After breaking fast, Jaime headed out to his duties. The new king had been a great warrior just a few years ago, slaying Prince Rhaegar on the Trident and usurping Aerys Targaryen. Now, deprived of his northern whore, he had let himself go to drinking and whoring, leaving the small council and the Hand to run the realm in truth. The King eats and the Hand wipes the shit indeed, he thought. Jaime sometimes wished it was Rhaegar who had taken the Trident, and to whom he should be guarding.
At least he got to see Cersei often. Joffrey's parentage was passed off successfully, and his sweet sister hoped to try again at some point, while Robert was recovering from his many parties. Jaime wasn't quite ready yet. Joffrey was nothing more to him than spilled seed, but one day he would sit the Iron Throne, and that was important. But for now, he needed to guard the man who did sit the throne.
As he walked down the corridor, he found himself joined by Ser Boros Blount, the fat oaf, and Ser Steffon Oakheart, whose cousin hoped to join someday. The three of them were a while off from Robert, so idle talk was necessary.
"So..." Jaime started. "How were both of your evenings? I trust your sleep wasn't too bad?" Moore and Trent had guarded the king outside his bedroom through the night, so Jaime would take the morning and afternoon shift.
"Well," Ser Boros started, "-it wasn't so bad actually. Slept right through. Tiredness of the job, I suppose." Lucky for him. He'd tried going to Cersei to 'relieve' himself, but she was occupied with the King. "And yours, ser Jaime?"
"Quite uneventful, I must say." He turned disinterestedly to Ser Steffon. "And you?"
Steffon had a slight look of distress across his sullen face and brown eyes. "I had a foul dream last night. I dreamt of strange ships, and monsters, and that we were fighting on a field somewhere. Rivers all around!"
Jaime was confused. "You mean the Trident? I don't remember you saying you were there, nor do I remember ships being involved anywhere." They were nearly at the end of the corridor. "I'm sure it is just one of those random dreams that goes nowhere, like wind. If there were any new people to be found in the world, they'd be east of Asshai, and they'd never be able to reach us!"
Boros chipped in. "That's a better way to think, Ser Jaime!" Truth be told, Jaime found him obnoxious at the best of times. While a few days shy of two-and-twenty, Jaime had seen enough of his fellow Kingsguard to drive a man to madness. Who would have thought guarding the same man over and over for life would be so boring, he thought. He supposed it was better than what Father had given little Tyrion back in Casterly Rock though.
Now they were at the end of the corridor. Two of the goldcloaks were on either side. They stepped aside when the son of Tywin Lannister came to them, and remained silent.
The small Council table only had Grand Maester Pycelle present. He hastily got up. "Oh..er..ser Jaime of course! Do be present, his Grace shan't be too long from his...occupations." The old fool was useful to House Lannister, for sure, but Jaime never figured out why Father put him to such use.
Now the other members of the small Council began to come in, bit by bit. First in was the king's younger brother, Stannis Baratheon, master of ships and Lord of Dragonstone. A man as hard as iron, as the siege of Storm's End had shown, and one who held little love for Jaime's family. His current face was no different. Next came in the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the legendary Ser Barristan Selmy, who too seemed frustrated at something or another. He nodded to Jaime and sat down at the table. The Master of Laws sat down too, the one who Jaime could never remember the name of, some minor lord in the Stormlands somewhere. Finally, a young and scrawny looking man, who had an almost birdlike apperance to him came in, sitting in the vacant seat of the Master of Coin.
Jaime whispered to Boros as the others introduced themselves. "Who is the new Master of Coin? I don't think I've seen him before around here."
Boros whispered back after a moment's pause. "That is Petyr Baelish, from the Vale. The Hand insisted on bringing him down to the capital to serve the role. I've heard he is an expert at this sort of thing." This 'Petyr', looked around, smiling nervously. Ah, he hasmuch to learn being thrust here, Jaime thought. I doubt he'll last more than a year or two at most.
After some time, the two most important men in the Seven Kingdoms came in. At the front was the Hand of the King and Warden of the East, Lord Paramount Jon Arryn of the Vale. He was dressed in the fine blue and white of his family sigil, his overalls shaped as if from a falcon's wings. Behind him was the King himself, Robert Baratheon, first of his name, who had his normal look of dissatisfaction, walking alongside Jaime's own sweet sister, the queen, holding the crown prince in her arms. My son, he thought. She looked beautiful in the emerald green dress that fitted her busom and complimented the green in her eyes, their eyes even. She shot him a look of acknowledgement back. Robert had stopped holding her hands into these meetings only a short while into the marriage, as it was clear to everyone this was not a marriage arranged in the Seven Heavens. Now they were all sat down at the table. All except the Master of Whispers, Varys.
