Flashman and the Throne of Swords

Chapter 31

by Technomad

When Dick and I got to the durbar, we found we weren't the only ones who'd been summoned into the Royal Presence. The room was fairly crowded, and a lot of the folk present I didn't recognise. Everybody but us was in what looked to be their best, and I regretted that I hadn't put on my soup and fish.(1) I saw little Lady Sansa off to one corner, and gave her a nod of recognition. She smiled tremulously and dropped me a quick curtsy. No matter how dreadfully she'd been treated, she never lost her poise or good manners. She'd have made a splendid English lady.

Dick murmured: "Apparently they want to reward the people who did well in the fighting. Do you see Lord Tyrion?"

Lord Tyrion, as short as he was, was difficult to find, but I finally saw him. He was up toward the front, standing to one side of the Iron Throne. I tried to catch his eye, but he was looking about through the crowd, as if waiting for something.

Soon enough, I saw what he'd been waiting for. A flourish of trumpets sounded, and Lord Tywin rode in on horseback. He was in full gold-washed armour, and looked, I must admit, very impressive. He rode up to the foot of the Iron Throne, and just as he was bowing in the saddle to his royal grandson, his horse dropped a load of dung. Only years of experience at this sort of thing kept me and Dick from laughing out loud, and we heard others snickering.

Tywin had loads of style, though. He ignored the mishap and went up to the foot of the Iron Throne. He raised his hand and the crowd went quiet. People knew who had the real power here. Joffrey, up on top of the throne, looked petulant at being upstaged, but even he apparently knew when to hold his tongue. I'd have hardly credited that he had even that much sense.

Joff stood up and announced that "since our beloved grandfather, Lord Tywin Lannister, has returned to the city, We now wish him to take control of the government, as our trusted Hand." He held out the chain of office worn by the Hand, which I'd last seen around Tyrion's neck, and Tywin fastened it on.

Dick and I exchanged glances. This did not bode well for our mission. We'd been on excellent terms with Tyrion, and had benefited in various ways from his friendship. Tywin, on the other hand, looked to be a very different kettle of fish. Dick muttered: "Looks like we'll have to build up our relationship with Lord Tywin," and I nodded ruefully.

I cut my eyes to where Tyrion was standing, and he didn't look too terribly perturbed. While I knew he'd enjoyed his tenure as Acting Hand, he also knew that his neck was on the block every second he held that position, even more than most Hands. I'd swotted up Westerosi history, and many a Hand had paid the price when a king's ideas hadn't turned out well. Not that that was likely at all, not with Tywin Lannister as the Hand and the king his grandson. I'd learned more than enough about Tywin Lannister to know that he ran his family with a hand firm enough to make John Charity Spring look like an easygoing, slack commander. Any member of that family who got out of line would regret it, bitterly. I was very glad my own guv'nor (when he was alive, that is) hadn't been anything like him. "I wonder what Tyrion will do now?" I muttered to Dick. I thought that planting the idea that he'd make a wonderful ambassador to Britain would work out well. Tyrion was flexible-minded, far more so than most of the people I'd met in that medieval hellhole, and I could see him adapting to modern life with complete aplomb. He'd enjoy London, and with his charm, he'd be a hit during the Season.

"Don't know. Too early to tell. Keep quiet and see what happens next!" Dick's advice, as always, was good, and I forced myself to quit worrying about Tyrion (whom I was sure could look after himself) and pay attention to what was going on.

Joffrey subsided onto the Iron Throne, and his grandfather began to dish out rewards, ladling out promotions, titles and honours right, left and centre. I remembered that Tyrion had told me that many such rewards were not so great as they sounded. There were scores of castles and manors that had been laid waste by the war, and the new owners would be at considerable expense to refurbish them and get them back into productive shape. And that was without winter, which was beginning to definitely come on. I thought of what a winter that was years long would be like, and shivered, despite the warmth of the hall.

Two of the first to claim rewards were Lord Mace Tyrell, of Highgarden, and his sons, Ser Loras and Ser Garlan. Lord Mace asked for a place on the royal council (I was not sure if this meant the small council or another one) and Ser Loras asked to join the Kingsguard. These requests were granted. I wondered why Ser Loras was so eager to join an organisation where he could never marry or have children of his own. Was he one of the Dick's hatband brigade, or were there family politics in play of which I was unaware?

