[135] Wolves, Stags, and Lions

Chapter 135: Wolves, Stags, and Lions

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The hall still hummed with whispers long after I departed.

Fear has a distinctive scent—metallic, like blood in the water. And now the Westerland lords reeked of it even as they left for their homes.

Lady Alysanne Clegane fell into step beside me, her powerful arm linked formally with mine. Despite being a head taller than me, she moved with surprising grace, each step measured and purposeful. The black silk of her gown swished against the stone floor.

"That was certainly effective, Your Grace," she remarked, her melodious voice carrying just far enough for my ears alone. "Though I expect Lady Westerling will not be sending you nameday gifts."

I chuckled. "Few things punctuate a point like watching a man become dragon food. Speaking of, who are the members of House Westerling now that the Lord is dead?”

We continued walking as she answered. Apparently, Lord Westerling had four children, the eldest of whom was Raynald Westerling, the heir, who was also a Knight. As she told me about the eldest daughter, Jeyne Westerling, I was a little startled.

Jeyne… if my memory wasn’t tricking me, she was Robb’s wife in the books, rather than the girl, Talisa, who he married in the show—as well as in this world. I’d killed a Queen’s father, be it a Queen from a different timeline. Perhaps I should meet with the new Lord Westerling to ensure nothing escalates in the future.

This was a world where Kings and Queens could be used for magic, after all, and although this Jeyne never became one, there was no need to take the risk.

We passed through corridors where servants scurried like mice, pressing themselves against walls to let us pass. Word traveled quickly in castles. The King had fed a lord to his dragon—how long before they embellished it to say I'd eaten the man myself?

Ser Garlan Tyrell approached from an adjoining hall, his green doublet immaculate as always. He bowed crisply.

"Your Grace. Lady Clegane." His eyes lingered on Alysanne with curiosity rather than the usual discomfort most men displayed when faced with her imposing stature. "The Westerland lords are being shown to their chambers. Some have started to leave, while several have requested permission to depart tomorrow."

They were deliberately waiting for another day, fearful that I might be offended.

"Let them stew another day," I replied. "The longer they remain in the shadow of their comrade's fate, the deeper the lesson sinks in."

Garlan nodded, a slight smile playing at his lips. "Very Tywin Lannister of you, Your Grace."

That made me chuckle. "The Old Lion knew how to maintain order, I'll grant him that," I conceded. "Though his methods lacked a certain... fiery touch."

Lady Alysanne's lips quirked upward. "You’re a man obsessed with adding flames and dragons in your everyday conversation, Your Grace?"

Garlan looked nervous hearing that, fearing how I’d react, but her clever remark only earned a laugh. Unwilling to hear something he shouldn’t, Garlan bowed again and continued on his way.

I guided Lady Clegane toward a small solar I'd claimed for private meetings, its windows overlooking the churning sea below. Once inside, I dropped her arm and gestured for her to sit.

She settled into a high-backed chair with a natural authority that required no throne to emphasize. The late afternoon light streamed through the windows, accentuating the sharp angles of her jaw and cheekbones, while softening the curves that most men failed to notice beneath her imposing presence.

Her black gown was different from the one she wore among the lords earlier, for it had earned a slight spray of blood when she stood a little too close to the window. This one was tailored perfectly to her frame, managing the impossible feat of appearing both battle-ready and sinfully elegant.

The fabric strained tantalizingly across her chest before tapering to a waist that, while not tiny, was powerfully feminine. And her arms… those arms.

“Do you work out, my lady?”

“Although I prefer a quill over a sword, yes, my brothers taught me the importance of my strength. I’m no Jamie Lannister, but I can defend myself. Why, is that not to your liking?”

“Quite the contrary.”

Her arms would make a smith envious, yet remained unmistakably a woman's, smooth and somehow delicate despite their strength. It was attractive to look at.

Watching her look right into my eyes, I shifted my gaze to a more gentlemanly one. Lately, due to an incredibly busy schedule, I’d been away from Margaery, Arianne, and even Daenerys. The loneliness was affecting me.

Servants entered with hot tea, placing the delicate porcelain set between us before silently withdrawing. When the door closed, I leaned forward.

"Your work with Westerling was impressive," I said, pouring the steaming amber liquid into her cup. "Three days to uncover what would have taken others weeks."

