Tywin
He would never sigh in annoyance. Never. That wasn't how Tywin Lannister operated. Such displays of emotion were for weaker men that weren't in control fo their emotions. Or, just as much, men that needed attention. Those were the worst kinds of people, that needed the world to notice how they were feeling, who longed for acknowledgement. Great men didn't need such things. They didn't need to roll their eyes or let out huffs or murmur to themselves. Those around them simply knew their moods and acted to either encourage or fix those emotions.
Tywin glanced about the Small Council room.
There were far too few 'great men' surrounding him.
Kevan sat patiently, needing not to express his annoyance at the delay even though he had so much to do. The royal wedding was fast approaching and with it came the need to keep the Goldcloaks in line so they, in turn, could keep the smallfolk in line. His brother had made it clear that the horror stories of Robert's time, of how Slynt and his lackies used the chaos of a tourney to shake down visitors and businesses for coin would not happen under his watch.
'That should have been proof enough that Renly was never fit to lead,' Tywin thought to himself. 'Everyone says that Renly is like Robert before he went to seed but it appears their laziness was something else they had in common.'
Kevan had the right of it… they were in a war, even if fighting had grown quiet and all sides had become entrenched. They were still fighting just not for territory. It was something Joffrey or Cersei didn't understand: the need to win over the smallfolk. Not their love… far too many people thought that they needed those that served under them to adore them. His father had made that mistake. That bred entitlement and weakened a lord. No, one needed the respect of the smallfolk, the loyalty of them, but not the love. They could love their lord but not because the high born had sought that out. Love was adoring all the choices they made. Respect was at times hating what was done but understanding that sometimes a ruler had to go against what you thought was right and accepting that. They needed that with King's Landing and all those that were coming to celebrate Joffrey and Maegery's wedding: the respect and loyalty of the smallfolk. And that would never happen if the Goldcloaks were abusing their power and making people scorn them for being little more than thugs with better uniforms.
'I am certainly not doing this because I enjoy the waste of coin and time,' Tywin thought as he looked over at Mace Tyrell who was talking quietly (for him) about plans for yet another dinner. The Fat Flower had been throwing gold around like mad every since he'd arrived in the city and if he'd been of any other house than his own he'd have been bankrupted well before this meeting. Tywin understood showing off one's wealth, for coin was a mark of power that the smallfolk easily understood, but there were times where Mace forgot that the wedding wasn't merely for their enjoyment. It was a play, a mummur's performance to display for all of Westeros the strength of the Iron Throne. He kept talking about things he enjoyed, that his family enjoyed, and Tywin just sat there and glowered slightly at the wastefulness of spending coin that would not be seen by others. Why have a private dinner only their families attended? The large wedding feast would be known to the minor lords but that? It was reckless and stupid and a waste of time.
'And winter will soon come… the Starks for all their faults have the right in that. Winter is coming and the Reach will suffer when they can grow nothing and the gold dries up.'
"The problem will be getting the spices for that sort of dish," Mace told Lord Baelish. "I talked with the chef but he said the only merchants that would have any on hand would charge too great of a price."
"The blockade Stannis placed around King's Landing may have been lifted but we are still feeling the effects," Baelist stated. "Many ships went elsewhere to sell their goods and we are still working to get the ships restocked and brought back here. And the Rose Road-"
Mace waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, this new so-called Vulture King. Just a bandit with delusions of grandeur, I'm sure. But if you could, please see about providing a budget increase to the kitchens. I want those spices here."
Baelish shot him a look of calm indifference tinged with just a hint of annoyance. Tywin knew that the man was getting rather tired of everyone coming to him begging for coin for this or that. But it was his own fault, for he had been the one to whine and complain when the deal had been brokered between the Tyrells and the Crown that it wasn't right for them to control the coin they were putting up for the wedding and the defense of the city. He'd wanted to have his part, to play a role in the wedding, so Tywin had allowed him such. If he now found the world to be an annoyance the Old Lion would be all too happy to dismiss him.
'Not that he wishes for that,' Tywin thought to himself. 'Not until he has more to show for his work.'
Tywin didn't trust Baelish… he didn't trust most people but he certainly didn't trust Baelish. The man had risen far higher than he ever should and Tywin knew the reason why. Jon Arryn might have been blind to it but that was because it hadn't been his house that Baelish went to in order to refill the coffers. People called Baelish a miracle worker when it came to finding coin for feasts and tourneys but in reality his days of turning around Gulltown were long past him. Much like most who had worked with Robert he too had gone to seed but in a different way. He managed his own wealth fine enough but Baelish had grown lazy, far too concerned with the game of thrones than doing his job. More often he was trading quips with Varys or trying to stir up false rumors and gossip than doing his job. It was just another sign of how badly King's Landing and the Small Council had fallen since his days in Aerys court.
He'd made his opinions known the Baelish quite recently. Not directly, of course… that wasn't how the game was played. One didn't ever say what they wanted to say to those around them. No, he had to direct this trusted person to talk to a less trust-worthy person because he knew they would whisper the tales to the right people. The message though had been received: the additions to the Small Council wouldn't be the last and Tywin was going to be making changes once the wedding was done.
'That scared him out of lethargy,' he thought to himself, taking his goblet and sipping a bit of wine. They all had different goals but nearly all of them who were part of the Small Council had one in common: a need for a legacy. Only Varys of them all might not care of what others said about him once he passed on and why would he? He had no family, no lands, no one to carry on his work. Thus the Master of Whispers lived only for the here and now, to prolong his life.
But everyone else? Kevan and Tywin wanted to see House Lannister rise to heights so great all the Targeryens that had ever come would hang their heads in shame at being unable to match them. The Tyrells wanted to break free of the stigma of their founders being stewards. Pycelle wanted to get back into his good graces so that when he passed he might be acknowledged by the family. Ser Balon wished to make for himself a legacy equal to Ser Barristan and all the lord commanders that had come before.
And Petyr Baelish wanted to be remembered. 'He has been given a grand opportunity and now he sees how close he has come to squandering it. Master of Coin… a lofty title until one remembers he only got it because of Jon Arryn. And even without that what honor is there to be the man that helped Robert put the crown in debt? The maesters will not write of him kindly and now he must scramble to make things right with what little time I let him have.'
He glanced over at Cersei who was looking at the others drinking their chilled summerwines before morosely sipping the water Tywin had commanded be placed in front of her; he would not have her get drunk if she wished to sit in on this meeting. And in that moment, as he looked at his greatest failure, he knew how Baelish felt.
