Long Live the King
Lord Lucerys Velaryon had never felt so alone as he did now, isolated and weak.
It was true that he was no Seasnake nor Oakenfist. Still, he had remedied his personal weaknesses with his title as Lord of the Tides, commanding one of Westeros' largest navies—a navy expanded when he was granted the position of Master of Ships and placed in charge of the Targaryen fleet.
However, this fleet was now stationed at Dragonstone and unable to assist him. His adversaries had no reason to traverse the seas and risk a confrontation with his ships. Escape was also out of the question.
That lowborn Commander of the City Watch had locked down the entire capital with his gold cloaks. Lucerys could see them from the windows of his manse, patrolling the roads frequently. His men-at-arms had reported rumors and observations that the harbor and every gate were swarming with gold cloaks, not letting even a mouse pass.
When had those guards become so numerous? And why hadn't the council or the late King Aerys been informed? It seemed that many events had been unfolding in their own city without at least his knowledge.
Lucerys had gained much through his initial acquaintance and subsequent 'friendship' with the late king. Initially visiting Dragonstone as a child at his father's prompting, he met the then-young prince during the rule of King Aegon V. Always younger than the Targaryen, Lucerys had profited greatly in life by simply following the initially idealistic and then increasingly sadistic Targaryen throughout the years. After all, they were 'cousins,' a fact a good Velaryon would never forget—or let others forget.
He had built alliances with Lord Symond and Lord Qarlton, managing to develop a profitable and comfortable existence until King Aerys' damned spawn mucked it all up with that northern whore, leading to rebellion. Now both King Aerys and Rhaegar were dead, and the Targaryens had been reduced to two boys, their mothers, and young Princess Rhaenys.
An unknown led the new regime in truth. He seemed affiliated with the conniving Varys, but not entirely a puppet either. This left the Velaryon perplexed and unsure of what to do. The position of Master of Ships may not be the most prestigious but it was a permanent seat in the small council, though its importance rarely showed itself in times of peace, or internal rebellion.
"My lord," a voice suddenly brought the elderly lord out of his thoughts. He turned to one of his trusted guards.
"Yes?" Lucerys asked with some interest. Had his execution been announced? He knew that Grand Maester Pycelle had been imprisoned; it was the talk of the smallfolk who found it humorous that the old lecher had been arrested for treason. Lucerys was not privy to the details, but it seemed the delegate from the Citadel had a not-so-generous reputation in the city.
"You have been... summoned by his grace's Hand for a council session, my lord," the turquoise-clad guard informed him with a bow. "There is a carriage with an escort of a dozen or so gold cloaks outside awaiting you."
Oh yes, the Hand. Ser Tristifer Mudd, the newly appointed Commander of the City Watch, had risen to power just yesterday when everything changed. Lucerys had paid little mind to the young man. He, of course, remembered him as the champion from the melee at that damned tourney that started all of this. Lucerys had not watched the melee himself, finding it much too crass and barbaric for his liking. He could appreciate its usefulness during boardings on ships, but it was nothing for lords and proper knights to involve themselves in.
Nevertheless, Lucerys had been taken aback when his men informed him that this knight had simply walked into the Red Keep with an army of gold cloaks and proclaimed himself Hand of the King. What King? Aegon was a toddler, not yet able to walk. This Ser Tristifer was no mere servant of the crown but rather the true power behind the throne.
"I see," Lucerys eventually stated hesitantly, quickly debating whether he should attempt to flee. Lord Lannister was, after all, besieging the city with an army far larger than the new Hand's gold cloaks. Lucerys remembered Tywin Lannister from his time as Hand; they had ended up on opposing sides, as Lucerys was a firm King's man while Tywin was fiercely independent during the end of his tenure. No, running was not a real choice. How would he even escape? All the gates were tightly closed. It seemed Lucerys would have to comply with the new Hand for now. Who knew how long this new regime would last? Hands of the King had fallen like flies in recent years.
With a resigned sigh, Lucerys nodded to his guard. "Very well. Lead the way," he said, trying to summon a semblance of dignity. As he followed the guard to the waiting carriage, he couldn't shake the feeling of walking into a lion's den. Surely this upstart wouldn't dare have him, a lord, executed or imprisoned. No, not even such a brazen lowborn would dare something like that.
The gold cloaks were emotionless as they silently watched him pass and enter the carriage. He was soon situated with a couple of his own guards before the door slammed shut, and a whistle signaled their departure.
As the carriage lurched forward and began moving, Lucerys let his gaze fall upon the window and the passing city. He witnessed the patrolling gold cloaks regularly passing by. To his surprise, most smallfolk nodded in respect to the gold cloaks. He had never known that the City Watch possessed such respect and rapport, at least among the wealthier artisans and merchants living between his manse atop Visenya's Hill and the Red Keep on Aegon's Hill.
