The third argument of the morning swirled around the council table like a storm. The room was stuffy. It had been a cold morning and so the Queen-Regent had ordered a fire to be lit and kept stacked with wood until waves of heat filled the room. The embers still crackled in the grate, but the heat remained. Margaery felt her hair start to itch at her scalp and sweat bead on her brow. The rest of the council wasn't much better. Cersei was shuffling uncomfortably, shooting venemous looks over at the fireplace. Lord Loren had loosened the collar of his tunic, and his brother tyrion was slumped in his chair. Garlan had pushed his own chair away from the table a little, the grand maester was asleep at his desk, his breath making his whisps of a beard flutter and lord Varys was dabbing at sweat on the side of his neck and lord Baelish was fidgeting with his ledgers. Kevan Lannister alone seemed unaffected. It had only gotten worse as they debated the speed of the removal of refugees from King's Landing, and then the construction of ships to make another attack on Dragonstone.
"The inns are crying out for custom," Lord Baelish said, "should we deny them? WIth the price of food still high, they need more guests to support them."
"The northern delegation are official guests of the king. Are you really suggesting that we simply tell them to find their own accommodation the moment they arrive?" Loren said.
"We have greater concerns than the comfort of Prince Tristan Stark," Margaery spat the last three words. Why did the King in the North have to send him. All sorts of names were fixed to Tristan Stark. The Butcher, the Bloody Wolf, The Skineater. Had Robb stark not humiliated them enough? He had to send them the man who had savaged their home for the Tyrells to smile at and make pleasant conversation, as though it was all in the past. Garlan touched her arm gently to calm her down.
Kevan Lannister was less concerned. "We are at the start of a new relationship with the Kingdom of the North and Trident, it would be best not to start on the wrong foot. As to the inns, lord Baelish, the prince travels with hundreds, fellow lordlings, knights and their escorts. We need not house them all in the keep."
"We need not house any of them in the keep if we do not wish it," Baelish pointed out. "Much of the keep is occupied as it is. Are we to turf out our loyal vassals to accommodate a foreign prince?"
"Our vassals we can accommodate, but to give insult to the first representative of the King in the North should be avoided if we can."
"And where do we put them then, uncle, who should we choose to cast out of the keep?" Cersei snapped.
Kevan returned her gaze. "Ultimately the decision is, of course, yours, your grace."
"Perhaps one of us could surrender our quarters," Tyrion said. "I would be happy to sequester myself in Chataya's establishment."
Even Margaery, who normally enjoyed Tyrion's jokes, was not amused. "Now is not the time for jests, brother, unless you want to lose your seat at this table," Cersei said.
"Well it just so happens there are empty chambers in the Red Keep, now it would be inappropriate for a foreign dignitary to be there but-"
"I have already made it clear, I will name a new Hand of the King when I am ready to do so. Until then, the Tower of the Hand will remain vacant."
"Are you ready to tell us where the northerners will be based then?"
"What about the manse you have just acquired, my lord?" Baelish asked with a smile.
"What about the several others that you own, my lord?" Tyrion retorted.
"Uncle Kevan is right, at least the head of the delegation must be in the Red Keep, as for the others, I say let the inns have the custom," Loren said.
"We don't have any rooms," Garlan replied.
"Enough!" Cersei slapped the table. She quickly put her hand below the desk and Margaery could tell she was holding back on expressing the pain. "It's too hot, it's clear you can't think clearly right now, let us reconvene later today."
Margaery wanted to point out that Cersei was most bothered by the heat and the one responsible for it. But more than that she wanted to be out of this room. "A splendid decision your grace," Garlan said, standing and offering Margaery his hand, which she took gratefully.
"I will summon you when I am ready to hold council again," Cersei said, still sat at the head of the table.
When they were outside, Garlan asked, "Where to, sister?"
"Outside," Margaery said simply. Before they left she turned to the rest of the council who filed out. "Until later, my lords."
