Stark: We'll be getting back to Winterfell start of ASOS. For now I've just got a couple of things to wrap up in the south here. In terms of the updates I'm going to try and be more consistent with them, but I do have work to balance with it, so please bear with me.
The denizens of Joffrey's court had striven to outdo each other today. Jalabhar Xho was all in feathers, a plumage so fantastic and extravagant that he seemed like to take flight. The High Septon"s crystal crown fired rainbows through the air every time he moved his head. At the council table, His dear sister shimmered in a cloth-of-gold gown slashed in burgundy velvet, while beside her Varys fussed and simpered in a lilac brocade. Moon Boy and the knight turned fool Ser Dontos wore new suits of motley, clean as a spring morning. Even fat Lady Tanda and her daughters looked pretty in matching gowns of turquoise silk, and sickly Lord Gyles was coughing into a square of scarlet silk trimmed with golden lace. King Joffrey sat above them all, amongst the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne. He was in crimson samite, his black mantle studded with rubies, on his head his heavy golden crown.
As a lord and member of the Council, he was permitted to sit above and look over it all from beside the throne. Those on the ground were less fortunate, jostling and squirming to get to the front where they could see or be seen. But all of that stopped, the crowd rooting themselves to the ground they had been able to seize when the trumpets heralded the arrival of the lion of the Rock, Lord Tywin Lannister.
Loren was glad he had his moustache to hide his snarling teeth from the room. His father rode in on the most magnificent armour in the west; all burnished red steel, inlaid with golden scrollwork and ornamentation. His rondels were sunbursts, the roaring lion that crowned his helm had ruby eyes, and a lioness on each shoulder fastened a cloth-of-gold cloak so long and heavy that it draped the hindquarters of his charger. Even the horse's armour was gilded, and his bardings were shimmering crimson silk emblazoned with the lion of Lannister.
He loved the sight when his father dismounted before the Iron Throne, kneeling before the throne. In truth it was a sign of supplication to Joffrey, a sign and nothing more, but still, the sight of his father on his knee was one he seared into his mind.
Then came the moment of hate. Joffrey descended from the throne, brought Lord Tywin to his feet, and proclaimed him Saviour of the City for all to see. He took his clenched fist from the table. Joff them turned to him. The boy had been coached about what to say and do this day, but Loren suspected that he would be enjoying this bit. "Lord Loren, your efforts are appreciated and were admirable, but our enemies fled before the mere rumour of your father, and his experience far outstrips your own. I would ask him to assume governance of the realm until I come of age, and to do so as my Regent and Hand of the King."
He got to his feet aware of all the eyes of the court on him. "If it is as his grace wishes, I will surrender my position." He slipped the badge of office from his doublet and gave it over to the king.
Lord Tywin's squires removed his armour from him and Joff pinned the badge of office on his grandfather, who solemnly accepted the duty of Hand and Regent "until his grace does come of age to take the reins of governance yourself." His horse was taken away and Loren surrendered the seat of the Hand, letting his father take his place. It was a good thing that Joff had handed the badge over, Loren might have driven it through his father's eye.
Lord Tywin wasted no time, for it was he who gave the signal for the proceedings to continue.
Next came the "heroes" of the Blackwater, but Loren looked over them all, not one of them had fought upon the walls, not one of them had overturned the rams or sallied from the gates. They were heralded by trumpets and fanfares, and the crowd cheered like cutthroats at a cockfight. Heralds called out his deeds and triumphs as fuel for the fires of celebration. He swallowed the bile in his throat.
Pride of place was given to Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, a once-powerful man gone to fat, yet still handsome. His sons followed him in; Ser Loras and his older brother Ser Garlan the Gallant. The three dressed alike, in green velvet trimmed with sable.
The king descended the throne once more to greet them, a great honor. He fastened about the throat of each a chain of roses wrought in soft yellow gold, from which hung a golden disc with the lion of Lannister picked out in rubies. "The roses support the lion, as the might of Highgarden supports the realm," proclaimed Joffrey. "If there is any boon you would ask of me, ask and it shall be yours."
"Your Grace," said Ser Loras, "I beg the honour of serving in your Kingsguard, to defend you against your enemies."
Joff brought him to his feet and kissed him on the cheek. "I would be honoured, good ser, however, I at present find myself surrounded by seven white swords, the holy number, I have no opening for you."
"If I may, your grace," Lord Tywin said. "Sandor Clegane distinguished himself in the battle. As did Ser Gregor, however, Ser Gregor has no heir of his body. To keep his brother in your personal guard would be to doom a house that has honoured and served you all your life. Release him from your vows to save that house and I am certain that Ser Loras would make an adequate replacement."
The Hound parroted the same words in his own tongue, and so Joff was happy to grant his cloak to Loras. So dismissing Selmy made no sense, father, well now white cloaks are interchangeable for any excuse.
Lord Tyrell bowed his head. "There is no greater pleasure than to serve the King's Grace. If I was deemed worthy to join your royal council, you would find none more loyal or true."
