270 AL
The Master of Coin and her old Lord Hand were at odds. Edgar Sloane's eyes narrowed, cool reprove burning in those depths. "You might well be a great lord of the realm," the elder spoke in a thin, weary voice, his chest heaving visibly, "but you are not my equal in years or rank, and I would thank you not to act as if you were."
Far from being cowed by the words, Lord Lannister proceeded to stare fixedly at his opponent, as if willing him to break. Tywin Lannister was not a man to be trifled with. Far and wide was it known that the Lion of Lannister had sharp claws and an ever sharper mind.
Rhaella looked between the two men, not willing to intervene. She knew very well that Edgar Sloane had been against her naming of Tywin in the Small Council and she was also aware that the Lion desired to accede even higher. But with her Lord Hand there, he had little chance. Yet more than two years of being at loggerheads had shaped such an enmity between them that at times she did fear.
Scarcely had she written to Joanna Lannister those few years past that news arrived of Tytos Lannister's death. The Stranger had foiled her plans of matrimony and pressed the power of the Westerlands into the eager hands of Tywin, Tytos' eldest. Wasting little time, Rhaella had addressed her proposition to the man and after an adequate period of mourning a new master of coin sat the King's council.
Joanna had returned to King's Landing as well along with her two children. Twins they were and impossible to tell apart if not clothed in befitting attires. The eldest was a daughter whom they named Cersei. The younger was Tywin's pride, an heir, called Jaime. Had they not been quite too young to keep company with her son, Rhaella thought a repeat of past friendships would have been inevitable. As it were, the young King paid more attention to his training than he did to other children.
A strange thing, to be sure, but the Queen Regent could not complain. The more he grew, the more studious her son's nature became. Rhaegar had always loved stories. So much so that as soon as he'd learned his letters he was seldom without a book at hand. Once the Valyrian tongue was conquered there was no knowledge that he hadn't inkling of. It made her proud and worried by turns. His nature was so very close to that of another bookish king.
What saved Rhaegar, though, was his concern with the world outside the keep's walls. He had all the curiosities of a child and the learning of a king. They mingled together to shape the young boy that sat the throne.
Of course, there was much left to learn and time to do so as well. In the meantime, Rhaella signalled to the Master of Whisperers to put an end to the dispute taking place before her eyes.
"My lords, I pray you, there is no need for violent language." Such was the war of stares brought to an end. "We ought to focus on the present troubles."
In truth, Tywin had done her a great service by accepting the role she had offered him. Much like he'd done for Casterly Rock, he had a care to bring coin into the royal coffers and a part of the debt to the Iron Bank. But a point had been reached where he was pushing too hard.
"Your Grace," Tywin addressed the King directly, "it is important that we pay all debt to the Iron Bank now. Delay shall only give an opportunity for the debt to deepen" One never knew when coin was needed after all.
"Your Grace, the realm is at peace, the kingdoms flourish," the Hand of the King argued, "we shan't have need of the Iron Bank for a long time yet. What good would it do to part the hard working men of their coin when there is little need at present?"
"And what shall we do when the present is past and we are deep in debt?" the Lion questioned, his mien tight. "Where shall we raise coin from then?"
They would not have any sort of coin, Rhaella considered, in such a scenario. It was simply that famine was not yet a memory and though the situation was on the mend, the scars had not yet passed. On the one hand, Tywin Lannister had the right of it.
On the other hand, the smallfolk would not appreciate a new levy anymore than they would a draught or the coming of winter. "Mayhap we ought to wait awhile until the kingdoms are steadier on their feet," the Queen Regent suggested. "We may then increase the taxes if need be and pay the Iron Bank its due."
It was middle ground, if anything, and that ought to put an end to the matter. At least for a few more moon turns.
"Your Grace," the Lord Hand moved to another issue, "there seems to be general discontent regarding the new accord signed with House Whent. Lord Whent has been accused of taking for his own a bordering bannerman's due."
"Then Lord Whent should give what he has taken back and pay the man for the trouble caused. If indeed the bannerman speaks the truth." It was not the first time Rhaegar made decisions, for indeed he has begun playing a rather more active role in the past year. It seemed his schooling in the art of ruling was paying off. "I should like the matter assessed thoroughly. Master of Laws, see it done."
"Aye, Your Grace," the Master of Laws answered quickly, although one had to wonder at the amount of attention he'd been paying when confronted with a warm, wet gaze that lent itself more to dreaming. "It shall be done."
