Inside the council chamber of The Red Keep in King's Landing, the atmosphere was heavy and solemn.
Everything was black.
Black drapes hung from the tall windows. Black banners covered the walls. Even the long wooden table seemed darker under the dim candlelight.
And everyone present wore black.
At the head of the long table sat the Regent Queen Mother, Cersei Lannister.
She wore a high-necked gown of black silk that wrapped tightly around her body. The dress was elegant but severe, fitting the mourning that had recently fallen over the kingdom.
Hundreds of dark red gemstones were sewn across the bodice, stretching from her collarbone down toward her chest.
Each gem had been cut into the shape of a tear.
From a distance, it almost looked as though the queen herself were crying tears of blood.
Cersei's clear green eyes moved slowly across the council chamber.
Her expression was calm, but her mind was restless.
Those damned traitors…
Do they think a single letter will make them kneel?
Her fingers tapped impatiently against the table.
In front of her were piles of documents, melted candle wax, and several unopened letters sealed with noble crests.
The Small Council had once been filled with powerful figures.
Now only three important ministers remained in the chamber.
The former Hand of the King, Eddard Stark, sat imprisoned in the Black Cells beneath the Red Keep.
Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws, had fled.
Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships, had also disappeared.
Even Ser Barristan Selmy, the legendary Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, had left the capital and sailed across the Narrow Sea.
The once powerful council had been reduced to only a handful of people.
To Cersei's left sat Lord Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, his thin smile as sly as ever.
Across the table was Grand Maester Pycelle, his long white beard trembling slightly as he leaned over his papers.
And drifting silently through the room was Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers, his soft robes carrying the faint scent of flowers.
Cersei looked around the nearly empty chamber with irritation.
"Look at this council chamber," she said coldly.
"All the traitors are gone."
"Now it feels… pitifully empty."
Petyr Baelish leaned back comfortably in his chair.
"Fewer people can sometimes be a blessing, Your Grace."
He gave a playful smile.
"After all, the ones who remain are loyal to the throne."
"They have already sworn their allegiance to the new king."
Cersei's lips curled slightly.
"Your words are pleasant, Lord Baelish."
"But I would prefer hearing such loyalty from Eddard Stark."
"Or from those other traitors—the three storms."
Varys gently clasped his hands together.
"Lord Eddard," he said softly, "is as stubborn as the stones of Winterfell."
He sighed dramatically.
"No matter what we say, he refuses to bend."
Grand Maester Pycelle stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"Did even threatening the child fail to persuade him?"
Cersei's eyes narrowed.
"I went to see him myself."
"He is truly like a stone."
"I even brought him his daughter's personal plea for mercy."
"But it had no effect."
She snorted with annoyance.
"If Eddard Stark intends to die for his honor, then perhaps we should help him."
The old maester shook his head slowly.
"We must handle this matter carefully, Your Grace."
"Lord Tywin has already been named Hand of the King."
"But he is still in the Riverlands, fighting House Tully."
At the mention of her father, Cersei's thoughts briefly drifted.
She could almost picture Tywin Lannister's stern expression.
Unyielding. Calculating. Fearless.
If he were here, this mess would already be resolved.
Her thoughts returned to the present.
Eddard Stark had worn a white linen tunic when they arrested him.
The direwolf of House Stark had been embroidered across his chest.
A black cloak had rested on his shoulders, fastened by the silver badge of the Hand of the King.
Black.
White.
Gray.
Truth had many faces.
But Cersei had no intention of letting the truth decide the fate of the kingdom.
Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat.
"The important thing," he said, "is that our message has already spread throughout the realm."
"The ravens have flown."
"They carry the truth that we have written."
"Eddard Stark, Stannis Baratheon, and Renly Baratheon are traitors."
He lifted his head proudly.
"Lord Eddard once swore before King Robert that he would protect the prince and treat him as his own son."
"And yet the moment the king died…"
"…he altered the royal will."
"…attempted to summon the lords…"
"…and planned to steal the throne that rightfully belongs to King Joffrey."
Littlefinger folded his hands calmly.
"That may be our version of events."
"But convincing the realm will not be easy."
Pycelle raised a trembling hand.
"We have evidence."
From a stack of documents, he pulled out a damaged letter.
The paper was torn and stained with dried blood.
But the broken wax seal was unmistakable.
The direwolf of House Stark.
"This letter," Pycelle explained, "was found on the captain of the Stark guard."
"It appears that Lord Eddard feared his previous messenger might fail."
