A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

years ago. I must pray, and fast.”
    â€œFor seven days and seven nights?”
    â€œFor as long as need be.”
    Cersei itched to slap his solemn, pious face.
I could help you fast,
she thought.
I could shut you up in some tower and see that no one brings you food until the gods have spoken.
“These false kings espouse false gods,” she reminded him. “Only King Tommen defends the Holy Faith.”
    â€œYet everywhere septs are burned and looted. Even silent sisters have been raped, crying their anguish to the sky. Your Grace has seen the bones and skulls of our holy dead?”
    â€œI have,” she had to say. “Give Tommen your blessing, and he shall put an end to these outrages.”
    â€œAnd how shall he do that, Your Grace? Will he send a knight to walk the roads with every begging brother? Will he give us men to guard our septas against the wolves and lions?”
    I will pretend you did not mention lions.
“The realm is at war. His Grace has need of every man.” Cersei did not intend to squander Tommen’s strength playing wet nurse to sparrows, or guarding the wrinkled cunts of a thousand sour septas.
Half of them are probably praying for a good raping.
“Your sparrows have clubs and axes. Let them defend themselves.”
    â€œKing Maegor’s laws prohibit that, as Your Grace must know. It was by his decree that the Faith laid down its swords.”
    â€œTommen is king now, not Maegor.” What did she care what Maegor the Cruel had decreed three hundred years ago?
Instead of taking the swords out of the hands of the faithful, he should have used them for his own ends.
She pointed to where the Warrior stood above his altar of red marble. “What is that he holds?”
    â€œA sword.”
    â€œHas he forgotten how to use it?”
    â€œMaegor’s laws—”
    â€œâ€”could be undone.” She let that hang there, waiting for the High Sparrow to rise to the bait.
    He did not disappoint her. “The Faith Militant reborn . . . that would be the answer to three hundred years of prayer, Your Grace. The Warrior would lift his shining sword again and cleanse this sinful realm of all its evil. If His Grace were to allow me to restore the ancient blessed orders of the Sword and Star, every godly man in the Seven Kingdoms would know him to be our true and rightful lord.”
    That was sweet to hear, but Cersei took care not to seem too eager. “Your High Holiness spoke of forgiveness earlier. In these troubled times, King Tommen would be most grateful if you could see your way to forgiving the crown’s debt. It seems to me we owe the Faith some nine hundred thousand dragons.”
    â€œNine hundred thousand six hundred and seventy-four dragons. Gold that could feed the hungry and rebuild a thousand septs.”
    â€œIs it gold you want?” the queen asked. “Or do you want these dusty laws of Maegor’s set aside?”
    The High Septon pondered that a moment. “As you wish. This debt shall be forgiven, and King Tommen will have his blessing. The Warrior’s Sons shall escort me to him, shining in the glory of their Faith, whilst my sparrows go forth to defend the meek and humble of the land, reborn as Poor Fellows as of old.”
    The queen got to her feet and smoothed her skirts. “I shall have the papers drawn up, and His Grace will sign them and affix them with the royal seal.” If there was one part of kingship that Tommen loved, it was playing with his seal.
    â€œSeven save His Grace. Long may he reign.” The High Septon made a steeple of his hands and raised his eyes to heaven. “Let the wicked tremble!”
    Do you hear that, Lord Stannis?
Cersei could not help but smile. Even her lord father could have done no better. At a stroke, she had rid King’s Landing of the plague of sparrows, secured Tommen’s blessing, and lessened the crown’s debt by close to a million dragons. Her heart was soaring as she allowed the High Septon to escort her back to the Hall of Lamps.
    Lady Merryweather shared the queen’s delight, though she had never heard of the Warrior’s Sons or the Poor Fellows. “They date from before Aegon’s Conquest,” Cersei explained to her. “The Warrior’s Sons were an order of knights who gave up their lands and gold and swore their swords to His High Holiness. The Poor Fellows . . . they were humbler, though far more