kevan lannister

• tywin lannister'ın ölümünden hemen sonra cersei tarafından hand olması teklif edildiğinde ağır konuşmuş bir babayiğittir kendi.
  
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  “the realm. aye. and house lannister.” he sipped his wine again. “very well. ı will remain and serve his grace . . .”
  “very good,” she started to say, but ser kevan raised his voice and bulled right over her.
  “. . . so long as you name me regent as well as hand and take yourself back to casterly rock.”
  for half a heartbeat cersei could only stare at him. “ı am the regent,” she reminded him.
  “you were. tywin did not intend that you continue in that role. he told me of his plans to send you back to the rock and find a new husband for you.”
  cersei could feel her anger rising. “he spoke of such, yes. and ı told him it was not my wish to wed again.”
  her uncle was unmoved. “ıf you are resolved against another marriage, ı will not force it on you. as to the other, though . . . you are the lady of casterly rock now. your place is there.”
  how dare you? she wanted to scream. ınstead, she said, “ı am also the queen regent. my place is with my son.”
  “your father thought not.”
  “my father is dead.”
  “to my grief, and the woe of all the realm. open your eyes and look about you, cersei. the kingdom is in ruins. tywin might have been able to set matters aright, but . . .”
  “ı shall set matters aright!” cersei softened her tone. “with your help, uncle. ıf you will serve me as faithfully as you served my father—”
  “you are not your father. and tywin always regarded jaime as his rightful heir.”
  “jaime . . . jaime has taken vows. jaime never thinks, he laughs at everything and everyone and says whatever comes into his head. jaime is a handsome fool.”
  “and yet he was your first choice to be the king’s hand. what does that make you, cersei?”
  “ı told you, ı was sick with grief, ı did not think—”
  “no,” ser kevan agreed. “which is why you should return to casterly rock and leave the king with those who do.”
  “the king is my son!” cersei rose to her feet.
  “aye,” her uncle said, “and from what ı saw of joffrey, you are as unfit a mother as you are a ruler.”
  she threw the contents of her wine cup full in his face.
  ser kevan rose with a ponderous dignity. “your grace.” wine trickled down his cheeks and dripped from his close-cropped beard. “with your leave, might ı withdraw?”
  “by what right do you presume to give me terms? you are no more than one of my father’s household knights.”
  “ı hold no lands, that is true. but ı have certain incomes, and chests of coin set aside. my own father forgot none of his children when he died, and tywin knew how to reward good service. ı feed two hundred knights and can double that number if need be. there are freeriders who will follow my banner, and ı have the gold to hire sellswords. you would be wise not to take me lightly, your grace . . . and wiser still not to make of me a foe.”
  “are you threatening me?”
  “ı am counseling you. ıf you will not yield the regency to me, name me your castellan for casterly rock and make either mathis rowan or randyll tarly the hand of the king.”
  tyrell bannermen, both of them. the suggestion left her speechless. ıs he bought? she wondered. has he taken tyrell gold to betray house lannister?
  “mathis rowan is sensible, prudent, well liked,” her uncle went on, oblivious. “randyll tarly is the finest soldier in the realm. a poor hand for peacetime, but with tywin dead there’s no better man to finish this war. lord tyrell cannot take offense if you choose one of his own bannermen as hand. both tarly and rowan are able men . . . and loyal. name either one, and you make him yours. you strengthen yourself and weaken highgarden, yet mace will likely thank you for it.” he gave a shrug. “that is my counsel, take it or no. you may make moon boy your hand for all ı care. my brother is dead, woman. ı am going to take him home.”
  traitor, she thought. turncloak. she wondered how much mace tyrell had given him. “you would abandon your king when he needs you most,” she told him. “you would abandon tommen.”
  “tommen has his mother.” ser kevan’s green eyes met her own, unblinking. a last drop of wine trembled wet and red beneath his chin, and finally fell. “aye,” he added softly, after a pause, “and his father too, ı think.”
  
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