Lancel Lannister—squire to the king, cousin to Queen Cersei Lannister and Kingsguard Jaime Lannister, nephew of Lord Tywin Lannister, and son of Ser Kevan Lannister.
He is a son, a nephew, a brother—but never truly himself. That is how Joseph Hisham privately describes Lancel.
It is common knowledge throughout the Westerlands that Lancel's father lived his entire life comfortably in the shadow of his older brother Lord Tywin Lannister—and seemed content with it.
Lancel appears to be following exactly the same path.
With his golden hair and strong family resemblance he clumsily imitates his cousin Jaime's mannerisms striving to project upright resolve—yet privately he has always surrendered readily to wine and women.
Though Lancel—constrained by status and youth—has never openly entered or left a brothel in company Joseph can see the yearning in his eyes. He secretly longs for it.
Who could blame him?
As King Robert Baratheon's personal squire he watches his royal master spend far more hours in brothels than in council chambers—standing guard outside while the king indulges with women. It is difficult for any young man to maintain solemn dignity under such circumstances.
Thus on matters as trivial as "faith" he acts with exaggerated radicalism—perhaps to conceal the darker thoughts buried deep within.
What a waste of such an excellent family background Joseph often sighs inwardly. If *he* had been born Lancel Lannister he would certainly have made far better use of the position.
For now however he sees an opportunity: Lancel can be used as a tool—a lever to pry open the truth and help Joseph achieve his own goals.
So the familiar three-pronged strategy was employed: instigation instigation and more instigation. The fire was successfully carried to this small courtyard in the south of the city.
All that remained was to invent a plausible excuse to drag the giant spider's corpse into the forest hide it somewhere safe and retrieve it later when the excitement died down.
But…
"Joseph—this thing is *really* big!"
The group crowded around the spider laughing and pointing.
"Yeah! Your cock isn't even as thick as one of its leg hairs!"
Another voice piped up:
"I don't see any hairs on this spider?"
"That's because yours is too small to see them!"
"Hahahaha!"
The courtyard rang with crude laughter.
Hearing his companions' jeering Joseph felt a surge of irritation—but he kept his face carefully neutral.
*Once I make real money you'll all be fawning over me like dogs—and I won't even throw you the scraps.*
He casually patted the giant spider's head inwardly marveling at what an excellent prize this was then reminded:
"Lancel—this is the blasphemous monster. Let's move it."
Lancel kicked one of the spider's legs in disgust.
"I don't want to touch this filthy thing. Let's just burn it right here."
Joseph started.
*Young master—you're really bold! Aren't you afraid of setting half of Winterfell ablaze?*
Whether Ser Kevan could shield Lancel was one question—whether he could shield *Joseph* was quite another.
He was about to dissuade the squire when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
"So—you're the ones who injured my friend?"
Joseph turned—and saw the big man who had stayed hidden off to the side when their group first burst in.
*Hey—a coward after all.*
He grabbed at the hand trying to pry it off.
"Big man—if you know what's good for you—"
Ethan cut him off impatiently:
"Is *that* all the bullshit you bastards know how to say?"
The sentence ended with a massive fist.
After a brutal ugly brawl all eight intruders—including Joseph—lay sprawled on the ground writhing and groaning in pain.
Ethan flexed his shoulders cracked his neck and sneered:
"I don't know where you lot crawled out from—but let me make one thing clear: a septon of the Seven lives in that house."
He pointed toward Brother John who stood frozen in the doorway clinging to the frame too frightened to come out.
"Whether the bard's story is blasphemous or not is none of your damn business.
As for this monster—even if I simply *found* it—what does it have to do with you?"
"And who attacked my friend first?!"
The eight men on the ground said nothing. Their eyes burned with anger hatred and—just a flicker—of fear.
Ethan didn't care.
"My friend lost a finger—his middle one the one that grips a sword.
If you don't hand over the man who did it each of you loses a finger."
The blond boy roared:
"You dare?! I am—I am the king's squire!"
Ethan answered with a cold mocking smile:
"The king's squire?
I handled all eight of you by myself.
Was the king protecting *you*—or were *you* protecting the king?
Besides—did the king order you to beat up commoners break into homes and steal property?
You'd better not test my patience."
The blond boy faltered.
No king wants a squire who can't even hold a sword.
He didn't dare gamble on Ethan's patience—and he certainly didn't dare gamble on King Robert's goodwill.
So he turned his gaze toward Joseph—the one who had started the trouble in the tavern. The others followed his lead.
*Cowards* Ethan thought contemptuously.
He returned to Joseph's side seized the man's right middle finger and gently pinched the second knuckle.
