THE OLD FALCON
"I assure His Grace," said Tywin Lannister, his face tight, "all will be under control soon."
Stannis Baratheon stared at his goodfather and Hand levelly, eyes narrowed. "So you said at the last meeting of this council. Indeed, so you have said at every meeting of this Council since it has been formally invested. And yet what has happened? The Dragons hold the Reach and Dorne as firmly as they did when you became my Hand. Your lands have been invaded by Lord Tarly's armies. Your seas are raided by the ironmen, your fleets scattered." Stannis raised an eyebrow. "It seems to me that our efforts have not only failed to come under control during your tenure as my Hand, but that rather they have gone in the opposite direction."
Tywin took a deep breath and looked around the table for support. Jon Arryn looked at those same faces, the faces of the Small Council and saw it there, in all of them. Sometimes it was naked and mixed with scorn, as with the King or Brynden Tully. With others it was badly hidden, such as Lord Whent, or the new Master of Ships. And then there were those who mixed it with pity and sympathy, such as Grandmaster Pycelle or Tywin's brother Kevan. Doubt. A thing Tywin had not faced for a long time. Gods, what a miserable time you've had of it , thought Jon. You were going to show us all what an error Aerys made in shunning you, and instead you've made everyone wonder if you were ever truly what men thought you to be .
Tywin turned again to the King, apparently having decided to make his stand alone. "My strategy requires more time to mature, Your Grace…"
"You have been given time in abundance, Lord Lannister," said Stannis. "This has been the result."
Tywin considered things for a moment, then stood up. His hand went to his neck and unclasped his chain of office. "In that case, Your Grace, I tender my resignation as your Hand." He allowed the chain to fall to the table. "I have given you my true and leal service in this war, but in these present circumstances, I feel we would both be best served if I attended to matters in the Westerlands." He stared at the King as if issuing a challenge.
Stannis gave a curt nod. "We are in complete agreement, Lord Lannister. I accept your resignation, and ask that you focus on your duties as Warden of the West."
Perhaps Jon's eyes fooled him, but it looked to him that Tywin actually blinked at that. Still, aside from that perhaps imagined blink, the man was unruffled. "Very well, Your Grace," stated Tywin. "It has been an honor and a privilege to serve you in this fashion, and it is my hope that I shall perform my duties as Warden of the West in the days ahead in a manner more to your liking." His voice was clipped and formal, and his eyes were cold. Stannis nodded curtly, and it was over.
Ser Kevan stood up as well. "Your Grace… I fear I must join my brother in his duties. I have assisted him in keeping order in the Westerlands for many years, and my home and kin are under threat by these recent assaults. And so, alas, I must do as he has done, and resign my seat at this council."
Stannis glanced at his Master of Laws, frowning slightly. "Very well, Ser Kevan. Though it sore disappoints me, I will accept your resignation as well." He turned to Lord Walter Whent. "It seems this is a meeting of partings. Lord Whent, you spoke to me of your plan to leave this body as well."
Another one? , thought Jon, as Walter stood to his feet. He'd thought the evening's surprises done when he saw Stannis' smuggler serving as Master of Ships, but they'd continued throughout. Half the Small Council gone in a night. Men will talk of this.
"Indeed, Your Grace," said Lord Whent. "This attack on my own hall has shown me my people have need of me and… truth be told, I am not settling into this role so well as I should like. Still, I have a worthy replacement-more than worthy, in truth. Young Lord Chelsted was his father's secretary as well as King's Counter and King's Scales, and would have succeeded him as Master of Coin had Lord Qarlton's ascension to the Handship been more… regular and lasting."
An interesting way of speaking on a man burnt alive after a month for bad counsel, thought Jon to himself. Still, the son's not responsible for the father's folly .
"He's assisted me in the workings of the treasury and the mint, and proven most adept," continued Lord Whent, "and enjoys my absolute confidence as my replacement, should it please Your Grace." He fidgeted slightly. "He is ready to come in and join this council as we speak."
Stannis nodded curtly at this. "Very well. Have Lord Chelsted enter. He will serve for now, and if he proves able, perhaps he will keep his seat."
