Chapter 28 - The 31st day of October, 298 years after Aegon's Conquest

Cersei Lannister was deep in Maegor's Holdfast when the flying machines came. It was a risk, she knew. She had been tempted to evacuate her whole household from the Red Keep. What point were high walls when her foes could fly? But in the end she had remained. The Red Keep held the Iron Throne. Whoever sat the throne was the true king. So it had been for three hundred years. She would not surrender her ace card. She had few enough to play as it was.

Still, the flying men would be uncomfortably close now. Less than two hundred yards separated her from the Tower of the Hand. Even then, five hundred armed men, several thick walls and a moat of spikes stood between her and her enemies. She'd have to hope it was enough. Maegor's had its own dungeons, modest though they were. She found herself in an underground cell. A Myrish carpet had been laid down, some candles lit and some tables and chairs placed in the room to give them a degree of comfort, yet it was far more spartan than she was used to.

Tommen and Myrcella were with her. Tommen had brought his cats which managed to keep the two of them amused. They had been more confused than anything by their retreat into the dungeons. "Because the flying men are dangerous, young ones" she had explained. "The safest place is as far underground as we can go."

"What about Joffrey?" Tommen had asked. Cersei had frowned. Her eldest was several stories above them, on the top floor of the holdfast with some view of the tower and the courtyard beyond. Joff was but twelve, but her advisors had repeatedly pressed the issue that the new king should not wait out a battle in a dungeon. Better for morale for him to be somewhere more visible. Eventually she had relented. At least he would be well protected. The Hound was with him, along with Lancel. Ser Preston Greenfield remained by her side, along with a handful of guards. The other Kingsguard were waiting, hidden in the buildings and corridors around the tower with most of the fighting men in the Red Keep. The walls had been left undermanned. She hoped no one was able to scale them tonight. Another risk she'd taken.

She didn't hear the helicopters themselves, not this deep down. A messenger ran from above to report their arrival. There were only two, containing no more than a score of men. Cersei nodded. Before her, Tommen and Myrcella continued playing with the cats, quite oblivious. But even they noticed when the firing started up a few moments later.

"Mother, what is that noise?" Myrcella asked innocently. Cersei didn't answer immediately. The cell was quiet aside from the gentle meowing of cats. The distant chatter continued, a near continuous brrrrr that chilled her to the bone. It was like a hundred smiths hammering at a sword in unison. She was still far from certain about the capabilities of the flying men. They had smashed nearly all of their devices, the gifts that they had given, but could they still know where she was? Could they somehow be watching or listening, right now?

No she reasoned. They could not be that omniscient, or they would have seen the Lannister men sneaking into the tower of the hand the previous night. The almost silent murder or capture of its entire garrison. They do not know everything she thought or they would not have walked into this trap. That just left one question – would the trap work? Could she kill Eddard Stark and then capture at least some of the flying men, to use as hostages for their promise to leave Westeros and never return to threaten her children?

The unnatural noise went on for only a couple of minutes. It was over quickly. Cersei waited. She felt a touch of hope. They had resisted, surely, but been overcome? Once she had some in chains, safely secured in the black cells, she would send an envoy to Fifield and Culvahouse. Her terms would be fair. Leave, and never return, and I will return to you your fallen green men and forget that all this ever occurred.

Cersei heard footsteps pounding down the corridor. She looked up, as anxious as she was eager. It was Lancel. Breathless, he ran into the cell. Any anticipation she had felt died suddenly. Cersei had never seen the boy looking so horror-struck. Astonishingly, she saw a tear running down his cheek. She felt a sudden fury. Daughters of the Rock do not cry, let alone sons.

"Your…your grace" Lancel said. It came out as more as a stammer.

"Well?" Cerise snapped. "What is happening?"

"They're…they're all gone your grace."

"Who's gone?" shed asked. "The flying men? They were able to escape?"

"Escape?" Lancel looked around suddenly, as if afraid assailants might appear out of the dark at any moment. "Perhaps we should, yes. Are there no tunnels out of Maegor's? Truly?"

"Why would we…" Cersei stopped. "What happened?" she repeated. She suddenly wished they had wine. She had forgot to bring down a bottle.