He could guess that the rabble inhabiting the city's less fortunate dwellings were not so friendly. He envisioned them as rabid animals, certainly a place where a high lord like him had no business visiting.
Lucerys shifted uncomfortably, struggling to understand how the rebels could fail, given that all royalist hosts lay defeated and the city was now defended only by city watchmen. Surprisingly, these watchmen bore high-quality arms and armor. He noted with surprise that the gold cloaks passing by carried castle-forged steel spears. Any self-respecting noble could easily distinguish genuine castle-forged steel from poor imitations.
If he wasn't mistaken, he couldn't recall the gold cloaks ever being outfitted with more than poor iron spears and cudgels, nor could he remember them marching with such purpose and precision. It seemed the new Hand had made significant changes that Lucerys had failed to notice until now, as this transformation clearly hadn't happened overnight.
As the carriage approached the Red Keep, the imposing fortress loomed larger. Lucerys felt a pang of nostalgia for the days when he had walked these halls with a sense of purpose and security. Now, uncertainty gnawed at him.
Upon arrival, the carriage came to a halt, and a waiting gold cloak opened the door. Lucerys stepped out, straightening his cloak and squaring his shoulders. He would face this new Hand with the dignity befitting his station. His family was still safe on Driftmark, his sons both true and baseborn. The young men Monford and Aurane were probably with the fleet now that he thought of it. He only hoped they would survive this damned rebellion unscathed, even if he might not.
With a deep breath, Lucerys followed the escort into the Red Keep. They ascended toward the familiar council chambers, and all too soon he was led into the room. His escort halted at the entrance, leaving him to take the last uncertain steps alone to the council table.
The head of the small council table was conspicuously empty, with the infant Aegon instead cradled in his mother's arms at one of the side chairs. At the Queen Mother's side and on the 'King's' right hand was the man of the hour, Ser Tristifer Mudd. Lucerys remembered hearing a fanciful tale that the Hand descended from a line of legendary River Kings from the time of the Andal Invasion. The Velaryon could at least grant that he looked the part.
Ser Tristifer sat with a serious posture in a well-made brown doublet adorned with a golden Mudd crown, if Lucerys wasn't mistaken. The upstart presented an impressive image, exuding authority and strength. This was no bumbling idiot like 'Wisdom' Rossart or Lord Owen Merryweather. Lucerys had to admit that even Lord Qarlton appeared like a poor magistrate in comparison.
Lucerys took his seat, trying to mask his unease. The room was filled with captains of the City Watch, each watching him with varying degrees of interest and suspicion. The atmosphere was almost anticipatory, at least for the gold cloak officers that surrounded them.
It seemed Lucerys was one of the last arrivals, as beside him already sat Varys, the Master of Whisperers, and the Hand's closest associates. Ser Addam, a bastard of some crownlord, and Robin, the cousin of Ser Tristifer, were also present. The only person Lucerys was missing, after knowing of Pycelle's incarceration and Rossart's demise, was his only real friend left in the capital, Lord Symond.
The Hand seemed unperturbed by the absence. Ser Tristifer rose to his feet, and the murmuring of the chamber's occupants subsided. The doors closed loudly, leaving the councilors seated at the table, the captains surrounding the room, and the two gold cloak guards flanking the entrance—or exit, Lucerys thought morbidly.
"I thank you all for being here for this gathering," Ser Tristifer began, his gaze sweeping across the assembly, ensuring he had their undivided attention. "This moment will be etched into history, and it will be our words and actions that determine what is written. Let us begin."
Ser Tristifer sat down after his proclamation. "I want to bring everyone onto the same page concerning our situation. In the capital, we have become the only real power in the city. Only a few hours ago, the Master of Laws, Lord Staunton, was captured by Captain Addam's men as he tried to flee back to his lands. He now joins the Kingslayer, Ser Jaime, and the Grand Maester in the Black Cells awaiting execution. Ser Jaime stands accused of regicide, among other crimes, while the others face charges of high treason, with incriminating correspondence found in Pycelle's chambers linking them to Lord Tywin Lannister."
Lucerys blinked in surprise, managing to curb any further reaction. Lord Symond arrested? His hands began to sweat as he let his gaze sweep over the other councilors. The only one who didn't nod in agreement or look pleased—or at least unconcerned—was the Queen Mother. She gazed at the Hand with a mix of suspicion and resignation. It seemed the Dornishwoman was not entirely supportive of their new Hand. Though Lucerys wasn't sure what she could do about it, there was a reason she was here at this council, after all.