"Your Grace," Garlan said when the king approached him, "I have a maiden sister, Margaery, the delight of our House. She was wed to Renly Baratheon, as you know, but Lord Renly went to war before the marriage could be consummated, so she remains innocent. Margaery has heard tales of your wisdom, courage, and chivalry, and has come to love you from afar. I beseech you to send for her, to take her hand in marriage, and to wed your House to mine for all time."
King Joffrey made a show of looking surprised. "Ser Garlan, your sister's beauty is famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms, but I am promised to another. A king must keep his word."
Cersei got to her feet in a rustle of skirts. "Your Grace, in the judgment of your small council, it would be neither proper nor wise for you to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne even now. Sire, your councilors beg you, for the good of your realm, set Sansa Stark aside. The Lady Margaery will make you a far more suitable queen."
Like a pack of trained dogs, the lords and ladies in the hall began to shout their pleasure. "Margaery," they called. "Give us Margaery!" and "No traitor queens! Tyrell! Tyrell!" Joffrey raised a hand. "I would like to heed the wishes of my people, Mother, but I took a holy vow." The High Septon stepped forward. "Your Grace, the gods hold bethrothal solemn, but your father, King Robert of blessed memory, made this pact before the Starks of Winterfell had revealed their falseness. Their crimes against the realm have freed you from any promise you might have made. So far as the Faith is concerned, there is no valid marriage contract twixt you and Sansa Stark."
Lord Tywin was looking at his grandson. Joff gave him a sullen glance, shifted his feet, and helped Ser Garlan Tyrell to rise. "The gods are good. I am free to heed my heart. I will wed your sweet sister, and gladly, ser." He kissed Ser Garlan on a bearded cheek as the cheers rose all around them.
He sat back. Heroes on horseback got everything, those who fought on brick and mud didn't get a passing notice.
But of course, no all those who had fought in the relief host had been Tyrells, there were more heroes on horseback to be honoured. Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor, marched down the length of the hall flanked by his sons Horror and Slobber, the former limping from a wound taken in the battle, he was the one Loren had released. Slobber hadn't even been in the fight, he'd been in the Red Keep. He gets honoured alongside his father, yet here I am, sitting like an obedient pup. After them followed Lord Mathis Rowan in a snowy doublet with a great tree worked upon the breast in gold thread; Lord Alester Florent, who had rallied the Reachmen centre and broken the Baratheon rearguard on the southern bank of the river and personally killed Ser Bryan Fossoway ;Lord Randyll Tarly, lean and balding, a greatsword across his back in a jeweled scabbard like those favoured by men of the company. He had thought of the company often, if they had been the relief army, they would have recognised his achievements. After Tarly came his uncle Ser Kevan Lannister; Ser Addam Marbrand, coppery hair streaming to his shoulders; the great western lords Lydden, Crakehall, and Brax.
Some common born men, squires and sellswords who had distinguished themselves came forward. At the front was Bronn, who had defended the north wall ably against the Baratheon assault there. For his defiance of the enemy, he was granted and knighthood and the hand of the heiress to a castle in the Reach, all but a death sentence for the old man currently there. Two common born soldiers who saved their masters and fought well were granted a measure of wealth, and their sons taken as squires and pages at Casterly Rock and Highgarden respectively. Lord Commander Bywater was granted the lordship of Darry, who's trueborn line had perished in the fighting in the Riverlands. A man who deserved what he had earned, finally.
Then came the second and third sons and distant cousins. A rough split from the Reach and Westerlands who were praised for their bravery in the battle, but apart from gifts of minor castles and those still held by the enemy to the north or south, there was nothing to offer but praise, a mask for how shallow the great victory was. Too many enemies had escaped for their lands to be easily distributed. And to do so now would only ensure that they would continue to fight for Lord Stannis or Robb Stark, even giving out Darry was risky, it would need to be claimed from a man who has known no defeat thus far.
But now came the greatest surprise and strangest rewards to be given out yet. The heralds trumpeted the arrival of Tyrion Lannister. He waddled into the throne room in the richest and most vibrant clothes Loren had ever seen his brother wear he was smiling and, though there was no cheering, there was no jeering either. Behind him, in sharp contrast, came his tribesmen, looking bemusedly at the nobles on either side.
"Your Grace," Ser Kevan said, having sat beside Lord Tywin at the table. "As you have been informed, your Uncle Tyrion's negotiations on your behalf helped to bind the houses of Lannister and Tyrell behind your reign. Then he and his... associates led the charge north of the city, helping to drive the traitor Stannis" men from the walls." Tyrion knelt before Joffrey.
Ser Kevan turned to the crowd back to his feet. "It is the wish of the King's Grace that his loyal councillor Tyrion Lannister be rewarded for faithful service to crown and realm. Be it known that Lord Tyrion is granted the castle of Harrenhal with all its attendant lands and incomes, there to make his seat and rule henceforth as Lord Paramount of the Trident. Tyrion Lannister and his sons and grandsons shall hold and enjoy these honours until the end of time, and all the lords of the Trident shall do him homage as their rightful liege. The King's Hand and the small council consent."