'Cersei… with her brains and beauty she should have crafted an empire. She could have guided Robert to claim any of the Free Cities or become another Conciliator or revolutionize Westeros and bring it into another golden age. Instead she let the man become a fat drunken boar.' He nearly snorted. Nearly. 'And she herself has become useless. A scarred and lamed queen who spends her days drinking and sitting about while the Tyrells win the loyalty of the people and I rush to fix her mistakes.' He remembered Rhaegar, the prince Cersei had longed to make her own, and thought of the one aspect of him she'd failed to see. 'Rhaegar loved his mother and hated his father. Had Aerys died he'd have been another Daeron to Aerys' Aegon the Unworthy, doing away with all of Aerys' mistakes. With how my grandson behaves the same may very well become true of Joffrey and Maegery's son and heir.'
It was his greatest fear: that Joffrey's heir would renounce his father's name and sigil and it would be the Tyrells alone that would have favor with the Iron Throne while the Lannisters were once more banished to Casterly Rock to try again to claw their way to the top of Westeros' standing.
"I am sorry about the delay, Lord Jon," Varys said to Jon Stark, who had been forced to take a seat next to the powdered eunich. Tywin would have preferred having the young man closer to him, to be able to speak with him and find out more about him, but it would have been too unusual to have a mere advisor sit so close to the Hand of the King. "I suppose we aren't putting forth the best impression at the moment."
"I will admit that I'm used to handling things far quicker," Jon stated. "But Tony isn't a king. It would be unwise to judge him against his grace."
It was well spoken and polite and utterly false. Tywin knew there was no way someone like Jon Stark would be happy with being forced to wait for a meeting that should have begun nearly an hour ago to finally start. As a bastard he understood how precious time was, that as the seconds slipped by they could never be reclaimed again. But the boy had been taught well and knew how to speak… and when not to. Words had power and none more so than the unspoken ones.
The Heir of Iron Pointe continued to impress him. He'd arrived not early nor late to his first Small Council meeting. Too early and he'd have looked like an eager little bootlick. Too late and he'd have been disrespectful. But instead Lord Jon had arrived shortly after Mace had arrived; making, along with Tywin and Kevan, four. The others had drifted in after that and Jon had been polite to all, greeting Cersei with quiet respect and conversing lightly with the others when spoken to but otherwise choosing to remain silent and listen. And as the time had ticked by and Oberyn Martell and Joffrey had both been late in arriving he never shown any outward signs of annoyance at his time being wasted.
"Tell me, Jon," Mace said, looking across the table towards the youngest of their number, "why have you brought quill and parchment to this meeting? Do you seek to take Grand Maester Pycelle's duties from him."
"Hmmmpf," the old man said with a small huff, clearly annoyed at the idea that a former bastard might seek to outdo him… ignoring the fact that he himself was a bastard and unlike Jon had never been given the right to claim the family name. "Lord Tyrell is right. It is the duty of the Grand Maester to set down all we do in a Small Council meeting, not you who don't even hold an office."
"Of course," Jon said politely, never once allowing himself to be drawn into anger by the old man's dismissal or the Warden of the South's jape. "And I would never think of attempting to. However if his grace gives a command I would like to ensure that I record it, so it might be done."
"Afraid you won't remember?" Baelish prodded. "It is unusual for one so young to suffer issues of memory."
"My memory is quite good, Lord Baelish," Jon assured him. "It is others I don't trust."
"Whatever do you mean?" Mace asked.
"History is full of kings giving commands only for their desires to be ignored by others. The Dance, for example… all the Small Council knew what King Viserys I wished when it came to his heir but allowed themselves to be swayed by Ser Otto Hightower and his daughter."
Baelish chuckled at that. "You make it sound as if you don't trust us, Lord Jon."
"I don't know you," the young man admitted.
"That is rather treasonous," Cersei declared because of course his fool of a daughter would see it as a slight against her. She would these days be apt to declare a glass maker be killed for plotting against the crown because a mirror revealed just how plump she'd become. "Especially coming from you, a child of the traitorous North."
"I don't know about that, your grace," Varys stated. "Lord Jon has stated outright that he wishes to honor the king's wishes. One might say it would be others that are traitors for not wanting such a record."
"The Grand Maester sets the record," Mace reminded them again, even though none of them actually needed to be reminded.
Pycelle shuffled around to stare at Jon, insulted by the insinuation that he wasn't doing his job and Tywin wondered if the old man ever got tired of playing the weak fool. He knew he'd never be able to stand it, which is why he was in need of Tommen to be properly molded into his heir. He wouldn't be like Walder Frey, an ancient skeleton of a man that still demanded all bow and scrape to him as he put in his appearances, never realizing how many people truly were laughing and mocking him. No… the wise lords were the ones that raised strong and cunning sons that could step in and rule in their father's name even without the title. Allowing their fathers to slip back, to run their lands from the comfort of their solars while their sons met with the smallfolk and the bannermen.
'What could have been,' Tywin thought in frustration. He'd told Jaime that this would be his last war and he'd meant it. The Rebellion should have been his last war, damn it all! He was getting old… he could command armies but he knew in battle he would be a hindrance against younger and stronger men. Jaime should have been ruling the Westerlands by now, the Young Lion standing proudly upon the rock, drawing the eye of the smallfolk while Tywin worked in the shadows to ensure that the lords understand the dangers of thinking they could take advantage of him. Or if only Tyrion hadn't been born that ugly little monster, killing Joanna as he squirmed his way into existence… he could see now that the dwarf had a cunning mind and if only he had a body to match he would have been a fine replacement for Jaime.
But no… one had foolishly allowed storybooks to delude him into giving away his birthright and the other would never be able to change the fact that his size, ugliness, and earlier whoring and drinking had ruined all chances of him being a respected Lord of the Rock.
Pycelle had been blathering about… something… Tywin had honestly stopped listening when it was clear the old man was just trying to ramble on until everyone got tired of the conversation, only for Jon to raise his hand, asking for silence.
"Grand Maester," Jon said, "if you are tasked with setting down the record of all that happens during his grace's reign… why are you not recording things right now?" Jon gestured at the empty spot next to Pycelle.
"I only set down records when court is in session. For the meetings of the Small Council it is later that I detail what was said, in the privacy of my chamber."
"But isn't there a risk of forgetting something?" Jon asked.
