The South
Like every morning that she could remember, Margaery woke up to the sight of a rose. A large blazon hung on the wall, the golden rose in a field of green of House Tyrell. Roses dominated the chamber. She slept in a silk nightgown embroidered in roses and under linen sheets covered with roses. She washed her face from a silver pitcher and basin, adorned with roses. Even her bed companions, Merry Crane and Lady Bulwer, wore brooches of a gold rose, to show their loyalties, and not the sigils of their own houses.
The two ladies in waiting were still asleep, snoring softly in bed. At Highgarden, they would already be up, awoken by a horde of stewards and maids. At the Red Keep, that was doubly true, as her father was eager to flaunt the wealth and glory of their house. Only velvet, satin, and sable would do, and handmaidens spent hours adding volume and heft to her curly brown hair, and selecting the finest garments so that Margaery's youth and beauty would outshine Cersei. That was not necessary here.
The Tyrells no longer stayed at the Maidenvault. After the debacle of the Wildfire Wedding, Lady Olenna refused to abide in a castle ridden with secret passages and tunnels. The Tyrells and their closest retainers settled in a compound near the Iron Gate, at the Northern entrance of King's Landing, overlooking Blazewater Bay. The five houses taken over by the Reach were watched by hundreds of sentries, handpicked from the veteran guardsmen of Highgarden. Five thousand more men, heavily armed and armored, camped outside the North Gate, under the command of her brother, Ser Garlan.
That seemed like a large number but it wasn't. As queen to Renly, she presided over a host of eighty thousand at Bitterbridge, one quarter cavalry and the rest infantry. Thirty thousand Tyrell soldiers joined the Lannister army to fight the Starks at the God's Eye. And now they only had a paltry seven thousand men in the city. The Reach still had a vast army. The Tyrells simply could not rely on these forces, not even those pledged to lords that shared blood with her family.
Margaery knew why. On the day the prisoners returned from the Twins, the royal court assembled in the still damaged great hall. Joffrey, seated on a makeshift throne, chided the men for their capture. He then declared to the stony faced knights and lords that they were released only because the North feared the wrath of the Iron Throne, the same chair that was now an ugly pile of gray slag, melted by wildfire. Finally, Joffrey demanded that the former captives return back to the battlefield and bring him Robb Stark's head.
Ser Baelor broke the silence. The Heir to the Hightower informed Joffrey and the Small Council that a deal had been struck with Jon Snow, guaranteeing peace for the Riverlands. The Reach would return to the Trident, not as invaders but to protect the smallfolk and to stop looting and banditry. Further, the Stark army had headed back to Winterfell, and with the Blackfish holding the Twins, an assault on the Neck was dubious at best and very likely futile. House Hightower would take no part in any attack on the North.
Joffrey sputtered in rage. The Tyrells, like many in the great hall, were not surprised. Ravens from Harroway and Saltpans outlined that the fighting had ended. Rumors reached the city that the Stark army departed the Riverlands but Snow threatened to kill anyone who violated the truce. The Faith celebrated, claiming their prayers to the Father and the Mother were answered. Still, Margaery had not expected to see Joffrey rebuked so publicly. It was one thing to hear whispers and read letters. It was quite another when Baelor Hightower dictated the terms of peace to the boy king in the throne room.
Joffrey's face turned bright red, and he shrieked for the guards. Lord Tywin countermanded the order. There were a hundred Lannister men in the great hall, but also Dornish spears in red and orange and Tyrell swords under cloaks of green. Margaery knew that an arrest would have been disastrous. Ser Baelor had a splendid reputation as a fighter, a leader and a gracious ally. Just as important, he had nine brothers and sisters. Not all were married but many were, and their relatives were scattered throughout the Reach. Margaery's mother, Alerie, was Baelor's sister, second daughter of Lord Leyton. House Rowan, House Florent and House Redwyne were only a few of the many houses honor bound to defend the Hightowers.
Before matters could escalate, Ser Kevan stepped forward. Two Westermen dragged out a great chest on a handbarrow. Initials had been burnt on the top with hot iron, but the letters were faded and worn down. The corners were smashed and dented and the ancient lock broken, replaced by loops of rope. Ser Kevan moved the rope aside and threw open the lid. A horrible stench filled the room, the smell of rotting meat, rancid eggs, and human dung. Charred skulls and hands were stacked high, a noxious pile that confirmed the Taking of the Twins.
"The remains of the Freys. The top skull belongs to Lord Walder." Kevan took out a large woolen bag streaked with dark red and brown. "This is for the Martells."
Oberyn pulled down the bag, revealing a monstrous mummified head. The hair was mostly burnt off, the brow heavy like a beetle, the jutting jaw massive. Clegane's bull-like neck had been hacked cleanly off. Shards of clay and glass were still embedded in the burnt and cracked skin, and the dumb brutish eyes were frozen in fear. The Mountain had died a horrible death.
"I would proclaim you a friend of Dorne, Ser Kevan, but I doubt this was your idea. A gift from Maester Snow?" Oberyn walked off before the Lannister knight could nod yes. The Prince of Dorne held up the ghastly trophy with every sign of pleasure and his daughters crowded around to get a better glimpse.
Joffrey covered his nose, mouth and eyes with pasty white hands to ward against the sight and smell of House Frey. "Seal the chest. Get it away from here." he yelled. After a long moment, Ser Kevan closed the box but it remained in front of the king.
"We plan to depart the city, your grace. Hightower soldiers will guard the Riverlands from any invaders." Baelor announced, his eyes locked with Lord Tywin.
The Hand of the King grunted. "Court is adjourned." Only then, did the red cloaks move to take the bones out of the room.
In the moons that followed, Margaery was glad that the Tyrells had left the Maidenvault. Initially, she worried that she would not spend enough time at the castle to beguile the king. But Lord Tywin insisted that the royal couple go hawking along the Blackwater or riding in the Kingswood. During those excursions, under the watchful eyes of both Lannisters, Tyrells and guards, Joffrey behaved with perfect courtesy. He smirked, simpered and made vacuous remarks, lauding the chivalry of the Reach. Margaery followed suit, smiling and praising Joffrey on the glorious history of his father and house. She certainly did not mention that Joffrey looked nothing like a stag, lacking the powerful frame, black hair, blue eyes, and square jaws of the Baratheons.
