Chapter 18 - The 24th day of October, 298 years after Aegon's Conquest
Cersei was waiting again in her chambers in Maegor's Holdfast. Ambassador Fifield entered with his usual dignity. He did not smile as much as he used to, when they had first met. He took his usual seat opposite her and she made her customary offer of wine.
"You bring news from Melbourne?"
"I do your grace."
"Then I do yearn to know…what fate has befallen my husband?"
"You husband was in surgery for 16 hours, your grace" the ambassador said gravely. "He was unconscious for two more days, mostly as a result of the painkillers they've given him. This morning he awoke. His condition is still serious. Further complications may arise, but at present he is considered stable. With some good fortune the king will make a full recovery from his wounds, but it will take a while, months probably."
The queen was reading his face closely, but she detected no hint of a lie. Seven hells. She sipped her wine, doing her best to conceal her own emotions.
"The gods are merciful" she managed finally. "They have smiled on my beloved."
"It appears so" Fifield said guardedly.
"Though I cannot discount the value of your aid. Your mercy mission…it seems the realm is in your debt."
"I thank you. There was no price set on this action however. We would hope it is merely considered a gesture of our goodwill."
"Indeed, nonetheless, your action will not be forgotten."
Both of them sipped their wine. Cersei was marshalling her thoughts. Fifield broke the silence.
"I will reiterate the previous offer made by my people. As of today it still stands."
"And I thank you again, but I still do not see it as a realistic option" Cersei replied evenly. "May I ask, who has been in my husband's presence since he has awoken?"
"He was flown to Melbourne with Ser Barristan of the Kingsguard. Later, a chopper came for Lord Stark, who the king had called out for before his surgery. He was permitted to take both his daughters and a few retainers with him, as well as Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard to relieve Ser Barristan."
"Lord Stark has spoken to him?"
"I believe he has."
"May I ask what they spoke of?"
"I believe the conversation was had in private. I do not know of what they spoke."
"You mean your people weren't listening on that occasion?"
Fifield didn't skip a beat.
"If anyone else was listening, I have not been informed of it."
Liar Cersei thought. Did the fool really think she still didn't know about those lightning ears of theirs?
"Well ambassador, I thank you for your visit. You have been most helpful, as ever."
Fifield rose and gave a slight bow. "Of course your grace, I hope I can always bring good tidings to you."
He took his leave. Cersei remained for a few minutes longer, then walked down to the drawbridge. Ser Preston Greenfield was guarding it tonight.
"Ser Preston."
"Your grace."
"I'm afraid I have a task for you. It is a most important one."
"What is it you ask of me, your grace?"
"I just want to say that I trust you ser, I trust you with my life, as my husband did. All I ask is, do you trust me in return?"
"Absolutely, your grace." Cersei considered the young knight for a moment and judged him truthful.
"Then I must ask you, go seek out my cousin, Lancel Lannister, and Grand Maester Pycelle. Tell them to meet us in the Godswood, I need you there too ser, with all due haste."
"At once your grace." The young knight marched off. Cersei waited by the drawbridge for a few minutes. The sun would be setting soon. She looked up past the castle walls. Despite the beauty of the summer evening all she could picture were her children up there, golden curls swaying aimlessly over lifeless faces. Her resolve hardened. I will not see their heads on spikes.
She set off for the Godswood. Lancel arrived minutes after she did. She embraced him gently, giving him a gentle peck on the cheek and begging his patience a while longer. Ser Preston came soon after with the Grand Maester shuffling along in his wake. When they were gathered, Cersei surveyed them all, she knew her choice of words would have to be extra careful.
"Lancel, my kin, you and Ser Preston returned from the Kingswood just yesterday. I heard your account of what happened. You both saw the boar gore my husband. I rely on your testimony that the king's injuries…they were surely fatal. There was no hope of recovery."
"Yes, your grace" Lancel said confidently. Ser Preston muttered his ascent, quieter.
"Grand Maester Pycelle, you too. When the injuries were described to you, you also proclaimed it fatal."
"Well uh…yes your grace. In all my years, I do not know how a man could possibly…"
"Your words are wise, and I trust all of you, which is why I cannot believe the words told to me just now by the Ambassador from the flying men, Mister Fifield. He tells me Robert lives, that they have healed him of his wounds."
"No!" Lancel cried, outraged. "Impossible. There must have been some mistake!"
"No, make no mistake. They claim Robert lives, but we all know that must be impossible."
Cersei let the silence hang there for a moment.
