Chapter 103 — Ser Meryn Trant of Justice
The royal carriage rattled along the street.
Its wheels rolled through puddles left by the rain the night before, splashing muddy water.
Inside the carriage, the seats were upholstered with soft crimson velvet.
As she caught the strong scent of perfume lingering on Cersei, Margaery Tyrell's eyes flickered with a trace of smug satisfaction.
As expected of an aging woman.
She lacked the youthful vitality of a girl like Margaery.
Even her taste in perfume had grown heavy and vulgar.
"Do we really have to go, Mother?"
The great King Joffrey Baratheon the First asked the same question for the third time, clearly growing impatient.
He wore a brand-new deep-purple coat today.
The cuffs were embroidered with the Baratheon crowned stag in gold thread.
The fabric was luxurious and comfortable.
Yet he sat restlessly.
His hips shifted constantly on the soft cushion, and his fingers tapped absentmindedly.
"The last time we went to Flea Bottom, those filthy peasants dared throw mud and stones at my carriage!"
"Even dung!"
"Ser Meryn Trant had his forehead split open. There was blood everywhere!"
"Oh, my dear," Cersei said gently, patting Joffrey's hand as though soothing a child.
"That was because food was scarce back then."
"Those wretches were starving."
"But things are different now."
"The war is over."
"King's Landing will never lack food again."
"That's quite true," Margaery added smoothly from beside her.
She wore a simple pale-blue gown.
Her hair was loosely braided and draped over one shoulder, giving her an image of fresh innocence.
This appearance had taken two full hours to prepare.
Margaery knew they were visiting Flea Bottom today.
She needed to look like a kind and approachable future queen in the eyes of the common people.
And pale blue—perfectly balanced between maidenly purity and maternal warmth—was the ideal color.
"I visited an orphanage last week," she continued, her voice soft like spring wind.
"The streets were indeed cleaner."
"The children were playing freely in the open squares."
"There was no stealing or fighting."
"One little girl who recognized me even gave me a freshly picked wildflower."
"She told me her father had found work at the docks."
"He earns enough now to feed five or six mouths."
As she spoke, Margaery looked sincerely at Joffrey.
But the corner of her eye remained fixed on Cersei.
The Queen Regent's expression did not change in the slightest.
Her smile even grew brighter.
"How thoughtful of you, Lady Margaery," Cersei said pleasantly.
"You care so deeply for the people."
She turned toward her future daughter-in-law with faint approval in her voice.
"Unlike me."
"I seldom visit those… less respectable places."
"I imagine your grandmother must be proud."
"After all, House Tyrell is famous for being close to the people."
The words sounded like praise.
But Margaery immediately caught the mockery hidden inside.
Cersei was clearly implying that she lacked dignity, constantly mingling with the lower classes.
Still, Margaery returned a sweet smile without the slightest trace of anger.
"My grandmother often says," she replied softly,
"For a rose to bloom brilliantly, its roots must sink deep into the soil."
"Only by understanding even the humblest subjects can one become a true queen."
She emphasized the word true deliberately.
A quiet jab at the fact that Cersei was no longer queen.
A flash of cold light passed through Cersei's eyes.
Her teeth almost ground together.
That wretched girl.
Ever since entering the Red Keep, she had constantly tried to outshine her.
Even Joffrey, who rarely listened to anyone, had begun to behave under her influence.
Soon…
Soon she will pay for this.
---
The king, however, seemed completely oblivious to the silent battle between the two women.
He stared out the window in boredom.
The carriage had already passed Steel Street.
The buildings along the road were growing lower and more dilapidated.
Though the streets were indeed cleaner than before—and the smell far less offensive—the lingering poverty and the unpleasant memories from last time still irritated him.
Right…
That fellow named Od… something had said he would clean up Flea Bottom, hadn't he?
No.
Wait.
Hadn't he said something about killing all the poor people?
Or… something like that.
Joffrey shook his head, his mind struggling to process the memory.
"I still don't like this place," he muttered irritably.
"It smells bad."
"And the people are ugly."
"Why should a king come here?"
"Your Grace…"
Margaery immediately prepared to launch into one of her gentle speeches.
But Cersei beat her to it.
"Because a true king does not fear his subjects, my dear," she said soothingly.
"Fear is an emotion for the weak."
"You must let them see you."
"Let them respect you."
"Let them know who truly rules King's Landing."
Though she spoke to Joffrey, her eyes remained fixed on Margaery.
Margaery continued smiling.
But her fingers tightened around the fabric of her dress.
Loras Tyrell had been missing for several days.
Rumors were spreading throughout the Red Keep that the Knight of Flowers had run away with a squire.
How romantic.
How brave.
How… disgraceful.
House Tyrell had become a laughingstock.
And Margaery, the future queen, had to endure polite condolences and hidden ridicule at every banquet.
She had every reason to suspect—
that this was the work of the venomous Queen Regent.
---
"Speaking of the people…"
With that thought, Margaery spoke again.
Her voice carried just the right touch of sorrow.
"I keep thinking about my brother these past few days."
"Loras always said that a knight's duty isn't just glory on the battlefield."
"It's protecting the weak."
"If he could see how Flea Bottom has changed…"
"He would be very happy."
She stared directly at Cersei after saying this.
But the famously volatile Queen Regent showed no reaction at all.
Instead, she sighed softly.
"Poor Loras."
"Such a fine knight."
"Such a handsome young man."
"And yet… he made a foolish mistake."
"You must be terribly heartbroken, dear Margaery."
Cersei even wrapped an arm around the young Tyrell rose and comforted her generously.
