Chapter 7: Jaime

If this is power, Jaime thought to himself, then why does it taste so much like tedium?

Plotting, politics, manipulations and murders. Jaime watched the business of the Small Council from the end of the table, and he found himself thinking of all the lords who aspired to a seat at this table. They can bloody well have mine. He watched the King, just barely tall enough to sit at the Small Council without a cushion under his arse, slowly but surely perusing the documents laid before him. Every so often, he would dip his quill into an inkpot, scratch something out or scribble some note on the side, and then sign the documents given to him.

I'm bored, Jaime realised. And sore.

His muscles burned from his sessions with Bronn. Where once he had been arguably the greatest knight in all the realms, now he was barely strong enough to lift a tourney sword. The truth stung more than any bruise ever could. It seemed so simple, changing hands. It wasn't. Every instinct, built and honed over years, was suddenly wrong. Bronn, a common sellsword, had disarmed him thrice over with ease, and sent his blade spinning into the dirt.

Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. What a cruel jape.

The King signed another decree, and Kevan snatched it out from under his quill, "Only a few more, Your Grace." He puled another sheaf of paper from the top of the pile, and handed it to the King, "This is royal pardon for Lord Gawen Westerling, his lady wife, and his daughter, Jeyne."

The King gave the document a quick look over, and then signed it, and the process continued, "This is a pardon for Lord Jonos Bracken of Stone Hedge. This is a pardon for Lord Vance. This for Lord Goodbrook. This for Lord Mooton of Maidenpool."

As the tedium drew on, Jaime entertained himself with thoughts of what kind of King Tommen would be, when he was grown. Being king is a massive amount of responsibility for a child who's never had to deal with any before. A surprising thing to hear from a boy. Even more surprising was what came after. I may not yet be a man grown, but I am far from the child you knew, the one who believed in all those songs. Jaime watched the King sign his name in a surprisingly elegant but still childish scrawl. He watched him read every word on every page, comprehending more than Jaime would have at his age.

Wise beyond his years and hardened by war. This son of mine is no man, not yet, but he is a boy no longer.

Tommen will be a good King, I can tell. Better than Joffrey. Then again, damn near anyone would have been better than Joffrey.

Jaime felt a dull pang of guilt at the thought, but it wasn't genuine. Cersei cared more about the boy than he ever had. He knew in his mind that he should mourn his son, but there was little to mourn. He... he was a monster. The Mad King come again.

"This grants Ser Rolph Spicer title to the castle Castamere and raises him to the rank of lord."

Jaime watched the King read and then sign the document, and he suddenly felt exhausted by the whole affair. I'm a fighter, not a lord. Though... I guess I'm not much of a fighter now, either. Jaime pushed himself to his feet, "You seem to have these matters well in hand, Uncle. I shall leave His Grace to you."

Kevan responded, urging him to mend the ever-widening breach that had formed between him and his father, and Jaime felt his patience fraying. He turned to Tommen, "Sire, do I have your leave to go?"

Tommen looked at him, and then the rest of the Small Council, and then back at him. After a long moment, he shook his head, "You do not, Uncle. I have need of your presence here for a little while longer." Jaime grit his teeth and sat back down, his armour hanging loose over his still-recovering body. The King turned back to Kevan, "Is there anything else, Great-Uncle?"

Kevan nodded, and pushed two more sheafs before the King, "This is a bill of attainder against Lord Edmure Tully, stripping him of Riverrun and all its lands and incomes, for rebelling against his lawful King. This is a similar attainder, against his uncle Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish."

Tommen gestured to the last two on the pile, "And those?"

"This is a decree of legitimacy for a natural son of Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort. And this names Lord Bolton your Warden of the North."

Tommen nodded, stacked all four sheafs together without reading or signing them, and pushed them to the side, "I will get to that at a later date."

Kevan seemed to be getting annoyed, "Your Grace-"

Tommen cut Kevan off with a wave, "Worry not, Great-Uncle, I will have the matters seen to in a timely fashion. As it is, there was some important business I wanted to lay before my Council."

"And what is that, Your Grace?"

"The war."

Varys tittered and many of the other lords sported raised eyebrows. The King had not voiced interest in such matters yet, and it was a strange thing to hear him voluntarily speaking of it. Till now, the King had been content to observe the business of the Council, but not to truly participate. Kevan addressed him in an even, almost curious, tone, "The war is over."

