"Might I beg a moment of your time, Your Grace?" Margaery Tyrell questioned, bending the knee.
"What can I do for you?" Matthew responded, keeping the anger off his face.
"Might we speak in private?" Margaery eyed the Kingsguard.
"Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of them." Matthew allowed no room for argument.
"I. . . wish to apologize for Renly's actions, Your Grace," Margaery's eyes watered. "We thought he would be the best King and with the false rumors about you, and Stannis' actions. . ."
"I'm not buying it, so cut the tears." Matthew scoffed, seeing through the act. "And you're going to tell me you and the rest of your family were too stupid to see through Renly's veneer? Perhaps the subtleties of politics are lost on me, but that does seem rather convenient. Renly sits the Iron Throne as a puppet while your family are the real powers in the Seven Kingdom."
"Your Grace, surely that is an exaggeration. While Highgarden does possess the strongest army in the Seven Kingdoms even now, we could not hope to control all of Westeros."
"Yes, an army that was shattered on the Blackwater." Matthew spotted the implied threat. "Were you victorious, you would be Queen, not a guest."
"You have shown us all great hospitality, Your Grace," Margaery bowed again. "And I would make a good Queen for you. . . in more ways than one."
"I have women every week trying to become a mistress, with her family thinking I'll grant them favors. Got to do better than that."
"Your Grace, if I may be so bold, we would make far better allies than enemies. My lord father still wishes to see his legacy through, and my grandmother. . ."
"As I mentioned before, this is something you'll have to earn. Allegiances once changed can change again."
"Surely you cannot still hold a grudge, Your Grace? We have forgiven the Crown's debt and the ransoms are being paid. You still possess other enemies. Robb Stark has yet to lose a battle."
"He hasn't faced me."
"More confidence than expected, given his reputation."
"It wouldn't be the first time I've faced overwhelming odds. However, certain advisors are concerned about the message a marriage would send, given how recently we were at war."
"It would tell the Seven Kingdoms that a peaceful and prosperous reign is possible." Margaery lowered her gown a little. Matthew glanced but did nothing.
"How old are you?"
"Nineteen, Your Grace. I know some might consider me an old maid, but. . ."
"It's perfectly fine." Older than the book Margaery, but younger than the television show. "Not all of us can be married so young. However, you aren't the only one who wishes to be Queen. Sansa Stark has proposed it on numerous occasions to promote peace between our respective houses. Arienne Martell is another, as I have been speaking with her father about the possibility." He'd gotten no response, but Margaery didn't need to know that.
"The Martells?" Margaery's eyes widened. "You would be willing to marry such a loose woman? Tales of her exploits have reached Highgarden and beyond."
"It matters less than is commonly believed. I have it on good authority that many women at court were not maids when they married. And Dorne held their ground against Aegon the Conqueror, a feat no one else can claim."
"Perhaps we can invite my father to King's Landing, as an offer of sincerity. I do not have the authority to negotiate on his behalf."
"Very well, send a raven and give me a response." Matthew considered it likely such a response would be as delayed as well. "I would appreciate a prompt reply, My Lady."
"Thank you for your time, Your Grace." Margaery nodded and departed.
"You truly mean to side with the Dornish, Your Grace?" Trant spoke with disgust.
"I'll do what it takes to put an end to this conflict." Matthew responded, his mind going through possibilities. No matter what, however, he had to prevent a Stark-Tyrell alliance. If Robb joined forces with the Reach, they were all dead.
In that case, I should make the alliance and worry about the consequences as they come. Even with Clegane and Lorch receiving justice, Matthew had his doubts about the tactic working. Westeros was a house of cards, one that would crush him should he make a single wrong move.
Last he'd heard, Stark had made no moves toward King's Landing since seizing Harrenhal, with the Tully and Lannister forces butchering each other in the Westerlands. Matthew knew the claims that attacks from tribes in the Vale prevented a large deployment of knights, but was still unsure how true the information was.
He marched through the Red Keep, intending for everyone at court to notice his presence. Matthew studied each lord, lady, and servant for their responses. Winning over everyone was hopeless, though he no longer expected imminent treason. Still best not to let my guard down, however.
Matthew stood at the drawbridge, looking down the see the long trench being constructed to remove waste from King's Landing to Blackwater Bay. Another couple weeks and it should be done. Prisoners knew better than to disobey him and the noble prisoners he still held always had the threat of physical labor hanging over them.
"Your Grace, you have done quite well in rebuilding the city," Balon complimented.
