Chapter 250 - The Red Keep Changes Hands

Tywin's men had already stormed the Sept.

The Gold Cloaks and Westerlands knights broke through the makeshift barricade at the side door and pushed down the stone corridor.

They found Cersei Lannister in the cell block, curled on a pile of hay, barefoot, wrapped in nothing but a torn roughspun robe.

When Tywin entered the cell, she lifted her head.

Her lips were cracked. Her eyes were threaded with red. A faint scratch mark ran across her face where fingernails had caught the skin.

She saw him and froze for half a breath. Then she was on her feet, both hands clamped around his arm.

"Kill Lancel," she said. "I want the High Sparrow dead. I want every last man in the Sons of the Warrior dead. Leave none of them alive."

Tywin looked down at her hands. "Take the Queen Mother back to the Red Keep," he said, turning to the guards behind him.

Someone stepped forward and draped a wool cloak over her shoulders.

She pulled the edges tight, covering herself, and fell in with the guards.

In the corridor she passed a Sons of the Warrior corpse stretched out beside the stone steps, blood dark across the silver-plated armor. She stopped. Looked at the dead face. Spat on it. Then kept walking.

When the gates of the Red Keep closed behind her, Cersei exhaled slowly.

Stone walls. Iron portcullis. Torchlight at the end of the hall. The High Sparrow had only held her for a few days, but she felt as though she hadn't seen any of it in years.

Her bare feet pressed against the cold flagstones, and with every step she felt that familiar chill, the Red Keep's chill, the one that was hers, rising through the soles of her feet.

She pulled the cloak tighter at her shoulder and quickened her pace.

Then the men ahead of her stopped.

The Westerlands knights at the front drew their swords in the same instant. The sound of blades clearing their sheaths rang hard and sharp in the narrow passage.

Cersei looked up. A column of soldiers in green cloaks was pouring out from the far end of the corridor. More than twice their number. Their boots hit the flagstones in a heavy, steady rhythm as they came.

"Lannister dogs." The Tyrell knight at the front didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "Drop your swords. The Red Keep belongs to Highgarden now."

The Westerlands knights backed up, trying to form a ring around Cersei, but the corridor was too narrow. The Tyrell men pushed in from both sides. The front rank was forced against the wall, spear tips at their chests. Someone tripped. After that it was brief and ugly, a cramped, close-quarters brawl in a space that gave no one room to breathe.

When it was over, a hand grabbed Cersei's arm from behind and dragged her into the Throne Room.

The door shut.

She wrenched her arm free, turned around, and found Mace Tyrell standing in front of her with a handful of personal guards at his back.

"Is this treason?" She bit the words out. "My father will not spare you for this."

Mace said nothing.

He stepped to the side.

Margaery was standing behind him. Deep blue gown, hair pinned up, face composed.

"You are the ones committing treason," Margaery said. "Everyone in King's Landing already knows the Lannisters buried wildfire beneath the city. Your own people. Your father's rule is finished in the eyes of every man and woman in this city."

Cersei looked at her. Her lips pressed together. The muscle along her jaw pulled tight.

"Your name is Margaery Baratheon. You little bitch. You spent every day clawing at my power, and now that disaster has come you want to wash your hands of it." Her voice went sharp. "If you hadn't stolen my Joffrey from me, I never would have given that damned High Sparrow his army. Everything that has happened begins with you."

"As Queen Mother, you should have understood the limits of power." Margaery's brow shifted slightly. "You are the most poisonous woman in this realm. If you had shown one moment of restraint — just one — the kingdom would not be in ruins."

"And is this how you repay Joffrey's love? You sl—"

The slap cut her off clean.

Margaery stepped in and cracked her across the face.

Cersei's head snapped sideways. She held still for a moment. Then she turned back, and a thin line of blood was already working its way down from the corner of her mouth.

She had never imagined her daughter-in-law had that kind of strength in her wrist.

"You dare hit me?"

Margaery left five finger marks on the other cheek.

"You are a rooster that lays no eggs," Cersei spat. "Half a year married to Joffrey and not once pregnant. A woman who cannot even give her husband a son."

"Joffrey was a monster." Margaery's voice didn't rise. "On our wedding night, he took me to watch him dissect a pregnant cat. I had to pretend to find it interesting. I had to praise him for it."

"Later that same night, he tortured a whore with a spiked club. Stabbed her until her legs were soaked in blood. The girl was crying so hard she couldn't form words."

Her voice finally broke at the edges. "And then, while he watched her bleed, he mounted me."

Silence settled over the Throne Room.

Margaery drew a slow breath. "He left his seed in me. It made me feel filthy. So every time, I drank moon tea."

Cersei stared at her. The blood at the corner of her mouth was still wet. "You dared to poison a royal heir."

Margaery's next slap knocked a tooth loose.

Cersei spat blood. She did not push further. Her eyes moved to Mace Tyrell, standing off to the side.

"Lord Mace. You are a clever man. My father will not let any of you walk away from this. Release me now, and I will speak on your behalf. I will ask him for mercy."

"That won't be possible," Mace said. "Your men are burning and killing all across the city. Your father is directing his army to slaughter unarmed civilians."

"Margaery is right. Lannister rule is already over."

He turned to Margaery. "What do we do now? Do you want me to take the Iron Throne?"

Margaery shook her head.

"No, Father. We are bound to the Lannisters by marriage. The smallfolk outside the walls hate the Lannisters, and they hate everyone who ever served them. The people inside the city have already flocked to the Faith Militant. They will not accept a man of Highgarden on the Iron Throne."

"Then what are you proposing?"

"Offer the city to Khal Drogo."

The moment Cersei opened her mouth, Margaery hit her again. Several times.

"The Lannister army is massacring the poor wherever they gather," Margaery said, not looking at Cersei, speaking directly to Mace. "It isn't shrinking their numbers. It's swelling them. For every person Tywin Lannister kills, ten more join the Faith Militant."

"Khal Drogo has dragons. It doesn't matter how thick the gates of King's Landing are, they will not hold against dragonfire. The Iron Throne will be his. It's only a matter of when."

Mace was quiet for a moment. "You're saying we don't resist. We simply surrender."

"We are not surrendering," Margaery said. "We are handing him a city that has already been blown to rubble."

She turned back to Mace. "Father. Lock her up. Don't let her appear in front of anyone again."

Mace looked at Cersei once and nodded. "Take her to her room. Lock the door, seal the windows, two men posted outside."

Two knights stepped forward and took hold of her arms.

She didn't fight. She knew there was no point.

They dragged her down the corridor, past the bodies of Westerlands knights still lying where they had fallen, up the stairs, around a corner, and stopped her in front of a door she knew better than any other door in the world.

Her own room.

The knights pushed it open and shoved her through.

She stood in the middle of the room and didn't move.

Everything was exactly as she had left it. The mirror on the vanity. The silk bedding on the bed. The pot of flowers on the windowsill, long dead and dried.

Someone had cleaned recently. The tabletop was free of dust. The bed had been made. The whole room had the quiet, patient feeling of something that had simply been waiting for her to come back.

She walked slowly to the bed and sat down.

Outside the window, King's Landing was still burning. Wildfire bloomed in flashes of green, one after another.

She sat there for a long time. Long enough that the sky went from gray-white to gray-black.

➤ Next: Tywin Lannister, Exhausted in Body and Mind