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Lancel Lannister was not meant to become commander of the city watch. A prized post, it was set aside for those with exceptional loyalty to the crown and who had performed great acts in the King’s name.
But when Lord Janos Slynt caught his wife in bed with the Master of Laws, and the two men had slain each other in the ensuing duel, a new commander of the City Watch was needed. There were none among the watch’s captains who were worthy of such an honor, and King Robert was facing pressure from his wife to install a Lannister in the position. She was hoping for her Uncle Kevan, but his Hand wanted a younger man for the position, saying that the watch needed strength and mettle to lead it.
While seeking a compromise that satisfied both requests, but in truth would please neither Jon Arryn nor his lady wife, King Robert was reminded of a story he heard recently. A newly-minted Lannister Knight had just fought off a pirate fleet in the Stepstones to rescue a lady of the Stormlands. The King was fond of such stories, and if he had to suffer more Lannisters at court, they would at least need to be entertaining. And there was no denying that the knight was young and had strength to satisfy his Hand’s request.
So, by writ of King Robert Baratheon, young Lancel was called to serve and lead the peacekeeping of King’s Landing, with Tywin’s shortest son to serve as the new Master of Laws.
Ser Lancel Lannister strode into the court resplendent in fine plate armor, ornately decorated with golden lions, and a long red cloak billowing behind him. His golden curls flowed gently over his shoulders and well-muscled back, the strength of which was visible even through the heavy armor he wore. Lowering himself down to his knee at the foot of the throne, his voice rang out like crystal, “My King, I am Ser Lancel Lannister, at your service.”
“Lancel, rise” the king’s voice boomed out, “you know why I have called you here?”
“You mean to have me serve the city watch, your grace”
“Indeed,” King Robert said, bringing a hand up to stroke his bushy black beard, “but first I would hear from you your account of the events in the Stepstones, where you earned your Knighthood”
“Of course, your Grace,” Ser Lancel said, coming to his feet, “it was a dark night, and the waves were strong at sea. I sailed on the ship of Allard Seaworth, a brave young man in your brother’s service. We were hunting the brigands who stole the young Lady Swann and their ship had just been sighted on the horizon. We rowed like madmen to catch the pirates, and the winds were with us.”
“You took the oars yourself?” the King asked, a skeptical look on his face.
“Of course, your grace,” the young knight responded, “we had to reach Lady Swann. Even Captain Allard joined me on the oars. There was no time to waste.”
The King gestured for Lancel to continue, satisfied with his answer.
“When we finally caught the black ship, we were exhausted from several hours of hard rowing.” Lancel said, pausing for a moment, “but I remembered the stories of your grace storming the walls at Pyke even after such hard battle, and knew I had to find the strength to continue if I was to serve the realm in your name. Captain Allard and I were first over the edge to board the pirate ship.”
Here, Ser Lancel’s eyes took on a faraway look. The entire court had stopped their normal gossiping and murmuring, enraptured by his story. “I know not where we found the strength to continue, but we did. We fought our way through the pirates, seeming to lose one good man for every one of their number we took down. We had nearly reached the back cabins where Lady Swann was being held captive when one of them managed to twist my sword out of my hands.”
Lancel looked down in shame at the memory. “But the Lady Swann could not be saved by a dead man,” he said, “so I leapt at the brigand before he could remove my head with his own blade, and drove him to the ground. I took up a piece of wood that had been broken off when we rammed the vessel, and fought the remainder of the way through the ship with that as my club. Allard and I found the maiden in the back of the vessel, where we suspected she would be held, but not before she had suffered at the hands of the pirates. Would that we had managed to catch them sooner.”
The ladies of the court swooned over the sorrow evident in his voice. The King, though, let out a loud laugh. “What a tale!” Robert roared, “it is good to have such knights as you in my service, Ser Lancel. I need more men who know how to fight and what it means to serve their King loyally.” Ser Jaime, who was at his post behind the King, let out a grimace at the implied slight to himself, but Lancel did not seem to notice.
“It is my honor to serve you, my king,” Ser Lancel responded, his voice still choked from the emotions brought on by recounting his story.
Ser Lancel often found himself hopelessly lost in the Red Keep, especially in the first weeks after taking his seat on the Small Council.