"I forget nothing!" Pycelle said sternly but the looks around the table showed that people either didn't believe him (proving that the doddering old man routine he put on had functioned too well) or knew that he did remember but questioned if he was willing to lie to their faces about what would he do when alone with no one to hold him accountable.
"Then the grand maester is more confident than I," Jon said simply. "I prefer to have set down his grace's commands, so that there might be no chance I forget."
"You are not showing us your best, Jon," Cersei said dismissively. "You come here with arms loaded with quill and parchment like you are a novice at the Citadel and then insult the Grand Maester who has served reigns that have lasted longer than you have lived?"
"Utter foolishness," Pycelle complained. "That is what it is-"
"I agree with him."
The Grand Maester's stammers and tangled words came to a halt and he slowly turned towards Tywin who stared him do, daring him to try and attack him. Cersei looked at her father with wide eyes, showing she couldn't even hide her emotions from them. She might as well have had a minstrel sing out in the streets that she was startled.
"When I served under Aerys there were times when an adviser or an office holder would argue that this topic or that hadn't been covered when I knew it had. I always set it right but you never stepped in to assist, Grand Maester… and I wonder how much of that arguing helped drive Aerys towards truly becoming The Mad King?" He gestured towards Jon. "What harm is there in someone wishing to serve their king to the fullest of their abilities?"
The Grand Maester blustered at that. "Well… none at all… but… the thing of it is…"
Kevan, as a good second, spoke up then. "Jiffsun, the commander of the Gold Cloaks, has introduced to his ranks the idea of carrying small booklets of parchment and… graphic?"
"Graphite," Tywin told him.
"Graphite sticks so they might right down the details of any crime they come across. He said that the mind is sharpest the moment an event happens and time chips away at memory like water against a shoreline. Already it is proving valuable as his Goldcloaks can set down all the information about a criminal and later have it kept safe in their headquarters… a repeat offender can not argue mistaken identity."
"I must add my own voice to this matter," Varys stated. "Do you know who are the most valuable of spies? Those that can read and write. Rumor whispered is well enough but one recorded? Set down? Those who would freely speak of a rumor they know is false will think twice when knowing that they must produce something physical if they wish to receive my favor."
"Are we goldcloaks now?" Baelish japed. "If so I dare say the criminals of King's Landing aren't trembling in fear."
"Only because they know you so well, Lord Baelish," Varys said. "They might think you come for an afternoon visit."
The Master of Coin smiled kindly at that. "We all have unusual company we keep. The tales I could tell about you, Lord Varys."
"Oh, by all means, do tell," Varys stated. "We have the time it seems… share your stories and I will share mine."
"My lord," Jon said politely, "I didn't come here to cause an argument. If it frightens you I will not bring parchment again."
'Clever,' Tywin thought to himself. 'Very clever. A show of kindness while an insult and a challenge to them.' He thought once more of what might have been… Rhaegar's son on the throne, Myrcella wed to him… oh, the things he could do with a man such as this! It would be as he had hoped it would have been with Rhaegar and Cersei. 'It will happen though… just another generation.' It would finally solidify his legacy and serve as a final slap to the face of Aerys. Tywin would marry Jon and Natasha's eldest daughter to Joffrey's heir and the Lion and the Dragon would become one. And with the viper and the rose and the stag all represented too…
"Let me assure you Lord Varys I have nothing to hide nor am I troubled by Lord Jon and his poor memory," Baelish stated. "I merely think it a waste of time to perform acts like the goldcloaks do."
"And why not?" the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell, lazily asked as he swept into the room at long last. "The Small Council and the Goldcloaks are rather the same, are they not? Both were created to serve the Realm but both now only serve themselves. Be it a thug dressed up in fine clothing or a lord who preaches the virtues of his Seven Pointed Star while breaking all of them…" He waved his hand dismissively, his statement trailing off. "Though," he suddenly added, "I suppose there is one difference: when a goldcloak robs you blind he at least admits he is doing it rather than dressing it up as being for the good of some ugly throne." He walked over and patted Jon on the shoulders. "Hello."
"Hello Oberyn," Jon said politely but with a slight tint to his cheeks that showed he was embarrassed by his goodfather. "You have kept us all waiting."
"That is Dorne though, isn't it? Always keeping one waiting. When the Conqueror came to face us we refused to show at the stated hour. The kings that came after him said they ruled over Seven Kingdoms… but Dorne did not join when the rest of you did. We waited. We chose our moment. Even now we wait… you think us so fiery!" He clenched his fists together and waved them in front of his chest as he circled the table. "So impatient. Rushing in. But we just want you to believe that. We are slow… steady. The viper seems quick during the bite but you miss the hours spent waiting for the right moment when the fangs should dip into weak flesh. Your marriage, Jon… the same. I could have rushed things and tried to force the contract onto one of your siblings." He looked at Cersei as he spoke. "Tyrstane is happy with Myrcella though so perhaps we should all be glad I waited and chose Natasha for you." He reached out and tapped first Pycelle, then Baelish, then Swann on the top of their heads. "Even with love making. How many of you rush to spill your seed into your lover's belly? Never realizing the true thrill is to make her squirm and squeal and gush!"
Mace looked like he'd sat upon an ant hill, the Grand Maester was becoming flush, and Cersei seemed… far too interested in the conversation and Tywin couldn't decide if he should keep those two apart or bring them together and see if the alliance might be made all the stronger.
"Except you, Jon. Natasha has spoken of your skill to Ellaria. A mighty beast with the will of a general." The young man ducked his head at that, embarrassed by the praise.
"Amusing, Prince Oberyn," Tywin said, gesturing at the seat next to Swann. But Oberyn grabbed the chair and brought it over to Jon's side of the table, forcing Varys and the boy to scoot over so Oberyn might sit next to them. "But now that we are all gathered we can begin."
"Joffrey isn't here," Cersei reminded him and he fought the urge to 'thank' her for telling him the obvious. "We must wait for his arrival."
"So I didn't make you wait then," Oberyn said, pouring himself a glass of wine before slouching in his chair, goblet dangling dangerously from his fingers "I could have brought Ellaria to another orgasm had I known I had more time."
"There is a woman present!" Mace complained. "Can you not mind your tongue?"
"When it comes to women and my tongue I never 'mind' it when they are around," Oberyn said and even Tywin nearly groaned at how Mace had stumbled his way right into that jape.
"There is no need to speak of such… legends… in front of the queen."
