THE REGENT

The small council chamber was cold, the fire in its hearth only just lit and the servant responsible still piling wood into the flames. Another was setting the table with bread, cheese and wine. Two more were polishing the carved screen for some reason. All were hurrying, their eyes tied to their tasks and their hands moving with indecent haste.

At least they know their lack of preparation has displeased me, Cersei sulked as she watched them from below the two Valyrian sphinxes guarding the door, Though it's truly Varys' fault. Who is he to dream that he can call a Small Council meeting? The message that the Master of Whispers wished to discuss urgent news came as she had rose from bed. In her half-woken state, she had agreed. A mistake, one she was sorely tempted to punish the eunuch for as she clenched her teeth together to stop herself yawning in front of the servants.

The sound of armour clattering caused her to turn, and from beyond she saw the approach of Slynt and Littlefinger, speaking quietly to each other as they moved. Both seemed dressed how they always were; the barrel-shaped Slynt in his ridiculous breatplate and the slight Littlefinger in his usual tidy velvet. Thick as thieves, Cersei noted, Of course, that's what they are. Useful thieves.

Not about to greet the two men in the doorway, she quickly entered the chambers. Ser Mandon followed, and together the servants scattered out of their path and hurried out of the room, taking their implements with them. Exactly how the sheep should act when the lion walks through their number.

Cersei took her place at the head of the table in the King's seat, the Queen-Regent's seat, and poured herself a cup of Dornish Red. The seat was more comfortable than before, the plush crimson and gold pillows she had added to it a sheer necessity when having to listen to Pycelle or Littlefinger for very long. I'll teach them brevity in due course, she mused, swirling the wine in her cup as she thought up methods to make it so.

The Master of Coin and his Goldcloak lackey both bowed to her before taking their seats, making her wonder where the Grand Maester was exactly. He was as like to be dead as delayed, in her opinion, such was his age. A brisk awakening too early in the morn might see him leave his body behind. The thought amused Cersei, and she lifted her cup to her lips, covering her smile, before it died anyway as she realised Pycelle was too useful and his replacement from the Citadel would not be.

Annoyed, she put the cup down.

"Where are the Grand Maester and Lord Varys?" Cersei asked.

"Coming shortly, Your Grace," Littlefinger responded with a tight smile, "I believe Lord Varys went to the rookery to send ravens."

"Carrying what message?"

"I know not, Your Grace."

Cersei fumed into her cup. What message is so important that I should be sitting here waiting?

The answer was soon in coming, as by the time she had swallowed the wine, a red-faced Pycelle came hobbling into the room, also comported as usual in grey robes and maester's chain, save for his hair and beard being slightly dishevelled. He was followed closely by Lord Varys, a waft of perfume entering with him to replace the smell of wine and woodsmoke, the Whisperer perfectly dressed in his Essosi silks.

"Apologies, your Grace," Pycelle huffed, as he half-fell into his chair nearby, "We were in the rookery."

Cersei's anger rose in her throat. "Yes, Lord Baelish has just been telling me," she said sternly, "What message have you been sending that you felt I should not know of first?"

The colour drained from Pycelle's face, causing Varys to titter behind his sleeve as he too sat at his place at the table. "Deepest apologies, your Grace," he said, "It was not the Grand Maester's fault. I felt your Lord Father the Hand should expect to hear the news I have gathered without delay. Grand Maester Pycelle merely agreed on hearing what it was."

Pycelle expelled a breath of relief, not needing to search for his own words. "Indeed so, Lord Varys," he added.

Then tell me that before, you old fool. Cersei directed her gaze at the eunuch again."What is your news, Lord Varys? The Crown would know."

The eunuch's face changed to one of concern, though how much was feigned, Cersei could not know. He does not scare easily. "Your Grace, we now have confirmation from White Harbour about what was only previously a rumour. The wildlings are south of the Wall and defeated a host of northmen sent to reinforce it."