Outside those pleasure trips, Joffrey found it harder to maintain the facade. He could barely contain his anger at the Reachmen, and particularly the Hightowers and the Tarlys. He snapped at the captives from the Westerlands as many knights and squires only wished to return home. As for the Stormlands, a few houses followed Stannis but most lords kept their knights and men back on their lands, hunkered down in castles. Even Lord Estermont, uncle of Robert, Stannis and Renly through his sister Cassana, ignored the ravens from the Iron Throne.
The Tyrells had left the Red Keep but gold, whores and wine uncovered plenty of secrets in King's Landing. The stories were troubling, to say the least. Garlan had verified the death of the butcher's boy at the Trident, cut down by the Hound at Joffrey's orders. Courtiers confirmed that Sansa Stark was stripped half naked and beaten after the capture of the Kingslayer and the seizure of the Golden Tooth. There were older tales too and darker. Tommen had adopted a fawn as a pet, but Joffrey killed the creature and forced his sobbing brother to wear the skin as a jerkin. Tommen, a plump pleasant boy of only eight name days, was terrified of Joffrey. That struck Margaery as quite disturbing. Her family had their faults but her brothers and parents loved her and each other. Only the Seven knew what Joffrey had done to Tommen.
Margaery knew that life was not a song. She never expected a love as true as her brother Loras held for Renly. But she did not want to marry another Maegor the Cruel. That king had six wives, four of which died horribly. The first sign of Maegor's persona came in his treatment of animals. When he was eight, Maegor stabbed to death a palfrey that had kicked him, and nearly killed the stableboy in charge of the horse. Joffrey's nature was less warlike but just as cruel, prodding others to do his dirty deeds. And the boy king also enjoyed abusing and killing animals. No, Margaery was not pleased.
The Tyrell courtyard overlooked the bay. Servants rushed about the garden, carrying pitchers of drinks and trays of food for breakfast. Honey cakes with jam, soft boiled eggs, and buttermilk biscuits rested on the long trestle table. As the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Margaery could claim the place of honor. In private, she always gave that to her mother, and Lady Alerie deferred to Olenna. That Queen of Thorns glared at an embarrassed steward.
"Look at this cheese."
The source of Olenna's derision sat on a wooden board, dripping with sweat like a pig. Mina Tyrell, Margaery's aunt and married to Lord Redwyne, had sent her mother the sheep milk cheese, layered with truffles, rolled in dried flowers and aged in underground caves near Vinetown. Already the cheese turned greasy and flaccid, the surface beaded with drops of fat. By the afternoon, it would melt into a shapeless puddle, the blue veins turning black.
"It still tastes delicious." Alerie said defensively. Margaery's mother always made the best out of a bad situation, a quality that did not endear her to the acerbic Tyrell matriarch.
"I can't eat this. Take it away." Olenna put her knife down. "Why is this city so damn hot? I thought winter was coming."
"It is the currents. The fluxion from the Summer Sea reverses in autumn, carrying warm water north and west. The change in temperature brings storms to the Sea of Dorne and Shipbreaker Bay. Some say the warmth circulates as far as the Bay of Seals. I wrote a scroll on the subject for a pewter link." Gormon puffed up. Her father's uncle had travelled from Oldtown to plead to be appointed the new Grand Maester. All he had achieved was to bore the other Tyrells to tears.
"Fascinating. Ask your nephew Mace to read the scroll. No doubt, his mind is hungry for such instruction." The Queen of Thorns turned her attention to a new wheel of white cheddar.
King's Landing was sweltering, hotter than the worst day in Highgarden. The Tyrell castle was further south, but cooled off by the Mander River. Margaery sat down on Lady Olenna's left, and delicately broke apart the fluffy bread into bite sized pieces. Before she could butter the biscuit, her cousin plopped down next to her, eyes red from crying.
"Elinor, whatever is the matter?" Margaery asked.
"It's Alyn. He doesn't love me anymore." The willowy girl sobbed.
Alyn Ambrose and Elinor Tyrell were to be wedded that afternoon. A canopy had been built in the mansion's garden where the winds from the water blew over the city walls. A sheet of ivory samite was stretched over four poles, decorated with white, pink and golden roses. Two shields hung interlocked, the rose of Highgarden and the red ants of Ambrose.
"How could that be? The boy adores you." Alerie said, shocked.
Alyn and Elinor were betrothed when the boy was squired to Ser Garlan. The engagement had a provision for the two to marry when he became either a knight or a lord. Upon the return of the Reach prisoners, Garlan commended his squire's bravery in battle, and knighted Ser Alyn in the royal sept.
"I do not know, aunt. He says that he cannot make me happy. That he feels incomplete." Elinor wailed.
"Oh." Olenna gestured with her hand, like scissors snipping thread. "So Snow cut off his..."
"Grandmother!" Margaery cried as Elinor blushed dark red and Alerie cringed.
"What? It is a reasonable question. When a man isn't excited to marry a pretty girl, you wonder whether his parts work. Jon Snow seems to enjoy chopping hands and cocks off."
"He only cut off one hand, and one cock." Margaery said.
"That we know of. If all his parts are working, why is Ser Alyn acting like an ass?"
Margaery consoled the rather emotional Elinor. "He feels guilty, grandmother. Many Reachmen died at the God's Eye. He does not believe he has earned the knighthood."
"Oh, for goodness sakes. Bring Ser Alyn here. I will speak with him."
"Is that a good idea?" Alerie asked timidly, quite aware of Olenna's famous tact.
Olenna just snorted, and nibbled the cheese. Elinor came back soon with her betrothed. Ser Garlan, a frown marring his genial face, also escorted the two. The Queen of Thorns put down her cheese fork again. "Well, Ser. Is my grandniece not good enough for you?"