"Legends?" Oberyn asked, arching an eyebrow. "I pity every woman whose husband has spoken as such about the most amazing of sensations." Tywin looked around the table and found half of the men gathered looking at Oberyn as if he had just claimed that he could make Valyrian Steel by pouring a chamber pot into a blacksmith's forge while the other half were looking at the others and wondering just how dense they could be. "And I pity our queen if Robert was just as dense."
"He was," she said with a dry smirk and Tywin was beginning to rank this day as one of the worst he'd ever lived through.
"What are you all doing here?" Joffrey demanded, storming into the room and quickly helping said day move closer to the top of the list. "My kingdom is in the middle of a war and you sit here throwing a party?" The others quickly rose but Joffrey continued to rant. "What are you hiding? Why are you wasting your time here drinking the hours away instead of seeing to my kingdom?"
Cersei quickly moved to comfort the boy king. "Sweetie, we were-"
"Do not address me as that!" Joffrey hissed. "I am not a baby I am the king! And you must show the king the respect he deserves."
'Then she should be calling you other words then,' Tywin thought to himself even has he agreed that Cersei truly must get it through her head that her children were growing up and she had to stop coddling them. 'Of course coddling them is what caused these problems to begin with. Joffrey has been spoiled, Tommen is far too soft, and Myrcella from what I'm told is ignorant to the world around her. They should have been preparing for the roles they needed to serve for the family years ago and yet she hasn't done anything about it.'
"This is a meeting of the Small Council, your grace," Tywin said politely. "To welcome our newest members."
"Why… why was I not informed of this?" Joffrey said, his features twisting in his rage into a petulant glare that only made him seem more childish. "I am the king! I should know when we are having such meetings!" He whipped his head about wildly. "Who kept this from me? Admit it now! Who has been hiding things from your king!" Cersei once more made a move to comfort him only for Joffrey to violently shrug off her hand.
'Seeing enemies that aren't there,' Tywin thought to himself, remembering another king who'd behaved in a similar manner… and remembering what had happened to him. "I informed you yesterday at supper, your grace," Tywin reminded him.
"You most certainly did not, grandfather," Joffrey snapped only to seem to remember just WHO he was talking to and his rage cooled, if slightly. "I would remember if you had."
"He did, your grace," Ser Balon stated, stiff as a board and keeping his voice level. "You asked him why we needed to have this meeting when you'd planned to spend the morning using your newest crossbow."
Tywin could see the exact moment Joffrey realized that yes, they had told him about the meeting. A flurry of emotions crossed his features before he settled once more on rage. "You should have come and found me when I did not arrive! Did you not grow concerned that your king was not here?"
"Of course we did, your grace-" Mace began.
"It doesn't matter, let us get this over with." Joffrey made for his seat and Tywin shot a look at Cersei; his idiot daughter actually smiled at him like she was PROUD of the display her wretched little spawn had put on. Robert had, at the very least, chosen to simply not attend the Small Council meetings. It was a sad day when his grandson could be seen as lower than the drunk boar Robert had become.
Once the king was settled and all were seated Tywin turned to Pycelle. "Is there any business from the last meeting that we must cover?"
"I… I'm sorry, Lord Tywin, I don't-"
"It is a simple question, Grand Maester: is there any business from the last meeting of the Small Council that must be addressed?"
"I… I do not remember-" He blinked and Tywin merely raised an eyebrow at that. "I… can go retrieve my records on the last meeting-"
"Another delay?" Joffrey complained, as if he hadn't been the reason for the first one. "Why were the records not brought with you? I do not have time to wait for you to shuffle to your chambers!"
"His grace would be as old as you by the time you return," Baelish quipped, Joffrey smirking at that.
"It doesn't matter, Grand Maester," Tywin said dismissively. "Perhaps next time… and if you forget Jon will have his own notes." He looked at the Heir of Iron Pointe who sat ready to write down any important information.
"Ah yes, the bastard," Joffrey said, looking at Jon. "I suppose we should begin with you. Tell me how we might attack Winterfell and kill your traitorous father."
Tywin looked at Cersei who was looking absolutely gleeful at that idea and then Kevan just to ensure to himself that he wasn't the last sane Lannister that lived. No… Kevan was grimacing at the king's lack of tact just as much as Tywin himself was.
"There are a few secret paths into Winterfell," Jon said to his credit, not reacting at all to Joffrey's tasteless and blunt demands. "But they are small. No army could get through them only a few well trained men. But they are also known to the Starks and they should have guards posted, keeping watch."
"They watch even their secret paths?" Mace asked. "Do they have that many guards?"
Jon though shook his head. "There are only a few and were created purely to allow the Starks of old to escape the castle should they face a siege so they might meet their foes in open battle."
Varys spoke up. "You must remember, Lord Tyrell, that Winterfell isn't the Highgarden or the Red Keep." He gestured lazily with his hand. "There are many pathways hidden throughout these crimson walls, forgotten by all but the dead."
"I want them found," Joffrey declared. "A king should know every bit of his castle. And I will not have rats or worse scurrying about and threatening me. My Uncle Stannis came far too close to entering here and I will not have another beat him!"
"A wise idea," Cersei said sweetly.
"Of course it is," Joffrey said with a scoff. "I want it done in a week."
It was a wise idea. One that Tywin had once suggested to Aerys. But the depth of the man's paranoia had finally begun to reveal itself and he'd seen the suggestion as Tywin trying to find a way to escape out of the Red Keep after pulling off some mad scheme. Tywin had tried to argue that he wished to know of any threats to the crown, so that another Duskendale wouldn't happen but in the Red Keep this time, but those words had been poorly chosen and the mention of Aerys' capture had sent the man into a black rage. After that Tywin had abandoned such ideas though from what he'd learned from Pycelle Aerys had later on commissioned Varys to do exactly that… though how much the Spider knew of the secrets of the Red Keep remained with him and only him, for he would forever claim that no such command was given.
So yes, Joffrey wanting the same was a wise idea. One that Tywin would normally have approved of and given quiet appreciation of. It was the timing though that was utterly mad.
"Your grace," Pycelle said, clearing his throat several times before continuing, "this is a task that would be best handled by a few men. And that would take time. To start from the very top of the great towers all the way to the deepest cellars, carefully examining each room, exploring any found passage and recording it carefully-"
"I don't care how it's done," Joffrey complained, "I just want it done. By men I can trust… or ones that won't be missed." He smirked at that, rather pleased with that dark thought. "Maegor had the right of it… he killed all the builders how laid the stone for the Red Keep so that he and he alone would know its secrets."