A soft *crack*.
Joseph clutched his hand rolled on the ground and screamed:
"Aaaaaaahhhhhh!"
The scream terrified everyone—including Ethan himself.
He released the finger stepped back and said flatly:
"Get out.
And don't ever show your faces in front of me again."
The group helped one another up and limped out through the gate.
After they had staggered away Brother John—now wrapped in a fur cloak—came forward anxiously.
"Ethan—who were those men?"
Ethan shook his head.
"I don't know. Probably some of the king's hangers-on."
Brother John also shook his head.
"Ethan—you were too impulsive. The king's men are not to be trifled with."
Hearing the blond boy claim to be the king's squire Ethan already felt a twinge of regret.
But what good was regret now that fists had already flown?
He couldn't simply stand by while they beat his friend and tried to steal his prize could he?
Ethan helped Lennar to his feet and passed him to John.
"Lennar's finger is injured—likely a fractured joint.
Take him somewhere safe to hide. I don't know whether those kids will come back looking for trouble. It's not safe for you to stay here."
"What about you?"
John took Lennar's weight and asked:
"Aren't you coming with us?"
"No—I'm staying.
I want to see exactly how far these bastards are willing to push."
John sighed heavily and helped Lennar limp away.
Watching his two roommates stagger out of sight Ethan made his decision.
"Kevin."
"Teacher?"
"Put on your armor."
"Yes Teacher!"
At the order Kevin hurried into the house retrieved Ethan's "Lightbringer" suit and helped his teacher don the full plate.
Then he armed himself with every piece of armor he could find.
Master and apprentice sat fully armored on benches in the courtyard silently enduring the cold night wind—waiting.
All through the long dark hours no arrows whistled no battering rams thundered against the gate no screams or clash of steel shattered the silence.
The brutal bloody street battle Ethan had braced himself for never came.
As dawn broke and the first footsteps of early risers echoed through the alley Ethan finally stood removed his frost-rimed helmet and patted his drowsy student beside him.
"Take off your armor and go back to sleep."
Kevin was already nodding off. He yawned.
"Aren't we waiting anymore?"
"They're probably not coming." Ethan rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "If they really were the king's men they'll be standing duty beside him right now. They don't have time to waste on us."
So the two returned to the hut shed their armor and collapsed into deep exhausted sleep.
Ethan had no idea how long he'd been unconscious when hurried footsteps outside the courtyard jerked him awake.
He instantly rolled out of bed gently shook Kevin awake seized his weapon and pressed himself behind the hut door watching the direction of the sound warily.
A few breaths later Haiward's familiar voice called from beyond the gate:
"Ethan—Captain Ethan—are you home?"
Someone he knew.
Ethan lowered his longsword stepped into the courtyard pretended he had only just woken up scratched the back of his neck and opened the gate.
"Haiward—why are you here? Don't you need to stay with the duke?"
"Of course I'm here on the duke's orders." Haiward pointed to the large cart behind him. "The king wants to see your trophy. Bring it along."
Ethan frowned trying to deflect:
"Hm? This thing is pretty heavy."
"Do you need to worry about that?" Haiward gestured at the guards following him. "They'll carry it for you. You won't have to lift a finger."
Ethan shrugged stepped aside and returned to the hut to change clothes.
"Teacher—what's going on?"
Kevin—who had remained hidden inside on Ethan's earlier instruction—hadn't heard the conversation with Haiward.
"Nothing serious. The king wants to see the giant spider. He sent Haiward and some men to collect it."
Kevin said nervously:
"Teacher—you beat up the king's squire yesterday… could there be trouble?"
Ethan pulled on a clean tunic as he answered:
"Not at all. Haiward and I are already on good terms. I can tell he's not lying to me.
Want to come along?"
"Of course! You can't leave me behind again!"
Ethan laughed.
"What are you imagining? It's not that serious—it's just a meeting with the king."
He had no idea whether yesterday's brawl with the king's squire would be treated as mutual combat in this world—or whether it carried penalties like ten days' confinement and a thousand-gold fine—or something far worse.
Riding "Lightning" (formerly "Old Thing") behind the cart Ethan kept trying to draw information out of Haiward.
But Haiward—as always—was slippery as an eel dodging every direct question and refusing to give straight answers.
Left with no alternative Ethan reluctantly fell back on idle chatter—poetry literature the weather—anything to keep the conversation going.
Before long the towering walls of Winterfell rose ahead.
The southern gate was the closest entrance to Ethan's rented courtyard.
Seeing Haiward at the head of the party the guards opened the gate without question and waved them through.