"No, no, Lady Olenna. I love Elinor with all my heart. She is too good for me."
"Then, what is the problem?"
The boy gulped. "I hoped to win my knighthood through feats of valor on the field. My lady bestowed her favor on me before the God's Eye. I thought it would make me fearless."
"A bolt of cloth adorned with a rose? How did you expect that to make any difference? Did you attack Robb Stark or his dire wolf with the handkerchief?"
"I know that now. The Northmen killed my horse with a javelin in the first charge. I fell on the ground. By the time I got up, we were overrun. I yielded to a woman in plate mail with a steel morningstar. I did nothing in the battle."
"There is no shame in losing one fight. If there is fault, then place it on me. The God's Eye was my first command. You fought as well as you could, Alyn." Garlan said.
"Still, I failed the Reach. I am not worthy." Alyn lamented.
"You did not fail. You survived." Olenna said forcefully.
"There is more to knighthood than survival."
"Perhaps, if you are alive. But for the dead, not much matters." Olenna took hold of the boy's hand, forcing him to look down. "What do you know of Tytos Lannister?"
"Lord Tywin's father." Alyn hesitated. "They say he was not a strong ruler."
"Tytos was a third son, and never knighted, despite serving as a squire for many years. Tytos' father had four sons. The first two, Tywald and Tion, were tall, handsome, brave - Gerold's glorious twins. One even squired for Crown Prince Aegon the Unlikely. Tywald died at the Peake uprising, fighting for King Maekar. Tion followed him to the grave three years later."
"What is the point of the story, my lady?"
"Survival is important, Ser. Had either twin lived, no one would give a shit about Tywin Lannister. He would be a minor knight or at best, a castellan. Tytos became Lord of the Rock because he outlived his brothers. You are alive. You survived the wolves. Be thankful for that."
Alyn considered her words. "I lived only because House Stark was merciful. Robb Stark spoke out against any mistreatment of prisoners. Snow released us when we swore oaths to protect the Riverlands."
"Better lucky than dead. You would be freezing your arse in the North. Now go be happy. There are worse things than wedding Elinor, silly goose that she is."
The happy couple left, hand in hand, chattering about the events of that night. Margaery thought for a long time about Olenna's words. She was a rose of Highgarden. To be queen, she had to survive the lions and snakes of King's Landing. That would take more than sweet smiles and food for the poor. Margaery needed thorns. One power could keep Joffrey and the Iron Throne in check. She had to find a way to bargain with the North.
All roads lead to the Iron Bank of Braavos.
Tyrion set aside the parchment and closed the three thick leather bound books. The ledgers were as massive as the largest tome written by the arch maesters, and contained the crown's finances for the past decade. He would need Podrick to refill the pot of ink that he had used up in the past five hours, examining the many figures that flowed in and out of the treasury.
Tyrion had been working on this for weeks, poring over Littlefinger's work. The ledgers made for an intricate puzzle - gold dragons came and went, assets - brothels, ships, quarries, mines and bakeries - were bought and sold, yet the debt kept increasing. In the seven years Baelish was Master of Coin, the crown's revenues expanded manyfold but the borrowings by an even greater number. Tracking the flow of money was like chasing a fox into a dark forest.
Ten years ago, the Crown's debt was simple. Money was owed to Oldtown, Highgarden and Casterly Rock. That changed when Baelish arrived in King's Landing. Suddenly, funds came in from Essos - Myrish moneychangers, Pentoshi magisters, Volantene slavers, and the Iron Bank. One year after the Baelish was appointed to the Small Council, the flow of gold changed again. The Crown did not borrow any more from Casterly Rock. The main lender was now the Iron Bank - millions and millions of dragons over the past five years. That worried him. A Lannister might pay their debts but the Iron Bank will have its due, always. Behind the marble and stone veneer, the Braavosi were as ruthless and implacable as any king or lord.
Tyrion wondered, not for the first time, whether Littlefinger was a secret agent for the Iron Bank. Not many knew, but House Baelish's true sigil was not a mockingbird, but the stone head of the Titan of Braavos. But that did not make sense. If the Throne failed, the Iron Bank would lose an enormous amount. If the Throne flourished, all the Iron Bank received would be their own gold plus interest. There was some value there, but not enough to justify the enormous amount of dragons. Tyrion also doubted that Baelish worked well with others. The man was a treacherous snake, who cared only about himself. Whatever game Littlefinger played, was for his benefit, not a bank a thousand miles away across the Narrow Sea.
Tyrion looked over the austere quarters. The White Sword Tower was razed and the Tower of the Hand uninhabitable. He would have been happy to share the Kitchen Keep with Jaime but not his father's men, particularly after the news about Tysha. So Tyrion had taken over Varys' apartments, three snug rooms near the North Wall. The lodgings had two hidden exits. The door behind the hearth had been found and blocked off. There was another that remained secret - with a latch, the stone bed could float up and reveal a staircase. The steps led to a cave where Varys hid a row boat with fresh water and dried rations. A crafty escape route but the eunuch was dead, killed by Jon Snow in the tunnels. So much for cleverness. Varys' little birds had disappeared as well but Tyrion was too preoccupied to realize what that meant.
"Lord Tyrion." Podrick Payne made his way past the guards with Bronn at his back.
"No signs of Baelish?"
"None, my lord. The Merling King docked at the wharves. It took on some whores as cargo and will depart for Braavos. The other ship, the Wind Witch, headed to Gulltown. There was no one on board that could have been Lord Baelish." Pod said.
"We went to all four of his brothels. No sign of Littlefinger. He hasn't been in the city since your wedding." Bronn added.
That had been seven moons ago. In the confusion, Baelish had sailed for the Vale immediately. He claimed that he needed to attend to Lady Lysa and govern the Vale. If rumors were true, Littlefinger sent most of his time on the first, and precious little on the second. Baelish was not loved by the Vale Lords.
"Very well. I hoped to ask Baelish questions, but I will attend the meeting regardless."