"This leaves the King's council quite depleted. To remedy this, I appoint Robin of Sow's Horn as interim Master of Laws until a suitable replacement is found," Tristifer announced, pausing as Robin received a light, albeit somewhat hesitant, applause from the surrounding gold cloak captains. "Additionally, I intend to appoint Lord Mace Tyrell as Master of Coin, along with other incentives, to ensure his support in our war effort. Without the assistance of the Reach, our cause may falter."
Lucerys was obviously not the only one in the room unfamiliar with the Hand's cousin, though he found the appointment of the interim Master of Laws unsurprising. He understood that the new Hand would naturally seek to populate the council with loyal supporters—a typical strategy for any new Hand consolidating power.
However, the selection of Mace Tyrell as Master of Coin caught him off guard. It was a shrewd move; the Tyrells, still nominally allied with the crown, possessed the last army capable of challenging the rebels. If this alliance fractured, it would spell the end for the royalists. Though the Tyrells had been besieging and starving the Stormlord's brothers since Ashford, they were unlikely to switch allegiances abruptly, even with the Targaryens' precarious position.
"I do not wish for any of us to face an early grave or see our families broken by this conflict," Tristifer continued, his voice resolute. "I swear to you all that I will not let this end in despair. We will secure our victory and the future of the realm." The Hand met the eyes of every councilor at the table before nodding toward his friend Ser Addam.
Lucerys tried to maintain an impassive face, but the Hand's intense eyes made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He had to remind himself that he had done nothing that this Hand could criticize—at least nothing of which the Hand would be aware.
"With my new position as Hand of the King, I will not be able to continue as Commander of the City Watch. Therefore, I appoint Ser Addam here as my replacement." Another round of applause followed. "Ser Addam has my full trust and confidence. He will diligently lead the City Watch for as long as needed!"
Lucerys almost forgot to applaud, his unease only growing. The Hand had already given his closest companions prominent positions. The importance of the Master of Laws was self-evident, and Ser Tristifer himself had proven the significance of the Commander of the City Watch.
"Hear, hear!" one of the captains announced, and an impressive chorus echoed his exclamation as the rest of the officers voiced their agreement. It seemed Ser Addam would have his captains' support for now, at least.
As the applause died down, Ser Addam stood to address the room. "I am honored by the trust placed in me, and I pledge to lead the City Watch through this siege upon our capital."
A brief but effective speech, Lucerys thought. He certainly hoped the young knight would live up to his words, but this was King's Landing, where he knew that words rarely lived up to their promises.
Ser Tristifer looked to the new Commander with a pleased expression, nodding at his words. "Well said, my friend. Now, I am afraid the war situation can wait no longer." Tristifer then turned to one of the gold cloak guards, who nodded and opened a side door leading to the servants' quarters. From the door came a few servants with a large map of Westeros that was quickly draped across the large council table, soon joined by wooden figures.
There were five different pieces: a Crown, a Stag, a Rose, a Spear, and a Lion. A crown representing the royalists was... daring. Typically, a dragon symbolized the Targaryens, but Lucerys guessed there were few Targaryens left to argue.
The Crown, of course, was at King's Landing along with the Lion. South of them, at Storm's End, were the Rose and a Stag. Even further south, near Ironwood, was a Spear representing the Martells and Dorne. In Blackwater Bay, to the east of King's Landing, was another Crown, representing his fleet at Dragonstone. Finally, there was the Stag at the Ruby Ford, a little north of Harrenhal and west of Castle Darry, where Prince Rhaegar and his men had fallen.
The captains moved closer as Ser Tristifer rose to his feet. "We're moving into the second year of this rebellion, which makes troop counts quite speculative." The Hand pointed to King's Landing first. "Here we have 5,000 gold cloaks, the last true military presence we have left. In the worst-case scenario, we could disembark the marines from Lord Velaryon's ships, but this would greatly reduce the fleet's effectiveness, leaving it more vulnerable than I would like." Most of the chamber's occupants turned to Lucerys.
He blinked but soon nodded silently, deciding that blending into the background would be a reasonable strategy for now. There was no reason to openly oppose the new Hand. Although it didn't sit right with him to have a lowborn in such a prominent position, especially without oversight from any king or higher lords, he recognized that for the time being, he would have to accept this uncomfortable reality.
The Hand nodded and quickly moved on. "Outside these walls are around 10,000 Westerlanders; some reports suggest they might be 12,000 strong." He paused before continuing. "They have the numbers, and I fear these are no green boys. Our 5,000 men should manage to hold them off for some time. I anticipate that Lord Lannister will seek a parlay with us, which I intend to join to assess his allegiance. Captain Bryen, what do you think of our chances to withstand direct assaults at your gates?"
The Captain, who had started the second applause for Ser Addam a few minutes ago, stepped forward. "I believe my men will hold against any immediate assaults, though it will be challenging. The enemy has not been spotted building any siege equipment yet, and I doubt they will attack before they at least have a few battering rams and siege towers ready. However, this is simply a presumption."