She accepted the cup with hands that, despite their size, handled the delicate china with unexpected grace. "It helps that Lord Westerling was neither particularly clever nor particularly careful. He simply wanted to impress the Old Lion, I suppose. Or was threatened to, as he was saying before death."

"Could be either. Tywin Lannister was desperate," I added. "The Old Lion would never have been so sloppy under normal circumstances."

"Desperation makes fools of even the wisest men, it seems," she agreed, sipping her tea. "Although I suspect our late friend wasn't Tywin's only agent in the Westerlands."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" I agreed on that, but was curious what she had to say.

"Don’t give me that look, I’m sure you think the same. Men like Tywin never rely on a single strategy," she said, setting down her cup with a gentle clink. "Lord Westerling was simply the most expendable."

In the game of thrones, pawns fall first, but queens move in all directions. She really was an intelligent woman.

"Do you have names?" I asked, studying her face.

"Suspicions only," she replied. "House Brax has been unusually quiet. Lord Serrett's nervousness exceeds even the appropriate fear due a king with dragons."

I nodded, having noted the same. "And yet you brought me Westerling first."

"He was the immediate threat," she said simply. "The others... will require more finesse to confirm. Heck, if they did have any plans of betrayal before, I doubt they do anymore after your draconic show-off."

I leaned back in my chair, evaluating her.

In the show, the Clegane brothers had been fascinating characters, one a sadistic monster, the other a reluctant killer seeking something like redemption. But this woman before me... she possessed a subtlety neither brother had displayed. The intellect of Tywin with none of his cruelty, the strength of her brothers with none of their brutality.

What a waste she'd been, relegated to managing a minor holding while idiots played at ruling. "Lady Alysanne," I said, setting my cup down decisively. "I want you to join my Small Council."

Her hands stilled on her cup, those intelligent eyes sharpening with interest. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace?"

"Master of Laws," I clarified. "In King's Landing."

A slight frown creased her brow. "Your Grace honors me, but surely there are more qualified—"

"More qualified than the woman who uncovered a Faceless Man in three days?" I cut her off. "I think not. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to be so quick. I almost thought you were the true culprit and simply found a scapegoat. So I did my own research to make sure that wasn’t the case. If the Mistress of Whispers' seat wasn’t already occupied, that’s the seat I’d have offered you.”

“Oh…”

“Thankfully, there are a lot of seats. I need a council of capable individuals, not decorative figureheads. Currently, I have the smallest Small Council in history."

I had an empire to rule, and reluctant lords to command. I wanted to expand my rule beyond Westeros as well, in which case I’d need more direct subordinates than what I possessed.

Her frown deepened. "This makes things complicated for me, my King. I have responsibilities to House Clegane. As you know, my brothers have abandoned—"

"I understand," I interrupted gently. "Unlike Robert Baratheon with Ned Stark, I won't force you into service. I merely offer you the choice."

Some chains are forged from steel. The strongest are forged from duty.

She relaxed slightly into her chair, considering my words. Her powerful shoulders eased as she took another sip of tea, the movement causing the fabric of her gown to strain deliciously across her chest.

"I will consider your proposal, Your Grace," she said finally.

****

I left Lady Clegane to her deliberations, my thoughts already turning to the practical matters of returning to King's Landing.

The Westerlands were subdued for now, but maintaining control would require more than just fear. Myrcella was key to that strategy, being the Lannister puppet dancing to Targaryen strings. I must grasp her entirely as soon as possible.

Speaking of her...

As if summoned like the devil, she stood by the sunlit column, her back to me, bathed in the soft orange glow of the evening. Myrcella Baratheon—no, Lannister, through and through—looked like a sensual golden statue come to life.

Her dress shimmered with soft greens and golds, draped around her like a second skin. Embroidered lions danced across the silk, catching the light in a way that made them almost seem alive. Subtle symbolism. A reminder of who she was. Or who she used to be.

Her hair was pinned half-up in that elegant southern style, the rest cascading down her back like spun sunlight. A few loose strands framed the edge of her profile, catching the breeze as she turned just slightly, sensing my approach.

Her eyelids flinched.

