The Red Keep Falls

Harlon's message reached Ronan just as he returned from Cersei. Margaery and Loras Tyrell had been captured.

Ronan smiled despite himself. "It seems fortune still cares for me." He summoned Rovyn Meeks at once.

"Commander?"

"Prepare immediately. Surround the Red Keep. No Kingsguard is to be spared. I want the royal household under my hand before the city understands what happened. Take control of all seven gates as well. No one important leaves."

Rovyn hesitated. "Commander, do we have enough men? Lord Kevan will try to stop this."

"Do your work."

Rovyn bowed and went. He had seen Ronan cold before. This was different. There was a weight in him now that made hesitation feel like treason.

Jebe came next. Ronan ordered the cavalry back toward the city. King's Landing did not need horsemen inside its walls, but Tywin could return at any time, and Ronan preferred having speed within reach.

To make the coup cleaner, he used Varys once as a knife in the dark.

"Lord Kevan," the Spider murmured somewhere in the Red Keep's shadows, "forgive the necessity."

The bloodshed did not spill far beyond the royal hill, but the smell of danger reached every man with instincts enough to survive court.

Grand Maester Pycelle tried to leave through the Mud Gate in a common cloak. Gold cloaks stopped him.

"Grand Maester," one warned, "if you do not wish to become a corpse, return to where you belong."

Pycelle began to bluster until he saw murder waiting in their eyes. Dignity was useful only to the living. He turned back.

Other courtiers hid in brothels, wine sinks, and servants' rooms, all men who had once filled the small council with words. Ronan had no intention of asking them for permission.

A conqueror did not need false approval. He needed obedience.

...

The Red Keep became a slaughterhouse with banners.

Gold cloaks held the gates. Servants fled into corners. Loyal guards died where they stood. By the time Ronan entered, Rovyn was still trying to crush the last knot of resistance around Joffrey.

The boy king hid behind white cloaks and screamed.

"Traitors! Kill him! Whoever kills that sellsword will command my guard. I will make him a lord!"

Fear had stripped him of all royal shape. He was cruel, but not mad enough to stop fearing death. Ronan's attention settled on one man.

White-haired and steady-handed, Ser Barristan Selmy stood before the boy king, his eyes still burning like those of a knight in his prime. Even after trading blows with several gold cloaks, he had not yielded an inch.

Ronan respected the skill. He respected the discipline more.

"Ser Barristan," he said.

The old knight's voice carried grief rather than anger. "Ronan. Everything you hold came from King Robert's trust. You should not betray it."

"Your honor is worthy of respect," Ronan said. "But the boy behind you is neither brave nor fit to be obeyed."

Barristan glanced back at Joffrey and sighed. "Guarding the king is the meaning of my cloak. His deeds are not mine to judge." That answer disappointed Ronan.

Faithful words could still be foolish words. Loyalty that refused to look at what it served was not virtue. It was surrender dressed as honor.

"Then die for it."

Ronan drew his blade. Barristan met him without fear. The duel was brief because real duels often were. Barristan had technique, experience, and courage. Ronan had youth, speed, power, and too many battles written into his hands.

Within a minute, the single-edged sword drove cleanly into the old knight's heart. The room went silent.

Ronan withdrew the blade and killed the remaining white cloaks one by one. Joffrey collapsed into his own terror.

"Rovyn," Ronan said, "put him in the black cells. No one sees him without my order."

"Yes, Commander."

The Red Keep belonged to Ronan Harrow.

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