"And then he found it near impossible to build the Dragonpit," Kevan reminded the boy. "No builders would ever serve again."
"I don't need builders!" Joffrey complained, completely missing the point. "I need someone to discover the secrets of the Red Keep! I am not building new ones…" He paused, considering that. "Or perhaps…"
"Your grace," Baelish said thankfully, stopping the little blond fool before he actually suggested that on top of a war and a wedding they spend good coin tearing down parts of the Red Keep purely so the boy could play in secret halls of his own design. "I believe we have gotten off topic." Baelish glanced at Jon. "You asked your advisor how to attack Winterfell and I notice he hasn't answered."
"Then you notice little, Lord Baelish," Jon said politely. "I merely paused so his grace might speak. I am not rude."
"I would never claim that," Baelish said with a small innocent smile. "None would ever claim such a thing about you. So polite. Much like your father-"
"You clearly didn't know my father if you thought him polite," Jon said, cutting the Master of Coin off before he could make the situation worse; already Tywin could see both Joffrey and Cersei's anger at the mention of Eddard Stark growing on their features. 'I hold no love for the man either but I can hear his name without flying into a rage,' Tywin thought to himself. "Perhaps Lord Baelish should be tasked with the documentation of the Red Keep, your grace."
"I… have much to do," Baelish stated. "Weddings cost much-"
"Pardon. I had heard you were a magician when it came to coin. I must have heard wrong. If you need more time to manage things…" He trailed off and Tywin could practically hear the younger man counting down. '3…2…1…'
Joffrey leaned forward, his hair shifting to reveal the scars on his far and the ruins of what had once been his ear. "Is this true, Lord Baelish? Have you lied to me when you claimed you had the wedding under control?"
"Of… of course not, your grace. I am managing well-"
"Then why not take on the task your king has set out for you?" Varys prodded, always ready to try and stick a verbal dagger into his rival's back. "Unless you see it as beneath you?"
"Certainly not," Baelish said with a smile, turning to Joffrey. "I would be honored to take on the task."
But it was now the Viper's turn to strike. "Though perhaps this is too large of a task for you. Your experience with keeps and castles is a single tower on a rocky shore. Nothing like the Red Keep. We wouldn't want you to become overwhelmed, especially when you are struggling to handle all that is happening with the wedding."
"I… am not struggling-" Baelish began, his good mood leaving him as cracks began to appear in his kind and friendly manner.
"Now see here, Lord Baelish!" Mace declared, poking his finger against the table. "Highgarden has given much wealth to the Iron Throne to see that this wedding will be such an event it will rank greater than even the Golden Wedding! And now I hear you are squandering our coin?"
"House Lannister has done the same," Cersei stated, deciding she'd been quiet for too long and thus, showing her 'wisdom' decided to throw her lot in with Mace Tyrell of all people. "This is troubling news and so soon to the date."
Baelish now resembled a fawn who had been cornered by hunters. "I… that is… there is no squandering or waste-"
Tywin watched as Jon remained utterly silent, allowing others to tear into his foe. He had little doubt that Oberyn knew exactly what the young man was doing and had joined in to support his daughter's husband. But he wondered if any of the others realized the showing that Jon was giving them. How he was making his mark on the Small Council. Tywin had seen plenty of men shift and jockey for position amongst lords, seeking to make an impression that would last. Rhaegar's son had not only deflected the King's rage but he had taken a foe and with only a few words left him reeling as he was attacked from all sides.
'What might have been,' he thought, seeing Jon Stark with silver hair and the green eyes of House Lannister. THIS is what his legacy should have been… Cersei and Rhaegar's son, the crowned Prince. Not Joffrey who clearly had inherited his father's stupidity and been guided by a bitter and incompetent woman. The dynasty that could have been created had Aerys not been so blind! Damn him and his petty jealousy! Cersei and Rhaegar together… a man like Jon Stark king would have brought about a new age to Westeros, Tywin was sure of that! Instead of this… instead of a Westeros that was falling apart at the seams, threatening to come completely torn. It was maddening!
"But," Joffrey said once he'd clearly grown tired of making Baelish twist in the wind, "my Master of Coin-" and oh how did Joffrey make sure to emphasize the word 'my', "-does have a point, bastard: you have yet to answer my question."
"Apologizes, your grace. Lord Baelish distracted us all. I will continue." Tywin arched an eyebrow at that comment.
'Careful there… you have made him an enemy already no need to go further.'
"Winterfell's greatest weakness is also its greatest strength. It was built upon an open field, not upon a mountain or a shoreline like most castles."
"Yes, because the Starks are fools," Cersei said, rolling her eyes. "They found the first spot of land they could and settled upon it."
Kevan though shook his head. "The Starks are many things but fools when it came to Winterfell? No. They chose their keep's location because of the enemy they must fight more than any other: Winter." Cersei looked at her uncle and he sighed. "The heated springs that lay below it. They provide warmth and water during the winter, something even the Red Keep struggle to deal with." Joffrey looked puzzled at that but Cersei clearly remembered what King's Landing had been like during the final years of the last winter they'd all seen. The Red Keep was at times like an underground tomb with the biting winds worming their way through every crack and making a mockery of all attempts to warm the great lair of the last dragons. Tywin had even been forced to abandoned the Tower of the Hand during the worst months of that winter before the False Spring, moving into the holdfast proper because it was far too costly to try and heat up the Tower.
"And our solders fear hot water?" Joffrey asked with a scoff. "They are weak then if a tepid liquid makes them turn tail."
"No, your grace," Jon stated. "I was referring to the location. The weakness is obvious: it is very easy to lay siege on Winterfell. It can be completely surrounded and all hopes of escape cut off."
Joffrey sat up straight at that. "Then why have we not done that?" He turned to Tywin and glared at him. "Why did you waste time at Riverrun when you could so easily take the Northern barbarians home?"
Tywin met the glare right back. "I believe Lord Jon was preparing to point out how very hard such a thing is."
"But he just said it was easy to lay siege!"
Jon though shook his head. "I stated that if one were to lay siege they could easily cut off the Starks."
"Stop speaking in riddles and answer Joff's question," Cersei snapped in annoyance. "We have better things to do."
Tywin could tell that several in the room were biting their tongue.