Lord Whent nodded, and briefly left the room. As he did so, Jon tried to recall what he knew of young Lord Chelsted. It was not much. He's married, is he not? To a Cressey, or a Byrch, I believe. Or perhaps to a Pyle. In all honesty, Jon was astounded he could recall that much about the man. Chelsted had lived his life in his father's shadow, and shown little inclination of coming out of it while Qarlton had lived. Qarlton feasted, jested, and held Aerys' ear, while his son, his son held a job under him, and avoided all notice. He does not joust, nor hunt, nor even ride as I remember it. Jon tried to recall what Lord Chelsted's full name was, and could not.
Lord Water returned, the younger man in tow. "I present Lord Aerys Chelsted to the Small Council," he declared ringingly.
Ahh, yes , thought Jon. That was it . Aerys Chelsted's face was completely unremarkable. It was neither ugly nor handsome, but was simply a face like a thousand others, plain and thin, and unbearded, with light brown eyes over a nose that was a trifle large, but not notably so. Seeing it now, Jon understood completely how he could forget it. Lord Chelsted's hair was a dark chestnut that went to his shoulders, beneath an elaborate green and gold chaperon on which was pinned a gold brooch in the shape of a frog resting on a lilypad, all of which caught one's eye more than the hair.
Indeed, Lord Chelsted's garb was all far more remarkable than his appearance. He wore a great robe that engulfed his arms and completely covered his legs, its color a mix of rich scarlet and green, marked all over with gold and silver frogs. In his hands, Aerys Chelsted held a small ebony walking stick, carved all over with embossed frogs that had been inlaid in more silver and gold, with precious stones for eyes.
He is apparently quite fond of frogs, thought Jon. As the Small Council watched, Lord Chelsted managed a stiff and formal bow.
"Your Grace," he said, in a voice as unremarkable as his face. "It is my hope that I may be of service to you."
"We will see about that, Lord Aerys," said Stannis in clipped tones.
"If it please Your Grace," said Lord Chelsted, rising from his bow, "I have long preferred to be called 'Lord Rys'. It prevented confusion, and avoided unpleasant associations, I found." He smiled blandly. "May I take my seat, Your Grace? I find standing tiresome and distracting over long periods. If you would have my best advice, then let me take a chair."
The King seemed somewhat taken aback by that, and to be fair, Jon could not blame him. "Very well, Lord Rys," said Stannis, gesturing to the Master of Coin's seat. "Now, you have a long association with this office, I understand…"
Chelsted began to move to the chair in steps that appeared to be-from what Jon could see, for that robe hid much of the man's motions-small and excessively precise. "Oh, yes. My father gave me a post in the mint on my sixteenth nameday. It was supposed to be a sinecure, but I proved the wonder of the age by actually performing it." Chelsted pulled the chair out with his stick. "Given such a marvel of a son, my father soon started giving me other posts, and soon I was the second man of the treasury and mint, doing all sorts of things for him."
Stannis nodded at that. "You and your father did quite well from the Iron Throne."
"Oh, aye," said Chelsted, as he nimbly settled himself in the chair. "Father was Master of Coin, King's Hand, and then King's candlestick in turn." He dropped his walking stick in his lap, then spread his hands. "A remarkable rise, that I alas, lack the ambition to repeat. Make me your Master of Coin, Your Grace, and if I please you, keep me there, and if I do not, send me back to my home and forget about me."
The entire chamber was silent. "You are a forward man, Lord Chelsted," said Stannis at last.
The man shrugged. "I have little taste for subterfuge, Your Grace. You have brought me here to give you my council, and I will give it to you, until you bid me stop."
The King stared at the man. "I may do so sooner than you may think," he said quietly.
Rys Chelsted nodded. "That is Your Grace's prerogative." He glanced around the table. "So let me see if I know my fellows." He pointed at Lord Tywin with his stick. "Lord Lannister, the Hand…"
Tywin frowned. "I have just now resigned."
"Ahh." Chelsted turned to Jon. "Lord Arryn, Keeper of the Great Seal." Jon managed a tight nod, lost for words. "Lord Commander Brynden Tully." Ser Brynden managed a grunt at that. Lord Chelsted moved on to Grand Maester Pycelle. "Grand Maester. You I know well."