"Until later, my lady, Loren said, bowing his head before walking in the other direction with Kevan and Tyrion, the three of them talking in low voices. No doubt wondering how to co-ordinate in the next council meeting. Their co-ordination was not lost on Margaery. Kevan spoke as the voice of reason and legalism. Tyrion spoke the uncomfortable words that might antagonise and get rises out of the rest of the council, or force them to confront a fact or truth. Meanwhile Loren spoke little and listened much. So many Lannisters to fill the council, if the Tyrells were to match the lions, they would need to even out the numbers, either by purchasing one of the others, or replace them.
However as they were approaching the garden, Leonette hurried up to them, quickly kissing Garlan on the cheek. "My lord, my lady," she bowed.
"Leonette," Margaery smiled at the woman. "We were just going to the garden, would you join us?"
"I would, my lady, but I'm afraid that the King has requested your presence."
Margaery sighed. "Then I shall go to him."
Garlan squeezed her shoulder. "I'll let you know how the discussion goes with our grandmother."
"Please do." Margaery said before turning and making her way through the castle towards the King's chambers. They were to discuss the matter of Willas' future marriage, but she could leave that to Garlan and her grandmother. If the King called, she had to answer.
Three of the Kingsguard stood watch outside the Kings chambers, but Loras was not among them. He had been guarding the king last night, so today he was sleeping in the White Tower. With Ser Jaime's imprisonment and Ser Meryn's murder, that left Ser Arys Oakheart, Ser Balon Swann Ser Mandon Moore and Sandor Clegane. Ser Balon was in command of the castle garrison most days, and it was the other three that loomed before her. "Lady Margaery" Ser Arys said stepping forward.
"The king has summoned me," she told the three.
"We're aware," Mandon said, his gaze blank, giving nothing away. "Your pardon, my lady."
Margaery nodded and allowed the knights to pat down her bodice, looking for weapons. O their credit, not one hand lingered or diverted more than necessary. When they were done, without another word, Mandon opened the door and Margaery stepped in, followed by the Hound.
Joffrey was sat at a chair looking out over the city, hunched and brooding, his expression dark. His chair wasn't on the royal balcony, but instead set back inside the room, away from the sunlight. She dropped into a low bow. "You summoned me, your grace."
Joffrey turned to her, his expression still dark. In that moment Margaery wished that Loras was standing behind her, not the Hound. "My future queen," he said. His tone was genial, but forced, well masked unlike his expression. "You did well to come so quickly."
"I will always come whenever you call, your grace." She approached his chair and knelt beside it, frowning. "Something troubles you, my king. What is it?"
"Of course I am troubled," he spat. "Ever since I became king, my regents have done nothing but squander my kingdoms. Everyone told me my grandfather was the finest Hand, but I see nothing good out of his regency."
"Your grandfather was a great man, my king, his death saddened all of us. He faced many problems, and perhaps it was his age, but they overwhelmed him."
"Kings can't be overwhelmed. He should have hands that can't be overwhelmed either."
"He did the best he could, as did his whole council," Margaery said earnestly. Whatever Tywin's faults, his dedication to stitching his grandson's realm back together was admirable.
"Well he failed." Joffrey declared, sitting deeper into his chair. "I now have half the realm I started with. He lost it!"
Now Margaery had to be careful. This was a chance to turn Joffrey away from the Lannisters and more toward the Tyrells. However she had to walk a careful line. The Tyrells had been heavily invested in the regency, to paint it as a failure was to paint them as a failure. And the Tyrells, weakened as they had been by the war, could not control the south alone, they needed the Lannisters, while the Martells and the Arryns sat out of the realm. She couldn't drive the Lannisters away from the coalition altogether. Especially as the Hound, standing just over her shoulder, would no doubt report every word she said to the Queen.
"My king, the regency council has done all it can to steward things since the death of your father. I share your anger that the war against the Starks was not won, but it was not you who lost it, you are not to blame," except that you started the whole thing by killing Eddard Stark.