"A siege against Winterfell is possible but it must be total. With King's Landing or Storm's End one most cut off the roads and make it impossible to use the sea. That problem is eliminated with Winterfell. But there in also lies the problem: you must have the men to siege it." He moved his wine goblet forward a bit and began to run his finger around it. "All sides must be surrounded. A complete and utter circle. If you leave a single break then the forces will be able to charge through. And if one battalion is lax in guarding their patch a land a rider in the middle of the night could easily slip through."
"You thought long about this," Kevan stated.
"Have you not thought about your own home and how you would defend it?" Jon challenged politely and after a moment Kevan nodded, accepting his point. All great lords did that… it was how one improved the defenses of their home. After his wiping out of the Reynes and the Tarbecks and his elevation to Warden of the West he had commanded that the captain of his guard and several other trusted men go through Casterly Rock and determine any weakness, any threat… and eliminate them. He'd staged attacks in his solar against Lannisport, acting as all manner of enemies that might attack the heart of his domain. Reachers. Dornish. Northmen. Had Aerys not brought him to be Hand of the King he would have gone with the Iron Born next and how that would have changed things…
But he looked around the room and was disappointed to see how many of those around him were clearly befuddled by such a suggestion. Joffrey and Cersei especially looked at Jon like he was utterly mad for 'wasting' his time in such a manner.
'After Stannis nearly took the city they should have made preventing such an attack from ever happening again their first priority. Even ROBERT was wise enough to look into moving where guards could gather to counter invaders who snuck in under the flag of friendship. But Tyrion's chain is left to rust in the Blackwater and nothing has been done about the beaches that lay just before the walls.' He resisted the urge to sneer. 'Instead they waste time with tourneys and feasts! As if Stannis was their only threat and with him beaten back once all is secure!'
"So?" Joffrey said with a scoff. "Do I not have the largest army in Westeros?"
"Of course you do, your grace!" Mace declared proudly, puffing out his chest. "40,000 Reachmen, all strong and more importantly fresh! We could easily take Winterfell for you."
'Yes, encourage him,' Tywin thought snidely. 'You couldn't take Storm's End even if you had wanted too.'
Jon though didn't bring up the Lord of Highgarden's failed attempt to take Robert's childhood home. "The problem, my lords, is the lay of the land. Winterfell sits on a great plain, with only the Wolfswood to its North. Any army coming from the Crownlands would come from the South or the East… perhaps the West if you sailed from Casterly Rock. But the fact remains you would be marching on plains… and the Starks have watchful eyes."
"No army would be able to arrive in time to bolster Winterfell before we reached them!" Mace declared proudly and Tywin wondered if he actually did want to take Winterfell or if he had some other, unknown reason, to keep bringing up such things to a King that was eager to fight so long as he wasn't the one getting his hands bloodied. "Reached. Them." Mace chuckled at his… Tywin wasn't for sure if it was a joke or not. It was hard to tell with the likes of Mace Tyrell.
"You would find it hard to reach Winterfell," Jon though said simply. "The Starks make use of small encampments, manned by loyal soldiers. Should a threat march on them warnings can easily be given… signal fires burned, for example. The warning would arrive at Winterfell long before your army arrived and reinforcements summoned from the bannermen."
"And yet the Iron Born managed to do so, easily enough," Baelish pointed out. "They were able to not only arrive at Winterfell without warning before take its gates from what I hear." He smiled at that and gave a lazy shrug. "Perhaps your watchmen were sleeping that day."
Jon though didn't even try and argue against Baelish's point. Instead he quietly nodded in acceptance to that point. "You're right. The Iron Born sailed along the shore and then came south from the Wolfswood… the smartest way to come at Winterfell. The trees are thick, providing plenty of cover."
"The same tactic they used when they attacked your home, was it not?" Baelish asked. "Interesting, isn't it, that you claim to have such knowledge of taking castles yet the two homes you've known have fallen to the Iron Born… the lowest of the low when it comes to marauders." He looked towards them all, as if seeking platitudes, and while many nodded and grinned (for the Small Council was always quick to shift with the winds and turn on one they had been championing moments earlier) he received no respect or praise from Tywin or Kevan. Baelish's smile dipped just a touch as he remembered that the worst attack to come against Lannisport in two centuries had come from Iron Born raiders.
"You dare to lecture me about holding castles when you let those filthy pirates attack two of your homes?" Joffrey demanded. "Why should I listen to a word you say, 'adviser', when you are such a failure?"
"Your grace, I feel I must point out that Lord Jon has not been at Winterfell for a long time, so playing the blame of that assault on him is rather unfair," Pycelle said, gasping for air at the end of the long sentence; it was a bit too much in Tywin's opinion.
"And might I point out that the Iron Born did not hold either for long… or truly at all in the case of Iron Pointe?" Varys stated.
"Because of the Iron Man," Joffrey growled. "That traitor came and assisted you… why?" Joffrey reached up and began to rub where his ear had once been, forever a reminder of the Iron Man's attack on him. The wound was bad but might not have been as terrible as it was now had Joffrey simply stopped aggravating it. The constant picking and rubbing of it had deepened the scar, puckering the flesh around the area so that where once simply growing out his hair would have hidden the wound now the boy would need a great beard in order to hide his disfigurement.
"I honestly don't know, your grace," Jon admitted. "Lord Antony and I were just as startled when he showed up to protect Iron Pointe."
"He is an odd one," Mace stated. "Attacked Lord Oaker… the man deserved it, of course, horrible creature, but why something so dramatic when he could have come to me with all he knew?"
Tywin couldn't decide if that was stupid or intelligent. That was the problem with Mace Tyrell: he played the part so well of jolly and slightly oblivious lord that it was hard to tell if it truly was an act. Tywin still leaned towards the man acting as the fool to lull his enemies into a false sense of security; after all, the Reach was only beaten by the Riverlands when it came to infighting between its lord and his bannermen (what happened when lessers were given such a high standing). Such a land wouldn't have become so rich, powerful, and stable if their lord was a fool.
He ignored the tiny part of him, long buried, that whispered that his father had been a fool and the Westerlands had prospered. That was different.
"Lord Antony made the Iron Man his armor, did he not?" Cersei pressed. "Perhaps a sense of loyalty?"
Lord Jon though shook his head. "The Iron Man has also been spotted in the Reach, the Riverlands, and the Crownlands. Antony received that commission from a man from Essos."
"Yes," Varys said with a slight smile. "Rickard Francu. Discovered dead just past the Golden Tooth just a few months ago. Long decayed, if I remember correctly. Clearly a go between for Lord Antony and the Iron Man."