Harrenhal is the seat of Kings indeed father. Loren mused, thinking back to the last conversation with his father before coming to the city. But it was quite the move. After all, if they won against the Starks, House Lannister's holdings would double, enough to rival the Tyrells, even if there were two different branches, a Lannister was a Lannister.
"Now his grace wishes to honour his uncle, Lord Loren, who held the walls against Lord Stannis' assaults by both land and sea."
And so here it was, the moment where he, the true saviour of the city, was to be dressed down and given his symbolic reward and none of the appropriate respect.
"It is the wish of his grace to acknowledge your skills in battle, and recognise that you have been removed from the position of Hand of the King through no fault of your own. And so it is, on the advice of his noble grandfather, the Hand of the King Tywin Lannister, your lord father, that he is naming you the King's Marshall."
An empty title, and one that custom dictated he now ask about"Forgive me, uncle, I must confess my ignorance to that title." Other than a collar to slip around my neck, a bright flower to pin on my chest as you pet my head and claim my victory
This time his father spoke up. "You shall have command of the King's armies in the field. You shall have command over all the ships and soldiers and banners of those sworn to Joffrey and in the name of your office, you shall command them against the traitors infesting the realm."
If his father had been closer Loren would have choked the life from him. And so I'm rewarded. You take my victory father, and in reward I am given a leash! Command in name, but subject to the Hand of the King in truth. He could see it. Curse you father, have I not proved my worth next to the great Tywin Lannister yet?
He pulled his teeth apart before they shattered. He'd rehearsed it in his head a hundred times to not make a display of it, but still it burned white hot within him. "It would be my honour to lead your armies into battle against the betrayers, your grace," he replied, bowing his head and the cheers rose from behind him.
He made his way back to the seat and sat down heavily.
He was the last to be praised. Next came the enemy, those who had been captured before Stannis could complete his retreat. Those who knelt and begged forgiveness were permitted to keep their lands and titles by Joffrey, but a handful remained defiant.
"Do not imagine this is done, boy," warned one, the bastard son of some Fossoway or other. "The Lord of Light protects King Stannis, now and always. All your swords and all your scheming shall not save you when his hour comes."
"Your hour is come right now." Joffrey beckoned to Ser Ilyn Payne to take the man out and strike his head off. But no sooner had that one been dragged away than a knight of solemn mien with a fiery heart on his surcoat shouted out, "Stannis is the true king! A monster sits the Iron Throne, an abomination born of incest!"
"Be silent," Ser Kevan Lannister bellowed.
"King Stannis will return!" cried another.
"Prince Lyonel has the gods on his side, you will not hold that throne from them forever!"
"Joffrey is the black worm eating the heart of the realm! Darkness was his father, and death his mother! Destroy him before he corrupts you all! Destroy them all, queen whore and king worm, vile dwarf and whispering spider, the false flowers. Save yourselves!" One of the gold cloaks knocked the man off his feet, but he continued to shout. "The scouring fire will come! King Stannis will return!"
Joffrey lurched to his feet. "I'm king! Kill him! Kill him now! I command it." He chopped down with his hand, a furious, angry gesture . . . and screeched in pain when his arm brushed against one of the sharp metal fangs that surrounded him. The bright crimson samite of his sleeve turned a darker shade of red as his blood soaked through it. "Mother!" he wailed.
With every eye on the king, somehow the man on the floor wrested a spear away from one of the gold cloaks, and used it to push himself back to his feet. "The throne denies him!" he cried. "He is no king!"
Cersei was running toward the throne, but Lord Tywin remained still as stone. He had only to raise a finger, and Ser Meryn Trant moved forward with drawn sword. The end was quick and brutal. The gold cloaks seized the knight by the arms. "No king!" he cried again as Ser Meryn drove the point of his longsword through his chest. Joff fell into his mother's arms. Three maesters came hurrying forward, to bundle him out through the king's door. Then everyone began talking at once. When the gold cloaks dragged off the dead man, he left a trail of bright blood across the stone floor.
Still more of the defiant ones rose, some for Lord Stannis, some for Lord Lyonel, some for the Seven and some for the Red God, but the defiance was there.
Loren only watched it bemusedly. Stannis may be a false king. But he inspires more loyalty than Joff ever would.
But his father would brook none of it, they were all taken in their turn and the Lion restored order to the throne room. He moved to the now vacant throne, and sat it as Hand.
Loren could only watch. The paper sheet of his new office a cold comfort as his father established his authority over King's Landing.
I go east and he sends Kevan. I return to Casterly Rock, and he looms there eternal, I defend King's Landing and he claims the victory. Is there nowhere I can go where he won't be there to suppress me?
But he kept his silence. Breaking it would do nothing for him.
Yet.