"Very well, have all your scouts keep an eye out for construction and felling trees. The besiegers have set up trenches and other earthworks already if I'm not mistaken?" Ser Tristifer said, looking at all the captains.
Captain Bryen spoke for the watch as he nodded. "You are not mistaken. The Lannister men dug throughout the night. Though their works are not of the highest quality, they should still be a factor in any sorties we plan."
The Hand sent a grateful smile to the Captain. "Thank you, Captain." He then tapped on both Storm's End and Ironwood. "These are the men on the field who will determine this war's outcome. While our forces can hold and perhaps be reinforced, they will not manage this task alone. I am afraid the details of Lord Tyrell's incentives will remain secretive for now, but I wonder if the Queen Mother might earn us the assistance of her brothers. There is already talk of the Dornish Spears at the Trident, and I do not wish for them to rust in the sands down south." All eyes turned to the beautiful if frail, Dornish Princess.
She seemed to be locked in a staring contest with Ser Tristifer. After a few moments, the dusky woman sighed. "The Dornish lost many at the Trident, something my brother will be eager to avoid repeating. We do not possess endless men, and this makes me hesitant to promise anything."
Ser Tristifer kept a pleasant smile on his face, though his voice had a hint of steel as he replied, "Then I suggest sending a missive to ascertain their 'eagerness.' It would not be remiss to include some urgency and pressure in this letter, if I may be so bold."
There was total silence before Princess Elia eventually nodded with some reluctance. "I will ensure to inform them of the gravity of the situation. What would you have me... order them?"
The Hand chuckled lightly. "Well, if I may speak freely, then I would suggest ordering them north toward Storm's End and anticipating a historic endeavor. None have managed to take the castle by force, after all. I will provide more details once you have managed to gain an understanding with your brothers."
Lucerys found himself almost holding his breath during the exchange. Despite her frail appearance, the princess's dark eyes flashed with traces of a once more forceful and spirited character. Ser Tristifer's bold assertiveness caught him off guard—a man of low birth, speaking so unabashedly to the Queen Mother? And proposing an assault on Storm's End, no less? Ser Tristifer certainly did not lack ambition or boldness.
Ser Tristifer shook his head, signaling a need to progress. "We have more to discuss and time is not our ally. I am sure we can settle the details shortly." His words were directed squarely at the princess, who looked genuinely taken aback. However, the Hand didn't dwell on her reaction, quickly moving on. "Now, regarding the main rebel army at the Trident—Lord Varys, could you update us on their status?"
Lord Varys gracefully stood and offered a bow. "Certainly, my Hand," he replied, then gestured toward the map, indicating the stag north of their position.
"Before the engagement, scouts from the Prince's host and other sources estimated the rebel force to be slightly less than 40,000, giving us a slight numerical advantage." His news was met with grimaces from the captains; it was always disheartening to hear of wasted advantages, especially under their current circumstances. "Regrettably, our forces lost about a quarter of their number and were largely dispersed, which casts doubt on the likelihood of their reassembly, given the scarcity of remaining leaders."
"Now, concerning the rebels, we know Lord Tully remains incapacitated after Stoney Sept. There are also whispers that Robert Baratheon was not left unscathed after the battle and is currently recuperating. As for their numbers, they, too, have suffered considerable losses, slightly fewer than ours, but they now stand at approximately 30,000. While their main host has yet to move from their encampments by the Trident, the northern banners are unaccounted for. Given Lord Eddard's steadfast loyalty to Lord Robert, it is safe to assume they have not abandoned the cause," Varys concluded.
Murmuring among the captains ensued while Ser Tristifer maintained a contemplative demeanor. Lucerys, however, was deeply unsettled by the news. With 30,000 men, plus Lord Lannister's 10,000, they were outnumbered nearly eight to one—a force large enough to overwhelm their defenses and seize the city.
"Is it reasonable to assume that Lord Eddard and his forces might be headed this way?" Ser Tristifer asked, his composure bewildering to Lucerys.
Even if Lord Tyrell and the Reach forces were fully committed to their cause, they were stationed 100 leagues south at Storm's End—a considerable distance for such a large force to cover swiftly. Fortunately, the main rebel force was also not nearby, providing a small measure of relief. Still, the Hand's calm demeanor stirred a flicker of hope in Lucerys that perhaps he had a plan in mind.
"Indeed, I believe your outriders should encounter them soon enough," Varys replied. "There may not be all gloom, however. There are reports from the Vale that the Mountain Clans are once again growing bold. They may be encouraged by a small push in the right direction," he continued casually.
"Have it done. Now, is there anything else to discuss?" Tristifer asked with finality.