The Small Council was now a smaller council, still missing a Master of Whispers and a Grand Maester. His sister stood as Queen Regent for her son, a thankful reprieve from Joffrey's vicious temper and sudden outbursts. Jaime was concerned only with the Kingsguard, noting that Ser Lyle Crakehall, and Ser Robert Brax had taken well to their new roles. Uncle Kevan was capable but obedient, following Tywin's lead. As for Tyrion, he refrained from quips or clever remarks. Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than talk and remove all doubt. Mace Tyrell was proving the truth of that expression.
The fat Lord of Highgarden prattled on about how the Reach was eager for Margaery's wedding and that once the lords saw the royal couple happily wed, they would be eager to prove themselves as loyal servants. Such poppycock might have pleased Cersei, but Tyrion doubted anyone else was fooled. Joffrey was the suitor better seen from far away. From a hundred feet, he looked like the model of gallantry. Close up, he was a spoiled brat of low intellect and poor judgement. Joffrey did not improve upon acquaintance.
"What of the news from the Iron Islands?" Lord Tywin asked.
A flummoxed Mace gulped. "The Iron Islands?"
"Yes, the Iron Islands. You are the Master of Ships, are you not? You are aware of the Iron Fleet?"
Mace's mouth gaped open, like he was trying to swallow an entire stuffed quail. Tyrion took pity on the overmatched lord. "At the docks, the captains talk of the Greyjoys."
"The Greyjoys?" Mace asked, perplexed.
Tywin lost any patience. "Yes, the Greyjoys. A moon ago, Balon Greyjoy died. He was crossing a bridge on Pyke when the wind ripped it apart. His bloated body washed up two days later. Crabs ate his eyes."
"Who is the new King of the Iron Islands?" Tyrion asked, ignoring the outrage on Cersei's face that others would dare crown themselves king.
"Some Greyjoy. They always are. Before he died, Balon wrote to me, proposing an alliance against the Starks. He wanted the Western half of the North." Tywin said.
"Did you agree to the alliance?" Cersei asked.
"Balon already decided to attack. Why pay someone for what they intended to do?"
"But an enemy of an enemy is good to have. We can still use Balon's heir to weaken the North." Cersei said.
"I would not trust the Greyjoys to wipe my arse. Theon Greyjoy turned against the family that raised him. Euron Greyjoy is said to be mad. And Asha Greyjoy was captured by the Starks. Let the Ironborn raid the North as they like. We need to build war galleys for the royal fleet. The Greyjoys might dare to attack Lannisport or Oldtown again." Tywin said.
"We have no gold for ships." Tyrion interjected.
His father looked up with scorn. "Find some. Or else I will get a new Master of Coin."
Tyrion ignored the sniggering of his sister and the concerned looks of his uncle and brother. Mace Tyrell was only too eager to flee the room. He waited patiently as Tywin signed ravens to Lannister bannermen. No doubt, threats for abandoning the War in the Riverlands. Tyrion did his best to stay calm and collected. His father had always despised him but Tyrion's own indignation had grown into a great fury since Jaime's confession about Tysha. Still, he would be damned if he gave his father any hint. It would take more than anger to bring down an old lion.
"Yes?" Tywin looked up from the stack of parchment.
"There is no gold. The crown has the same expenses as before. But, two kingdoms pay nothing today - the North, and the Iron islands. The riverlands cannot pay, and the stormlands are slow in sending taxes. Trade has suffered in every port, so customs and duties are down in Oldtown, King's Landing and Gulltown. How do you expect me to find the money for new warships?" Truthfully, the flow of money had also slowed down from the Reach and the Westerlands. The ransoms paid to the North hurt more than anyone cared to admit.
"Baelish could find the money."
"Littlefinger's gold is made from thin air, with a snap from his fingers. We already owe the Iron Bank of Braavos enormous sums. I am not a conjurer, and I doubt that he is. The numbers in the ledgers do not add up. They haven't for the last five years." Tyrion said.
Tywin put down his quill. "Do you mean that he is stealing from the crown?"
"I am certain that Baelish is a thief but that is not my point. The crown's numbers do not add up. In many months, the expenditures are greater than revenues. Even with the borrowings, even with the sales of brothels and warehouses. I have traced all the gold. Baelish comes up with more coins than he should. I cannot make sense of it." Tyrion admitted.
The Hand of the King barked out a harsh rasp, a sound like a mix between a snort of derision, a cackle and a dry cough. Tyrion wondered if his father was attempting to laugh. The man was certainly out of practice.
"You have always been too proud of your tongue and wit, and pleased to show how clever you are. But in this matter, you do not understand what is going on. I know what Baelish is doing. I have known it for years."
"Then enlighten me. I am the Master of Coin."
"Leave me." Tywin called out to the guards. The four red cloaks walked out. Tywin took out two gold goblets and poured an equal amount of wine in each. "Bring me a scale."
Tyrion's fingers touched the pommel of his dagger. They were alone, and the guards would need time to react. There might be no better opportunity to kill his father. But if he attacked now, he would never escape the small council chambers alive. He would never see Tysha again or meet his son. No one but Jaime would know why. Tyrion reluctantly took out the merchant's scale, a balance with two circular pans. His father spilled a pouch of golden dragons out on the ebony table, and sorted the coins into two piles.
"These are dragons from ten years ago, before Baelish came to King's Landing. Those are dragons minted in the last year. Tell me the difference."
Tyrion carefully examined the two piles of gold. Despite the rebellion, the coinage of the realms had not changed. One side bore the face and name of the king and the other the three headed Targaryen dragon. The older stack had a few Aerys II but most coins showed a young Robert Baratheon. "The new coins are larger. Not by a great margin but noticeably so."
Tywin snorted. "No doubt Baelish convinced Robert that larger dragons were more manly." His father placed five coins of each pile into a goblet. The newer coins displaced more wine, proving that they were indeed a greater size. "Now weigh them."
Tyrion wiped off the wine with a piece of cloth and placed the coins on the scale. The pan holding the older coins tilted down and hit the table. "The smaller coins are heavier. But how that can be…" He thought for a moment. "The newer coins have less gold."