My eyes weren’t on her face though, no. Those hips—Gods, that ass—that was what mesmerized me. Draped in silk, hugged tight by fabric meant to impress. She might've been raised a princess, but in that moment, she stood like a woman who understood exactly what kind of power her beauty held.

Beauty is the most deceptive weapon in any arsenal. Is she finally learning it? I wonder who’d dressed her up like that. The handmaidens? Or… her mother?

"Lion Princess," I called out, stopping several paces away. The gold earrings glinted as she finally looked over her shoulder. Green eyes shimmered in nervousness.

She turned fully, startled like a doe catching a hunter's scent.

The movement caused her dress to swirl elegantly around her ankles, the fabric clinging momentarily to the gentle curves of her developing figure before settling.

"Y-Your Grace," she curtseyed, the gesture causing her golden hair to spill forward over one shoulder. Her voice trembled slightly. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Clearly," I remarked, noting how her fingers twisted nervously in the folds of her gown. "What brings you to this part of the castle?"

"I..." she glanced around as if seeking an escape route before answering. "I was just returning from the library. Maester Creylen suggested some historical texts about Casterly Rock's previous rulers that might... help me understand my new position better."

An admirable excuse. Or perhaps it was true. Preparing for her role or searching for leverage against me? Either way, it showed initiative.

"I... hope you are well, Your Grace," she added, almost as an afterthought. "After the... attempt on your life."

I laughed, a sound that made her flinch slightly. "How considerate of you to ask. After, what, four days? I imagine you were very disappointed when you learned I survived, my lady?"

Her eyes widened in genuine alarm. "No!? Your Grace, I would never—"

"Wouldn't you?" I stepped closer, watching her instinctively back against the column. "After what I did to your family? Your mother scrubbing floors? Your brother's head separated from his body? Surely you've fantasized about my death at least once."

She shook her head vigorously, golden curls bouncing with the movement. "....I… swear I haven't, Your Grace." She was a bad liar. However, it seemed she hadn’t dreamt of it as deeply as I thought she might. She was a bad liar because she was a pure girl.

"If you were so concerned for my well-being," I pressed, enjoying the way color rose to her cheeks given how close our bodies were, "why didn't you come see me after the attempt? To make sure your liege lord was unharmed?"

"I assumed you were... busy," she stammered, those green eyes, so like Cersei's yet lacking her mother's malice, looking anywhere but at me.

"Mhm, fair. I was indeed busy," I hummed, letting my gaze travel slowly down her form. She truly was blossoming into a beauty that would rival her mother's one day. Already, the silk of her gown hinted at curves that were no longer a mere girl’s. "Well, as it happens, I'm not busy this evening. So…"

She swallowed nervously, the delicate column of her throat bobbing with the movement.

"Would you do me the honor of having dinner with me?” I watched her. “On the rooftop. Under the moon. Just the two of us."

This wasn't a casual invitation, and she knew it.

I could see the calculation behind those Lannister-green eyes—searching for an excuse, knowing I could easily verify any lie about prior commitments. Fear and resignation mingled on her face as she realized she had no choice.

"I... I would be honored, Your Grace."

I smiled, closing the distance between us.

My hand slid around her waist, pulling her close enough that I could feel the heat of her body through the silk of her gown. She was slender but not fragile, her frame carrying the promise of the woman she had mostly become.

"Good girl," I murmured, bending to press my lips against hers in a kiss that was deliberately gentle, almost sweet.

She remained frozen against me, neither yielding nor resisting. No reaction, eh? Her mother’s advice? As I pulled away, I maintained eye contact, then abruptly broke the tension by giving her perfectly rounded ass a firm smack.

The sound echoed in the empty corridor. This time she gasped, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson that spread down her neck.

"Relax those shoulders," I laughed, enjoying her embarrassment. "I promised not to bed you until you were ready, remember? It's just dinner."

Her blush deepened, mortified that I'd read her fears so easily.

"Don't be so stiff," I advised, playfully ruffling her golden hair. "I’ve told you before, haven’t I? As long as you don't behave like your mother, you'll be treated well."

The subtle threat wasn't lost on her. Her shoulders dropped slightly in submission.

"I... Yes, I understand."

Myrcella wasn’t a bad person, and so she should be grateful to me that I stopped her fateful dying from poison. In this life, she would serve a greater purpose.

I turned to leave, already anticipating the evening ahead.

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