violently into the stone wall behind Cersei.
A thunderous bang echoed.
The fully armored guard slid down the wall, head lolling, limbs slack, life or death uncertain.
One down.
Podrick did not pause.
Cersei had sent more than one man to threaten him.
He released the blade, letting it fall, and casually dropped the gilded helmet from his other hand.
Both hit the floor.
Hands free, the two guards on either side were even easier.
A single sharp jerk.
Their grips shattered.
As he shook them loose, Podrick rolled his shoulders and lifted his arms, dragging theirs upward, destroying their balance in one smooth motion.
Before they could recover—
His hands struck again, faster than thought, palms slamming onto their helmets.
He brought them together.
Gently.
Only one remained.
The arm locked around Podrick's neck was already losing strength.
This time, Podrick merely reached up and clasped the forearm with one hand.
A light tug.
The guard stumbled forward helplessly, dragged across the floor, crying out in panic as he was hauled in front of Podrick.
The man's eyes were full of despair.
He could only scream.
After watching three comrades dispatched with casual ease—after seeing his own arm crushed, dents blooming in solid steel under Podrick's grip—he no longer dared clutch the cloak at Podrick's shoulders.
The pain was unbearable.
The fear worse.
He looked at Podrick the way men look at gods—or monsters.
Podrick did not care.
Not in the slightest.
He did his best to put on a gentle, sunlit smile, then leaned close to the guard's ear and whispered softly,
"It's all right. Just be more careful next time."
As the words left his mouth, the corner of Podrick's lips lifted slightly. He tugged the guard toward himself—and drove his head forward.
Two skulls collided.
One wore a steel helmet.
The other did not.
Yet the one who collapsed bonelessly to the floor, consciousness extinguished, was the red-cloaked guard still wearing his helm.
—
At that very moment—just as Podrick finished dealing with the last of the men Cersei had sent to threaten him—the door to the Queen's bedchamber, which had remained firmly shut, was yanked open from the outside.
"What is going on in here?!"
Ser Meryn Trant barked the words as he threw the door wide.
There was no way the commotion inside could have escaped the notice of a Kingsguard standing watch outside.
At first, when the sounds began, he had only glanced back at the door in mild confusion.
After all, the Queen herself had explicitly ordered that no matter what happened inside, he was not to interfere.
But the noise—
Something felt wrong.
It was far too loud.
Ser Meryn hesitated. Lancel Lannister, who had escorted Podrick inside, had stormed off immediately afterward, sulking like a child dumped headfirst into a vinegar barrel. There was no one to consult.
Then came the unmistakable sounds of steel striking steel—and screams of raw, agonized pain.
That was enough.
Orders be damned.
He shouted and pushed the door open—
And before he could even register what was happening inside the Queen's chamber, a flash of gold exploded into his vision. Some object expanded rapidly before his eyes.
Bang!
Metal struck metal.
Ser Meryn's head snapped back violently, and he crumpled where he stood, collapsing into unconsciousness.
He lay still on the floor, life or death unknown.
The door he had opened only moments before slowly drifted shut again as his vision faded.
—
For a time, everything outside the Queen's bedchamber in Maegor's Holdfast seemed perfectly ordinary.
The breeze was gentle.
The sunlight warm.
The only difference was that the Kingsguard who had been standing watch was now lying on the floor instead.
Oh—and beside Ser Meryn Trant, there lay a helmet.
A once-golden helmet, now crushed halfway in, wobbling weakly as it rolled back and forth across the stone.
—
Podrick lifted his head and looked toward the Queen.
Cersei Lannister stood frozen—shocked, terrified, utterly at a loss for how to react.
"So," Podrick said lightly, his expression still bright and affable, "Your Grace… do you think I was wrong?"
As he spoke, he reached up and calmly unclasped the brooch that held his cloak in place.
The gold-dyed woolen mantle slipped from his shoulders and drifted to the floor.
Podrick stepped on it.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he began walking toward the Queen Regent—
who could only stare at him, eyes wide and empty.