On this day, he was stumbling down yet another winding staircase, bemoaning that he would be late to his appointment in the Queen’s Garden, where he was meant to play the lute for several of Queen Cersei’s ladies. He was so distracted by his woes that he did not notice when he rounded the final flight of stairs that two women were coming up in the opposite direction and bodily smacked into a young maid, sending both her and a tray of tea down onto the floor.
“My lady,” he exclaimed, hurrying to help the serving girl up to her feet, “please, forgive me, I was horribly confused by this castle, and did not notice where I was going.”
“You foolish girl!” A shrill voice rang out, drawing his attention to the woman behind the maid. Recognizing Lysa Arryn, wife of the Hand of the King, he hurriedly swept into a bow, but was soundly ignored by the older woman. Slapping the maid bodily across the cheek and sending the girl back down to the floor, Lysa choked out “how could you! That was Petyr’s special tea, for the Lord…” Breaking into sobs, the Lady Arryn fled back down the staircase away from Lancel and the maid.
Turning to help the girl get up once again, and wincing at the bright red mark on her cheek, he said “I am Ser Lancel, my Lady, commander of the city guard. What is your name?”
“I’m Brenda, milord,” she responded, “and I’m no lady, Ser.”
“Chivalry demands that Knights treat all women as true ladies, dear Brenda,” Lancel responded, “I apologies again for this. Do you know what made the Lady Arryn so upset? She should not have struck you so.”
“It was the tea, milord,” Brenda said, “Lady Lysa got it from her friend Petry. Something special, supposed to help with the headaches the Lord Hand has been having.”
“Oh dear, I’ll have to apologize to the man at once. There’s no more tea?”
“No, milord,” Brenda answered morosely, “this was the only pot. She’s sure to release me from her service after this.”
“Release you? But it was I who spilled the tea,” Lancel answered, confused.
“She can’t rightly punish you, milord, but she can punish me.”
“Well, that’s not right,” Lancel responded, resolute, “you will simply have to come under my employ. I have not yet acquired any servants since arriving in the castle, only having the two I came here with.”
“Oh, thank you milord,” Brenda gushed, “I had thought for sure I would be out in Flea Bottom for this.”
“Definitely not, not for something that was mine own fault. Say, where are we now?” Lancel asked.
A touch confused, Brenda responded “we’re in the bottom of the Tower of the Hand, milord.”
“The Tower of the Hand!” Lancel exclaimed, “why, I was trying to reach the Queen’s Garden.”
Ladies of the court tittered amongst themselves on the upper balconies above the training yard as the brave Ser Lancel lifted a great stone above his head. The sun glimmered off the sweat on his bare chest, showing off his sculpted muscles and strong arms as he repeatedly raised and lowered the boulder.
“I have always found lifting stones to be the game of petty Knights, and that time in the yard is best spent with a sword in hand instead of a rock,” a voice called out from across the courtyard.
Dropping the stone, Ser Lancel turned to the new arrivals and dropped to his knee. “My Prince, Ser Jaime, I am glad to see you this morning,” he said in greeting to the crown prince and his cousin who had interrupted his training.
“I would see the truth of my uncle’s words,” Prince Joffrey’s voice rang out, “and get the measure of the newest man in my father’s service. Ser Jaime, will you join Ser Lancel for a spar?”
“I would be glad to, My Prince,” Ser Jaime said, with a haughty smile on his face.
The crowds on the terraces grew as the two knights prepared to fight. Ser Jaime removed his white cloak, and Ser Lancel donned armor and a sword.
“To first blood or to yield?” Ser Jaime called out when they had taken their positions.
“Acceptable terms, good cousin,” Ser Lancel responded.
Jaime rushed Lancel as soon as the battle began, making a probing slash at Lancel’s side. Blocking the strike, Lanel’s left hand dashed out and grabbed Jaime’s sword arm, twisting it to force the kingsguard to lose his grip on his blade. Dropping his own sword, Lancel then bodily grabbed Jaime’s breastplate and lifted the knight wholly above his head before throwing Jamie on the ground behind him, using his own body weight to drive Jaime deeper into the sand.
The greatest swordsman in the realm had been defeated in mere moments, the fight over before it could even begin. The crowd was shocked silent, before bursting into raucous cheers and applause as Lancel stood back up.
“I hope that was to your liking, Prince Jeoffrey,” Lancel earnestly addressed the heir to the throne.