"I will not accept it!"
"Of course not, your grace," she soothed, touching his arm gently. "You were born the king of the Seven Kingdoms, by rights that title is yours. But Robb Stark is young, like yourself, and he was able to beat all the old men, including your grandfather who came before him. You saw your father, he was strong, but by the end had grown fat. His best friend, once a hero turned against his lawful king, along with your uncle Stannis. They were old, age brings wisdom, but also caution, perhaps too much caution in this case."
"But what can I do. My regents still chain me. I would have done it all differently."
"How so, your grace?"
"I would have shown no mercy. None of the negotiations my grandfather and uncles attempted. I would have marched on Robb Stark from the beginning, with all my strength. I would have taken Sansa head rather than her hand and installed new, loyal lords in the north. Perhaps I would have given it to Tommen, he is too meek to attempt betrayal."
Marching on Robb Stark was never an option. First we opposed you, then Stannis opposed you, then the time was lost. "Perhaps there is time for that in the coming years, once we have rebuilt from this war," Margaery said. "Perhaps, after some years of peace and plenty, to celebrate the start of your true rein, we can make right what was done wrong." And I can be the only queen in Westeros again.
"Yes. Yes." Joffrey said, a smile crossing his face. "Peace, plenty. Then I take back what is mine."
"A wonderful thought, your grace," she leant in and brushed her lips against his cheek. She gasped and moved backwards, placing her fingers to her lips. "Forgive me, your grace, I should not have been so forward. After all, we are not yet married."
Joffrey's smile turned lascivious. "I can forgive it, my future queen."
"You are a merciful king," she bowed her head. "But come, let us talk of lighter things, we are soon to be married, now is not a time to talk of death and judgement."
She led Joffrey out onto the balcony and talked until the darkness was gone from his tone and words. She would have stayed longer, but there was a knock at the door. Ser Mandon stuck his head in. "Your Grace, your mother has requested Lady Margaery's presence."
"Would you like me to stay, my king?"
Joffrey shook his head. "I'm sure it's something important to do with our wedding, and we want a perfect day, after all."
Margaery bowed and left, leaving Joffrey to the protection of his Kingsguard.
A messenger was waiting for her outside and led her to Cersei, not at the council chambers, but to her personal chambers, leaving her outside the door. She was the third to arrive, behind Varys and Littlefinger, but quickly joined by Garlan. Were the Lannisters already inside. Had the family concocted something against them? But then Tyrion and Kevan came, the elder following shortly after the former. It took longer for the last of them, the lord himself to arrive. All three of them had changed into clean tunics, and Margaery wished she had also had a chance to change, but apparently not. Loren glanced around. "Are we not going in?"
"We wait on the queen-regent," Varys explained.
"Is she not here?"
"She has not invited us in."
Loren huffed in annoyance. Silently, they all waited. "This is ridiculous, I have work to do," Loren stepped up to the door, ignoring the Lannister guardsmen on it, and hammered on the wood. "Sister! We're here, at your request."
There was a long pause before they were called to enter. The council filed in and spread into a crescent before Cersei's desk. The queen-regent had also changed into a lighter scarlet dress cinched with a black belt woven with gold. She was writing a letter, the quill scratching across the paper annoyingly. The council glanced at each other. Should they speak, or wait and allow Cersei to go through with this display of authority. But Lord Loren, the one best placed to speak openly, said nothing, so neither did she or Garlan.
They waited. Margaery's eyes drifted to the paraphernalia on Cersei's desk. She saw a small set of scales with a heavy emerald bracelet weighing down one of the sides and a small wooden gavel beside it. There was a model ship and several small pouches of coins scattered about. At her right hand, not far from where she had set down the quill was a small letter opener shaped like a longsword. Several documents stuck out of draws, tied shut with red thread and many books stood on the shelves behind her, their spines thick and uncracked.