"So I must make the only conclusion possible. These flying men for all their protestations and their apparent gifts of friendship…they are not a people of mercy. If they were able to bring our dear Robert back…it can only have been through some foul sorcery. An act of necromancy. If my husband returns to us, it will not be the man we once knew. It will be some resurrected corpse, some puppet on strings. Maybe, gods forgive us, they will even attempt to seat this puppet back upon the Iron Throne, and so try and claim dominion over all the seven kingdoms in his name."
Lancel gasped. "Never! Cousin…your grace, we cannot possibly allow such a thing."
"It…it would be a horror" the Grand Maester whispered. Ser Preston was nodding as well. "The king's injuries were surely fatal. I fear you speak the truth your grace."
"I know, I fear the same" Cersei said quietly. "But if that is the case, what shall be done? Do we simply let the flying men, these others from another world, come here and turn our world into the seventh hell, as they have done to theirs?"
"No, no never." Lancel again.
"I have been talking at length to their ambassador. He has given me and the Small Council many lessons about their world. Always his words seem kind. He paints his world in a positive light but…I fear I have seen the truth. Their world is one of endless violence and suffering. They fight each other with more terrible weapons then any sword or arrow. They use flying machines to reign fire on entire cities, like great metal dragons. Their machines are not powered by anything natural. Their carriages move without horses! And how? Because they dig up the bodies of the dead.
They told us all right to our faces how they do it. The souls of the dead, which should rest in eternal peace, instead are being disturbed and dug up and…burnt. That powers their machines! Including their flying machines! All of it…it is cursed. And now I hear, they have burnt so many, their very world is starting to heat up. It is all warming, making an endless summer…but not a good summer, a cursed summer. A world so hot, hotter than Dorne, hotter than the Red Waste of Essos, until eventually nothing grows and nothing can live.
So now, what do they do? Why, they open up a door to Westeros. How did they do it? They plead ignorance, but can any of us really believe that? No, they conjured this Ring. They came through, offering us peace and friendship, but their own history proves this for a lie. They are not civilized men. They worship foul gods, gods who do not value life. I hear…when a woman is pregnant, they take her to places where her baby is…is snatched from her womb. It is crushed and slaughtered and killed. No doubt, a fresh, innocent soul such as this is the purest kind, perhaps one that can power a whole fleet of flying machines!"
Cersei was breathless now. The others were staring at her, horror-struck.
"I have heard all this…and I dared hope that I had misunderstood. But now, with Robert, his resurrection…clearly their world is some hell after all. It is the Stranger's domain. Fifield told me of even fouler sorceries, of ways of tearing holes in the world. He called it the god's own fire. But which god? There is only one if could be…the Stranger. He must be the one they worship. Perhaps they made their sacrifices to him, and he created this Ring. Yes…that is what it is, and soon they will come back through it and try to take over our world. We must…we must rally the people. We must rally the faith and all the high lords. We must fight, if it comes to it."
"But how, your grace?" Lancel asked, in barely a whisper. "How do we fight such monsters? Their flying machines…"
"We must have faith cousin. The gods will lend us their strength. We have endured many dangers before. Why, I think even of tales of the Long Night, when the world threatened to be engulfed in eternal winter? Perhaps now, something else is happening. We are faced with an eternal summer, but a cursed summer, as their corruption leaks into our world. We will need our own heroes to take up this fight."
There was silence for a moment. Grand master Pycelle finally spoke up, in a rasping voice. "So what is to be done your grace? We are yours to command. Indeed, if the king is truly lost to us, the new king…"
"Would be my son Joffrey, yes. But before we can proclaim him the new king, we must be sure what has happened to Robert. I must confer with the High Septon. We will need his guidance" she turned to her cousin. "Lancel, send a message at once to his holiness, I must speak to him this evening. I will have my litter prepared."
"At once your grace." Her cousin bowed deeply and took his leave.
"Grand Maester, Ser Preston. I will need your support. Your testimony must convince the High Septon that Robert's wounds were truly fatal. That way, we know that whatever emerges back through the ring is some monster, and no longer our king."
"Of course your grace."
Ser Preston went down on one knee. "I am yours to command your grace, now and always."
"Rise ser" Cersei leaned in and gave him the lightest of kisses, just on the cheek. "Tonight we will be doing the gods work."
Her litter was prepared, and she departed from the Red Keep soon after with a small escort. She was carried up Visenya's hill to the Great Sept of Baelor. At the entrance a line a septons and septas greeted her. A number kissed her hand before she walked through the doors. Lancel, Ser Preston and Pycelle came right behind her.
