Golden Rose Camp

Pycelle stroked the white beard cascading down his chest. "Harys, I will send the Gold Cloaks to protect you. You need not be afraid."

Harys's short, thick neck flushed red. He opened his mouth and said, "Why would I be afraid... They are merely a few septons..."

"Septons wielding axes, cough, cough, cough!"

After catching his breath, Lord Gyles continued, "Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Harys, they... cough, cough..."

Watching the Master of Coin cough incessantly, disgust flashed through Pycelle's eyes.

He lifted a hand and instructed someone nearby, "Humfrey, pour Lord Gyles a cup of wine."

At those words, the bastard Commander of the Gold Cloaks rose from his chair, picked up the wine jug, and walked over.

Splash—on the Small Council table, the sound of Summer Wine pouring from the jug's spout was exceptionally clear.

"Th-thank you..."

Lord Gyles stretched out a trembling hand and poured a large mouthful of wine down his itching throat.

"Please continue, Lord Rosby."

"My apologies, I was saying... ah... what worries me is that the High Sparrow's trials will not stop. Perhaps they will judge... everyone they believe has violated the teachings of the Faith of the Seven."

After Lord Gyles finally finished in fits and starts, Hand Harys hurriedly added, "That is precisely what concerns me as well. They have become far too fanatical..."

Grand Maester Pycelle's aged voice carried across the room. "They will not be so fortunate every time."

His maester's chain, strung with twenty-four kinds of metal links, clinked softly. His gaze swept over the two men as he continued, "Members of the Small Council ought to look across the Seven Kingdoms and serve the king, not those little sparrows."

Then, his gaze shifted toward the Commander of the Gold Cloaks. "Humfrey, accompany the Hand to the Great Sept