"So you can provide me with nothing," Joffrey said in annoyance. "No way to defeat your traitorous family? To end this war that THEY started?"
"Every castle has its strength and weakness, your grace," Jon informed him.
Cersei scoffed at that. "Not all. The Rock has never been taken. Lannisport, perhaps, but the Rock is the Rock and shall never be invaded."
"Yes," Oberyn said lazily, "it would take a CLEVER one sneak into Casterly Rock."
Tywin grit his teeth at that as Cersei pressed her lips together, cheeks coloring. Leave it to his empty headed fool of a child to forget that their House had been FOUNDED by someone invading the Rock and driving off the Casterlys!
"Then why are we discussing any of this if there is nothing we can do?" Joffrey complained, for once proving to have a bit of sense in his head even if it was for all the wrong reasons. "I have things to do and don't have time to waste conversing about castles."
"Of course, your grace," Tywin said, just glad that he could move the Small Council onto more important topics. "Grand Maester, as there is nothing from our last meeting we need to cover-" Another dig at the old man, to remind him that Tywin hadn't forgotten about him and his hording of knowledge and information, "-let us move on to the business of the day. Ser Balon?"
The meeting took on a more familiar tone. Ser Balon informed them on his task to refill the Kingsguard, reporting on some of the potential new additions. He wasn't Ser Barristan or Ser Gerold Hightower. He would never receive the fame and love that Ser Duncan the Tall had. But he was competent and that was all Tywin needed at the moment. Ser Balon had stated they needed to fill two spots on the Kingsguard and that there members represented the Stormlands, Crownlands, Vale, and Reach; Ser Loras had been made a member just a week earlier. He had suggested rewarding loyalty to the crown first and foremost rather than attempting to use the Knights of the White Sword as pieces to broker alliances. Kevan had argued that a position in the Kingsguard was a powerful tool that shouldn't be removed from the bargaining table.
"I will not have those that raised swords against Joffrey tasked with protecting him," Cersei said coolly. "We must reward our allies, not our enemies."
"The only reason I'd invite a Stark or a Tully to King's Landing would be to take their head!" Joffrey declared. He slammed his fist against the table but where a large and powerful man would have come off as forceful the thin and reedy boy that Joffrey was hardly made his goblet wiggle. Tywin made a quiet mental note to find out why Joffrey had stopped training with the master of arms… a king should know how to swing a sword. Jaehaerys Targaryen was remembered as a cunning man… but history also spoke of him fighting against the Vulture King and slaying Stinger after he defiled his daughter. He had trained every day with his Kingsguard so he might be a warrior. Joffrey spent his days shooting at cats.
"The North must not be considered," Mace said firmly. "Not a single house has sided with the Crown… to reward one that turned their cloak now would make for a poor choice."
"There are few in Dorne who would be interested in joining," Oberyn told them with a shrug. "Those that might are heirs and the rest remember well what happened to my Uncle Lewyn."
Tywin silently agreed Dorne should be left out; Myrcella was a greater gift.
In the end it was decided that one position should be filled by a Westerman; Tywin himself would provide names there. The other would go to someone who proved their valor, no matter their House, to be determined within half a year.
Lord Baelish had gone next and assured them all again that the crown could easily afford the wedding. There were some issues though with the Iron Bank still seeking reassurances of repaying the debts owed but Lord Antony should reach Braavos soon and hopefully would settle the matter. Which was good… after the wedding Tywin was work to curtail the wasteful tourneys and feasts so that the Seven Kingdoms could begin to rebuild again. Robert had wanted to hold such thigns and Tywin had allowed him to do so (because even if he hadn't been on the Small Council it had been his wealth that had fueled Robert's excess and that had made him the true power of Westeros) for he had assumed that when Joffrey was of age he would take control of the Kingdom and allow Robert to amble off while he ruled. Many sons ruled for their fathers, after all. And Cersei had filled her letters with how grand and wonderful Joffrey was.
But now see the boy squirm like he'd been punished by his tutors, hating that he was doing anything other than indulging in the most basic of violent and petty urges… it was clear that Tywin had to take a firmer hand. And that meant making sure there was enough wealth to last ANOTHER generation, until Joffrey's son was old enough to rule.
Kevan's report was brief and to the point, as was expected. The Gold Cloaks did their jobs, there was a small increase of crime as was to be expected by the wedding that was coming and Commander Jiffsun expected more but it would be handled.
"Lord Varys?" Tywin asked.
"Oh, just a few small matters," the Master of Whispers said with a polite smile. "Many whispers, of course. People are always talking, always saying this thing and that to the wrong person… or the right one, depending on your point of view." He tittered at that.
"A certain point of view," Oberyn commented. "You sound like the folk hero Ben the One as he stood upon his high ground."
Varys merely smiled at that. "One must sift through the rumors, to determine what-"
"Yes, yes, you are so clever," Joffrey said with a scoff and a wave of his hand. "Get one with it."
The Master of Whispers merely bowed his head before continuing. "First my search for answers concerning the... misunderstanding… that led to the battle at the Blue Oyster."
"You mean who stole parchment bearing my name so they might trick Lannister men into attacking the heir of one of my most trusted Bannermen and the Prince of Dorne?" Tywin asked coldly. It still aggravated him to no end that someone had managed to so easily manipulate those that wore the red and gold of his house; he'd had the captains of those men dismissed and new ones put in place with the warning that they must ensure no such mistakes ever happened again.
"Of course," Varys was quick to correct. "I'm afraid much of the trail has gone cold. With those that received the command dead there aren't many now who can answer questions… or who are willing to speak of it even when they think they are alone."
"If only you hadn't been so quick to kill men loyal to the throne," Cersei said snidely to Jon.
"The same could be said of you and Stannis' men," Oberyn shot back. "Had you merely asked them nicely not to storm the Capital and perhaps avoid raping and pillaging the innocents they might have provided you information that would have allowed you to end the war." He shrugged slowly, deliberately. "Of course they did learn from your example…"
Tywin shot a look at Varys, silently commanding him to continue.
"Speaking of Stannis Baratheon all reports remain the same: he and his army have simply vanished."
Tywin frowned at that. While the men that had fought under the banner of the burning stag had taken heavy losses they hadn't been completely wiped out and Stannis had still held enough soldiers to cause trouble for crown. Yet Stannis had completely disappeared, along with his army. He'd commanded for him to be found but nothing had been discovered. He'd even considered sending someone to…
It didn't matter.