"Surely that is good news?" Slynt interrupted, pouring himself some Arbor Gold from the nearest jug, "The northmen will have to turn back and fight for their lands or offer terms for our assistance in repelling the savages."

Cersei and the rest of the council looked at the man like the fool he was. He did not notice, and by the time he looked up from his drink, she had mustered the lionness' glare. "Yes, Lord Slynt, but I suspect Lord Varys would not have asked for such a meeting this early in the day if all he had was good news!" The Goldcloak shrunk back, and even Littlefinger winced slightly at the rebuke. Good, let the coin counter know to quieten his dogs.

"Indeed not, your Grace," Varys continued, "Unfortunately, the outcome Lord Slynt hopes for has not come to pass. The wildling king has made peace with Robb Stark, married his goodsister to the young Stark's bastard brother, and pledged to support the North in its fight against the Crown with ten thousand warriors."

Cersei narrowed her eyes. Wildlings made peace with northmen? she wondered, How? Somehow, she knew it was true. Things had been going too smoothly. The gods were not ones to let her have happiness without obstacles.

"Impossible," Lord Baelish declared, "The northern lords would sooner sell their children into slavery in Lyseni brothels than make peace with the wildlings."

It's because they hate us, Cersei realised, More than their hereditary foes. "It seems they would give anything to destroy the realm and its rightful ruler," she said bitterly.

"That is one motivation whispered to me, Your Grace," Varys confirmed, "Another is more strange. There are tales from the far north that the dead walk and the White Walkers command them."

Cersei scoffed. "Your little birds are making up stories."

Lord Varys raised his silk sleeve to his mouth. "I would not report such a thing to you if I was not sure it was indeed talked about among the northern lords, Your Grace."

Slynt gasped out a laugh. "What tripe," he wheezed, "I've heard likelier stories from rapers caught with their breeches around their ankles."

"Never underestimate the power of superstition to form opinion," Littlefinger mused aloud, "The northerners believe the old stories."

Cersei could not believe that tradition alone was enough to convince noblemen to embrace the savages as friends. "Lord Slynt may be right, but how is it the Starks were convinced?"

The eunuch sighed. "The wildlings brought some examples of these walking dead men to Winterfell. I am told they were quite convincing."

Cersei glared. This is becoming obscene. "I very much doubt they were truly shown dead men walking, Lord Varys."

"As you say, Your Grace," the eunuch smiled back, "I report only what my little birds sing to me from White Harbour."

Littlefinger pursed his lips for a moment. "It is within the capabilities of the wildlings to disfigure men to near the point of death, to show the northern lords. Perhaps the savages would even find such a duty honourable. And the lords would certainly find it… impressive."

Cersei found herself tapping the table with her fingers, and stopped it. "Yes Lord Baelish, that may very well be what happened. But it doesn't change our problem. The North no longer has a wildling invasion to deal with and instead has wildling reinforcements. How did the savages get south of the Wall? Did the Night's Watch let them through?"

Varys tittered to himself. "The Watch would never do such a thing. No, the wildlings had help from a band of foreigners that were stranded north of the Wall. They breached the Wall and took Castle Black from the rear. Not a single wildling died in the assault. I have confirmation that Eastwatch fell around the same time to a massed attack by wildlings in boats."

"Gods preserve us," Pycelle muttered, "Such a catastrophe has been unheard since the days of the Night's King. Even if the wildlings did war with the Starks, it would take a full expedition to deal with such an incursion after the Crown's victory in the south. Else we would be find them coming down from the Neck."

Cersei did not care what it would take to repel the wildlings. She cared that her nascent plan for dealing with the Starks now seemed to be impossible. "So the Night's Watch is destroyed?"

"It is uncertain what has happened to them," Varys said, "Certainly there is no point sending anyone to the Wall any longer. Not least Eddard Stark. That is the wildling kingdom now."

Cersei wanted to snarl at the world. Why does every man save Jaime fail in his duty and cause everything I plan to crumble! "Now we cannot use Lord Stark by making him take the black. We must find another way to stop his son and his new savage friends, or trust in my father to win the war."