“How… how did you do that?” the crown prince demanded, his eyes darting between Lancel and the stunned form of his Uncle grasping for breath on the ground.
“It was only strength and training, through the lifting of many rocks,” Lancel explained. “Ser Jaime has much more talent at swordsmanship than I, but hard work and dedication let me overpower him. Although,” Lancel paused, leaning down to heave Jaime back to standing, “the most important thing is to treat your defeated opponent with respect, so that all may know your strength also extends to the strength of your heart and the Mother’s Mercy.” Finished talking, he took a cloth and began to brush the dirt of Ser Jaime’s back, who was still stunned and blinking at what had just occurred.
“Ser Lancel will take over my training,” Joffrey declared imperiously, “I will fight with strength like my Father, not with clever tricks like my Uncle. We will begin now.”
“I am certain you will succeed, my prince.” Lancel responded.
As the knight and prince walked over to the pile of rocks in the training yard, where Lancel began explaining the different weights and forms needed to lift them to the now-enraptured prince, Jaime slowly blinked himself back to awareness.
“What… what just happened?” he mumbled to himself.
Still nursing sores on his back and chest from where Lancel had dropped him two weeks prior, Jaime was beginning to tire of listening to his sister whine. When she had dragged him off to an abandoned storeroom, he’d hoped she had something more exciting in mind than mere complaints.
“Are you even listening to me, brother?” she asked with a scoff.
Wincing, Ser Jaime responded best he could, “Of course, sister dearest. Your plan to dispose of Robert went awry. But surely there will be other opportunities?”
“Went awry?” she barked out, “that is what you call it? The King suspects he was drugged, as even strongwine would not normally see him fall from his horse. He has doubled the number of tasters and ensured that route of poisoning him is closed to us. Ser Lancel single-handedly slew the boar that might have gored him during his stupor and now the King says he may replace you on the kingsguard with his new bosom friend. I am sure Father would be most pleased to see you back at the Rock.”
This was news to Jaime, and the idea of being replaced by that great fool of a Lannister was revolting, but it was not wholly unexpected. “And what would you have us do? He is the King.”
“So you plan to do nothing?” Cersei spat, “and leave me without any protector from that great oaf and his golden fool? To leave our children?”
“Cersei,” Jaime began, but his sister cut him off.
“Enough,” she said, “I see that you do not mean to help me with this.”
Despair welling in his heart to match the pain in his back, Jaime morosely watched his sister storm out of the room.
“Perhaps it is time to convert your petty spy to an assassin, Varys,” the King barked out at the small council meeting. “I will not allow the dragons to gain an army and sail to my shores.”
The assembled council was grim. News had come from Pentos that young Daenerys Targeryen was to be betrothed to a Dothraki horselord, likely in trade for an army to support her brother’s claim.
“The girl is only a child, Robert,” Jon Arryn said from the King’s side, “and the Dothraki famously hate crossing water. A single bride will not be sufficient to bring them to Westeros, and they have no ships to support her brother’s claim.”
“Even a beggar prince can raise a fleet if there are fools backing him,” the King responded.
“Perhaps an abductor, your grace, instead of an assassin?” Ser Lancel mused from where he sat at the table as Commander of the City Watch.
“Explain, Lancel,” the King barked out.
“Daenerys is not yet wed. It seems we have some time yet before the Khal makes it to Pentos. Your spy is well positioned to steal her away on a ship to Westeros, where you could marry her to a loyal lord of low standing, to remove her claim.” At this, Lancel brightened as he thought through the problem, “Why, I know just the man! Young Allard Seaworth, whom I sailed with to save Lady Swann, is the heir to a small keep on Cape Wrath. Your brother Lord Stannis granted the land to his father for smuggling food to Storm’s End, so they are steadfastly loyal to your house. To most nobles, they are no more than up-jumped sailors and thieves, so any child she bears will be seen as little more than a bastard.”
“The Onion Knight’s son!” the King guffawed. “What indignity for the line of Aegon. Very well, Varys, see it done.”
The master of whispers bowed his head. “As you order, your grace. But what will be done with Viserys?”
At this, Robert pursed his lips. “Daenerys may be a child, but Viserys is a man grown. When the Dothraki come to call and their promised bride is across the sea, they will deal with him on their own. He has chosen to make a play for the throne, let him suffer on its blades.”