"They're all gone your grace. All the men. Our men, all dead. The flying men…it was the green ones. I saw…It was like they grew fangs and spit fire!" More tears streamed down his cheeks. Cersei could see he was on the verge of hysteria. Before she could get any more sense out of him more footsteps pounded down the corridor. Cersei looked out. It was the hound, half-dragging her son behind him. A trio of Lannister guards followed, glancing over their shoulders as if afraid of pursuit. Every face she saw was white with shock. Even the Hound looked disturbed, which worried her most of all.

"Clegane" she asked. "Please, what is happening?"

The Hound took a knee. Her looked like he was still trying to absorb what he had seen. He took a moment to meet her eye. "The flying men are leaving, your grace" he reported. "They are climbing ropes back into their machines. The men…" he paused. "Our guards, the gold cloaks, the faith…they ran at the enemy bravely, but they were cut down before they could run ten yards. Hundreds of men your grace…I fear all were slaughtered."

"What of the flying men?" Cersei demanded. "Did we capture any?"

"I am not sure your grace, but I don't believe so."

The hysteria seemed infectious. Cersei glanced at her children. They were both looking at her fearfully. Tommen was clutching a kitten so hard it was starting to meow in pain. Cersei felt the panic rising in her own chest. No, I am a daughter of the Rock.

"The drawbridge is still raised?" she demanded.

"Yes your grace."

She turned to Ser Preston. "Go up and see that they do not approach. The protection of the royal family is paramount. Report back to me constantly. Joffrey stays here."

Ser Preston nodded and took his leave with the guards. Tearfully, Lancel followed. Only Joffrey and the Hound remained. Cersei turned back her son's guardian. "Clegane. Lancel said the flying men…that they spit fire…What did you see?"

Sandor Clegane swallowed. "Aye, your grace. He may be telling it true. I do not know how. The weapons they have. I had not seen their like used before."

"These are their…" Cersei paused, thinking back to the conversations she had had with Fifield and the other flying men. "Their guns, their firearms. We have seen them carrying them about. The green men. What effect did they have when used?"

"Effect, your grace?" Sandor asked, as if it was an absurd question. "Why, they shoot fire and raise a tremendous din. Surely you heard it, even here? Men ran at them in their hundreds and were cut down all the same. I have never seen anything like it, nor heard of such a thing."

"Cut down?" Cersei asked. "Were they not wearing armor? What of the kingsguard?"

Clegane shook his head. "They were wearing armor your grace. Many wore steel plate. I do not think it mattered. The guns cut them down all the same."

Cersei continued her interrogation of the Hound, trying to keep her voice level. In the corner, the only person who didn't seem horrified was Joff. The look on his face was different, instead a sort of amazement or awe. He seemed more starstruck than horrified. "Are you afraid, Dog?" he asked after a while at Sandor Clegane's kneeling form. The Hound turned to face him. Color was only slowly returning to his face.

"I am your sworn shield your grace. I will give my life for yours if need be. I have sworn it." He hesitated a moment. "But I do not know how we can fight these weapons. If sword and spear and bow are of no use to us…"

Joff actually smiled. Cersei wasn't sure if this was incredible bravery or utter foolishness. "Then we must get them for ourselves" her son declared. "We must acquire these firearms. Then we can use the flying men's own weapons against them!"

Cersei was about to bid him quiet when a thought occurred to her. What Joffrey said was not entirely wrong. Her thoughts went to her chambers, of a particular trunk she had shoved far under her bed. Before she could come to a decision more messengers arrived to report that the flying men had left, their helicopters soaring off to the north. Men had gone out into the courtyard around the tower of the hand. It was littered with bodies, scores of them, but some were still alive. She ordered that any survivors be brought to Grand Maester Pycelle.

Cersei did not leave the cell all that night. Tommen and Myrcella eventually grew tired and stretched out on the rug, but their mother barely slept. Only as dawn broke did she dare venture back above ground.

From the top floor of Maegor's she looked out on the scene of the battle the night before. Most of the courtyard as visible over the intervening wall, even if the doors at the base of the tower of the hand were obscured. Despite her earlier disbelief, she was starting to comprehend the scale of the carnage. No wonder it had reduced veteran warriors to blubbering fools. Lancel had only been the first to come to tears.

The courtyard was still piled with bodies. A few moaning survivors had been carried off in the night but the rest remained untouched. In places the bodies were piled three or four high, a vile ring of them not a hundred feet from the tower's base. Small metal objects glinted on the ground. A messenger brought her several of them. They were little cylinders of a yellowish metal. She wondered at first if they might be gold, but soon concluded they were brass. They gave off an odd smell no one could quite identify.