Dick Burton was also rather puzzled. "Pity we haven't more information about what goes on in Highgarden," he muttered to me, in Arabic. Thanks partly to that tiresome ass David Livingstone's tireless efforts to lead the Westerosi to Jesus, we had informants in many noble houses. The nobles themselves were not generally interested in converting, but many of their servants were. And we knew all too well that every servant has two eyes, two ears and a brain to understand what is going on.

Once Ser Loras was invested with his pretty new white cloak, Ser Garlan spoke up, telling the King that he had a sister, Margaery, a maid of fifteen. She'd been wed to Renly Baratheon, but since Renly's sudden mysterious death, she was back on the marriage market. Ser Garlan claimed that she was still a virgin, and I could believe him, given what I'd heard about Renly's tastes. He then asked the King to marry her, swearing that Margaery had heard much about him, and come to love him from afar.

Dick and I rolled our eyes at each other. As far as I was concerned, "from afar" was the only way anybody but his mama could love Joffrey Baratheon. I was sure this was a ploy by the Tyrells to get closer to the Iron Throne, and pitied this Margaery Tyrell for having to tie herself for life to a creature like Joffrey.

Joffrey, damn him, did play his part wondrous well. I wondered if he'd been rehearsed in what to say. He expressed great pleasure at the honour being offered him, but pointed out that he was already engaged to be married to Sansa Stark.

Reminded of her existence, I turned to see what her take was on all of this. I knew she had loved Joffrey once, but that he'd killed that love very effectively just by being his usual charming self. I was sure she was delighted at the thought of not sharing Joffrey's bed and having his babies, but to look at, she was the soul of composure.

Shouts came from the audience, accusing Sansa of being a traitor from a family of traitors. Since, except for her (and possibly Arya) every one of them was in rebellion against Joffrey, there was force behind these statements. Sansa also had good and sufficient reasons to hate Joffrey, and had I been him (God forbid!) I'd have wanted to sleep with one eye open, if I were sharing a bed with her. Waking up with a dagger between my ribs is one thing I bar.

Queen Cersei stood up, and said that it was the opinion of the Small Council that setting Sansa Stark aside was in the best interest of the realm. Joffrey pointed out that he'd sworn oaths to their gods that he would marry Sansa, and the High Septon assured him that those oaths could easily be set aside. With that, Joffrey said that he would bow to the Small Council's decision, and the room erupted in cheers. I glanced at Lady Sansa, and while she was impassive, I was sure that in her head, she was dancing with sheer delight at being free of Joffrey.

Suddenly, I was very startled when the heralds cried: "Ser Richard Francis Burton, Ser Harry Paget Flashman, attend His Majesty!" The crowd parted before us, and Dick and I walked up to the foot of the Iron Throne. When we got there, we bowed politely. As emissaries of our country, we did not bend the knee to Joffrey. This had been settled long before we arrived.

Tywin said: "Ser Richard, Ser Harry, the Royal House and the House of Lannister both owe you debts. It was your courage that helped save the city from the rebels' attempt to take it, and you stood valiantly by my younger son. Thanks to you, he's alive and unharmed." I doubted his sincerity in thanking us for that. Tyrion had told me more than enough to make me certain that if Tyrion had caught an arrow or a bullet, or Dick and I hadn't been in position to save him, Tywin would not have wept a single tear. My own guv'nor was hard enough to deal with, God knows, but I'd not have traded fathers with Tyrion for all the gold in Casterly Rock!

We bowed again. "You needn't thank us, m'lord," Dick said. "For us, it was all in a day's work." Considering all the crazy scrapes he'd been in, he was probably telling the truth. As I glanced at him, I saw the scar on his cheek left by a Somali spear in northeastern Africa. Even after taking that wound, he'd continued fighting on, and eventually won free of his ill-wishers. (2)

Tywin went on: "Ser Harry, the debt of House Lannister to you continues to grow and grow. You fought valiantly for my son at the Eyrie, and again at the recent battle. Were you not already a knight, we would see to it that you received the accolade."