"And what of that traitor Renly?" Mace demanded. "The one that nearly sold us out to the Iron Born!"
"And married your daughter?" Cersei asked lazily.
"The marriage was merely arranged," Mace said quickly. "We broke it off the moment we learned of his grand lie."
'Or at least that is what everyone will say if pressed,' Tywin thought to himself. But unlike Cersei he wouldn't press the Tyrells on that fact; the marriage alliance was needed desperately and he was willing to overlook such things. 'Though not forget,' he mentally added. 'The day will come when they aren't needed. When the kingdom is secured and the Tyrells will return to what they once were: stewards to the true kings.'
Varys merely smiled at them all. "He remains in Essos, though I admit the tales I hear of him are… conflicting. Such is the case in that land. I warned Aerys and I warned Robert and now I warn you, your grace, to be very careful when it comes to what comes out of the Free Cities. They will tell a thousand stories long before the truth will be whispered."
"And what are they whispering?" Kevan asked.
"Many things. Some claim that Renly was spotted in Pentos, running afoul of one of the Magisters. Another says he has journeyed to Lys to drown his sorrow at his failure in the pleasures of the flesh."
"Most likely with many of the… manly persuasion?" Baelish stated, staring right at Mace who merely furrowed his brow in confusion. Cersei and Joffrey chuckled at that but were the only ones who saw the humor in that and soon only Joffrey was laughing at the jest as it became clear that the mood in the room wasn't interested in such vulgar talk.
"I thought Renly was spotted in Braavos, in the company of some cult leader," Kevan said.
"Yet another one of the tales. I am trying to sift through the chaff to find the wheat but in this case the task is harder than one might have normally expected." He paused, a slight smile forming on his soft, pudgy face. "But his allies in the Iron Born… they are the ones for whom the whispers are far more solid."
"Last I heard the squids had grown legs and clamored to shore," Joffrey said with a chuckle, clearly thinking himself utterly brilliant for coming up with that jape. "Attacking your precious Winterfell and Iron Pointe."
"And repelled by both," Varys stated. "And that is where things grow interesting. The four Greyjoy brothers have been… busy, to say the least. Euron Greyjoy's ship, the Silence, was spotted in the cold Northern waters, going in the same direction of Balon Greyjoy's daughter Asha and her vessel."
"Unlikely Balon would command the Crowseye to bring his child back," Tywin pointed out. "He exiled him after all."
"Very true, my lord, and Victorian remains commander of the Iron Fleet."
"What little there is," Mace said with a grin. But Tywin wasn't as amused or confident and Vary's next words proved him right.
"Not so little anymore. Be it jealousy over what Asha and her lover Vanko did to Winterfell, Iron Pointe, and to a lesser extent Lannisport… or merely coincidence on the part of the Lord Reaper, Balon Greyjoy had revealed that he has rebuilt the Iron Fleet. He has declared himself King of the Iron Islands once more."
Tywin felt for just a moment a cold hand grip his heart. He remembered the bells of Lannisport ringing, the screams of the smallfolk, and the sight of his fleet burning in the bay as those damned pirates took his people to make into thralls and saltwives. Even his father, the weak man that he was, had not suffered such a blow as Tywin had with the Sacking of Lannisport. It had been the utter impossible come true, made real.
But just as quickly as that sense of dread filled him he forced it down. He had become lax then, confident that he was untouchable as the King's goodfather. But he had sworn while looking over the burn out shells of the Lannister Fleet that he would never again allow such a thing to happen. It was why Antony Stark had been given Iron Pointe. It was why he had sought out all the best sailors on the seas. Why he had commanded the Golden Tooth to be more heavily guarded and why he'd reacted so quickly when Catelyn Stark had taken Tyrion.
Never. Again.
"No!" Joffrey roared and for once Tywin didn't begrudge him his outburst. "I am the King! Of the Iron Islands, of the Crownlands, of the West and the East and the South and the North!" He whipped around and jabbed a finger at Jon Stark. "Who am I?"
He answered at once, "King Joffrey, first of his name, King of the Seven Kingdoms."
The boy then forced all around the table to pay homage to him in the same way, Tywin's brief acceptance of the boy's outburst dying at once.
"My lords, the Reach has not been unaware of the threat of the Iron Born," Mace said with a tone that was… a touch darker than one might have expected of him, considering his reputation. "I have commanded the Redwynes to prepare their fleet, same with the Hightowers. I will crush the Iron Born. Bread and salt? There will be none of the former and the latter will be used on their shores so that nothing will ever grow again." It was a daring pledge… but considering barely anything grew on the Iron Islands to begin with an easy one to make.
"Perhaps," Kevan said slowly, looking at his brother who gave a small nod; he knew what Kevan was going to say and agreed it was time to reveal the seeds of that plot. "But you can not be expected to lead the forces, my lord. After all, your place is here."
"Well… yes, of course," Mace said quickly. "My daughter-"
Kevan cut him off. "Which is why I have already taken leave to talk with The Lord of the Tide."
"Monford Velaryon?" Cersei complained. "He stood with Stannis!"
"And burned with the rest of his forces," Kevan stated.
"Then his son? Monterys? He is but a boy!" Cersei complained, ignoring the fact that her own son was a boy and yet also a king.
Varys was the one that spoke up. "Monterys took ill and passed on and the title has passed to Monford's cousin. A skilled sailor, known for his dark moods yes but also his skill in battle and his command of all those around them. It is said that he seems to have been born under the sea rather than upon it."
Kevan nodded. "Yes. He has agreed to become the new commander of the Royal Fleet, directly under you, Lord Mace."
"And what is this man's name?" Cersei demanded.
"Namor."
~MC~MC~MC~
OMAKE
Robert stretched, getting up from the table where his family sat breaking their fast. "Well, time to get to the Small Council." But within his mind Robert thought, 'Little do they know I'm ducking out early to take the Arbor Gold Brewery tour.' He smiled at Cersei. "Roll in at 9, finish at 5. That's the plan!" Within his head he chuckled. 'Heheh, they don't suspect a thing.' He paused. 'Well off to the Small Council!' He glanced to the side and smirked. "Then to get shitfaced at the Brewery."
Everyone just stared at him and it slowly dawned on Robert he'd said what he thought and thought what he'd said.
'Uh oh, did I think that or say that?' Out loud he said, "I need to think of a lie fast!"
"Robert," Cersei said, annoyed, "are you going to the Arbor Gold Brewery?"
"AAAAAAAAAAA!" he screamed and ran off.