It was mid-morning before she left Maegor's Holdfast, Ser Preston by her side. She did not head north to the courtyard, but instead south towards Pycelle's chambers. The Grand Maester was in his surgery, tending to a score or more of wounded men with a few assistants. Naturally he looked flustered, even more so than usual. He had been up all night. Today, his age really was showing. He was busy sowing up a man's chest with needle and silk thread when she approached. Two others were holding the man down, a gag in his mouth to suppress his screaming. The Grand Maester must have been truly distracted. Only when an assistant addressed her as 'your grace' did he look up. He gave her a sort of grunt of acknowledgement and resumed his task.

"Grand Maester. I do not mean to interrupt" Cersei said tactfully.

"Your grace" Pycelle said quietly, bent over the body.

"I only come to ask. The weapons they used. I must understand them, how they work. Can you tell us anything?"

Pycelle glanced at her, then looked at a small metal tray resting on the edge of the bench. Cersei leaned in to inspect it. Inside were more metal objects, small brass blunt cones. They were less than an inch long and no thicker than her little finger, even smaller than the cylinders. She pulled one out from her garments and held it up next to the cones. One seemed to fit into the other easy enough. She glanced at the wounded man. From his dress he was a Lannister guardsman, though she did not know his name. Aside from his chest, another bloody wound was located near his thigh. It seemed clear the man was dying, despite Pycelle's efforts.

"This is what wounded him?" she asked, indicating the metal cones.

"Yes, your grace" Pycelle replied gruffly. His forehead was perspiring heavily.

Cersei glanced at Ser Preston, confused. "But these are so small. How could this be lethal to a man?"

"The speed, your grace" Pycelle said after a moment. "For wounds this deep, these objects must have been moving fast, much faster than any arrow."

"Was he not wearing armor?"

Pycelle glanced over at another bench by the wall. Below it was a growing pile of breastplates, pauldrons, rerebraces, gorgets and other assorted bits of armor. Cersei walked over to it, picking up the items tenderly. Even in heavy steel plate, a decent fraction of an inch thick, there were gaping holes. Cersei compared them to the tiny metal arrows, frowning.

"Thank you Grand Maester" she said after a while. "I'll leave you to your work".

Cersei walked back to Maegor's Holdfast. She left Ser Preston at the drawbridge. There was, it seemed, no one else to leave. Barristan Selmy and Mandon Moore had gone through the Ring with Robert, surely tainted even if they were to return. Her Jaime was a thousand miles to the west, preparing to invade the Riverlands. Meryn Trant, Boros Blount and Arys Oakheart had led the first wave of attackers against the flying men. None had survived, their spotless white armor proving as useless as any colored red or gold. Her children now were more vulnerable to threats than ever. I have a whole kingsguard to rebuild.

Cersei walked up several levels to her chambers. She dismissed her servants and ordered that she was not to be disturbed. With some hesitation, she reached under her bed for the trunk in question. With some effort she hauled it out. She produced a key from within her garments and opened the heavy lock. Lifting the lid, she saw the stacks of books within.

Cersei had ordered that every single item in the city with any connection to the flying men be reduced to ash. She had made one exception however. She had searched through this collection thoroughly and found none of the lightning ears. She told herself that, probably, it was safe. The books had been a gift to her drunken oaf of a husband, but Robert had never touched them of course. They would have remained here in their chambers, collecting dust, if she hadn't made the effort to inspecting them herself.

Cersei pulled out the books one by one. They were heavy volumes, with red covers and gold colored symbols. Lannister colors she thought, almost reassured. She glanced at the spine, where the words Encyclopedia Britannica were engraved. The books were arranged by letters. She turned to 'G' and started flicking through it. She soon found the entry she was looking for.

A Gun is a weapon consisting essentially of a metal tube from which a missile or projectile is shot by the force of exploding gunpowder or some other propellant…

Cersei frowned. She flicked through the encyclopedia further and read on.

Gunpowder is any of several low-explosive mixtures used as propelling charges in guns and as blasting agents in mining. The first such explosive was black powder, which consists of a mixture of saltpetre (potassium nitrate), sulfur, and charcoal…