The common room in the brothel was tense. Four hours ago, a captain of the City Watch had come and taken young Jeyne up to the Red Keep. It was no normal lacky of Baelish’s to bring whores up for the King’s pleasure, but instead a man who said he was acting on orders of the Lord Commander himself and that Jayne was needed at court.
Alicent fretted with the other women. It was too early in the day to service customers, so they had little to do but sit and worry until they heard news. Finally, the door to the brothel opened, and Jeyne walked back in with the same guard in tow.
“Thank you for escorting me back home, good ser,” she said, with a beaming smile on her face. Turning to the watchman, she pulled his face to her own and gave him a fierce kiss. “Come back tonight, and I shall give you a night you will never forget – with no need for your coin.”
Alicent stared at Jeyne, shocked by her words to the captain. Once Jeyne had finished with the man and joined the other scantily-clad women on the couches, Alicent burst out, “What happened at the Keep?”
Still smiling broadly, Jeyne responded, “A most wonderous day, sisters. The King has decreed that all women must now be given half their earnings outright, and may not be charged by the owners for lodging or food.”
The news slowly sunk in and the assembled women began to catch Jeyne’s infectious joy. Alicent was still more wary, though. “How could this happen?” she asked.
“The new Captain of the Watch, Ser Lancel, found an old whore stealing bread. Instead of cutting off her hand, he asked how she had come to be a beggar. She explained that the brothel keepers had kept all of her earnings, and when she was too old to service customers, had cast her out onto the street. He took me to the court to have me confirm the practice was common, knowing the King had taken me before and might trust me to speak true.”
“And that was enough for the nobles to listen?”
“Oh, it was glorious,” Jeyne sighed, “Some of them spoke up, including Lord Baelish himself, but Ser Lancel spoke so beautifully. He discussed how beggars hurt all the people of King’s Landing, and compared life on the Street of Silk to slavery. He moved the King and the courtiers with his speech, and the King ordered the new law to be made immediately.”
It was still hard to believe that this had actually happened, but Alicent did not know Jeyne to lie.
Smirking, Jeyne continued, “And that Ser Lancel… if he ever wishes to grace this place, I will be sure to provide him all he desires, as often as he wants. It would not just be out of gratitude, either,” she giggled. “It would be no duty to bed such a knight as he.”
“I am sure now that all of our problems began when that bastard Lancel came to court.” Petyr Baelish ranted at Lord Varys and Tyrion Lannister, the other two men in the small room. “How many schemes has that fool unraveled? And now, thanks to his cleansing of the city’s corruption and pleading to the King about the trials of whores, my profits are less than a tenth of what they were before! The men at court look at him as if he were made of pure Lannister gold, and the women swoon over his muscles and loving heart. We may never be rid of the fool.” Varys allowed himself a small smile at his associate’s misfortune, and Tyrion, already well drunk, dissolved into full-bellied laughs.
“What great men,” Tyrion hiccupped, raising his wine cup in mock salute to the other members of the small council, “to be brought so low by such a knight as Ser Lancel. Why, his genius is renown. I still remember his father’s pride when he mastered his letters at merely one and ten. He may even finish reading a book this year, I hear.”
“Don’t act so superior, Spider,” Petyr spat, seeing Varys’ smile and choosing to ignore their Lannister companion, “for I know that the scheme with Viserys and Daenerys likely ruined your plots too, and it was Lancel who somehow put that in the King’s head. If you truly wished it, you could have had them dead within a year of the rebellion, and now one is dead and the other spoiled by a worthless son holding the smallest keep in the Blackwater.”
“I hear the young man worships her as a queen,” Tyrion again interrupted, “a true masterwork of Lannister cunning, to achieve such aims with a happy marriage as well. Hear me roar!”
Ignoring the drunken dwarf, Baelish pressed on “and even though the bumbling fool has clumsily trod all over decades of planning, he has still somehow built himself a following at court greater than any since Aemon the Dragonknight. Dozens of courtiers now hew to Lancel, away from us and our influence. Your little birds and my coin matter less and less every day.”
The points hit true, and Varys could not stop his lips turning down at the reminder, or at how quickly the newest member of the small council had acquired himself power and influence Varys was unable to taint or use for his own means.
“Indeed,” Varys answered Petyr, his tone sour, “Lancel Culture has gone too far.”