Everyone was surprised when the Queen Mother cleared her throat. She wore a slight grimace, which only widened when Tristifer smiled broadly.
"Yes, Queen Mother?" Lucerys thought he detected a hint of amusement in his tone as Princess Elia almost sighed.
"I-I wish to proclaim you, Ser Tristifer, Lord Regent of His Grace Aegon VI. I have faith that you will do all you can to protect and steward his grace's lands and holdings until he is of age." Her last words seemed less forced, and Ser Tristifer grew serious at the proclamation.
"I swear it upon all the gods, both old and new, Your Grace, to protect young King Aegon from enemies near and far until he reaches the age of majority," the Hand pledged, bowing his head.
"This... pleases me. Now I believe our King deserves some rest," Princess Elia said as she rose to her feet with the napping infant in her arms. "I bid you all a good day, my lords, captains." She curtsied.
"Let the fine men by the door escort you to your chambers," Ser Tristifer said in reply as the Dornish woman walked toward the doors, which were quickly opened for her. The Princess did not reply, but the gold cloaks followed her, and the quartet soon disappeared from sight.
"With that, I believe this council is hereby adjourned. Thank you all for coming," Tristifer announced, prompting the gold cloak captains to begin departing the room. Ser Addam and the new Master of Laws soon followed. Lucerys had just risen from his seat when a voice stopped him.
"Excuse me, Lord Velaryon, but could you delay your departure for a moment?" The calm voice piqued his nerves, but he turned back, careful to hide his uneasiness. The only occupants left were Ser Tristifer and, curiously, the Spider.
"Of course... my Hand. How may I be of assistance?" Lucerys replied as he sat down again, managing to meet the Hand's gaze, though not without some effort.
"I want you to mobilize the fleet and detach a squadron to the city. I believe the fleet may be of use soon enough, and it will be fortuitous for it to be ready for anything. That is all, my lord," Ser Tristifer stated. Lucerys mulled over the words. The mobilization of the fleet was not unexpected; the new Hand seemed more willing than previous Hands to utilize all available resources.
"I will see it done, my Hand. Varys," Lucerys bid his goodbyes before rising from his seat and successfully leaving this time. The relief he felt as he exited the room and turned a corner was almost indescribable.
Ser Tristifer was almost certainly not a man to confront directly, and with the Spider by his side, Lucerys struggled to see a way to oppose the new Hand. Although he disliked being ordered around by a lowborn, every time he thought to refuse, his mind went to the four prominent men already in the Black Cells and their probable executions. He was too old to challenge Ser Tristifer now and had fewer and fewer reasons to do so. Even if his pride would be wounded, he hoped that would be the only consequence.
Addam was almost surprised when the bells began ringing, even though he had been well aware of them. The small council meeting had been interesting. He would have thought anyone a jester if they had suggested that the three of them would be in this position even a moon ago. But no, this was the reality, and Tristifer was the Hand of the King—the most powerful man now, at least according to the law. Wartime rarely cared for rules and laws.
From the walls of the Red Keep, he spied smallfolk gathering at the steps of the Sept, a great dark mass that moved about the grand square. From his vantage point, he also saw the besiegers, red banners visible in the distance, and a sea of tents a little ways from the City's grand walls.
"Addam!" a voice shouted from behind. Turning around, he saw Tristifer, Robin, Bryen, and a large detachment of mounted gold cloaks—around two score—waiting in the courtyard of the keep.
It seemed the Lannisters had accepted their proposal for a negotiation. Addam quickly descended the closest stairs, soon reaching the courtyard where a mount awaited him.
As soon as he was up on the horse, Tristifer prompted his mount to move out. The gates of the walls that Addam had just been on were opened with a groan, and the procession began moving through.
Addam moved his horse up beside Tristifer as the gold cloak escort fanned out around them, screening them as they descended Aegon's High Hill. Robin and Bryen followed close behind.
"Lord Lannister's reputation is almost larger than his ego. How will you play this?" Addam inquired. Lord Tywin Lannister was, of course, known throughout the Seven Kingdoms for his ruthlessness and was a force to be reckoned with. A man who drowned two whole houses—his own vassals, men, women, and children—with no remorse. Since then, none had thought the Golden Lannisters weak.
Tristifer smirked slightly. "Tywin Lannister is undoubtedly a formidable man and a great foe. Truly, he may be one of the kingdom's most dangerous men." Tristifer then looked toward Addam. "He, however, believes me a result of fortuitous circumstances, and who am I to discourage the great Lord Tywin from thinking so? He has built a great legacy for himself, but through... fortuitous circumstances, we seem to hold at least a third of that legacy in our damp cells."
Addam nodded slowly. "What do we do then? Threaten him? Do we want them to attack or...?" he suggested, considering various strategies.