"Thank you, although my Uncle inflicted significant damage," Matthew acknowledged the compliment. "I expect it'll be several years before I can improve things the way they need."
Matthew turned away, marching to the Master of Coin's office. Tyrion had urgently wanted to speak to him, though he refused to disclose specifics. Perhaps he's finally found something. I was expecting you to arrive hours ago, Your Grace," Tyrion commented. Bronn stood at his side, staring at Matthew with an expression impossible to decipher.
"Matters of state; you said there was something important you need to discuss."
"Yes, my payment," Bronn interjected. Barristan and Balon moved their hands to their swords. "I've been quite patient with you so far."
"You will refer to the King as 'Your Grace', cutthroat," Trant warned. Bronn looked at him with amusement.
Right, his payment. In truth, Matthew had overlooked Bronn, as he was ultimately not responsible for killing Renly. "I think we can arrange something," Matthew agreed. "Another one thousand gold dragons and a castle in the Crownlands recently vacated. I'm sure you'll find it to your liking."
"You promised me an additional ten thousand gold dragons."
"If you did the job, which you did not. Consider this my thanks for the risk you took in my service. I'm being more than generous with you." If Bronn continued to push things. . . well, there were always more sellswords.
"I have important news, so compare your cocks another time," Tyrion interjected. Bronn and Matthew both let out a single chuckle, Barristan scowling at his crudeness.
"Out with it, Tyrion." Matthew demanded. Tyrion urged them inside.
"We've rooted out the worst of the corruption, though not all the embezzled funds have been found. Most would not have had the patience to follow the trail that far, or the intelligence."
"So I'm not going to have to worry about half the crown's income being stolen?" Matthew knew it wouldn't prevent anything, but it was an improvement.
"Not as such. The money he borrowed from various sources, like my father and the Iron Bank, he lent out in turn to others. Low interest rates, so he could get people to accept them. Lords, ladies, peasants, even some from Essos. . . at first I thought he was investing in people who couldn't hope to repay. Then I realized this was intentional."
"How did no one catch him?" Littlefinger's plan was starting to sound quite familiar.
"Robert spent great sums of money on tourneys and feasts, mostly too drunk to care what was happening in his court. He never invested it in anything worthwhile, and my father is liable for much of it."
This could end up collapsing our economy. "Some would need to be bailed out, or have debts forgiven, which isn't likely. The Iron Bank does not forgive."
"So in other words, we're fucked." Bronn spoke what everyone in the room was thinking.
"Not if we're careful. If the Iron Bank looks to collect all the money immediately, we couldn't pay it, but no one would be stupid enough to stop debt repayment in the middle of a war. Times will be tough, but we'll muddle through. Many corrupt people have already been removed."
"This information never leaves the room," Matthew ordered. "Is that understood?" he looked around at Tyrion, Bronn, and the Kingsguard. All of them gave a vow of silence. So I'm in the middle of a war and we're on the verge of an economic collapse. And here I thought things were beginning to look up. . . "We keep this quiet, end the war, and pray to the Gods the consequences won't be a disaster."
"Good luck," Tyrion waved a hand mockingly, returning to his duties. Matthew noticed he lacked his usual quips and sarcastic remarks, but he had bigger issues to worry about.
What the hell was Littlefinger hoping to accomplish? Matthew would have asked him if he wasn't a burnt corpse. Was he intending to become King of Westeros once everyone was ruined and he could save the day? Or was this a petty grudge because Catelyn Stark didn't love him back? Maybe both, knowing Baelish. Matthew thought back to the information he could remember, where Baelish had control of the Vale. Both of the above sounded plausible to him.
"Well, we've still got a war to win." Matthew spoke to his guards. "Best to focus on one disaster at a time."
XXXXXXXXXX
None of these fools would dare be so arrogant if I had a sword in my hands. Jaime Lannister thought, smirking at his captors mocking his position. He'd found his smiles made almost anyone who watched him nervous, keeping them off-balance.
Not that it would do him any good if the Northmen did decide to kill him. Karstark had been demanding Jaime's head from the very beginning, Robb being forced to separate Karstark's men from him, in case the worst happened.
It was hardly my fault. Robb Stark was the one I wanted to kill. His sons were merely in the way. Jaime felt no regret over cutting him down. They would happily have done the same to him.
He made himself as comfortable as the heavy chains would allow. Jaime looked over at the overflowing bucket full of excrement, which the Northmen hadn't bothered to empty. No doubt hoping he'd catch a disease and die, which they believed couldn't be blamed on them.
