4th Month of 282 A.C. King's Landing
Grand Maester Pycelle
The royal family was tearing itself apart, Pycelle had watched this scene play out for the past five years and it saddened him to some extent. The dynasty that had built the seven kingdoms and turned them into one was falling, falling deep into a dark abyss, and there was nothing the king or his queen to stop that fall. The king was mad, Duskendale had seen to that, and now without Lord Tywin here to curb the man's less pleasurable activities things would not get better they would only worsen. That was why Lord Tywin was putting so much faith in Prince Rhaegar, the man had disappeared though, there was naught a sign of him, and Pycelle wondered if the son had become like the father, or worse like his grandfather caught in the web of prophecy that would destroy them all, just as Summerhall had.
Of course, Pycelle did have to admit that he was playing no small part in the king's continued state of madness. For it served Lord Tywin well to have his old friend unable to deal with the comings and goings of court. What had happened a week ago when Stark had come charging into the throne room, had been an accident. The king had missed his dose, for one reason or another and pronounced a judgement that Pycelle worried would now throw the prince's plans out completely. He did not know whether Stark could truly do anything in the time he had left, but Pycelle did not want to take any chances. That was why he now looked at the potion before him, and speaking to his prince's squire says. "Ensure that His Grace the King drinks this before he has his afternoon meal, otherwise there will be hell to pay. Do you understand me?"
"Yes Maester, I shall ensure His Grace drinks this vial." The squire replies.
"Good, and remember we are doing this for the good of the kingdom." Pycelle says. "The king is mad, deeply mad. He cannot be allowed to regain his senses otherwise we are all doomed."
The squire, whom Pycelle is convinced is in love with the prince looks horrified at the thought and bows hastily before turning and leaving. Leaving Pycelle alone to his thoughts. He looks at the book before him and wonders what might happen should the king die of an unfortunate attack. Prince Rhaegar has no male heir, Princess Elia having miscarried on Dragonstone some time ago. A chance then for Lord Tywin to have his daughter as Queen perhaps. The High Septon being within the Prince's pocket, would allow the marriage no matter what others within the faith might say. The presence of the Stark boy though, that worries Pycelle worries him a great deal. He is not sure what to make of the boy. Brandon Stark, Knight Commander of the Order, a staunch supporter of the king, smart as well, there is some other game afoot here, what he does not know.
Sighing he rubs his eyes, and turns from the book looking to the letter that came from Lord Tywin three days ago.
Do not allow the wolf to escape the city. He cannot know what is happening outside. I entrust care of the beginning of our plan to you uncle. It is time for you to show what has been lurking beneath the surface all these years.
Lord Tywin had never before referred to their connection before. Never acknowledged that they shared the same blood, only acknowledged his usefulness and that was that. He had to realise just how desperate the situation was becoming to refer to this particular connection, something that he knows rides on Pycelle being able to ensure nothing goes wrong today. The orders must be given out, and for them to be given out, the king must not be within his mind. Sighing once more, he wonders how it came to this. Aerys was such a promising King, but then something changed within him, whether it was the fear of Summerhall coming to light, or of something else Pycelle does not know, but the king changed before Duskendale, and that was when Lord Tywin had used Pycelle's own connections to his mother's family to lure him into a plot. So much plotting, he was a shame to his order, but also a credit. He danced a dangerous game, but so did they all. There was no time for anything else, it had to be done like this.
Pushing away from the table and the book and letter, he moves back toward the bed, where waiting for him is the woman he knows he can lose himself in. he sits down on the bed, and as she begins massaging his shoulders, he sighs in content. "Do you wish to speak my love?" she asks.
Pycelle hums. "It is difficult, to know whether this is right or not. Prince Rhaegar has gone, disappeared somewhere and now the plan rests on this. On Stark not knowing, of him not finding out. Gods above know how this will happen. That boy is far too curious."
