Chapter 11

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"Enough," I told the lords of the Small Council, my voice low and icy. "Enough, my lords. I will hear no more of your bickering, not at a time like this." I got a few unsatisfied mutterings for that, and I swore Mace turned on his blustering a level higher. I simply pointed to the door. "Leave. I will have words with my grandfather."

Tywin Lannister hadn't even blinked at my order, even before I said I wished to speak with him. I didn't expect any less. I might have won a bargain over him, but the Old Lion wouldn't just roll over on his back. When the lords, eunuchs, and sycophants left the room, I turned to Tywin.

"What have you found?" I asked. When he raised a questioning eyebrow and kept silent, I continued, "We both know my mother would not have killed herself. Rope around her neck and goodbye letter or not, she was not weak enough for it. And she loved herself too much. No. Someone did it. Someone killed the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in the center of our power, and no heads yet decorate our gates."

Tywin's countenance darkened as I spoke. I felt like he was angrier at someone daring to kill a Lannister with impunity than with the loss of his own daughter. "Yes," he rasped out. "While you've been paying your little visits to the Sept of Baelor I've been investigating—"

"I have played my part," I cut him off firmly. "If I'd shown myself outraged and suspicious, they would know it was murder and not suicide. Better the people believe she died of a broken heart, out of a mother's love for Good King Joffrey, and that the new young King is pious and devoted in his grief."

He scowled even harder, then groaned in my direction, which in Tywinese I took it as acceptance. I just shook my head. This was Tywin Lannister's greatest weakness. He should've discerned my reasons for acting as I have this past week by himself, but whenever something strikes at his family, at his legacy, he turns irrational.

"Now, my Lord Hand," I started again, "tell me what you have for me. What have you uncovered?"

"Nothing," he spat. The words were like gravel in his mouth, so harsh was his voice. "She sent Ser Meryn to watch over your door that night, the fool that she was. It was Lannister men that guarded her during the night, and they were the ones to find her in the morning, swinging from the rafters." His hands seized the lip of the council table, and the wood groaned under Lord Tywin's impotent fury. "The guards were thoroughly questioned and disposed of for incompetence. No one was seen entering her apartments, no one was seen scaling the walls to her balcony. Nothing!"

I could have smiled. Indeed, I never did enter her apartments, only her bedroom, after scuttling through the passage found in my own rooms that led to hers. No doubt, I had some happy Targaryen couple to thank for the tunnels from the King's room to the Queen's apartments.

"I see," I said, sounding disappointed. Leaning back on my kingly chair for the span of a breath, I readied my counter charge. Finally, I could push for another problem to be solved. "Something must change," I told him. "First my brother, poisoned at his own wedding, and now my mother, murdered in her own bedroom. A king and a queen. Who's next? You? Me?" I shook myself. "No, we must do something. Once is happenstance; twice is coincidence; three times is enemy action. I will not wait to give them the chance to strike again. Gone were the days of Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Gerold Hightower, of Ser Duncan the Tall and the Dragonknight, yes, but that's no reason to settle for the dregs that stand to guard us now. Kettleblack? Blount? Trant?" I started counting down with my fingers. "A thug, a drunkard, and a child rapist. No fit to watch over a two-copper whore, much less a Lannister dynasty. Seven Hells, grandfather, truly, these men should be at the Wall or worse."

"I did not agree to some of the appointments your mother made to the Kingsguard," Tywin acquiesced, "even if I know Trant to be utterly loyal." He let his grip on the table slacken, and slowly schooled his face. Gone was the uncontrolled, tantrum-throwing man-child, back was the calculating businessman I knew him to be. "What do you propose, then, Your Grace?"

I stood from my seat to pace around the room. It was said that the King shits and the Hand wipes, and I wholeheartedly planned to put that to the test. "Unfortunately, we cannot simply ask them to leave. Like it or not, the Kingsguard serve for life, and I will not soil the post like Joffrey did with Ser Barristan." I stopped, turning on him. "No, you will deal with this. Trant is loyal, as you say, and he still has his uses, but I want Kettleblack and Blount gone. Be it with their throats opened on a dark alley or with a bag of gold heading to Essos, I care not. Have it done, Lord Hand."

Tywin ground his teeth and nodded tightly. "As you say, Your Grace."

"Good, good." I glanced at the dipping sun outside, painting the shitheap that was King's Landing in beautiful hues of tawny and crimson."I must go on my daily pilgrimage now. The people must see their king mourning." I turned on my feet and headed for the door, swiping my golden cape from my chair on the way. "Until later, grandfather."