The High Septon was in his chambers, wearing his usual resplendent robes with a seven-sided crystal crown sitting tall on his head. The robes went some way towards hiding his immense girth, but it was clear he was at least ten stone heavier than her husband had been. Cersei curtsied before him, then leaned forward and kissed his ring.
"Your holiness, I apologize for the lateness of the hour and the short notice. I would not disturb you unless I urgently required your wisdom."
"You grace, you are always welcome in this holy place. Please, rise. Grand Maester…your companions?"
"You will recognize Ser Preston Greenfield of the Kingsguard, and with him is my own cousin, Lancel Lannister, squire to our great king Robert."
"An honor" the High Septon said airily. "How does fare the king? I have received word there was a tragic accident in the Kingswood. I even heard the king was…taken."
"Yes your holiness, by the flying men. I must explain to you what happened but first, I must ask something else. Do you have any…gifts, the flying men may have given you, or the faith?"
"The flying men have visited me several times. They have given…" the High Septon rose from his seat. He opened a door behind his great oak desk. It led them into another, smaller room that served as his study. On a table at its centre were several objects, their foreign origin immediately recognizable. A long, thin, glassy instrument like a larger Myrish lens, a lightning torch, another globe ordained with a map, a pair of silk gloves and several other smaller trinkets.
Cersei glanced at Ser Preston, the knight nodded. In one smooth motion he unsheathed his sword. Before the High Septon could object, he had brought it down squarely on top of the Myrish lens. It shattered into a hundred pieces, the debris littering the table and floor. The High Septon gasped at the destruction, but he stood there dumbly as Ser Preston continued hacking away, moving on to the globe and torch. Cersei grasped the High Septon's fat, sausage-like fingers. "Your holiness, I am sorry. This is for your own protection."
"But why, your grace? What power do these objects have we must fear them?"
"Lancel, the gloves" Cersei ordered. The young squire pulled a dagger from his garments and cut through the fine silk. In moments he had found what he was looking for. Cleverly woven in with the garments, there was a tiny silver disk, smaller than any coin. Lancel held it up for them to see. He turned back to the table and sifted through the debris Ser Preston was rapidly generating. More silver disks turned up. Scarcely any object was free of them.
Cersei locked eyes with the High Septon and put a finger to her lips. "Please, not here, your holiness" she whispered. "Are there any more of their gifts in this place?"
"No, that is all of them, I am sure."
Cersei nodded, turning to the knight again. "Ser Preston, we must make sure they are completely destroyed." She gestured at the fireplace in the corner. "Reduced to ash if need be."
The knight nodded and started piling up logs from the stock next to the fireplace. Cersei led the High Septon, Lancel and Pycelle back to his audience chamber. Lancel contemptuously flung the silver disks into the fireplace as they left and carefully shut the door behind them.
"Your holiness, a terrible truth has become clear to me, and to others, in just the last few days. I could not come sooner, not until we were certain. The Flying men…are not all they appear to be. They have fed us lies, but we are starting to see through them."
"And what lies are these, my child?" the High Septon asked, most seriously.
"First, as we have just shown you, their gifts are tainted. All of them, cursed. The device my cousin showed you, the little silver disks, what, pray, are they for? At first we did not know, but we soon figured it out. The king's Master of Coin, Lord Baelish, you know him of course, came to me some weeks ago with his suspicions. It was before the king's hunt. He had struck up a conversation with Grand Maester Pycelle in his chambers, about the king's love of hunting, and how the rarer and more exotic the creature, the better. He wondered what exotic creatures might exist in this land of Australia and whether a profitable trade could spring up. A harmless enough conversation, you would think? But then, the very next day, their ambassador, Fifield, came to us and suggested bringing a shipment of their creatures along on the hunt, for the king's amusement."
Cersei leaned forward. "Do you not see, your holiness? The flying men were listening. Their gifts, so many of them, perhaps all, are tainted. They have concealed within them the devices you see. They are like little lightning ears and when they are present, they can hear every word we're saying."
The High Septon was staring at her, open mouthed. "If what you say is true, my child…"
"Then how can we trust these people? Your holiness? They have lied to us from the beginning. But I think it is even worse. I have seen the devices they have, ones like those which can capture a man's voice or his image perfectly. They are superior to any mummer's imitation, or the portraits of the finest artist. How, pray, do they achieve such perfection?"
The High Septon had no answer. Cersei looked at her companions, their faces equally grim.
"Why, I think they do more than just listen. Such a perfect copy could only be achieved by capturing a part of a man's inner essence. I think through these devices, hidden so treacherously…they are trying to suck out our souls."