"So he prepared another letter."
"The recipient?"
"Stannis Baratheon."
The chamber fell silent.
Pycelle continued.
"The letter invites Stannis to come to King's Landing."
"To seize control of the city."
"To arrest the Queen and the royal heir."
"And to await the arrival of a new king."
Varys chuckled softly.
"Well…"
"Lord Eddard may indeed be a traitor."
"But Stark soldiers could still be useful."
Cersei leaned forward.
"So what should we do?"
"The Old Wolf refuses to yield."
"Should he die quietly in the Black Cells…"
"…or should we cut off his head?"
Pycelle hesitated.
"Even if Lord Eddard refuses to cooperate…"
"…his daughters remain valuable hostages."
Cersei nodded slowly.
"The older girl has already written many letters."
"Letters urging her mother and brothers to keep the peace."
"She claims she is well treated here."
"She says she has plenty of food and clothing."
"She invites them to come to King's Landing and swear loyalty during Joffrey's coronation."
Littlefinger smirked.
"I doubt the North will believe such letters."
"Wolves are not easily fooled."
Cersei tapped the table again.
"What about the younger one?"
Littlefinger shrugged.
"We haven't found her."
"But rumors are already spreading that she is in our custody."
"The Gold Cloaks are searching the entire city."
Pycelle nodded approvingly.
"That child is dangerous."
"Even if she seems harmless now…"
"…the blood of traitors flows in her veins."
"In ten years she may become another enemy."
Littlefinger chuckled.
"She looks more like her mother than her father."
"Red hair. Blue eyes."
"Just like Catelyn Tully."
"But the real problem remains Lord Eddard."
"If he publicly surrenders…"
"…we can destroy the rumors and force the North to kneel."
Cersei sighed impatiently.
"You make it sound easy."
"But Eddard Stark refuses to abandon his truth."
Varys slowly raised a finger.
"I have an idea."
The room grew quiet.
"Why not forge a confession?"
"A letter written in Stark's own hand."
"A letter admitting his crimes."
The queen's eyes lit up.
"A false confession…"
Varys nodded.
"The words will be ours."
"But the handwriting will be his."
Cersei leaned forward.
"If we can forge a letter…"
"Why not forge the man himself?"
"If a Stark appears before the people and confesses…"
"…the entire realm will believe it."
Pycelle looked horrified.
"That is far too dangerous!"
"It carries many risks!"
Cersei's voice turned cold.
"It is the only path left."
"I am the Regent Queen Mother."
"And I am a lion."
"My father and brother fight in the Riverlands."
"But I will fight here in King's Landing."
Pycelle lowered his head.
"Yes… Your Grace."
Cersei continued.
"Tully has already bent the knee."
"Now we must stabilize House Stark."
"After that…"
"…the only threats remaining are the other great houses."
Her gaze shifted toward Littlefinger.
"What about House Arryn?"
Littlefinger smiled.
"Lady Lysa trusts me completely."
"The Vale has not yet mobilized its armies."
Pycelle frowned.
"My greatest concern remains the three storms."
"Stannis. Renly. And the chaos they bring."
"They are far too close to King's Landing."
Cersei's voice dropped.
"I know."
"And that is precisely what worries me."
If the lion, the trout, and the direwolf fought each other in the Riverlands…
Stannis might seize the opportunity to attack the capital.
And Stannis Baratheon was not a man who showed mercy.
Few things were more terrifying than a man with absolute conviction.
Dragonstone was far too close to King's Landing.
Varys nodded slowly.
"He will certainly raise an army."
"But I suspect something else."
"Stannis and Renly may destroy each other first."
"Renly desires Stannis's fleet."
"And Stannis desires the Stormlands."
Cersei smiled coldly.
"Then that will be our opportunity."
She stood.
"I want a Stark to appear before the people."
"He will confess his crimes."
"He will command his heir to lay down arms."
"He will declare Joffrey the true king."
"And he will condemn Stannis and Renly as traitors."
Varys bowed slightly.
"I will find a way."
Cersei nodded.
"I trust your cleverness."
"As for the real Eddard Stark…"
Her voice hardened.
"He will remain beneath the Red Keep."
"In darkness."
She paused before speaking again.
"There is one more matter."
"That bastard."
Littlefinger's smile returned.
"He is beyond our reach for now."
"Even if he desires the throne…"
"…it will take time for him to land."
Cersei's green eyes glowed in the candlelight.
"Then we will prepare."
"Because when he comes…"
"…the old world will already be ending."
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