"I thank you for…," began Pycelle.
"That was not a compliment, merely a statement of fact," answered Rys flatly. He gestured to Kevan. "Ser Kevan Lannister, Master of Laws."
"I have also just resigned," said Ser Kevan.
"Oh, dear," said Lord Chelsted. "I will have to relearn so much almost from the start. How bothersome." He turned to Davos, who seemed to be slouching in an effort to avoid notice. "Lord Seaworth, the new Master of Ships. You are the man who brought the pretty fleet from Braavos I've had to pay for."
"We needed the ships," said Davos defensively.
"Oh, I quite agree, and to be honest, it's paying for itself, with the trade returning to the docks," said Lord Chelsted cheerfully. "But please do not make me do it again any time soon. I do not know if the treasury can handle it."
Stannis frowned at that. "I was told that we had a full treasury. More than full, in fact."
"Indeed, Your Grace, but war is expensive and civil war is doubly so," answered Chelsted smoothly. "We are spending faster than we earn, and we are earning far less than we would normally, and those marvelous savings we piled up in the years of peace are diminishing, diminishing, diminishing."
"How long will they last?" asked Stannis.
Rys shrugged. "I am not a magician, Your Grace. I can make no guarantee because when I look into the future, I guess, I do not know. It may last us through this fighting, or it might be gone in a few months. I would say that it is probably enough for a year. Perhaps two. Beyond that-well, your friends in Braavos gave you ships. I'd be prepared to ask them for coins."
The King stared at Lord Chelsted. "This is your advice. Ask the Iron Bank for a loan?"
"If you have to, yes," said Lord Chelsted. "Again, I am no magician, Your Grace. I cannot make coin from nothing. Any man who tells you he can is a liar. And very likely a fool to boot. I am neither, so what you will have from me is the truth."
Stannis continued to stare at his new Master of Coin. "You share your truths quite freely, I see."
Chelsted shrugged. "As I have told you, Your Grace, it is my understanding that is what you wish from me. Should you wish a liar and a flatterer, well, say the word and I will go find you one. They are about King's Landing in great abundance."
"I did not say wished one," said Stannis, and Jon felt he saw the shadow of a smile on the man's face. "Still, I might wish for your silence on occasion."
Chelsted did smile at that. "Then ask, Your Grace, and I will grant it. You are the King, and I, I am your man."
"So it appears," said Stannis. He leaned back. "Do you have any more advice to share with me for this, your first Small Council?"
Chelsted nodded. "Stop seizing merchant ships, Your Grace. They find it quite exasperating, and their complaints all make their way to me, one way or another."
"Even with our Braavosi ships, we need support," said Lord Davos suddenly. "Those ships you speak of are keeping our men on Dragonstone supplied."
"And I'm well within my rights to take them," noted Stannis.
"Indeed, you are," said Lord Rys. "You are well within your rights to do all manner of things. If Your Grace wishes to go about naked and painted blue, well, that is within your rights. I would advise you not to do that, just as I advise you to stop seizing merchant ships."
Stannis looked at Chelsted levelly. "Are you attempting to be witty, Lord Chelsted?"
"Indeed, Your Grace, I am," answered the man with a nod. "My house is not overburdened with gifts. The Seven have granted us two by my reckoning, and wit is the greater of these. And so I use it as best I can."
"What is the second?" asked the King.
"Persistence," answered Lord Chelsted. "We are an oddly determined lot."
Tywin coughed. "If His Grace can spare me from this, I would away. I am no longer your Hand, my brother is no longer your Master of Laws, and we have a campaign to prepare for in the West."
"Indeed, Lord Lannister," said Stannis quietly. "I would not keep you from that." He rose to his feet. "And while my discussions with my new Master of Coin are proving informative, they may, I believe, wait for the morrow. And so I will end this meeting for now. Those who remain on the council I ask to return tomorrow, so we may better plan for these present crises."
