A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

to her mouth. “Loras, no.”
    Ser Loras ignored her plea. “It will take half a year or more to starve Dragonstone into submission, as Lord Paxter means to do. Give me the command, Your Grace. The castle will be yours within a fortnight if I have to tear it down with my bare hands.”
    No one had given Cersei such a lovely gift since Sansa Stark had run to her to divulge Lord Eddard’s plans. She was pleased to see that Margaery had gone pale. “Your courage takes my breath away, Ser Loras,” Cersei said. “Lord Waters, are any of the new dromonds fit to put to sea?”
    â€œ
Sweet Cersei
is, Your Grace. A swift ship, and as strong as the queen she’s named for.”
    â€œSplendid. Let
Sweet Cersei
carry our Knight of Flowers to Dragonstone at once. Ser Loras, the command is yours. Swear to me that you shall not return until Dragonstone is Tommen’s.”
    â€œI shall, Your Grace.” He rose.
    Cersei kissed him on both cheeks. She kissed his sister too, and whispered, “You have a gallant brother.” Either Margaery did not have the grace to answer or fear had stolen all her words.
    Dawn was still several hours away when Cersei slipped out the king’s door behind the Iron Throne. Ser Osmund went before her with a torch and Qyburn strolled along beside her. Pycelle had to struggle to keep up. “If it please Your Grace,” he puffed, “young men are overbold, and think only of the glory of battle and never of its dangers. Ser Loras . . . this plan of his is fraught with peril. To storm the very walls of Dragonstone . . .”
    â€œ. . . is
very
brave.”
    â€œ. . . brave, yes, but . . .”
    â€œI have no doubt that our Knight of Flowers will be the first man to gain the battlements.”
And perhaps the first to fall.
The pox-scarred bastard that Stannis had left to hold his castle was no callow tourney champion but a seasoned killer. If the gods were good, he would give Ser Loras the glorious end he seemed to want.
Assuming the boy does not drown on the way.
There had been another storm last night, a savage one. The rain had come down in black sheets for hours.
And wouldn’t that be sad?
the queen mused.
Drowning is ordinary. Ser Loras lusts for glory as real men lust for women, the least the gods can do is grant him a death worthy of a song.
    No matter what befell the boy on Dragonstone, however, the queen would be the winner. If Loras took the castle, Stannis would suffer a grievous blow, and the Redwyne fleet could sail off to meet the ironmen. If he failed, she would see to it that he had the lion’s share of the blame. Nothing tarnishes a hero as much as failure.
And if he should come home on his shield, covered in blood and glory, Ser Osney will be there to console his grieving sister.
    The laugh would not be contained any longer. It burst from Cersei’s lips, and echoed down the hall.
    â€œYour Grace?” Grand Maester Pycelle blinked, his mouth sagging open. “Why . . . why would you laugh?”
    â€œWhy,” she had to say, “elsewise I might weep. My heart is bursting with love for our Ser Loras and his valor.”
    She left the Grand Maester on the serpentine steps.
That one has outlived any usefulness he ever had,
the queen decided. All Pycelle ever seemed to do of late was plague her with cautions and objections. He had even objected to the understanding she had reached with the High Septon, gaping at her with dim and rheumy eyes when she commanded him to prepare the necessary papers and babbling about old dead history until Cersei cut him off. “King Maegor’s day is done, and so are his decrees,” she said firmly. “This is King Tommen’s day, and mine.”
I would have done better to let him perish in the black cells.
    â€œShould Ser Loras fall, Your Grace will need to find another worthy for the Kingsguard,” Lord Qyburn said as they crossed over the spiked moat that girded Maegor’s Holdfast.
    â€œSomeone splendid,” she agreed. “Someone so young and swift and strong that Tommen will forget all about Ser Loras. A bit of gallantry would not be amiss, but his head should not be full of foolish notions. Do you know of such a man?”
    â€œAlas, no,” said Qyburn. “I had another sort of champion in mind. What he lacks in gallantry he will give you tenfold in devotion. He will protect your son, kill your enemies, and keep your