Chapter 6

I paced around the fine silks and golden cushions of my sitting room, waiting for the knight's return. I'd sent Ser Balon in his little quest less than an hour ago, yet it seemed to me like I'd been walking the length of my apartments the whole day.

The conversation with my grandfather had gone as well as could be expected, but it still served to push Tywin away from me. Perhaps he did it out of respect; perhaps he was only testing me, but it simply made me feel anxious and isolated. The close quarters of the Red Keep was beginning to fray on my nerves. The keen eyes of lords and servants alike watched me wherever I went, and it was a disturbing thought that none were in my service. The scene between Petyr Baelish and Ned Stark walking through a garden, where Littlefinger pointed out which spies were whose, came to mind earlier today on my way from the throne room, and the realization that I was truly blind and deaf in the game of thrones without my grandfather was a jarring wake up call.

If I wanted to win the game, I needed men I could trust, I needed allies, and I needed to leave the Red Keep, even if for a goddamned hour.

For today, I planned on doing all three.

There was a sharp rap at the door, then, and I quickly yelled, "Enter." The knight was barely inside when I fell on him. "Did you bring them?" I asked.

"Yes, Your Grace," Ser Balon Swann said, lifting the two heavy rucksacks with both hands. He wasn't my first choice for the stunt I was about to pull, but Bronn was busy hunting down the old Sparrow, and this could prove to be a great opportunity to take the measure of the man that had turned into my shadow since I became king. "Two sets, just as you commanded."

"And did you make mention of this to anyone?" I questioned.

"Of course, not, Your Grace." Ser Balon frowned. "You made it clear it was for my ears only."

"Indeed I did." I considered him for a moment, then spoke, "I must be sure you are my man, ser. Not my grandfather's; not my mother's. There are plenty of those around. No. I need to know if you're with me or not."

Ser Balon was quick to put down the rucksacks and go down to one knee. "My sword is yours, my king, as is my life. You have the Kingsguard, my brothers—"

"Are Lannister creatures," I told him. "Trant, Blount, Kettleblack… my own Uncle. I admire your loyalty to your fellow white brothers, Ser Balon, truly, I do. But tell me with honesty—who do they really serve? Me, or my mother? Who does Blount bow to? Whose feet does Kettleblack lays his sword at? And Trant… gods. My Kingsguard is made of child rapists and sellswords, drunks and cripples."

Ser Balon looked bewildered. "Child… rapists?" he muttered.

I gesture airily with my hands. "A thought for another time. My point, ser, is that there's very few people truly loyal to me in King's Landing. And the ones who actually follow me, do so for money. Think about it. There are reachmen and westermen aplenty crawling through the Red Keep who'd claim their duty is to me; but, in the end, they follow their own lieges. And the Crownlords, the ones that do not bow to Stannis, are loyal to the Iron Throne. Not me, the King, but the throne and what it represents." I let out an irritated breath. Knowledge of the show was all well and good, but it was loyal swords that make and break kings; and as of now, I was short a few thousand. "Can you understand my hesitancy now, Ser Balon?"

"I… I understand, Your Grace," he said. He shifted in his armor for a moment, like he was struggling with himself. Then, as if he became another person entirely, Ser Balon Swann looked up from his feet with his jaw set and fiery determination burning in his eyes. "Then even if I stand alone, my king, I will stand with you. To the death."

I looked at the Kingsguard knight for a long moment before nodding. "We shall see," I said simply. I picked up one of the rucksacks from the knight's hand and inspected its contents. Inside, a red cloak was wrapped around a shirt of mail and leather gear, and a set of steel plate and cap sat to its side. My mind went back to one of my missions for the day, and to the story of the young bodies steeped in blood, wrapped in Lannister red.

I shook myself from my wandering and turned to the Kingsguard. "Good work, ser. This will do fine." I nodded to the doors. "Call the boys in. I made sure the two outside are remarkably similar to our own sizes. Tell them to go into my bedroom, close the door, and spend some time looking for any hidden entrances."

"Hidden entrances, Your Grace?" Ser Balon asked, rising to his feet.

"There are tunnels and passages running through every part of the castle, and the Spider has eyes and ears everywhere—the King's apartments being no exception. Tell them to look for any gaps in the stonework, any secret passageway, arrow slits, boltholes, the whole lot. It should buy us enough time to leave before anyone notices."

Ser Balon gave a quick salute and went off to do his part. As he was ushering the men in, I stepped behind a painted screen of cloth and lacquered wood and changed into the Lannister garb. When the doors to my bedroom closed, Ser Balon did the same, and not five minutes later the both of us stepped out into the halls of Maegor's Holdfast no longer King and Kingsguard, but as simple Lannister man-at-arms.