Beside her Garlan was alert as always, but not focussing. Ser Kevan stood attentively, but looked at nothing in particular. Finally it was Tyrion who spoke. "Your grace," he began, but Cersei cut across him.
"I am in the middle of writing an important letter," Cersei replied tersely, her eyes not moving from the letter.
"Oh I know," Tyrion replied, courteously and with a smile. "I was just wondering if you could tell me who made your quill."
Everyone looked at him, even Cersei looked up confused. "My quill?"
"Yes, it's just that you haven't refilled it with ink since we walked in, it must be very well made."
The scratching stopped. Cersei glanced between the paper, the quill and the ink pot beside the paper. She wanted to kiss Tyrion. Margaery kept her smirk hidden, she was wondering if she should try and refill it now or if that would look even worse. Finally making a decision, Cersei set the quill down and laced her fingers before her. "I will have one sent," she said curtly.
"Please do, my queen."
Cersei eyed the council. "I have decided that changes are to be made to the council," she said firmly. Margaery narrowed her eyes. This was more than a new Hand of the King. What was she about to do? "We were all there this morning, too much back and forth, too little decisive action. I have decided that there is no longer any need for there to be people at the council who have no official role there."
Margaery stiffened, feeling Garlan do the same beside her. "Cersei," Loren began.
But she kept speaking as if he hadn't. "Tyrion, you are relieved of your position. Margaery, I believe you have a wedding to focus on. And once that is done, it would be unbecoming of King Joffrey's regents to include his wife while he is underage. You are also relieved. Ser Garlan, you hold no position either, but while your father is not here, I allow you to sit in his place as Master of Ships until he returns."
No one moved. Tyrion made to turn, but Loren touched his shoulder gently. "And the position of Hand of the King?" Loren asked.
Cersei smiled. "I have found an appropriate man of skill and loyalty to serve in that post." She tapped the table twice with the small gavel and the doors to her bedchamber opened.
A man Margaery didn't recognise entered. He was dressed in a fine doublet of dark blue cloth, black trousers and black boots. Around his neck and shoulders was a chain of golden hands, one clasping the wrist of the next. Despite the finery, his face was solemn.
"Lord Sebaston Farman has agreed to take up the position of Hand of the King," Cersei said proudly.
"Congratulations, my lord," lord Baelish said with a dazzling smile.
"Indeed, I look forward to working with you," Varys said.
Kevan greeted Sebaston politely as did Loren, though his jaw was clenched. Cersei had named one of his bannermen to serve as Hand of the King so Loren could not well object, but since Loren was her brother, the King's uncle and already served on the council, he no doubt saw this as a snub.
"And I look forward to working with you all," Sebastian said politely. "As we speak, my possessions are being moved into the Tower of the Hand, and the quarters I currently occupy with my household will be made available to the northern delegation when they arrive."
"Now, the Hand and I have matters to discuss, we will see you all at the next council meeting." Cersei's dismissal was clear and so the rest of the council turned and left the room.
"What a piece of theatre," Tyrion said sardonically.
"The governance of the realm is not a mummer's show," Loren muttered. "I'm sure I can find you another role, Tyrion, come by my chambers tomorrow."
"Margaery," Garlan began.
"Fear not, brother," Margaery said with a smile. "There are other matters that will occupy me in the coming days. And if I should be blessed with a wedding-night child then I will bee too busy for council meetings anyhow."
"Nevertheless," Loren said, coming over. "I'm sorry how this was handled. Ser Garlan, may we talk?"
"I think that might be best," Garlan said. "Margaery, I'll speak to you later."
Margaery watched as her brother left with Loren and turned to head in the other direction. What was Cersei hoping to achieve here. Garlan would still consult with her and grandmother outside of the council chambers. Or did she think that Garlan the Gallant was bold but bereft of wisdom, and that in the council chambers he would be meek. If so then all was well.
Willas was a cripple and the heir, there was no hiding him or his intelligence, and Loras was a knight right out fairy stories, now in the Kingsguard. People often overlooked Garlan, to their peril.