"When I was a boy, a silver stag had five grams of pure silver. Today - it is less than half. There is more copper and bronze than silver in a stag. Before the Rebellion, gold dragons were ninety percent pure. Baelish's dragons have much less gold. Perhaps a third less."
Tyrion's mind whirled with the implications. "That is why Baelish borrows from Essos. He takes their gold, melts it, and mints more coins. A hundred Braavosi gold pieces becomes a hundred and fifty dragons. That is the reason the ledgers don't add up. But Baelish pays interest with our gold dragons." Then he realized the consequences. "The Iron Bank will kill us."
"Us? Why us? We knew nothing about this. This is Baelish's mess. And if a king needs to be blamed, it should be Robert the Whoremonger, not a Lannister."
"The Iron Bank will have its due. They may demand that the crown makes them whole through the gold and silver mined in the Westerlands."
"What gold? Our last gold mine ran out three years ago. The silver mines went dry five years past. I asked Kevan to look into Castamere to see if any of the caves and tunnels could produce ore. Nothing. There is no more gold in the Westerlands." Tywin said.
The crown owed three million dragons to the Lannisters but even more to Braavos. Tyrion wondered once the secret was known, if the Iron Bank would force the throne to pay them first, before Casterly Rock, the Faith, or Highgarden. And the crown could not pay a million dragons, let alone three. "How did Baelish get away with this for so long?"
"Coins in the Seven Kingdoms have never been standard. In the Reach, they still use coins stamped with House Gardener. Oldtown minted silver moons during the Dance. Daemon Blackfyre paid followers with his own dragons. And over time, coins get scuffed and marked. Many lords shave their stags and dragons and copper stars, or keep them locked away in chests. Who would have enough coins to compare the old and new?" Tywin responded.
The Iron Bank only had the new dragons and stags, minted in the past seven years. To them, the coinage had not changed. Highgarden was rich but the Tyrells enjoyed using Gardener currency. In many places of Westeros, people bartered or were happy to accept coins from the Free Cities. Many smallfolk would never see a gold dragon in their life. "What about Jon Snow? He has enough dragons."
A sour look crossed Tywin's face. "The bastard might but people will find out anyway. Envoys from the Iron Bank are already making inquiries."
"Then we're fucked." Tyrion said bleakly.
"You still do not understand. The crown sent gold and silver coins to Essos. Those coins have been circulating. The Iron Bank paid others with the same coins. If they raise a hue and cry, then everyone will know that the Braavosi were cheated and that they cheated others. One day, when Baelish causes trouble or the Iron Bank is close to the answer, you will discover his crimes. That day, arrest and execute his men - the Warden of the Mint, the Keeper of the Keys, and the King's Scales. You will hand Baelish over to the Iron Bank. The crown will offer his possessions to the Iron Bank - brothels, ships, warehouses, even the Fingers. We knew nothing of this."
The scheme suited his father. Allow others to do the dirty work, so the hands of the great Tywin were kept clean. During the War in the Riverlands, Baelish minted an enormous amount of coin. And why not? Littlefinger could spin gold out of air. That air was really brass, copper, and lead. His father had used that to pay the Lannister army and now intended to have Tyrion break the news to the Iron Bank. That would be very difficult. He needed a great deal of wine.
"In the meantime, you need to raise money to pay for the royal wedding. There will be a new tax for you to collect. On brothels."
Tyrion knew from the glint in his father's eye that he would not enjoy this conversation.
"The dwarf's penny." Chataya complained. "How can the Imp tax the labours of love? The gods made our bodies so we can mate and give pleasure."
Alleras did not think her aunt's brothel had much to do with love. But she could understand the anger of the whores. The Small Council had imposed a tax on prostitution to pay for the wedding of the king and Margaery Tyrell. The tax was supposedly temporary but Alleras doubted that claim. Levies imposed by kings or lords rarely disappeared.
"It is only a penny. Surely that is a small sum compared to the fees for your services." Tyene Sand said.
"It is not the amount. It is the principle. Why should the Lannisters earn anything from our aunt's body?" Alleras replied.
"Sweetling, where is your father? Perhaps he can speak to the Small Council about this."
"Probably paying the dwarf's penny, as we speak." Tyene quipped.
Alleras took her aunt's arm in hand. "I will speak to Prince Oberyn but I do not think he can do much. The Small Council is controlled by the Lannisters."
Her father was not rutting with anyone, boy or girl. Instead, she found him in the turret room. Oberyn sat on the edge of a great canopied bed, staring at the dead eyes of a charred head on top of the tall wardrobe. The Mountain's remains clashed with the erotic carvings and ornate screens with patterns of flowers and half dressed maidens scattered about. Ellaria and the other Sand Snakes greeted Tyene and Alleras as they walked in.
"Father. Aunt wants to know why the dwarf is collecting pennies." Tyene said sweetly.
Oberyn did not rise to the bait. "The Lannisters need money. War is expensive, particularly if you lose. And the crown spends quite a bit."
"The wedding might be more costly than the war. They say Cersei wants seventy seven courses for the feast. Women and children go hungry in the city but Joffrey needs gold plates, silver goblets, and multiple pavilions for his banquet." Ellaria said.
"I bet only one or two dishes will be Dornish. The rest will be muck like swans poached in saffron or peacocks served in their feathers. Or doves flying out of a pie." Nym added.
Alleras was glad that she would not have to attend. Who could possibly eat seventy seven dishes? There might never again be a wedding so lavish and so tacky, with the Lannisters and Tyrells both willing to showcase their taste for extravagance.
"Perhaps you should give the Mountain's head as a wedding gift. It seems to be your favorite thing in King's Landing." Ellaria japed.
"I will not part with it, not until I have the entire set. Lorch is dead. The Mountain is dead. But the man who planned the sack of King's Landing is still alive. Why should Tywin escape justice? Aegon and Rhaenys were not the only babes butchered, and Elia was not the only woman raped and murdered. Tywin is not a lion. He is a hyena, preying on the weak."