The council turned its attention upon another matter after and discussion resumed. Long into the day does their talk last, until Rhaella was forced into wishing their lips sealed shut with thread, until she could hardly sit still in her place, which shamed the Queen, for her son still paid mind to the debate of those lofty lords. Alas, she could not endure more.
Drawing to her feet, she interrupted the Master of Laws mid-argument and dismissed the council. "We shall discuss these matters further at a later time," she promised after a moment of consideration in the face of their protests. "It is more than enough for this day."
Men might be willing to live on politics alone, but she was not at all tempted to do so. Aerys had been the one with a head for schemes, not her. And in all fairness, it had been one of his greatest pleasures to play the game of thrones, as it was called. Rhaella had been vastly more concerned with matters closer to heart and body. Queen Regent though she might be, to her own mind shed was a mother first and foremost.
Of course, such comfort could only envelop her as the result of having her own mother sent to Dragonstone. The failed attempt to wed her to the late Lord Lannister seemed reason enough to Rhaella to claim her lady mother was troubled of late, having never quite recovered from her husband's loss and that of her son, and could not handle the strain a life at court put upon her. No doubt it had been well understood among her noble courtiers that the woman was being sent away for stepping upon the Queen Regent's toes. The consequence of her action could only be of a positive nature. It would be known that she'd not tolerate anyone's intervention in her private life and decisions, be they the mother that birthed her or the Father himself.
Having reached her chambers at a long last, Rhaella saw herself within just as the first of her ladies-in-waiting rose from her seat, followed by the other two. Joanna Lannister was the fourth person in the chamber and she too rose to greet Rhaella.
For a brief instance, the Queen Regent gazed at the golden lioness a twinge of envy sparking to live within her breast. Joanna had never been less than happy for as long as Rhaella had known her. It seemed unfair to her that such a creature know not an ounce of struggle as the rest of the world did. However, she schooled her features into a faintly surprised mien and walked towards her. "Lady Joanna, what brings you to my private chambers?"
Though the question had been lightly put, Rhaella could tell by the quiver of Joanna's lips that the lioness had understood well enough what had remained silent.
"I thought to keep Your Grace company," the Lady of Casterly Rock replied, adopting a soft smile. "At least for this little while before I am sent back to the Rock, if it please Your Grace."
"It pleases me well to have my friend with me," Rhaella answered.
It was the middle of the night when she awoke to a soft scraping noise coming from without. Rhaella sighed softly, thinking that it had been a strange dream to wake her and drew the covers over herself, as they had slipped down to her middle. As silence, the sort that is both menacing and curious to the point where it is no longer a silence but an unnerving high-pitched sound exploding in one's ears, fell over everything and all, the woman chided herself for foolishness.
"What shall it be after, Rhaella? Snarks and grumkins come to steal you away?" she laughed at herself, turning upon her other side, facing away from the door. She had grown used to spending the nights in a cocoon of cold sheets. An empty bed rarely held warmth. But she did not miss the heat enough to complain at its absence.
Another sigh passed her lips as she flattened her palm over the goose-feather filled pillow. Sleep would come, she told herself, closing both eyes and drawing in a long breath as if her lungs hungered for air. It was only a matter of time before she would be led away into a world of dreams and visions where none of the burdens of the day followed her.
All too soon, she was drowsy, faintly warm and careering towards a wide chasm of nothingness, ready to be engulfed by the darkness that lay ahead. It was the very best feelings, to fly as she did though a vast space and fear no one and nothing.
Just as she was about to give herself over to the stillness completely that scraping noise came again. Startled, the Queen Regent forced herself into a sitting position despite the protest of her muscles. A gust of wind tumbled in through one of the high windows, cutting into her skin through the thin chemise she wore. But Rhaella did not mind that. Instead she listened for that weird noise coming from just without her chamber door.
There were no pets she kept that would act thus, nor did any of her ladies keep such creatures. Why then did the scarping not stop? What manner of creature could lay in waiting without her chamber door? Atremble, her whole body grew rigid with fear, her mind warning her against leaving the safety of her bed.
And then, unsummoned, a memory came to her. The image of her friend was brought forth and the words of Joanna Lannister rang in her ears. "Why not make a match between our children? House Targaryen and House Lannister; would it not be magnificent?"
It would not. That had been Rhaella's answer, though in much sweeter terms, yet no less certain. She had allowed the possibility of such a match only if there was no other choice. She had called the Lion of Lannister to King's Landing and she had granted him a lofty position. It was beyond rude of those wicked creatures to attempt to wrestle power from her. She would not have it.