"Get on with it." The king said dismissively. He had not been the same since he had taken the Iron throne. Gone was the clean, chiseled jaw of the Demon of the Trident, in place a thick beard to hide the growing fat there. He was still muscled greatly, hence how easily he could carry that great hammer, but he had not grown in a good way. He was no Aegon the Unworthy, but a few more years and he may become like that, the way things were going. Even in his better days, Jaime noticed there was some sadness in his eyes. Not that it was any matter to himself.
"Well," Arryn began. "We have a number of matters to discuss today." He opened some letters. "First things first, I have decided at the advice of my dear wife Lysa to appoint Petyr Baelish to the position of Master of Coin after the accident you may have heard about. I and Hoster Tully knew his father well, so I have faith that Littlefinger here shall do a fine job in his position." Robert nodded.
"The second is the matter of Spring. Pycelle has told me the Citadel thinks we are in for the longest summer in a many years now, so I believe it is paramount that we make use of it, for if the summer is long and plentiful, the winter will no doubt be harsh and unforgiving."
"There shouldn't be a huge issue with that," Littlefinger interjected. "The Tyrells will no doubt make use of the spare time to grow, as will Your Grace's youngest brother." He of course spoke of young Lord Renly Baratheon, who in his youth needed the council of Ser Cortnay Penrose till he came of age. "I presume Ser Jaime's father here can provide any gold the Crown needs should we not wish to spend our own resources."
"I doubt we would have need of that, Lord Petyr." Jaime said in kind.
"Regardless," Jon continued, "-chances like this do not come by often, so it is of paramount importance. Of lesser importance are things like the drains of King's Landing and the management of the brothels, for which his Grace-" Jaime could now definitely tell there had been some dispute away from prying eyes insists should continue operating. Cersei looked at the ceiling as this was mentioned and Stannis ground his teeth. Jaime had heard whispers of the Master of Ship's wedding night, as tragic as that was. Thinking of it almost made him snigger.
"However, before this meeting, I recieved a letter of significant importance from Lord Varys, who has gone to the Reach to investigate rumours." It was true the Tyrells had fought for the Mad King, and may want a chance at vengeance for their defeat at Storm's End. "Additionally, there has been disturbing reports from Pyke and Fair Isle of unusual goings on there."
Murmering throughout the Small Council began. Everyone from Cersei to Pycelle to Meryn Trant began offering insight and questions. Jaime was confused why all these reports were coming from the west coast.
"Enough!" The King spoke louder than all the others. "Lord Jon told me the messages from Pyke from Lord Balon. Greyjoy must think I'm some fool as mad as Aerys if I am to believe that his lands are being attacked by some raiders or monsters! Clearly it must be some sellswords or corsairs they managed to piss off on their raids!"
The Master of Laws spoke. "Your grace, we have not heard any rumblings of large scale Ironborn raids in recent years, and while Greyjoy has no love for us, would he really want to claim he is under attack of all things?"
Robert responded. "He thinks I'm weak. That we are weak after overthrowing the Targaryens, that I will sit down and let him mock me for a fool. Do any of you want to make that same claim now? The Greyjoys are being raided by vengeful corsairs, that is all! Unless they start raiding other lands of ours, it is no concern to us now."
Stannis spoke now, plainly. "Robert, there have been sightings of ships like this for days before Balon sent the ravens. Every single one claims that they come from the west, not east. I would not have let such a large fleet through the Narrow Sea if it were such a thing."
"And what of the Dornish?" Littlefinger asked. "Might they be willing to turn a blind eye to such an attack as of now? Perhaps they let the corsairs go to their south willingly. Would it be so surprising that those there wish to avenge Elia Martell and her children?"
"L-lord Petyr speaks true!" Pycelle exclaimed. "It is certainly a more plausible explanation than that some fleet came from the west! How many attempts have been made to go west over the centuries? And how many ended in absolute failure?"
Stannis responded in kind. "The sea is vast, Grand Maester. I know that better than any here." Jaime certainly thought it unusual for Stannis to have such venom in his voice as of now, at least openly.
Cersei spoke now. "And your knowledge is of the Narrow Sea, not the Sunset Sea. Pycelle is right, no man, not even under the dragons, managed to go further west than Lonely Light and return. It is a fool's errand to think otherwise."
"Quiet, woman." Robert spoke. Jaime would have punched him in his growing gut if he weren't the king. "Regardless, all this is mere hearsay and from the Ironborn at that! They only joined the Rebellion when it was all but won, and even then they did nothing! Why should I believe this nonsense?"