"Tywin will be difficult to kill. He is always surrounded by fully armed and armored guards. He sleeps in Maegor's Holdfast. It is impossible to get close to him." Obara warned.
"We all agree that most of the Lannisters are scum. But I do not think that vengeance is the answer." Alleras said.
Oberyn stood up, his viper eyes blazing. "Vengeance is not the answer. Vengeance is the question! How and when - those are the answers."
"How and when are questions too, Father. And perhaps you should also ask Why. Why pursue this vendetta when your problems will soon be solved?" Alleras asked.
"What do you mean? Speak clearly, daughter." Oberyn was not the only one puzzled. Ellaria and the Sand Snakes also looked to Alleras for an explanation.
"The Lannisters are teetering. They lost to the Starks in the battlefield. Their bannermen are bitter about being abandoned after the treachery with the Freys. Their greatest problem is this. Tywin's power will soon end. In two years, Joffrey reaches his majority. Who will be able to control Joffrey? What happens to the Warden of the West when the king resents his power?"
"You mean, set Joffrey against his grandfather. So that the Lannisters tear each other apart." Ellaria said.
"Joffrey is a piece of shit. He resents anyone who tries to keep him in check. He believes that Tywin should have defeated the Starks in the war. Mark my words. In a short time, Lord Tywin will regret that he is king."
"Two years is too long." Oberyn said dismissively.
"You have waited sixteen years, Father. What is another two? Revenge would taste sweeter if Tywin is destroyed by his own family. We merely need to help things along. One whisper here, a plot there. Set the roses against the lions. Watch the Iron Throne fall apart."
"We are Dornish. We seek revenge with our own hands, and do not allow others to do our work. I want Lord Tywin to suffer before he dies." Oberyn exclaimed.
"Then why not ally with the North? They despise Joffrey. You have refused to let me travel to White Harbour, or even send ravens to Winterfell." Alleras said, disappointed.
"There are more plots at play than you know. Prince Doran has a scheme that may bring down the lions. But the North may object, so we cannot involve them." Oberyn admitted.
"Prince Doran? What is his great plan? Wait for everyone to die of old age? He has done nothing for 16 years. How much longer before he unveils his secret strategy?" Nym snorted.
"He is still my brother and your Prince. Doran does not wish to waste Dornish blood. But when the time is right, he will strike."
Nymeria Sand began to cough. Her already red full lips reddened further with flecks of blood. Alleras reached out for her sister. The forehead felt very hot, but worse, there were slight red bumps on the sides of the neck. That was a bad sign, according to the teachings of Maester Ebrose. Oberyn gently lowered Nym to the bed, and called for hot water and clean towels
"I feel so cold, and so hot, Father. Perhaps, I will not see Uncle Doran's master plan at work." Nym closed her eyes, and her ragged breathing slowed.
Jaime ignored the angry looks as he rapped on the bars of the penitent's cell. After all, he had not taken an oath of silence. A dozen Gold Cloaks had come with him to the Sept of Baelor, but the new High Septon, a flinty-eyed man, had refused them entrance. Family might be allowed but not the City Watch. He was tempted to say that the Watch was in the Lannster family, as Ser Jacelyn Bywater reported to Uncle Kevan, the Master of Laws but he held his tongue. Instead Jaime ventured alone through the double doors, past sparrows with clubs and begging brothers.
The man in the cell continued to pray. Jaime banged against the bars louder, eliciting glares of reproach from other worshippers. The Faith did not like him much. Jaime didn't care. Far better men than these had disliked him for good cause - Ser Barristan, the Blackfish, and Ser Arthur Dayne. Ser Arthur had died in Dorne but he would no doubt have been disappointed in the squire he knighted at the kingswood.
"Lancel." He yelled.
The man in question did not move. Lancel's prayers for his family's safe return had been swiftly answered but the fervent dedication to the Faith continued. All traces of the cocky squire hungry for glory vanished during the war.
"Lancel, I won't leave until we speak."
"I am praying." Lancel remained kneeling in his humble clothes.
Jaime shook his head. A Lannister wearing a stained hair shirt - the gods had an awful sense of humour, and sartorial sense. "Pray later, cuz. Your knees will thank you. Come now before I drag you out." Lancel glared but followed.
They made their way up from the catacombs that housed the tombs, cells and vaults of the Faith. The Great Sept was packed - seven towers, seven sides, seven statues, seven paths and seven altars with seven candles each - and yet no place to sit given the legions of sparrows, septons and begging brothers. Jaime commandeered a confessional to the outrage of a prune faced septa.
"What is it, Ser Jaime? Why do you take me from my sworn mission?"
On closer examination, Jaime thought his cousin had lost even more weight. It was disguised by the shapeless sack he wore and the scraggly beard that hid the hollow cheeks. "Praying and fasting until you die is not a mission. When did you last eat, Lancel?"
"Baelor the Blessed fasted to cleanse himself of sin."
"And he starved to death. That did no one any good. You have a family, Lancel. Come take a meal with us in the Red Keep."
"I had a falling out with my father. And as for Lord Tywin, his plot at the Twins was contemptible. A sin against the Father and the Mother Above."
No worse than House Lannister's actions in King's Landing 17 years ago. Lord Tywin ordered the sack of the city that killed Elia Martell and the two Targaryen children. Snow said the deaths of the royal children were far greater stains on Jaime's white cloak than the death of Aerys. "Your family will be there. Joffrey wishes"
"The septons have heard many things about Joffrey. He is faithless and not fit to be King."
Jaime knew that his oldest son was a piece of shit. But it surprised him that they spoke so openly about the subject at the Great Sept. If his Father knew, heads would roll and be placed on spikes outside the Red Keep. Who was spreading these stores?
