Silver Stag

Faith Militant & Goodbye Ser Ashford

[King’s Landing - Red Keep, Small Council Chamber]

Cersei sat in her chair, an angry expression on her face. At the table was Maester Pycelle, Qyburn, Mace Tyrell, and an empty chair. Aelinor was not present. Instead, she opted to spend the time with her son.

"The Iron Bank has called one tenth of the Crown's debts. Given the expense of rebuilding the royal-" Mace began.

"How much can the Crown afford?" Cersei asked.

"With winter coming, half what they ask. Less."

"You're the Master of Coin. How do we pay them?"

"Well, House Tyrell could front the gold, and the the Crown will pay us back in time, or I'll have words with my daughter." He smiled, as if he was expecting a laugh.

Qyburn and Pycelle both looked down and Mace’s smile faded. Though, Cersei put on one of her own.

"You've already given us too much." She stood up and walked to one of the windows. "No, we must arrange better terms with the Iron Bank."

"Absolutely."

"In person."

He looked at her surprised. "Me?" He asked, and Qyburn smiled.

"We must send an envoy to the Iron Bank, someone of importance, to show these bankers our respect. As the King's Master of Coin, I can think of no one more qualified."

"I will be honored, Your Grace."

"The King has expressed concern about his father-in-law's safety on this voyage." She smiled. "He's ordered Ser Meryn to personally lead your escort.

Ser Meryn walked into the room. Mace turned to look at him, and then back at Cersei.

"My very own Kingsguard? Please express-"

"Safe travels, Lord Tyrell." She cut him off.

"Of course, of course," he said, hands raised, before he stood up and began gathering his belongings. "I'll give your regards to the Titan of Braavos."

Mace laughed and Qyburn looked down, lightly chuckling. Mace exited, followed by Ser Meryn.

"The Small Council grows smaller and smaller." Pycelle commented.

"Not small enough." Cersei said, walking out.

She needed to get to her meeting with the High Sparrow.

Pycelle watched her leave.

[High Sparrow’s Chamber]

A note laid on the desk, stamped with the seal of the High Sparrow. The High Sparrow sat behind his desk, across from Cersei.

She poured a glass of wine. "May I offer you some wine, Your Holiness?"

"No." He smiled.

Cersei looked unsure, almost having expected him to say yes. After a moment she smiled and pushed the wine away.

"The old High Septon would have asked the vintage." She smiled.

"I could say that our minds are temples to the Seven and should be kept pure. But the truth is," He chuckled. "I don't like the taste."

"Hmm."

"How may I serve?" The High Sparrow said after a moment.

"All over Westeros we hear about septs being burned. Silent sisters raped. Bodies of holy men piled in the streets."

"Wars teach people to obey the sword, not the Gods."

"Perhaps the Gods need a sword of their own." The High Sparrow raised an eyebrow. "In the days before the Targaryens, the Faith Militant dispensed the justice of the Seven."