Littlefinger smiled, his eyes cruel. "There may be another option, Your Grace. I cannot believe that Lord Stark would approve of his son and his lords making peace with the wildlings."

"Nor can I," Cersei agreed. The man's family threw the savages back every time the Watch failed… and he guards his honour too closely to allow himself to be the one who did not.

Littlefinger perched his hands together in front of him, elbows on the table. "I propose to have Lord Stark order his son back to fight the wildlings, and once that is complete, send the good lord to the Wall to restore the Night's Watch."

Cersei felt a vein in her head pulse. I am surrounded by imbeciles. "A wonderful plan, Lord Baelish, except there is no guarantee his son will obey any command from his imprisoned father. He has a chance at winning now, with an alliance with the wildlings in his pocket."

Littlefinger was not bothered. "It will take time for the wildlings to arrive, your father should be able to teach the young Stark a thing or two about war in the meantime. Besides, Lord Stark and his son should both care for the well being of Sansa. I don't believe either would do anything to see her harmed. If the brother does not comply, give the girl over to me, as you have with her companion."

Liking the sound of that better, Cersei reclined into her chair. "I had planned on Sansa being of use against her father," she admitted, "I suppose it is no great difference to do the same against her brother."

Littlefinger's smile reached his eyes, gleaming with some triumph. Cersei wondered what he was so pleased about, before she recalled a story about him fighting a Stark for the hand of Catelyn Tully, in the days of the Mad King. He wants the girl for himself, she thought with amusement, If her brother doesn't comply with my commands, Baelish shall have her.

"Your Grace," Varys began, "I do not believe Robb Stark's defeat is so certain. The same foreigners that breached the Wall are also responsible for the peace between the northern lords and the wildlings. They march at the head of the northern army now. Their rumoured capabilities are… startling."

Cersei narrowed her eyes, displeased that yet another road looked to close against her. "How do you know that? We have had no word that the northern army has marched yet. Why would foreigners care to attack us? Are they sellswords?"

"I do not believe so, Your Grace," Varys responded, before he looked to the Grand Maester.

Pycelle coughed and produced a raven scroll from his voluminous robes. "Your Grace, we received a message from the foreigners themselves. It was strange, and contained Valyrian phrases inside the sentences in the Common Tongue, but I believe I understand their meaning. It may clarify matters."

Cersei could tell her seat's pillows were truly an excellent idea as the Grand Maester cleared his throat several times. We'll be here all day. "Very well, read it, but do hurry."

The man finally began.

"To all combatants in Westeros, this is a notice from the Canadian Forces.

In light of evidence of war crimes and crimes against humanity discovered in the village of Septon's Rest, and owing to the unsafe condition of the region, we declare that a total exclusion area now exists between the Neck and the Trident, and between the Ruby Ford to surround the entirety of the God's Eye for a distance of thirty leagues.

Within this area, the Canadian Forces reserve the right to attack any force at our discretion. Any host interfering with our passage to the God's Eye will be fired upon. All belligerent forces are therefore advised to evacuate the exclusion area.

This notice has been dispatched to King's Landing, Harrenhall, Riverrun, and those keeps along the King's Road that may be presently occupied by belligerent forces. This does not constitute a declaration of war, but it is the only and final warning.

Signed, Michael Duquesne, Elector of Calgary, Officer-Commanding of Canadian Forces in Westeros."

Cersei's mind tried to coil around the intent of the message, but failed. Canadian Forces? Crimes against humanity? Total exclusion area? she thought, And what do they mean 'any force will be fired upon'? Her face blushed with anger. "Grand Maester, that has not clarified matters at all."

Pycelle blinked, as if she was missing something obvious, before his mouth began to work like a horse chewing on something as he tried to figure out how to respond. Disgusting.

"Your Grace, the foreigners seek to reach the God's Eye," Varys added, "For what reason, I cannot say, nor can I say that they will stop there. They will join with the Starks and wildlings to attack any host your father presents against them. Note that Moat Cailin was not among the locations they listed as where this message was being sent."