"It is not just Joffrey. Tommen will be there, and your brothers, Willem and Martyn. Tyrek. Aunt Genna. Cleos and Tyon. Ser Daven. And me, your favorite cousin. Tyrion and Cersei…"
Lancel shrank into himself, like a little boy caught making trouble. He bowed his head and could not look Jaime in the eyes. "I cannot see Cersei. She asked me to…"
Jaime took hold of Lancel's shoulders with both hands. His cousin was so thin and haggard. The bones under the hair shirt would snap with a squeeze. And there were strange bumps. "What? What did Cersei ask you to do?"
"You must understand. I thought I loved her. I would have done anything for her."
"What did you do, Lancel?"
"I gave King Robert poisoned wine. Flasks that Cersei gave me. That was why he was gored to death by the boar. And then she invited me into her rooms. To reward me."
"You fucked her." Jaime kept his voice flat to hide his emotions. He suspected that the queen had invited others to bed when he had been captured for many moons by the Starks. That oaf of a Kettleblack who died at the royal sept - Jaime heard whispers that he was the Queen's lover. There were two other Kettleblack brothers. Did she fuck them all? His fingers tightened with anger. It would take little for them to break Lancel's neck. His cousin nodded with soft sob. Jaime stilled his fingers. He needed to know more.
"Who else did you tell, Lancel?"
"I confessed to the High Septon. I sought forgiveness from him."
"You are a fool, Lancel. An honest fool." Jaime relaxed and dropped his hands. He wondered if Lancel had made this confession in this exact spot. The high septon knew now that Cersei had murdered the former king. The Faith was opposed to Joffrey's rule. And the sparrows had no love for Lord Tywin and House Lannister after the ravaging of the Riverlands. This had a very good chance of going tits up.
"I am sorry, Jaime. I am a weak man, as all human flesh is weak. Pray with me, cousin. Pray with me for forgiveness from the Seven."
Jaime was about to tell him where to take his prayers when Lancel, frail body already shaking, tottered and fell. But it wasn't merely thirst and hunger. Jaime examined the skin about the neck. He had felt bumps under the homespun wool. On the neck, arms and chest, there were black bumps, swollen and warm. Jaime placed his hand on the pale brow. Lancel was burning up. He shoved the confessional open with a crash.
"Ser, you cannot." An ugly septa cried out at the broken door, the top hinge smashed to bits.
"Maester. Get me a maester, now."
"Who are you to give orders to the Faith?" a sparrow asked.
"I am Jaime Lannister. My cousin Lancel is very sick. Which means all of you may be sick too." He snarled. In the crowded sept, panic began to spread through all seven aisles.
As she looked down the balcony on Meereen, Daenerys wondered where everything had gone wrong. Half a dozen stepped pyramids lay below, in riotous colors from green to yellow to pink. Fifteen more stood in other directions, built to showcase the wealth and prestige of the noble houses that resided in each. She had taken as her home the Great Pyramid, located at the central plaza. The structure was immense, thirty three levels and eight hundred feet high. It dwarved every other pyramid and towered over Meereen. But her apartments were not the highest point in the city. That was the great bronze harpy at the apex. The stonecutters had managed to chop off the scorpion tail, sever the bat wings and bash in the fanged face but remnants of the stone statue, the torso and the arrogant eyes, remained. Even now, she, a dragon of Valyria, was lower than the Harpy of Ghis. Daenerys Targaryen did not like that.
She understood why her advisers recommended settling at the Great Pyramid. The immensely thick walls muffled the noise and kept out the heat. On the walls and along many internal passageways, rows of bronze harpy heads with open mouths were positioned, to squirt boiling oil and sand on attackers below. Every ruler of Meereen had handed down judgements from the Great Pyramid, forcing supplicants to walk hundreds of steps to plead their case. Of course, the nobles of Meereen did not walk. Even without slaves, the masters relied on paid palanquins, litters and sedan chairs, their legs too atrophied to take the stairs.
I do not belong here, Daenerys thought. The Great Pyramid was a man made mountain where worshippers came to seek out the gods. I am no god, I am a dragon. She wanted to break the wheel and usher in a better world for the people. But how could she do so, if she lived so far away? The priestesses declared that to achieve peace, Daenerys had to accept the traditions of Meereen - to wear the tokar, that strange garment beloved of the old blood of Slaver's Bay, to watch men die in the fighting pits, to marry a Ghiscari noble that could trace their lineage for five hundred years. The Green Grace declared that the Queen of Meereen must be a lady of Old Ghis. Old Ghis enslaved all they met under the banner of the harpy.
"Mysha." The dusky skin girl with warm gold eyes spoke with reverence
She turned with a smile. "What is it, Missandei? I hope it is not Hizdahr zo Loraq pleading his case again." The noble families had put forth Hizdahr as a possible husband. He was handsome but effete, a man with little energy and less passion.
"No, Mysha. A messenger has come from the graces, seeking an audience. Your knights are arguing whether it is some trick to harm you."
Daenerys grimaced. After the fall of Meereen, she had allowed both Ser Jorah Mormont and Ser Barristan, formerly Arstan Whitebeard, to remain in her service. They had both betrayed her, but they had also succeeded in freeing the slaves. She desperately needed capable followers. Her bloodriders and Grey Worm were exceedingly loyal but there were tasks beyond the Dothraki and Unsullied. "Very well. Lead the way."
Daenerys found her advisors in her audience chamber, a long high hall of rich purple marble. Unsullied spearmen stood with their back against the many pillars, and it was too early in the day to light the tall candles. She sat down on an unadorned ebony bench that replaced the gilded throne in the shape of a harpy. That had been small enough to completely destroy. "Do we know what this meeting is for? Have the priestesses come to tell me again of more suffering in the city? Or to lay another dead child at my feet?"
Skahaz mo Kandaq scowled. He was an ugly beetle-browed man with small eyes and a long hooked nose. The house of Kandaq had sworn loyalty to Daenerys, and showed it by shaving their heads, eschewing the ancient customs of the Ghiscari. "I do not believe those bones to have been a child at all. They could have been a sheep or a goat."
"It is possible, your grace. The Meereenese are sly and stubborn. I would not be surprised if your enemies are engaged in trickery." Jorah's words received a snort from Dario and Barristan.