That was all very well, but what I'd been hoping for was a nice pile of gold. However, I've long practice at putting a good face on things, so I bowed again, saying "It was nothing much, m'lord. Compared to Balaklava, or the Mutiny, or quite a few other scraps I've seen, this was fairly minor." Odd thing was, I was telling the truth. While duelling Ser Vardis for my life and Tyrion's had been no picnic, and the battle we'd just seen had been fairly fierce, neither of them could hold a candle to charging with the Light Brigade, defending the ramparts at Cawnpore, (3) or charging, much against my will, with poor Lo Armistead at Gettysburg.(4)

"We shall discuss your reward later, Ser Harry. In the meantime, there are others who need to be recognised." With that, we were dismissed, and returned to where we had been.

In a low voice, I said to Dick in Arabic: "What rewards do you think they will give us?"

Dick shook his head. "I don't know. Hopefully, better trade terms, and opening more areas of Westeros to us. But this accursed war will make that difficult." While we British were considered neutrals, like the Nights Watch, we had had trouble with various ill-wishers who either didn't want us trading with their enemies, or just saw us as easy targets for robbery and banditry. Having more support from the government might be able to ease those problems.

Meanwhile, the parade of favor-giving was going on. I noticed that Bronn, Tyrion's tame swordsman, was to be knighted and given a fief of his own. For a mercenary of common origin, this was a wonderful reward. I was happy for him, and hoped he'd do well in his new role. I rather expected him to come up trumps. In our acquaintance, he'd always struck me as a sensible fellow, and much less obsessed with brummagem "honour" than most knights claimed to be.

Lord Petyr Baelish was summoned forth, to be told that he was to be awarded Harrenhall. I wondered what he had done to deserve such favour, and what in the world he would do with Harrenhall. The reports we had said that while it was bigger than Windsor Castle, it was in a ruinous condition and that the last several owners had not been able to do much with it. Was it a white elephant, I wondered? (5) At least it would get him out of Kings Landing and away from the royal treasury. I'd have wagered that a great deal of royal money had somehow been slipped into Lord Baelish's coffers.

After the honours were all dispensed, it was time for dealing with the prisoners. There'd been many captured in the harbour battle or at the gate, and one by one, they were hustled up in front of the Iron Throne. Once there, they were offered the chance to bend the knee and swear (or re-swear) fealty to Joffrey and his regime.

Most of 'em did so, albeit often visibly reluctantly and with ill-grace. While Stannis Baratheon was (as I could testify) a bigger prig than Dr. Arnold, and visibly in thrall to that red-eyed, red-haired witch he'd imported, he was still probably a big improvement over that spoilt monster, Joffrey, First of his Name. "Needs must when the devil drives," Dick murmured into my ear, and I nodded. After that debacle before the walls of Kings Landing, there was no point in adhering to Stannis' cause. He'd not been captured, but even if he'd managed somehow to escape back to Dragonstone, he was out of the running for the Iron Throne.

But there were those who didn't. Some of 'em had apparently been sincerely converted to the worship of Melisandre's "Lord of Light," and others just couldn't stomach bending the knee to that monster Joffrey. Much good it did those poor fools. They were beheaded out of hand, with Ser Ilyn, the mute knight who acted as executioner, taking their heads off with ease that showed much practise. Joffrey took offense at their defiance, threw a fit, and cut himself on the Iron Throne. At that, a murmur ran around the room. The locals' belief was that the Iron Throne would injure anybody who sat it who was unworthy to do so, and while Joffrey and his family were flying high at the moment, that could change at any moment. The durbar was cut short, and Joffrey was taken from the room to be treated for his injury.

Then we were dismissed. I made my way through the crowds to find Lord Tyrion. I had a lot of questions, and I wanted to ask him about them. I found him after a little while, and he smiled broadly to see me.

"Ser Harry! So good to see you!" He wrung my fin, and I smiled down at him. While he'd dragged me into some very sticky situations, 'twasn't his fault at all, and he'd shown again and again that he was a good 'un. He was also one of the shrewdest men in that court, and while I knew he'd not tell me anything that could hurt his family, even his hateful sister and that tow-headed sprog of hers who was currently wearing the crown, I could still find out much from him.