Tommen quirked an eyebrow, "Do you take me for a fool, Great-Uncle?"

Kevan shook his head, "No, Your Grace."

"Then why did you lie to me?"

"I did not lie."

Tommen nodded, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but has my Uncle Stannis been defeated?"

"Your Grace-"

"And what of the Ironborn? Have the Greyjoys suddenly bent the knee to the Iron Throne? Has Dragonstone? Has Storm's End? And what of the Targaryen girl in the East? Has she suddenly keeled over and died without my knowledge? Or perhaps she has abandoned her quest for the Iron Throne? Because if she has, I'd very much like to know."

Kevan seemed to be reaching the end of his patience, "You are yet a child, Your Grace, with much to learn. Neither the Lord Hand nor I thought it wise to burden you with such matters so soon."

Tommen smiled, "Of course, Great-Uncle, your efforts to protect me are much appreciated. And yet, I cannot learn without experience, can I? If I stray, I have you as my trusted advisor, alongside Grandfather, to advise me upon the correct course of action." The true meaning in his words were clear, and Kevan nodded after a long moment, an intrigued look in his eyes. Tommen glanced about the chamber, and said, "I notice that the Small Council seems... smaller, than usual. Several key position lie vacant. And we cannot go about the business of administering the Kingdoms like that, can we?"

There was a round of murmured agreement, and Kevan narrowed his eyes at the King, "No, Your Grace, we cannot."

The King pulled out a spare scrap of parchment, quickly scribbled on it, and handed the note to Jaime, "Have these people summoned to these chambers, immediately."

First a cripple, Jaime thought, and now a glorified servant. Nevertheless, Jaime stood from the chair, grateful for the chance to stretch his legs, and walked out of the chambers, reading aloud to the guards outside the names on the list. Tyrion, Bronn and... Paxter Redwyne? What is my son doing? His task completed, Jaime returned to his seat as the King was conversing with the Spider, "Tell me, Lord Varys, of the Wall."

Even Varys seemed surprised at the question, "The Wall, Your Grace?" Tommen nodded, "Well, Your Grace, it is my understanding that Lord Stannis has taken residence at the Wall. Supposedly, he has gone to fight off an invasion of Wildlings."

Tommen licked his lips and nodded, "I see. And did the Lord Commander have nothing to say about this?"

Varys simpered, "Lord Commander Mormont is dead, Your Grace. As I understand it, the Wall has no leader for the moment, till one of their number is elected to succeed him."

"And the Targaryen girl?"

"I have only rumours, Your Grace. Some say she is in Astapor, others in Yunkai. It is said that she birthed a three-headed dragon in the city of Qarth. They all agree on one thing, however: she has set Slaver's Bay alight with... with Dragonfire. Supposedly, she means to eradicate slavery, and there have been many slave revolts following where she is rumoured to have gone, though precious few have proved successful. Still, she is referred to as the Mother of Dragons and the Breaker of Shackles."

"A commendable goal, if a poor attempt at reaching it. The girl leaves a trail of blood in her wake." Tommen frowned and narrowed his eyes, "Meereen? Are there any rumours of her in Meereen?"

Varys frowned, very clearly making it seem as though he were deep in thought, "A couple, Your Grace."

Tommen did not seem convinced that that was all Varys knew, but if he suspected anything, he said nothing of it, "Hmm." At that moment, Tyrion arrived in the chambers, shooting Jaime a look as he walked in, and Tommen addressed him, "Uncle Tyrion, how are you?"

Tyrion shot Kevan a look as he responded, "Well enough, nephew. Much as I enjoy captivity, I find that freedom suits me better. It's much more... pleasurable."

Tommen smiled, "That is good to hear, Uncle. In any case, I am in need of a Master of Coin, and I happen to note that in spite of your acquittal, you have yet to attend a Small Council meeting since your trial. No matter the reason, I expect you here at every meeting hence, understood?"

Tyrion claimed a seat on the far side of the table, dragged it near to where Jaime was sat, hopped up onto it, and nodded, "Yes, Your Grace."

"Given your absence from the Small Council, I will give you a week to reacquaint yourself with the Crown's finances. After that, we can get to work."

Tyrion nodded, but before he could reply, Bronn came walking in, "You called for me?"

"Yes, Bronn, I did. From what I can gather, you have fought for the crown loyally, yes?"