A third time did the scraping ring out through the silence and it was one time too many. Rhaella could not endure not knowing. Gathering her bravery, she threw away the covers tangled all about her and climbed down from the mattress onto the carpeted ground, forgoing slippers as she made her way to the door. Without was the chamber where her ladies-in-waiting slept. She would berate them for not having enough care and letting loose some sort of pest to bother her sleep. That was what Rhaella decided.
Yet just as her hand reached the door, ready to push it open, the noise ceased. Unintentionally jumping back, the Queen Regent let out a soft curse. What was she doing? Why would her ladies tale in any sort of creature? Unable to step down, however, Rhaella pressed her weight against the slab of wood, pushing it out of the way.
Thick darkness greeted her sight. Not even a single candle burned within the room and her three women slept one beside the other in a large bed, huddled together for warmth. She was safe. She was safe despite Joanna Lannister's look of surprise and incredulity when her offer had been refused.
Relief flooded her, leaving her an uncertain mass of nerves within the doorframe. What was she to do? Surely it had been just her mind playing tricks on her, for worry that the Lannisters might attempt something. Even so, they would not dare barge into her bedchamber. Not even they.
Disquiet flared to life within her once more as she contemplated the matter further. Joanna had not been pleased by her reply. Tywin Lannister had said not a thing, yet she could see in his eyes whenever they landed upon her that something burned, screamed for retribution. As if she were the daring and presumptuous one and not they. Struggling, with herself, the woman kept her stance throughout the internal debate. She was frozen to her spot, in a manner more binding that any chains and she liked it not one whit. She had done right, that much she knew.
Rhaegar was yet young and had no need for a bride. Cersei Lannister would have to try her luck elsewhere, for Rhaella had little fondness for lions and would sooner take herself off to Essos than allow such a match to come trough. Nay, she had someone else in mind. A better choice. When the time for it would come.
At a long last, Rhaella managed to pull herself away and shut the door. Behind her the soft rustling of billowing curtains cut through the heaviness. Turning around with the speed of an arrow, she marched to the window and blocked out any source of light or noise. It was quite enough, she needed sleep.
What the morrow would bring no one knew. Yet she would face it with hope and strength. Upon that thought, the Queen Regent retreated to her bed and slipped beneath the covers, placing her head firmly upon the pillow and ordering herself to slumber.
She might have succeeded had it not been at that moment that loud noises burst to life from without and the door of her bedchamber hit the wall. This was far from the dream the scraping had been. Within moments someone was dragging her from beneath the covers. She could hear the voices of her ladies-in-waiting. They panicked and cried in unison as if that might aid her. Rhaella herself had cried out at the rough handling and was much surprised to see before her three of the council members.
"What is the meaning of this, my lords?" she demanded unflinchingly although within she felt ready to cast her accounts. "What manner of seeking audience is this?"
Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat. Rhaella watched as he drew from within his sleeve a rolled parchment. "Your Grace," he said, "think not that we mean you ill. We are doing this for the greater good."
"The thief does not admit to nefarious plans before his crime, the murdered neither. Would you have me believe that traitors are any different?" she spat at his feet, trying to pry herself loose of the Maester of Whisperer's hold. To no avail though. "What want you?"
"Merely that Your Grace give up regency in favour of your lady mother and accept to pledge your troth to Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North." The words were spoken by the Master of Laws, yet Rhaella scented the Lion as soon as the man opened his mouth. This was Tywin Lannister's doing, she was certain.
"You are all man if you think the King would so easily allow–" She was cut off by her captor forcing her into a chair, pressing down upon her shoulder rather brutally.
"The King is young," the Master of Whisperers reminded her. "Young and without many friends at court. He's been kept within holding distance of your skirts for too long, Your Grace." The threat rang out in her ears as the man went on. "A King needs allies to rule. Surely you would wish for a great number of allies for your son."
Seared, the woman let out as muffled sob. "I am his mother. Why would you wish to separate parent from child?" They had no pity to spare her though.
The Master of Laws produced an inkwell and a quill for her use as the Grand Maester placed the parchment in her lap. "Your Grace, sign the document and the King shall have a prosperous reign." Her refusal to sign could mean the death of Rhaegar.
Hand trembling, Rhaella took the quill from the lord holding it and dipped its end in ink. "I do this for my son," she said, "but there will come a day when you shall regret this folly." She nit her lower lip when witnessing the signature of the King. Her poor son, what had they told him to force his hand.
"Sign, Your Grace," Pycelle urged her. "Sign and let us be done with this."
Rhaella signed, betrothing herself to a Northerner lord she knew nothing of beside a name and title; with the same stroke she left her son at the mercy of his court. It was the end of Queen Regent Rhaella Targaryen.
She had lost.