We ended up at the Embassy, and soon a flask of Arbor Red made an appearance, along with Dick Burton and Edmund Blackadder. Blackadder'd not been invited to the durbar, but he'd been helping defend our embassy during the siege. We all sat down and the wine was poured.

Tyrion raised his glass. "Here's to you, Ser Richard, Ser Harry," he toasted. "No Lannister ever had worthier brothers-in-arms." We all drank.

"We're private here, m'lord, or as private as we can be in this keep." Dick said. "What sort of rewards can we hope to get from you and your family?"

Tyrion nodded, clearly appreciating Dick's direct approach. "Right at the moment, the royal treasury's nearly empty. Between King Robert's extravagance and this damned war cutting tax revenues, not to mention the costs of fighting the war, we're in a bad way. Were it not for us Lannisters financing things, I doubt we could keep the King in smallclothes."

Dick nodded, clearly not surprised. While our bandobast was by no means equal to Varys' "little birds," we did have enough people in place to be pretty well aware of the throne's financial state. "Well...we might not need monetary payments from you. Do you think that the throne would be open to concessions on trade?"

"I don't know. If I were still Hand, I'd at least take it into consideration, although trade's not really my strongest point. You'd have to speak with my father."

"I noticed you got no rewards today," I said. "Doesn't your father know about all you did to save the city?"

"I could tame dragons, conquer the Free Cities, and bring the dead back to life, and my father would still find reasons to ignore me," Tyrion said. A shadow passed across his face. "My sweet sister hates my guts, she's taught her horrible son to do likewise, and my father'd rather I'd never been born."

For a few seconds we all fell silent. I wished I'd kept silent, and cursed my flapping tongue. I didn't want to hurt Tyrion, who was a very decent chap, and I also knew that even though he wasn't apparently currently in the government, he was by no means without influence. I was never really cut out for a diplomat.

Casting around for another subject, I asked: "So what's to become of Lady Sansa? I was surprised by the announcement that her engagement's off." To be honest, I'd wondered why Joffrey hadn't cast her aside long ago. Any love she'd ever foolishly felt for him had to be long dead after the treatment she'd endured at his hands, and a victory for Joffrey meant that her family would be very much in eclipse, if not all dead.

"Oh, Lady Sansa will stay here at court," Tyrion said. "Fiancee or no fiancee, she's got a claim on the North, and that's something my father will never, ever let go. I rather think she'll be affianced to someone about court...someone we can trust to stay loyal." He shook his head. "Maybe my cousin Lancel Lannister. You do know him, I believe."

I nodded. As I mentioned above, he'd been one of the people King Robert had sent to Britain, and we'd perforce become acquainted. He was about as brainless as a bat, and I thought that if Lady Sansa had anything going on under that glorious mop of red hair, she could soon be leading him about by the nose.

By the time the discussion broke up, Tyrion had agreed to talk to whomever they were to put in charge of the fisc on our behalf. I wandered off to bed thinking I'd done well that day, and when Elspeth came in, we celebrated our mutual survival in fine old style.

[1] "Soup and fish"-slang for formal evening wear.

[2] Richard Francis Burton took that wound while exploring in East Africa. The scar is visible on many portraits of him.

[3] Flashman had been in many desperate combats, but the defense of the rampart of the improvised fort at Cawnpore, during the Indian Mutiny, was probably one of the worst.

[4] Flashman served on both sides in the American Civil War, although the packet of his papers where he details his experiences there has not come to light. He did mention that if he'd been the soldier everybody thought he was, Lee might have won Gettysburg and taken Washington. This reference reinforces the theory that at the time of Gettysburg, he was with the Confederates. General Lewis "Lo" Armistead led Pickett's Charge, in which the Army of Northern Virginia tried unsuccessfully to break the Federal line. Flashman's reluctance to participate was well-founded; Lee's second-in-command, James Longstreet, was very much against the Charge and predicted that it would end in disaster.

[5] As far as is known, Flashman never made it to Siam (modern Thailand), but he had apparently heard of the custom for Siamese kings to sent nobles with whom they were displeased a white elephant as a gift. The white elephant was sacred and could not be killed, but keeping it alive was a great expense for any noble not connected with the Royal House. In English, the term "a white elephant" came to mean any gift that was more trouble to the recipient than it was worth.