"Aye, durin' the riots and the Battle of the Blackwater. Lord Tywin made me a knight for it."

Tommen nodded, "Well, Ser Bronn, your services are required in a similar capacity now. I could use your talents as my commander of the City Watch and the gold cloaks."

Bronn nodded and accepted the post as though he had been expecting it, with all too much dignity for a man of his station. This was planned, Jaime realised. Tommen means to make the gold cloaks his red cloaks. Why else put his killer in charge of them? Kevan made to object to the appointment, but Tommen cut him off in a tone that brokered no argument. At that tone, Jaime felt a shiver run through his spine. It ought to have sounded ridiculous, given that Tommen's voice had not fully deepened yet, but somehow he managed to make it intimidating.

Though many of the lords silently bristled at having a man of such low birth sit at the table as though he were one of their equals, the combination of the King's gaze and Bronn's sword bouncing merrily away on his hip was deterrent enough to make them keep their peace. Jaime watched Bronn with narrowed eyes, and the sellsword found his gaze and met it with a cheeky grin. I'm watching you, Jaime thought. A tense silence reigned till eventually Lord Paxter arrived, "Your Grace."

"Ah, Lord Paxter." Tommen eyed the man critically, observing his facial features before he spoke, "How fare Horas and Hobber, my lord? Are they well?"

Paxter eyed Tommen back, understanding the threat inherent in his words, and spoke only after a lengthy pause, "Yes, Your Grace. My sons are well."

Tommen nodded, "I am gladdened to hear it, my lord, but I did not call you all this way to talk of your sons. Should you want it, I have a place in my Small Council for you, not just as the mere advisor that you are now, but as my Master of Ships."

There was no doubt in Jaime's mind that Mace would have objected to being replaced, but he was not present, and so, he could do no such thing. Paxter needed only a moment to consider the offer. He bowed as he spoke, "I would be honoured, Your Grace."

Tommen gestured for Paxter to sit, and once he was sat, Tommen said, "I have a task for you, Lord Paxter. Thanks to Lord Varys, it has recently come to my attention that the seat of Dragonstone has been left sparsely defended by my Uncle Stannis, who has left for the Wall, supposedly to make war with the Wildlings."

Paxter caught on quickly enough, "You wish for me to take Dragonstone?"

Tommen nodded, "Ideally within the next three months. It is a speedy capture I am looking for, not a lengthy siege. Gather however many ships and men you feel necessary for the task, and prepare yourself to launch an invasion." Paxter nodded, "In addition to this, I think it right to warn you not to take your entire fleet to Dragonstone. The Ironmen are ever a tricksy lot, and if Dragonstone does become a siege, I should not wish for the Reach to be left exposed to their raids. The exact number you leave behind, I'll leave to your discretion. After all, you would know better than me."

Paxter nodded again, and Tommen stood from his seat, slowly walking around the table as he spoke, "Before we bring this meeting of the Small Council to a close, I thought it best to inform you all of something. I am not my father, who cared not for the business of ruling in favour of drinking and whoring and warring. Neither am I my brother, who was more interested in torturing little girls than in the of the business of this Council."

Many of the lords began shooting strange looks at each other at this open disparagement of the late King, but Tommen did not let it stop him. He raised his tone slightly for a moment to regain their attention, and ploughed on, "I intend on ruling, and ruling well. As such, I will work you all hard, perhaps harder than many of you have worked before. And I will be working right alongside you all." Those words were thick with hidden meaning, and everyone seemed to Jaime to understand this.

The King is watching.

There was a moment of silence, and Tyrion saw fit to fill it, "A lovely speech, Your Grace. Truly."

Varys chimed in, speaking with a theatrical flourish, "Indeed. It fills our hearts all with hope to hear it."

Tommen's gaze stayed cool, unmoved by flattery, "You are all dismissed."

There was a clattering of wood on stone as all the attending lords of the Small Council rose from their seats and made to leave. Less than half had attended this particular session, but Jaime did not doubt that every single member would attend the next. Kevan shot Tommen an approving look, and left without a word, likely to report this new development to his brother. Jaime felt himself shudder at Tommen's gaze. It just felt... wrong, somehow, to see it coming from a child. He couldn't quite put his finger on it when, all of a sudden, it struck him.

Oh Gods, Jaime thought, I know what kind of King Tommen will be.

He will be Lord Tywin with a crown.

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