"Like his father?" she questions. "You are dealing with him I hope? I would not want for Lord Rickard to come down from his snow abode to cause you trouble my love."
"Of course. My lord of Lannister knows just what needs to be done with Lord Rickard. For too long have we allowed him to go unchecked. That ends now, the Lord of Winterfell shall never make it to King's Landing, and he will never know just how much he has been fooled." Pycelle replies, sighing as her hands move lower down.
"That is good very good." she replies. Kissing his neck then. "I wish for that man's death more than I could ever truly say."
He laughs softly then. "What did he ever do to anger you so my love?"
She kisses his cheek then and says. "He broke a girl's heart, and left her for dead. I would never suffer such a thing again. Never."
He turns to face her then, pulls her into his lap and says. "I would never leave you my love. Not for all the gold in Westeros. Rickard Stark is a fool to think he could just leave you. A right fool, and for his own whore of a cousin as well? Gods."
She kisses him then, full on the lips. "Hush my love. I would rather not spoil this with thoughts of ghosts from the past."
"Of course my love." Pycelle murmurs. And then they give themselves, not to talking, but to their lovemaking. When they are done, he lies against the bed, her head on his chest, and his thoughts empty. He stares at the wall, simply stares, and he swears he can see the webs, the webs of this game they all play, dancing before them, shimmering in the faint light. He wonders, wonders whether or not come this evening he will still have a head. It is a risk he knows, a dangerous one, but it is one he desperately wants to take.
As he hears the bells toll for the afternoon prayer at the Great Sept, he raises himself up off the bed. His love lowers herself gently onto the bed watching him with one eye open. Pycelle slowly picks up the clothes scattered across the room, and puts them on. That done he merely looks at his lover, and smiles wanly, before turning and opening the door. He walks out and makes his way toward the council chamber, his heart hammering within his chest. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that Brandon Stark is not in the council chamber, instead only those he knows are paid and bought for are here. He nods at them all and sits down.
The hand speaks then, Merryweather, a fool of a man, long ago bought. "My lords, thank you all for coming. There is much and more we must discuss. Prince Rhaegar's abduction of Lady Lyanna is most worrying, of course Lord Varys here assures me that the lady was willing. The question is how to make Brandon Stark see this? For the man is quite convinced that the Prince took his sister without her consent."
"It is often the way with young men," Pycelle says. "They say things they think are true, for them the truth would be unthinkable. That his sister could chose to do something without his approval, I am sure is something of a fright for the young man. My lords, you have all met Lord Rickard, you all know him to be stern and stubborn. This is something we must deal with. The Starks cannot be allowed to gain the upper hand, not with the king as he is."
"What then would you suggest maester?" the hand asks. "To willingly say that his sister ran away with our prince, I think would bring more anger down upon us from Stark than we can deal with. The king did promise to get justice for Stark in front of the whole court. It would look odd should he not go forward with this."
"The king is not always in his right mind." Pycelle says. "He can change his moods, those at court would know this. Would know not to truly expect the king to truly remember what he has promised one day to the next. Stark will soon come to realise that as well."
"The Grand Maester is right." The eunuch says. Pycelle feels a hint of surprise run through him then. "His Grace the king is not in the right state of mind to be making promises. Brandon Stark will soon come to realise this, the sooner he does though, and the better it will be for all of us."
What game are you playing eunuch. Pycelle wonders. It is not often the eunuch and he see eye to eye on anything let alone the king's person. Pycelle has his own suspicions about the eunuch, but for now he keeps them to himself. He shall share them with Lord Tywin when the time is right, not before and not after.
The hand looks at them both and asks. "So are you suggesting then, that we hold a court session and allow Stark to see just how volatile the King is and can be?"
"Yes," Pycelle says slowly, as if speaking to a child. "That would be for the best my lord hand. Anything else would merely provoke too harsh a reaction from Stark. He does hold a position of power here at court, we cannot antagonise him."