The High Septon gasped again. He was clutching at his desk now, his knuckles turning white. "My child…your grace…if what you say is true…"
"I would not come to you unless we were certain. The flying men can do more than just fly. Lancel, please tell the High Septon of my husband's fate."
Lancel explained about the boar, and the king's wounds, so deep as to appear obviously fatal. Grand Maester Pycelle backed the young quire up his own learned opinion. As he was talking, Ser Preston quietly knocked and opened the door from the High Septon's study. A roaring fire was crackling in the fireplace. The knight added his testimony. The High Septon was considering them now through steepled fingers.
"So they say Robert lives…"
"But he was dead. Absolutely dead. He was not breathing when they came for him. These two are witnesses who will swear to it."
The High Septon turned to Lancel and Ser Preston. "You will so swear? Before a holy court of seven?"
"I will, your holiness" Lancel declared, falling to one knee. Beside him Ser Preston did the same.
"These people, these flying men, your holiness. It is clear now they practice a foul necromancy. They have told us, to our faces, how their machines work, but it is only now becoming clear what their words meant."
Cersei went on to explain about 'fossil fuels' and 'global warming', about the 'stranger's fire' and the flying men's apparent disregard for the souls of even the youngest and most innocent. She told of the strange creatures that were said to roam the wastes of Australia, of kangaroos and emus and drop bears and all manner of beasts. It is not a paradise she explained of the world of the flying men. It is the seventh hell. A soulless realm where all their gods-given essence has been harvested in order to power their murderous machines. And now they have come to us by summoning this godsforsaken Ring.
When she was done, the High Septon was nodding slowly. He looked up at her, his form rigid, resolve written across his face. I have him she thought, triumphant, though she dared not let any of this show on her face.
"Your grace, I must…I must get to the bottom of all this."
"Of course your holiness. It is a lot to take in. I have only come to these conclusions myself most recently. If your holiness resolves to take action however, I can think of a few steps, things the crown could do to better prepare us for this ordeal."
"What would you propose your grace?"
"The crown has oft relied on the faith, as of late, to fund its expenses. My husband…late husband's spending, on tourneys and prizes. I do not wish to speak so ill of the dead so soon but…I understand the position this has left the faith in. Our debt to you, now totals nearly a million gold dragons does it not?"
"Oh well, your grace…given the circumstances now."
"All I will say your holiness, is that House Lannister will make good on these debts. I will swear it. My father already rides west with a great host. I have called for his help in this…confrontation. I only wish to strengthen the alliance we must now build."
"Of course, yes…very well your grace. Your heart is a generous one, as ever."
"But more than that" Cersei pressed. "Another possibility occurs to me, if you will just hear me out. There was once a time when the faith fought as one, when you had warriors of your own to summon. Maegor the Cruel outlawed them but…"
She let the sentence hang there. The High Septon looked surprised but then nodded.
"You speak of the faith militant."
"The Targaryens outlawed them, but the Targaryens are gone. With Robert now lost to us too, the throne passes to my son, does it not? If I tried, I am sure I could convince him. We could once again see the Warrior's Sons and the Poor Fellows rallied in defense of the entire realm."
"That…would be a drastic step, your grace. Those orders were disbanded more than two hundred years ago."
"They were disbanded in return for a promise, that the Iron Throne would always be the shield of the faith. I come to you now High Septon, as you know, with a desperate plea. I will do everything I can, and my son will as well I am sure, but I do not know if the crown will have the strength to defend the realm."
"I understand. Yes, you are right. We must do everything in our power. The faith has not faced a challenge like this since…well. I am not sure of any peril since Hugor of the Hill himself."
"Precisely. I must rely on your support. If our cause is just, the gods will surely arm us, as they always have before. We must rally the great lords of the realm, whomever will come. Already, I fear some may have been corrupted by the flying men. The king's own Hand, Lord Stark, was flown there by them some days ago. Perhaps he is ignorant as well. He may not even know what sorcery was performed on the king. Perhaps he simply believes him healed, but we know that is impossible. Lord Renly too has been in their world for some time, over a month. Who knows what corruptions they have done to him in that time?"
"Your words are wise. I will do what I can, your grace. I must…I must pray on everything you have told me. I must seek the gods' own wisdom."
"Of course, your holiness" Cersei rose to her feet. Her companions matched her. "But please, pray, give me your answer soon. Every day that passes I fear the corruption of the flying men spreads further, from the Ring north of this very city. They will be coming soon, out of this…the Stranger's Ring."