Tristifer fixed his eyes forward as they reached the foot of the hill and began down the road through the square in front of Baelor's Sept. "We should also remember that Tywin will be desperate for something tangible to present to Baratheon when he arrives. The Lannisters have fought no battles, aided nothing, and will simply be a footnote if Lord Tywin doesn't manage to pull something from his hairy behind."
"So, an assault? Do we want them to attack?" Addam asked genuinely. Beating back an assault would be a morale boost, and it was a standard opening move during sieges to see if the city could fall quickly. Lannister had already lost the opportunity to simply walk in when Tristifer and Varys managed to foil the plans of the Grand Maester, who had convinced the King to open the gates. Thankfully, Tristifer had already alerted and mobilized the watch the previous day.
Tristifer shrugged. "Tywin wishes to take the city before Baratheon arrives, so he can hand it over as a 'hidden ally' and reap the rewards. In some ways like I wish to profit if we win this war. Regardless, I don't believe our Lion Lord cares if this comes from a quick assault or negotiations. This is something we can exploit," Tristifer stated, a hint of excitement in his demeanor.
"I would be greatly surprised if he knew much of us. We could present a front of overwhelmed and nervous idiots that are easy to convince. Leave open a gate, and the Lions will pounce upon the 'unsuspecting' sheep. They will not manage to see the yellow eyes and grey pelt under the white wool."
Addam appreciated the analogy before he began considering it seriously. "It would be risky. Do we even have good enough troops, and which gate?"
Their talk was almost overwhelmed by the sounds of the crowd as they moved into the grand square. At the top of the stairs, Addam spotted septons and heralds sent by Tristifer a few hours ago, announcing King Aerys' death and the circumstances of his murder. The heroic Commander of the gold cloaks and now Hand of the new King had arrived just too late to prevent the killing, managing instead to apprehend the traitorous Ser Jaime Lannister.
They paused their planning as they crossed the large square, the crowd parting at the barking commands from their escort as they made their way through. Addam spotted every kind of citizen from the highest merchants and artisans to the lowest drags of Flea Bottom, young and old, men and women. "Praise be the Lord Hand!" they shouted. "May King Aerys rest in peace," and "Long live King Aegon!" were also heard. "Save us from the lions!" and many more shouts echoed as they passed.
Tristifer's face remained impassive as he soaked in the adulation. Addam, however, couldn't help but feel a surge of hope. This display of support could be crucial in the days to come.
They were soon past, and the gold cloaks closed ranks around them as they continued along the long, straight road leading past the West Barracks and to the Gate of the Gods. It was a familiar path for both of them, one they had initially only patrolled with their squads, now leading the city's delegation during a siege.
"I believe that a contingent of the Targaryen Men-at-Arms from the Red Keep would serve as a strong backbone. As for the gate, I suggest the one we are intimately familiar with. There are only five roads and alleys leading from it, even if they manage to break through the gate itself. It would allow for a staggered defense if we can prepare barricades and such as well," Tristifer remarked, surprising Addam with the depth of his strategic thinking.
Addam couldn't help but admire how far Tristifer had thought ahead. He knew his friend was diligent, always working so hard that it was hard to imagine him doing anything else. In fact, Addam wasn't sure if he had ever seen Tristifer doing anything besides working or sleeping. Hopefully, all this effort would pay off. Tristifer certainly deserved it.
"Sounds reasonable," Addam replied, unsure of what else to add. Tristifer looked over at him.
"Don't worry so much. Lord Lannister is greatly underestimating us, and this will be something he pays dearly for. Have no worries about that," Tristifer explained calmly. They fell into silence as they rode further past the West Barracks and through Cobbler's Square. The smallfolk, as usual, let them pass, making the journey relatively swift.
Addam soon spotted the Gate of the Gods looming larger as they neared the end of the road.
They halted in the small courtyard directly in front of the gate as Tristifer and two gold cloaks spoke briefly with a few lieutenants. The lieutenants soon arranged for a rider to be sent for the parlay, along with a further foot escort. Additionally, some of the riders were given black and red Targaryen banners, while the man riding behind Tristifer held a brown Mudd banner—probably the first of its kind in centuries, which was curious to think about.
The gate was raised, and the rider set out with a white banner toward the Lannister lines.
Tristifer and his guard soon mounted again, and before long, they were on the move once more. It was an almost strange feeling to leave the claustrophobic streets of the city for the wide-open plains that spread out to the north. Addam saw a similarly sized mounted force closing in from the opposite side.
As they neared the Lannister force, the tension was palpable. The two groups halted a few paces apart, their banners fluttering in the breeze—black and red for House Targaryen, brown for House Mudd, and crimson and gold for House Lannister. Tristifer dismounted, followed by Addam and the rest of their entourage. The Lannister representatives did the same.