"Very well then." Lord Chelsted rested his hands on the Small Table, and then pushed himself upright. "I will see you on the morrow, Your Grace, to continue this effort to let merchants keep their ships." He scooped up his walking stick, nestled it in his arm, stepped back from the table, and gave Stannis a bow. Then he turned and walked away, in that strange precise manner he had.
The Lannisters were already out the door at this point, Lord Walter heading out with them. All gone in a night , Jon thought again. Gods, it makes one feel old, to see things change so swiftly . But then, so they had done throughout this war. Jon had imagined he would live his entire life in service to the Targaryens, and instead, he had helped in their overthrow. He had thought that Robert would be crowned when this war was over, for all the lad had seemed to imagine that this whole affair would somehow end with his receiving 'justice' for the wrong Rhaegar had done him, and instead he'd made his younger brother king. And what a king. Admit it to yourself, Jon-you imagined a younger, somewhat more proper Robert, another callow boy to guide. Instead of this icy avalanche of a man, who will not be turned from his designs but merely grinds ahead, until he has either reached his goal or failed utterly to do so . Jon was left wondering how he would cope with the man in the days ahead. Perhaps this Council should see another resignation. Stannis can find someone else to bear his Great Seal and try talking to the magisters and triarchs over the Narrow Sea.
He looked over to see Lord Seaworth was chatting with the King, both glancing at him. I've let myself get distracted , he thought, glancing around as he stood from his chair. And now I'm all but alone . "Lord Arryn," said the King, turning towards him. "If you would remain. I wish a word with you."
"Of course, Your Grace," said Jon, as he watched the Master of Ships slip away. Stannis remained, looking at the Small Table. "What do you wish to speak on?"
"A few trifling matters," answered the King, as he began to walk around the table. "Lord Chelsted was… not what I'd imagined, for the son of one of Aerys' favorites." He gave a slight snort. "And the goodnephew of one of his Kingsguard to boot." Jon blinked at that, for neither the Cresseys, Byrchs or Pyles had such a connection. "How do you suppose Ser Gwayne Gaunt would regard him?" said Stannis, answering the question for him.
"Kindly, I imagine," said Jon. "He was a courteous man, who loved his relations."
Stannis managed something akin to a laugh at that. "He's lucky to be alive, you know," he said afterwards. "Lord Chelsted, to make myself clear. Aerys had an order standing for his execution. He only survived by locking himself in the Mint with the Keepers of the Keys, and waiting through the Sack."
Jon nodded at that. "Well, that at least shows he has little cause for loyalty to the Dragons."
Stannis scowled. "One would think so, but men fight for Viserys now who suffered the displeasure of his father. Men can be fools in such matters." He suddenly paused at the Hand's seat, stared for a moment, then reached forward and picked up the chain of office. As Jon watched, the King turned towards him and offered it to him. "Here," he said quietly.
Jon stared at the chain, glittering in Stannis' hand. "Your Grace… what… what is the meaning…?"
"I wish you to be my Hand," said Stannis, frowning. "In truth, you were always my first choice, Lord Arryn, but it was as you said-Tywin had his price and it had to be paid. Well, we've all regretted it now-at least, this portion of it-and so with it done, I turn to you."
"Your Grace," said Jon softly, "I… I do not know what to…"
The King shut his eyes. "Lord Arryn-my brother loved and respected you above all other men. And I know that you loved him. And that you do not love me."
"That is…" began Jon.
"Do not flatter me, Lord Arryn," said Stannis. "Never flatter me. I know what I am and I know that it is something others find hard to love. You fought for Robert, but he died, and now here I am in his place." The King shook his head. "A poor substitute, to be sure. But so it stands. I do not ask you to love me, Lord Arryn. I ask no man to do that which is not in his nature. But for the love you bore Robert, I ask you to help me. Help me be King, and help me win this war."
Jon Arryn stared at Stannis for a long moment, then took the chain. "I will do so, Your Grace. As best as I am able, I will do so."
Stannis regarded him for a moment, his dark blue eyes unreadable, then turned away. "For now, keep the Seal. I will find a new Keeper soon, I think. As well as a new Master of Laws. But these things can wait." Jon Arryn nodded, and wondered if he'd made the right choice. And then wondered if he'd had any real choice at all.