"Very well, I still want a letter sent out to Winterfell summoning Lord Rickard here with great haste. We all know that Brandon Stark did threaten the prince's person. That is a grave offense, and if the son will not answer for it, the father must do so." The hand says.
"Of course my lord hand." Pycelle says.
The hand then turns his attention to other matters. Most pressingly Braavos. "The Iron Bank, what word have you had from them my lord Chelstead?"
Qarlton Chelstead, one of the few men Pycelle has not been able to win over on this council. A shame really, still he listens intently as the man speaks. "It would seem they are willing to give the crown a loan for the proposed bridge that the king wants built. And yet they are asking for a high rate of repayment in return. It seems they are looking on our treasury in wonder."
"How high is the repayment?" Merryweather asks.
"Some three hundred thousand dragons. I do not know why the rate is so high. And yet I have always maintained that we do not need a loan from the Iron Bank, what with the treasury being as secure as it is." Chelstead says.
Merryweather looks as if he has been slapped by a fish. "Three hundred thousand dragons? What in the name of the seven are they expecting this bridge to be like? Gods above no, we cannot accept that. That would be the height of foolishness!"
At least there is some sense in this oaf of a man. Pycelle thinks wryly. Aloud he merely says. "I agree with Lord Chelstead, we cannot afford to take this loan. We do not even need to take this loan. I am sure the king would agree with me on that point."
Chelstead looks at him suspiciously but says nothing, instead he turns back to watch the hand. The man merely nods and says. "Quite right you are maester. Now Lord Velaryon, tell me what word there has been from the Arbor, are they ready to engage in deployment the moment the order comes?"
Lord Lucerys Velaryon, one of the few men truly loyal to Prince Rhaegar merely nods. He looks completely insulted to be speaking not to the king or the prince, but to a sot such as Merryweather, and if he is being truthful, Pycelle cannot blame him. His voice is composed when he replies. "Yes, Lord Paxter will be ready to move out within the fortnight should word come. It is no secret that he has never held a fondness for the Stormlands or the Baratheons. There are those within his family who constantly go on about the injustices the Baratheons under Ormund and Lyonel Baratheon gave to his family. This is the perfect time to undermine their position."
The man merely nods and then asks. "And what of the royal fleet? When shall it be ready to move out?"
"Whenever the King sees fit to order us out my lord. We wait only for his command." Velaryon replies.
There is a long moment's silence then, and then the hand says. "Very well. That is all, you may all retire for the day. Should the king have need of you, Pycelle shall send for you."
Pycelle stands and walks out of the council chamber, only stopping when he hears a man calling for him. Seeing that it is Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Pycelle begins to worry. "Yes Lord Commander, what can I do for you?" Pycelle asks in a tone he hopes is natural.
"The king wishes to see you. I have just been informed of this now by Ser Arthur. He awaits you in the throne room." The White Bull says in his deep tones.
Pycelle nods and scurries off to the throne room. When he arrives, he passes Stark, the man glances at him a moment before turning away. His heart still now, Pycelle bows before the foot of the throne and asks. "You wished to see me Your Grace?"
The king looks at him with unfocused eyes and merely slurs. "I want more. A stronger potion, this headache is killing me."
Pycelle nods. "Of course Your Grace, I shall see it done."
"Now what did you decide on the council? Is Stark to be punished for his crimes?" the king asks.
So it did work, surprising, I did not think it would work so soon. Pycelle contemplates this for a brief moment before responding. "Yes Your Grace. He is to be punished for such impudence."
"Good. Leave." The king says.
Pycelle bows and leaves, he walks to the rookery, determined to send out the ravens before anything else. His thoughts are set, he knows just what he will write and what will come of this. As he enters the rookery, and begins writing out the letters, he feels a sharp sense of anticipation go through him. One to Winterfell, one to Casterly Rock, and the third one, that one shall not be sent just yet. The chaos has just begun, let the mirrors come falling down.