Jaime's thoughts wandered back to Bran, still amazed the boy lived despite the odds. He'd been certain such a fall would end his life, but apparently the Stark blood was stronger than he suspected.
I wanted an hour alone with Cersei and he had to interfere with that! Jaime watched his guards, knowing he could kill them all with a sword, armor or no. All the same, though Jaime would never admit it to anyone, he did feel regret over what he had done to Bran.
That didn't mean he wouldn't do it again under the same circumstances. What alternative had the boy given him? No lad his age was capable of keeping his mouth shut for long.
Jaime shuddered at what would have happened once Bran spoke. Sooner or later, Robert would have gotten word of it. He, Cersei, and their children would have all been butchered in the King's rage. However unpleasant it was, Jaime considered it necessary. For all his honor, I expect Stark would have done the same in my position.
It still amazed Jaime the boy actually thought he could become King of the Seven Kingdoms. Stark had yet to lose a battle, at least if the boasting he had been forced to listen to was true. But the North was poor and remote, and even if Stark did manage to take the city, it would eat him alive.
Every boy his age thinks he's invincible. With little to do, save for sitting in a pile of hay and squalor, Jaime was given plenty of time to think. Of course, taunting the guards and Catelyn did provide a small medium of entertainment, but even that become supremely boring.
Jaime felt a clomp of dirt hit him in the forehead, to the laughter of his captors. "Try and fuck your sister now!" One of them taunted.
"Very brave to taunt a man in chains," Jaime returned. "Once I'm back on the field, I'll be sure to kill you first." The man froze up, while the other two drew their swords. Jaime broke out laughing at seeing them so frightened.
If truth be told, however, Jaime did not expect to leave his captivity alive. Oh, the Starks were honorable, but many of their bannermen weren't. He'd listened to numerous boasts about the smallfolk they'd killed and the women they raped. A few reminded Jaime of the mountain's men.
Most inside Harrenhal were either sleeping or celebrating their victories, based on the sound Jaime could hear. They were confident King's Landing would soon belong to him, which was a possibility he couldn't discount. Jaime realized he'd made the mistake of his life underestimating the Stark boy.
A pair of gasps caught Jaime's attention, seeing two of his guards collapse onto the ground. The third had time to draw his sword before dying. He blinked several times, unsure if he was going mad.
Half a dozen men moved toward his cage, breaking the lock and pushing the gate open. "My Lord, your father sent us to rescue you." One of them announced. In the center was Cleos Frey, showing more courage than Jaime would have expected from his half-Frey cousin.
Removing his chains took more work, but they swiftly managed. Jaime pushed to his feet, stumbling slightly as his legs got used to the sensation again. "My lord, we need to move quickly," one of them insisted. "If we delay, Stark will surely kill us all."
Cleos handed Jaime a sword. Once his hand wrapped around the hilt, he felt almost like his old self again. With little time to spare, Jaime rushed off, although not without spitting on one of his captor's corpses first.
Hundreds of torches could be seen throughout Harrenhal, but the massive ruin was too large to make lighting the area practical. So long as we are quiet, we will be able to succeed. Guards at the entrance could pose a problem, but with a sword, Jaime felt more confident than ever.
They stayed in the shadows, keeping silent footsteps. Jaime expected to be overwhelmed by Northmen at any time, but only a handful were seen. However, he had no time to ponder this puzzle, not when freedom was so near. Jaime kept his sword ready, forcing himself to hold back from wrecking vengeance on those who tormented him.
He heard no commotion, informing him that so far, the escape was clean. "We will be free soon, cousin." Cleos promised.
"Hopefully I will have an opportunity to deliver my vengeance." Fighting didn't frighten Jaime; dying while powerless to fight back did. King's Landing was perhaps a fortnight's ride away on horseback.
I'll finally see Cersei again. Returning to his sister was the only thing convincing Jaime to go on during his darkest moments. His breath quickened as they approached the gate. Many gaps existed in Harrenhal, but in the darkness, Jaime could not hope to locate them. The longer they lingered, the greater chance of being caught and killed.
"I trust there are horses waiting for us," Jaime whispered as loud as he dared. Without mounts, the attempt would be pointless.
"There are two men waiting near the river," Cleos informed.
Jaime paused at the sound of footsteps, gesturing for everyone to hide in the shadows. He could kill any individual guard, or even a small group of them, but the alarm would be raised.
Several Northmen laughed and joked to themselves, barely able to stand up. Four of them carried jugs of ale, with a fifth drinking directly from the pitcher. "We're going to be in King's Landing soon!" One shouted, clinking his jug with a comrade.