The Hand spoke up again. "Your grace, I fear it is not merely that." He got out a letter that clearly came from the Reach given its parchment. Jaime thought he saw the emblem of House Redwyne. The Arbor. "Rumours are spreading of another set of strange ships off the coast to the south-west, and that they approach the Arbor and the Shield Isles slowly but surely. Lord Redwyne claims at least three dozen ships were sighted. They had a carving of a two headed beast on their front and back supposedly, and made of a deep red wood, with green sails, according to the Lord himself, who allegedly saw one from his lighthouse."
"He must be drunk on his fine wines!" The king spoke. "How in the seven hells would a fleet like that cross so many miles of open sea! It must be those fucking Targaryens! Ever since my brother here failed to capture Viserys and his whore mother, they've plotted against me. If what Lords Greyjoy and Redwyne say is true, then we've got to fight the dragons once more!" He got up from his seat, though Jon calmed him to sit down. Cersei looked nervously at him. Even for Robert, something wasn't right here. He was angry, but something else was in his eyes too.
"Lord Redwyne is no drunkard, your grace." Ser Barristan noted. "He is attentive by all means. If two major lords have pointed out a threat, perhaps it is worth considering, no matter how unusual it may be." Always wise, Jaime thought.
"It's not unusual, Lord Commander," the Queen began, "we should have-"
"I told you to be quiet, Cersei." The king spoke louder this time. Joffrey began to cry, and the queen tried to comfort him, leaving the room and shooting Robert a scowl. Jaime would speak with her once this nonsense of a shift was done.
"Robert, the Targaryens are not the only possible option here, and you damned well know that!" Jon spoke with anger. "The report we received mere moments before this from Fair Isle is also in. It is most damning of all." More whispers began.
"If you insist," the king spoke.
"What could be worse than what has been claimed?" The Grand maester spoke.
"Lord Farman of Fair Isle has added a claim to these reports of a foreign armada to our west. He claims that Lord Farwynd of Last Light was sent to him in chains by a strange ship as described, offering a warning. "That we refused to listen when they offered gifts, refused the chance to reconcile for what the wolfmen did, whoever they are. That-"
"The Starks," Stannis interjected. "They meant the Starks."
"What has Ned done to invoke these people's wrath?" Robert queried.
"Not Eddard, brother." Stannis sighed. "Brandon the Shipwright. Over six hundred years before the conquest, one of the Stark kings built a fleet to colonise what was west of Westeros, likely hoping to come across a treasure to rival Valyria. None returned. It seems that the northerners were not courteous with the natives, so much that almost a thousand years later, they have come to us."
"You're telling me you're holding confidence in these reports?" Robert asked.
"They are from multiple highborn witnesses, our bannermen at that. Even if we dismiss the smallfolk claims as drunken fantasies, that does not change that multiple of your bannermen, including a Lord Paramount, have warned us about two fleets coming from the west."
Jaime's head was spinning at this revelation. A force, from the west? Even when growing up in Casterly Rock and listening to all the fairy tales the septa told him, the west was dismissed as the edge of the world, not another land itself.
"They must be some new sellsword company," Pycelle reasoned. "The Beggar King has somehow managed to hire something from the Free Cities, and wanted to attack from the west to throw us off. Or the Golden Company have found a Blackfyre daughter they want to try to put upon the Iron Throne."
Jon shook his head. "This is not some sellsword company. Viserys or Jon Connington would have struck for King's Landing were they attacking, or have stopped in Dorne, not sailing towards a potential ally in the Tyrells or Ironborn. And why would those Ironborn admit such weakness. And the numbers don't add up either."
Littlefinger interjected. "How large are these alleged fleets then?"
The Hand replied. "They say more than twenty in the northern prong, including cargo ships for settlers and who knows what. They say the fleet nearing the Arbor is more than twice the size and growing." Everyone in the room fell silent with some fear. "Lord Varys tells me the Golden Company at its height couldn't reach even half of those numbers, nor could all the sellsword companies known put together."
"What are you saying, friend?" The king answered, concerned more than angry now.
"Yes, what could this unforeseen threat be," Baelish added.
"I'm afraid the Ironborn are not trying to make us seem weak. The evidence from these accounts and Lord Varys is too great. We are being attacked by the other side of the Sunset Sea." He closed the paper.
This was too much to take in, and even stern diplomats and Kingsguard were looking around with concern. Even the cold eyed Mandon Moore showed a slight look of concern in his eyes. Jaime noticed another look in the King's eyes though. Many saw anger and rage that someone was trying to take his kingdom from him, but Jaime saw behind that was something else. Relief.