He tucked his hands inside his robes. "They breached the Wall and took Castle Black without losing a single person. It was they who convinced the northern lords to make peace. And now they frame their aggression with moral language about crimes… They are a dangerous opponent. Politically and on the field of battle. Your father's host may not be sufficient."

"Septon's Rest is the first village south of the causeway through the Neck, Your Grace," Pycelle added, "It means Robb Stark's host has already left Moat Cailin. The Starks are already in the Riverlands, with wildling reinforcements and another host known to take walls with preternatural ease. We may need to consider preparing the city's defences."

Cersei couldn't believe her ears. Am I the only one with courage in this room? "Do you have so little faith in my father's abilities?" she asked.

Littlefinger pounced on the chance to flatter her family. "I would not count out Lord Tywin so easily. The situation is not so desperate that we should prepare immediately. The treasury certainly won't thank you for starting a panic."

Sneering within her own mind at the man's snivellry, Cersei inclined her head in thanks to him regardless. "I cannot help but agree, Lord Baelish." The man made a little bow in his seat to her for that.

"The reports of the Canadians' capabilities trouble me greatly, Your Grace," Lord Varys continued, "The entirety of White Harbour was abuzz with talk of them being able to see in the dark, or destroy walls in an instant, to travel faster than horses could possibly allow and cut down men with bolt throwers that can shoot hundreds of bolts. These tales are too consistent to be entirely false."

"More fantasies," Slynt contributed unhappily.

"Exaggerations, Lord Varys," Pycelle said with a dismissive wave, "I agree they are dangerous, but we can set aside such talk. They are dangerous because they have forged a peace between northmen and wildlings, and have evidently taught the wildlings to fight as civilised men."

"This could even be a Stark ploy," Littlefinger added, "Perhaps these Canadians or even Robb Stark's vassal lords have spread these rumours knowing they would get back to us."

That had more of a ring of truth to Cersei than anything else said so far. But Varys continued to press his argument. It all blurred into a fog of nonsense. Her head throbbing and her stomach calling for something better than bread and cheese, she finally had heard enough.

"Lord Varys, Grand Maester, you both think that the Canadians are a problem," she said, interrupting the back-and-forth, "Lord Baelish, Lord Slynt, you both believe they are not so large a threat that we need to prepare. This is the first I've heard of such a people in my life, nor am I sure we should care."

"Your Grace, I would agree with Lord Varys they are a problem," Littlefinger said, eager for the last word, "But no, not a threat yet."

Cersei could've strangled him. Now he's sitting on the fence because I have not ruled on the matter yet. "Very well, then I shall decide. We shall not stir fear in the city, but nor shall we do nothing. I will speak to Lord Stark this evening and make it clear he is to cooperate, as Lord Baelish has suggested."

"And the wildlings? The Canadians?" Pycelle enquired.

Allowing herself time to think about it, Cersei picked up the jug of wine next to her and poured another cup's worth, swirling before taking a drink. How to deal with these magical Canadians…

"For the foreigners, we shall send assassins. Even if they are not a threat on the scale Lord Varys suggests, they have sided with our enemies. If they are so formidable in battle, we shall not allow them to fight on their own terms. The wildlings that follow them will begin fighting over who is in charge.

She gestured between Littlefinger and the eunuch. "The impact on the treasury will be minimal compared to preparing for an attack, and signals no weakness to our enemies. It also sends a clear message that those from beyond Westeros should not ally themselves with rebels and traitors."

"Very wise, Your Grace," Varys tittered.

"A proportionate response," Littlefinger agreed.

Pycelle and Slynt made no motion towards dissent, the old maester simply nodding as if to himself and the Goldcloak drinking more wine.

"I'm glad you approve," Cersei stated, "See my command realised, my lords. And prepare the way to the Black Cells for my arrival."

"Yes, Your Grace."