A tall, stern-faced man in Lannister colors stepped forward. "I am Ser Kevan Lannister, here to represent Lord Tywin in these negotiations," he announced, his voice carrying authority.
Tristifer started to bow deeply but hesitated midway, opting instead for a small, stiff nod. Addam shot his friend a disturbed look, noticing similar expressions on the faces of the other members of their delegation.
"Ser Kevan," Tristifer began, his voice wavering slightly. "My name is Ser Tristifer Mudd, Lord Hand of his G-grace—" He faltered, then nodded awkwardly, clearly struggling with his nerves.
Ser Kevan Lannister's face remained impassive, though a small twitch by his eye suggested either irritation or amusement; Addam couldn't tell which. Tristifer's unease was palpable.
Addam cringed at the display, even though he knew it was a deception; it was almost too convincing. Robin picked up on the act, but some of the simpler gold cloaks began shifting in uncertainty, adding to the show. It was critical for some genuine reactions to mask the more forced ones.
"Well met, Ser Tristifer. Now, I hope you understand how desperate this situation is. In the name of the rightful and just King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, I implore you to surrender this hopeless position," Ser Kevan maintained an almost caring facade as he watched Tristifer's reaction. It seemed like Tristifer wasn't the only actor during this negotiation.
Tristifer almost made a show of glancing backward toward them in askance, as if he wanted their approval. "I am afraid that I—I don't have... total control and therefore must prepare for this... surrender," Tristifer almost mumbled. "I also fear the response from some less cooperative actors that inhabit the city and its leadership." Ser Kevan was about to speak before he was interrupted by the apparently 'oblivious' Tristifer.
"Give me three days to... sort things out. You have to understand that I do not really have much authority over more than one gate." Tristifer glanced back toward the Gate of the Gods. "—and I demand free passage for me and my friends," he added almost as an afterthought. "Would this be acceptable for an entrance into the city?"
Ser Kevan's face betrayed none of his thoughts as he silently observed the now sweating man before him. Addam didn't even know Tristifer could sweat on command, though the quick breathing and relatively harsh sun might have contributed to this.
Eventually, the Lannister nodded. "The Lannisters are generous to those who help, and if you let us enter the city without opposition, then we will owe you a debt that surely can be repaid by various means. Three days. If the gate does not open, we will take that as a rejection of any deal and treat you in an appropriate way." Ser Kevan did not move afterward as he continued. "In addition, I believe you hold my nephew in your... custody. I demand that he be returned as well. Anything within our power to give you will follow, of course."
Tristifer nodded quickly, as if he didn't trust his own voice to hold. Addam believed he almost saw Ser Kevan sigh.
"I bid you farewell and hope that you uphold your end of the deal. Lord Tywin does not take kindly to traitors." This was the last the Lannister said before turning on his heel and mounting his horse, soon beginning the ride back to the besiegers' camp without another look back.
Tristifer turned as well, and with the Lannisters already a ways out, allowed a natural smile to slip upon his face. "I do believe our ruse has worked on at least one Lannister. Ser Kevan tried to act serious and imitate his dear elder brother, but the relief was quite obvious in his eyes. Now to hope that Lord Tywin simply follows his brother's reports. Let us return."
Robin smirked at Tristifer's summary while some of the gold cloaks looked somewhat awed and impressed. Addam simply felt a great weight of anticipation pressing down upon him. What if the Lannisters broke through? Then what?
These worries were unproductive, for there was much to be done and too little time for uncertainty or hesitation.
Tristifer poured two glasses halfway with some fine Arbor Gold. He had never indulged in this particular wine before, as it had always been too expensive to justify. Now, however, with multiple cellars full of wines and other spirits at his disposal, it would be a shame to let them gather dust.
He picked up the two glasses and turned around in his new solar. First, he placed one of the glasses in front of Varys, who was seated, then made his way around the desk and took his own seat.
"If there's one thing the Redwynes know, it's wine," Varys commented after a sip of his drink. "It may not be the best, but it is certainly nothing to scoff at." Tristifer soon followed suit, inhaling the slightly fruity aroma before taking a sip.
It certainly tasted expensive, and he appreciated it as a very nice wine. It far surpassed the ale and other dubious beverages that the innkeepers of King's Landing dared to call alcohol.
"I believe there is business to be discussed?" Varys eventually said, prompting Tristifer to nod quickly. He took one last sip before rummaging through a pile of scribbled notes until he found the right parchment.
"Indeed. Here are some notes," Tristifer began, clearing his throat as he noticed Varys' focused look. "I wish to send a letter to Lords Tyrell and Tarly separately, in case our Flower Lord decides to ignore it. It will be a command from me, as Hand of the King and Lord Regent for our dear King. However, I believe we may need a signature or two to help with credibility; otherwise, it may be seen as the work of a simple beneficiary of a coup."