"Oh, Your Grace!" Margaery exclaimed.
Grinding her teeth inwardly, she still leaned into Cersei's embrace with perfect professionalism, tears welling in her eyes.
"I truly don't understand!"
"Loras always valued family honor above his life."
"I cannot comprehend why he would do something so reckless…"
She watched carefully for Cersei's reaction.
"Love can be like that sometimes, my dear," Cersei replied softly.
She gently patted Margaery's head and spoke softly, as though she truly regarded this future daughter-in-law as her own child.
"Sometimes it makes people forget their responsibilities, forget their honor… even forget who they are."
"Young people especially are easily carried away by it."
Listening to Cersei's flawless response, Margaery cursed inwardly.
She lifted her head and dabbed at the tears in the corner of her eyes.
"You're right."
"I've heard that when you were young, Your Grace, you were deeply enamored with Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."
"But now you've become far more mature and composed."
The moment those words left her mouth, Cersei nearly wanted to kill her.
That little bitch.
Wasn't she openly calling her old?
"Still," Cersei said lightly, refusing to take the bait.
She smoothly steered the conversation elsewhere.
"Loras leaving might actually be good for you, Lady Margaery."
"After all, a brother who runs off with a squire…"
"…is rather embarrassing for the sister who is about to become queen."
"People will pity you."
The cruelty of the remark was unmistakable.
Margaery felt the blood rush to her head.
But she forced herself to remain calm.
"You're right," she replied softly.
Taking a slow breath, she even made her smile gentler.
"But I've been wondering…"
"Why would Loras make such a reckless decision so suddenly?"
"And at such a convenient moment—on the very day of his betrothal?"
This time she was almost speaking plainly.
Cersei's emerald eyes locked onto Margaery's.
Her gaze turned cold.
"Are you implying something, my dear?"
"Of course not," the little rose replied immediately.
She even reached out lightly to touch Cersei's arm like a playful daughter-in-law.
"I'm just… letting my imagination wander."
"Lord Tywin arranged such a perfect marriage for him."
"It's strange he wouldn't appreciate it."
Their eyes clashed like drawn blades.
Neither woman was willing to yield.
After a long moment, Cersei finally looked away.
She turned toward Joffrey.
"You see, Your Grace? Lady Margaery is such a sensible girl."
"Even after such a scandal in her family, she remains strong and gracious."
"A perfect example of what a queen should be."
At those words, Joffrey—who had been absentmindedly picking at a strip of gold foil on the armrest—looked up in confusion.
"Huh? Oh."
"Yes. Lady Margaery is indeed wonderful."
Clearly, he had no idea what kind of silent battle had just taken place between the two women.
Seeing his reaction, both Cersei and Margaery rolled their eyes at the same time.
All that effort—and the boy king hadn't been listening at all.
What a waste.
---
Margaery lowered her head and pretended to smooth her skirt, thinking rapidly.
Cersei hadn't revealed a single flaw.
But that only made Margaery more certain.
The woman knew something.
Loras's disappearance had been too clean.
Too sudden.
As if some invisible hand had quietly erased him.
And Cersei—who usually despised the slums—had suddenly proposed this inspection today.
She had even convinced Joffrey to come.
That was far too suspicious.
"Out of the way, you filthy peasants!"
At that moment, Ser Meryn Trant's furious shout echoed outside.
The convoy came to an abrupt halt.
Caught off guard, Joffrey lurched forward and smacked his forehead against the front of the carriage.
He winced in pain.
The sudden jolt stunned the young king.
Then, ignoring the pain, he instinctively curled backward, trembling as if some traumatic memory had resurfaced.
Cersei, however, allowed a faint smile to curl at her lips.
She lifted the carriage curtain.
"What's the matter, Ser Meryn?"
"A rude peasant, Your Grace."
Ser Meryn Trant, already drawing his sword, paused and bowed slightly.
"That man suddenly rushed out of the crowd."
"I kicked him away."
"I'm about to deal with him."
Hearing this, Joffrey—who had been terrified moments earlier—immediately perked up.
He leaned forward to look.
A man lay in the road, less than ten feet from the carriage wheels.
He clutched his left leg and rolled on the ground, groaning in agony.
Dark red blood seeped into the cracks between the stones.
Joffrey's heart began pounding violently.
This filthy peasant had almost caused him injury!
Unpleasant memories flooded back—
The last time he visited Flea Bottom.
The stones and sticks thrown by the mob.
The dung.
"Kill him!"
The wise king reached an immediate and decisive conclusion.
His voice rose with righteous fury.
"This peasant tried to assassinate the king!"
"Ser Meryn, kill him!"
Ser Meryn 'Justice' Trant grinned widely.
Sword in hand, he strode toward the man writhing on the ground.
"No! My lord!"
At that moment an elderly woman burst from the crowd.
She threw herself over the injured man.
"Please!"
"He's my son!"
"He didn't mean it!"
"His child has a fever—he was rushing to beg for medicine!"
"Please spare his life!"
"Get out of the way, whore!"
Meryn showed not the slightest sympathy.
He kicked the old woman aside and raised his sword high.
"Interfering with the king's procession is punishable by death!"
His face flushed red with excitement.
Memories stirred in his mind.
He had been present during Odin's debate in court about Jaime killing Ser Ilyn's subordinate.
If there was precedent—
If Jaime Lannister could kill under such circumstances…
Then why couldn't Meryn Trant do the same?
Perhaps his deed would even be recorded in the White Book of the Kingsguard.
A heroic entry—like that of Ser Duncan the Tall.
A shining example for knights throughout the Seven Kingdoms.