"You should free your dragons." The Shavepate said bluntly. "The fear of being burnt will bring the other families in line."
Daenerys wanted nothing more than to free Rhaegal and Viserion. Dragon, her mightiest son, simply refused to be chained, even by his mother. But how could she claim to be merciful if her children were preying on the sons and daughters of goat herders? "Enough, Sers. What is happening in the city? Are the people still hungry?"
"Of course." Dario said. "There is no trade. Slaver's Bay produces only slaves. Bed slaves. Fighting Slaves. Eunuchs. Scribe slaves. Slaves for the fields. Selling human flesh yields more gold than any other trade good. The Masters never needed anything else for their riches."
"There is some copper in the mines. And wine." Jorah argued.
"The copper needs slaves to go into the tunnels. What freeman wants to die in a mine? And the wine is shit. It is as sour as your face." Dario replied.
The ebony doors opened. The three green graces walked through first, followed by priestesses in blue and white. They bore forth the body of a young boy, perhaps of five or six name days. Daenerys saw no burn marks on the tunic or any bites on the amber skin. She felt a sigh of relief that this was not Drogon's work.
"Your magnificence." A woman in blue spoke. "A child came to our temple five days hence. He had a cough and complained of both heat and cold. We bathed him in cool water and gave him food and drink. He developed black spots on his groin and blood in his excrement. He grew weaker and despite sleeping for many hours, was unable to rise. This morning, he passed."
Her advisers shrank back and the Unsullied guards raised their shields, as if warding off evil spirits. "What caused his death?" Daenerys asked, dreading the answer.
The Green Grace stepped forth. "The plague. The plague has come to Meereen."
Author's Notes
A human head weighs 10 to 11 pounds. A burnt one might weigh less but the late Walder Frey's treasure chest contains many heads and hands : Lord Walder, 19 sons, grandsons (Ryman) and even great grandsons. (Black Walder, Edwyn.) Forty heads would be quite heavy.
The Game of Thrones is renowned for family cruelty but there is a line in Storm of Swords that hints at some really bad stuff. When Tywin's dead body is stinking up the royal sept, Jaime has a heart to heart with Tommen. He says "The world is full of horrors, Tommen. You can fight them, or laugh at them, or look without seeing … go away inside." Tommen responds "I used to go away inside sometimes, when Joffy…." That might be typical physical or mental abuse. It could also be something far worse.
The cheese from the Arbor is modeled after Roquefort, made out of sheep's milk and considered by the French as "the cheese of kings." Roquefort uses a mold, similar to penicillin, to produce blue spots. The crumbly moist cheese has a lot of fat, and tastes creamy and sharp - just the sort of thing I imagine Olenna Tyrell eating.
Alyn Ambrose is a trivial figure, allied to the Tyrells. I have a feeling that something really awful will happen to him. He is very eager to prove himself as worthy of Elinor.
Baelish's great grandfather was a Braavosi sellsword in the service of House Corbray. The grandfather became a hedge knight, who took the Titan's head as a sigil. Baelish's father was a minor lord who befriended Hoster Tully in the War of the Ninepenny Kings in the Stepstones.
Balon's death was first related in the books by the captain of the Myraham to Robb and the Northmen. And yes, he says that crabs ate Balon's eyes. The Myraham brings Theon to the Iron Islands, and the captain escapes back to Seagard after Balon dies. To be fair to Mace, the news would reach Lannisport and Oldtown before Highgarden. Tyrion knows because his men watch the docks for Baelish.
"Littlefinger's gold is made from thin air, with a snap from his fingers." This is a Tyrion quote from a Storm of Swords. He has just been demoted to Master of Coin and his concerns about Littlefinger are ignored by the other Lannisters. I believe that Tywin is more aware about money than most nobles and would watch Baelish more carefully.
Sharp eyed readers will recall that Tycho Nestoris popped up in Chap 29 and 31 of Maester Wolf. Tywin Lannister may believe he is in control but the Iron Bank is not going away.
Roman currency debasement was a huge issue for the Empire. In the early days, the coinage was extremely pure - 95%. The denarius, the main coin, used 4.5 grams of silver. Nero was the first emperor to lower the amount, but still, he kept it at 90%. By the time of Marcus Aurelius, AD 150, that was down to 75%. A hundred years later, it completely collapsed with coins only 5% silver. That led to huge inflation and decimated trade. Currency is one of these things often ignored, but it was as critical to the fall of Rome as anything else.
Tywin's use of the goblet and the scales is similar to Archimedes determining whether a crown was gold or silver. Archimedes, a truly brilliant man, discovered the original technique.
The Lannisters are not fools. Tywin is clever and astute enough to understand how finances work. It is hinted in the books that the mines in Casterly Rock are dwindling. In the show, Tywin tells Cersei that the gold mines are empty when explaining the need to ally with the Tyrells.
The dwarf's penny is a great joke at Tyrion's expense. Olenna also has a good zinger on this in the books. GRRM has some really funny passages.
Doran's master plan is to bring the Targaryens back. The open question is how the North, given the deaths of Lord Rickard, Brandon and Lyanna, would react.
Jaime has a very similar conversation with Lancel in the books at Darry. This is where Lancel declares that he intends to give up Darry and his Frey wife to join the Warrior's Sons. He also confesses to adultery, which drives a huge wedge between Jaime and Cersei.
The Great Sept of Baelor would be one of the worst places for the plague to show up. In A Storm of Swords, Cersei says the plaza and gardens are full of hundreds and hundreds of sparrows. And these are poor, desperate men and women.
Missandei is a young girl of eleven in the book. She is not a woman like Nathalie Emmanuel. I am a fan of book Missandei - I like that she is clever, and that Daenerys should have listened to her over the supposedly more experienced advisors.
Book readers will recognize the final passage is based on the bloody flux scene in the Dance with Dragons. In that scene, Ezzara the healer tells Daenerys about the pale mare (dysentery).
The plague spreads by boat (trade) and densely populated areas (cities). Braavos is closer to King's Landing than Meereen but plagues are not confined to a single city.