Varys shook his head. "I fear that it would not matter what we wrote in this letter without further assurances for our southern allies. We may send it, of course, but a physical meeting might be the only way to truly convince them. Lord Tyrell likes to think of himself as chivalrous and honorable, which should negate any risk of imprisonment or capture on his part. However, your absence here could be a risk as well." Varys looked thoughtful. "Your presence and influence are obvious and would be missed in the city. However, I understand the necessity of securing Tyrell and his men."
"Well, then I suggest a more tangible assurance," Tristifer stated. "The position of Master of Coin for Lord Tyrell himself, and a betrothal between young Aegon and Lord Mace's newborn daughter."
"Correct, named Margaery, if I recall," Varys replied, making Tristifer nod in thanks.
"Finally, a victory here," Tristifer finished with a smile. Varys raised an eyebrow that nearly touched his bald head.
"Oh? And how do you endeavor to achieve this victory then?" Varys asked with interest.
"During the small negotiations that were held between Ser Kevan Lannister and me today, I ensured to sow the seeds for a possible ambush. Ser Kevan has granted me a three-day period to prepare my surrender, during which I shall open the Gate of the Gods for our visitors and release the Kingslayer into their custody. With some deception and preparations, I do believe we may bloody the Lion quite deeply," Tristifer explained.
Varys's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he processed the plan. "This is a very devious plan indeed. It may very well work."
"Of course, I wouldn't support a damned cause," Tristifer quipped, sipping from his glass with a touch of humor.
Varys smirked, swirling his wine thoughtfully. "In this game, we are all pieces on a treacherous cyvasse board. Many believe it their destiny to win, but there will only be one victor. It is wise not to be blinded from seeing the whole board."
Tristifer fixed Varys with his gaze. "The throne matters little to me. What use do I have for the title of King? It's merely another dagger in the dark," he declared with derision. He had no use for being King, as he already possessed all its power here and now. Limited as it was during war, it still made him the most powerful man in the Kingdom. Especially with such a young Monarch.
Varys's smile didn't disappear. "Who said I meant the King? Many may be too blinded by the throne to see the strings, but some see, and unfortunately, they are often the most dangerous."
"Hmm, a discussion for another time," Tristifer announced as he gestured toward his notes. "I wish for Tyrell to leave a nominal force at Storm's End to continue the siege. Would you have any suggestions for possible commanders? Lords Tyrell and Tarly are, of course, off the table."
Varys did not seem to object to the topic shift. "There is unfortunately a scarcity of competent or at least experienced commanders. However, I believe Ser Jon Fossoway would be a good option. He possesses both experience and competence, in addition to his marriage to Lady Janna, one of Lord Mace's sisters, which grants him increased authority and prominence. This would also help stifle any objections from Lord Tyrell himself."
"Seems promising. I will look into Ser Jon. Thank you, Varys," Tristifer acknowledged. He couldn't deny that Varys was a valuable asset, with seemingly unending knowledge or at least an endless ability to procure answers and information.
"Now, was there anything else, Lord Regent?" Varys inquired in his typically soft voice. It had a way of sounding friendly and helpful, almost irksomely so. Yet Tristifer knew better than to be fooled by its apparent warmth; behind that softness lay the sharp sting of his words, capable of poisoning those on the wrong side of the eunuch's schemes.
"If it would not be too much to ask, I may need to receive a report on the levies left in the Crownlands and possible reinforcements. Have all the Craglords raised their men, for example?" Tristifer inquired.
Varys nodded. "Of course, I will look into it and inform you promptly when I have something, Lord Regent," Tristifer noted that being addressed as Lord Regent was likely his highest honor at the moment, considering Varys's use of the title. He hadn't anticipated it outranking the Hand of the King, but he wasn't yet an expert on the intricacies of the hierarchy. After all, all regents he knew of had been lords, so it was probably quite unprecedented, given his current lack of titles.
'Current' was the keyword there, with his schemes and dreams only as valuable as their eventual fruition. As Hand of the King, that future felt closer, but still, there was a reason why farmers didn't count their chickens before they hatched.
End of Chapter
There we were, Tristifer was officially the regent of little Aegon and therefore the ultimate power in truth. As Lucerys remarked, how will one defeat the team of Tristifer and Varys? Maybe we will have to see.
I thought it would be important to flesh out Lord Velaryon considering how I all but lumped all of the Mad King's 'lickspittles' together in previous chapters. No longer though he seems quite helpful for now so Tristifer hopefully doesn't need to lock him up as well (fingers crossed).
Now thank you for reading and I hope we 'see' each other in the next chapter. Review with any suggestions, corrections, or thoughts that you want me to see. Until next time.