"No thanks to you; you've yet to kill anyone!" A second joked. The man cursed, throwing his ale onto the ground.
"I'm ten times the fighter you'll ever be!" He screamed, barreling into him. A third man fell alongside them, joining the fray. Those still standing watched, stumbling and making half-hearted attempts to end the fight. Seizing the chance, Jaime creeped away, giving them an ironic thanks for providing such a useful distraction. If there was any commotion, they would get the blame for it.
From what Jaime could remember, their party was close to the gates. You'd better come through for us on those mounts. He couldn't believe his father trusted Cleos for this task.
Half a dozen men waited at the gates, with those above looking out on the battlements. "Best to move quickly." It would require split-second timing for a clean escape.
One turned around and shouted: "Lannister!" he was swiftly silenced by a crossbow bolt, but the message was sent. The others drew their sword, shouting and charging.
Jaime looked upon the three foes he was forced to fight. All were armored with chain mail and helmets, fresh and healthy. In contrast, he had spent nearly a year in chains, lacking even the most basic protection.
All three fell to his blade within eleven seconds. A member of his party was slain, although Jaime shoved his sword into the man's neck before he could do anything else.
"Move! Move!" Cleos screamed, their cover now blown. Jaime summoned all his strength, sprinting out of Harrenhal, praying they would have a sufficient head start. Jaime's legs screamed at such swift movement, having been restrained for so long. In the dark, he could barely see the outline of the man in front of him, the light from Harrenhal becoming distant.
Screams and calls to action echoed from the castle ruin. Adrenaline overriding his protesting muscles, Jaime spurred the others to action. Cleos looked ready to collapse, something Jaime allowed a private scoff at.
"How are we supposed to find the horses in the dark?" One of his rescuers worried.
"You didn't consider that before?" The Starks weren't far behind and Jaime doubted they would be inclined toward mercy. His first escape attempt failed; a second would lead to everyone's execution. In the darkness, Jaime had only the barest idea where he was going. All he knew was that their escape had to be swift.
He dared a look behind him, spotting torches in the forest. Despite himself, Jaime laughed in relief. If his captors were carrying torches, they'd be visible from hundreds of meters away.
They smashed through the underbrush and trees, knowing better than to travel on any main road. "I'm certain it's this way." Cleos pointed in a random direction.
Knowing him, he's likely to lead me back to the Starks. Jaime scoffed. Having no other option, however, he followed. The blind leading the blind. His legs demanded rest, feeling ready to capsize, yet they could not afford to stop.
"We need to move quietly," Jaime instructed, grabbing the other's shoulders to make sure they understood. "No talking, not even whispering." They nodded, or at least it looked like they did.
The crescent moon provided only minimal light, hampering the efforts of friend and foe alike. Jaime allowed himself to be led to a nearby river, able to do nothing but hope his rescuers could find the horses in the dark.
"Shit!" Cleos turned around, spotting a handful of Northmen. Jaime braced himself for battle were they spotted, intending to take as many with him as he could.
Why aren't they attacking us? Jaime suddenly realized. Ten stood less than twenty feet away from his party, making them visible. He stuck his hand out, gesturing for the others to stay back.
One by one, the Northmen walked away, Jaime's eyes blinking in confusion. "By the Gods. . ." Had it been just his imagination?
"Come on, we don't have much time." Cleos responded, his face free of fear that Jaime anticipated at their presence.
There's something going on here. All of this feels a bit too easy. Jaime could not push the thought from his brain even once the horses were spotted.
"Thank the Gods; I'd thought they caught you," the man responsible for watching the horses proclaimed. "Long as we move quickly, they won't catch us." Out of all Jaime's rescuers, he was the only man wearing Lannister colors.
"I promise, you'll be well rewarded for your actions." Jaime gave a smile, nodding in respect to his courage. He climbed onto his horse without assistance, familiar instincts kicking in. Jaime refused to depart until all his men were aboard horses. On horseback, they would have to stay on the trails, at least until light. Now, however, Stark would have little chance of recapturing him.
I underestimated you once, Stark. Jaime mused in anticipation of their next battle. It won't be a mistake I'll make a second time.
XXXXXXXXXX
My description of Littlefinger's economic maneuvering is my guess about what he's done in the books, which has been merely hinted out. Tyrion was one of the few to realize something deeper was going on; that he figured it out shortly before Joffrey's death would provide an additional motivation for Baelish.