This was Ethan's first time inside the inner parts of Winterfell.
Passing through two thick curtain walls the first sight was a wide training yard. A few scattered warriors practiced their forms.
To the left of the gate stood the armory where a white-bearded old smith worked alongside two apprentices—the steady clang of hammer on steel felt instantly familiar to Ethan.
Further along a long row of stables hugged the inner wall filled with magnificent destriers that snorted deep powerful greetings.
To the right rose another high wall. Through an open gateway Ethan caught a glimpse of a grand hall where people appeared to be feasting.
Before he could make out any faces the procession halted in the center of the training yard.
Haiward turned to Ethan:
"Ethan—hand your horses to the grooms. They'll be well cared for."
"Oh—right."
Ethan—snapped out of his sightseeing—dismounted handed "Lightning" and Kevin's "Fast Fish" to a gaunt stableman then helped the guards unload the spider's corpse and set it on the ground.
As the giant arachnid thudded down warriors from around the yard drifted over in small groups whispering among themselves.
This was exactly the atmosphere Ethan hated most—but he had nowhere to escape so he simply stood there face stiff enduring the scrutiny.
Haiward told Ethan to wait where he was then jogged through the gateway in the right-hand wall to report to his lord.
Moments later King Robert strode out of the hall in a rush—followed by a dozen attendants.
Closest to him walked a stern middle-aged nobleman and several teenagers.
"Your Majesty!"
As the king approached nearby warriors dropped to one knee in salute.
Ethan followed suit—quickly bending his right knee then rising to stand respectfully off to one side.
The king—unconcerned with the precision of etiquette—seemed barely aware of Ethan's existence.
He marched straight to the spider's corpse planted hands on hips and gave a low whistle of amazement.
"Ned—you Northerners really do have everything! Is this the White Walkers' mount—the legendary ice spider?"
The middle-aged nobleman beside him—Lord Eddard Stark—shook his head.
"The White Walkers are nothing but old tales Your Grace.
I'm more inclined to believe this is some previously unknown beast."
"This is no ordinary beast."
The king peeled off his gloves intending to pat the shining black carapace—but Eddard stopped him.
Eddard advised:
"Your Grace—if you don't want to ruin the taste of the fine wine you drank at noon you'd best not touch it. Trust me—it reeks."
Robert hesitated then withdrew his hand drew his warhammer and brought it down hard on the shell.
A dull *thunk* rang out.
"This black shell really is tough—but unfortunately too thick to make usable armor."
The king inspected the hammer's face then sheathed the weapon. Turning to Ethan he asked:
"Young man—is this the spider you slew?"
Hearing the king address him directly Ethan answered quickly:
"Yes Your Majesty. I am Ethan Cole leader of the Silver Hand mercenary company.
This monster was killed by my comrades and me during a mission near Rabbitpaw Village on the edge of the Wolfswood."
"Tell me—how did you kill it? I'm very curious."
"Yes Your Grace."
Ethan then related the story—exactly the version he had told Lennar—still carefully omitting any mention of using Holy Light to save Kevin and Juan.
"Hm—that's all?"
King Robert asked:
"No part where your comrades were mortally wounded and the Seven sent a miracle to bring them back?"
*Who the hell told him about Light magic?*
Ethan denied immediately:
"Your Majesty jests. If I truly possessed such power why would I remain a common mercenary? Wouldn't it be better to become High Septon in the Great Sept of Baelor?
The mercy of the Seven covers the entire realm—they would hardly notice an insignificant man like me."
Robert threw back his head and laughed heartily.
"Ned—I told you! Bards always exaggerate. They see a puddle of piss on the ground and swear the Whiteblade River has flooded."
He turned back to Ethan.
"How about selling me this beast?"
Hearing the king's request Lord Eddard—who stood to one side—froze forgetting protocol for a moment.
"Robert—what do you intend to do with it?"
The king answered matter-of-factly:
"You remember the crypt beneath the Red Keep? It's already filled with Targaryen dragon skulls—but since I took the throne I haven't added any noteworthy trophy.
I think this one would look rather fine down there."
Eddard remained diplomatically silent.
Without waiting for further opinion Robert asked Ethan again:
"Well—name your price. But don't try to rob me!"
Ethan's mind raced. He answered swiftly:
"Your Majesty—I am willing to present it to you as a gift."
"Oh?" The king's interest sharpened. "And what would you ask in return?"
Before Ethan could reply a handsome blond man—who had been standing nearby attending a beautiful woman—stepped forward bowed to the king and said:
"Your Majesty—I beg you to order this man punished for deceiving the crown."
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