Chapter 24: The Dealmaker
Character Ages:
Lysa Arryn: 32
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At King's Landing…
Lord Hand Eddard Stark had been counseling King Daveth I on recent occurrences, such as the capture of his uncle Jaime, the food shortages and the Redwyne Fleet's approach to the capital. The elder statesman implored Daveth to heed his advice on military matters, for Eddard was a veteran of two wars and his experience would no doubt prove useful. Other councilors in attendance included Lord Petyr Baelish and Varys. Even his own mother Queen Mother Cersei Lannister was allowed to attend on the condition she keeps Joffrey in line. Daveth listened to the Hand of the King's advice, taking into consideration what needed to be done – but even then the Young Stag often took matters into his own hands to fill in the gaps in preparations for a what-if scenario.
Daveth's brother Joffrey was adamant in being in attendance with Sandor Clegane; he claims to be learning, but the elder Baratheon easily saw through the younger's lie. In truth, Joffrey appeared incredibly bored and not paying attention to what was being said. For months, Daveth had tried to tutor Joffrey on learning to rule and every time Joffrey did not pay attention served only to severely test the limits to Daveth's patience and frustrating him. This would be Joffrey's last chance; otherwise Daveth will permanently deem him a lost cause and redirect his attention towards their youngest brother Tommen instead.
"And these reports detail the city's granaries?" Daveth asked.
Eddard nodded. "They are, Your Grace. Based on how many troops are stationed in the garrison and the growing number of refugees fleeing the war, our food supplies from the Riverlands will eventually run out in two or three months. With the rebel fleet on its way, I fear things will only get worse."
"Things always get worse before they get better, Lord Stark," said Daveth contemplatively. "What are our options?"
Petyr chimed in. "I can have the City Watch close the gates, stop the gradual flow of refugees from pouring in."
"You would be so cruel as to leave these people out to die, Lord Baelish?" Eddard said repulsively.
"Think about it, my Lord Hand. We have nowhere to house them, the Redwyne Fleet is already on its way here, and if we continue to let more people in then our soldiers stationed here will be too weak to defend the city once the last of our supplies run out."
"An unfortunate situation," spoke Varys, "but sometimes during a crisis drastic measures must be taken into consideration to prevent the many from falling from starvation or war."
"Does Janos Slynt not command the City Watch, my son?" Cersei implores. "Is he not charged with keeping the king's peace? To keep order?"
"He does, Mother," Daveth confirms. "2,000 Watchmen have been posted throughout several key sections of King's Landing, and the patrols have—"
He noticed Joffrey once again not paying attention, rather instead looking bored and ready to fall asleep at any moment.
"JOFFREY! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!" he yelled.
The seemed to bring Joffrey's mind back to reality.
"Y-yeah, yeah! The thing with the thing…" he tried to defend himself, but Daveth groaned in utter irritation and annoyance. He knew Joffrey was lying.
"Then why don't you tell me? So I know you know."
He was now putting Joffrey's feet to the fire, and with his back pressed against the wall, the Illborn found all eyes locked onto him.
"Stop it now, both of you," Cersei intervened. "We already have enough on today's agenda, and I will not afford you two to come to blows."
Daveth redirected his attention towards Cersei. "When I invited you and Joffrey to attend today's council meeting, you gave me your word that my brother would act the part. Learn what it means to rule. And yet here Joffrey stands not even grasping the gravity of our situation."
"I'm sure if you simply give him a chance—"
"I gave him plenty of chances at your behest, Mother, and every time he choose to neglect his duties. If he cannot do as he is told, then Joffrey has no place here."
Both Cersei and Daveth began staring each other down. The two had grown further distant ever since Myrcella's betrothal to the Martells of Dorne was announced and Jaime's capture by the Tyrell forces. A tense moment hung over the chamber.
"Perhaps we should return to the matters at hand?" Eddard intervened.
Daveth calmed himself immediately. "Of course, Lord Stark."
"Several Watchmen are patrolling areas vital to the city," Eddard said. "The scouts inform us that reinforcements are said to be gathering at the ruins of Harrenhal and the castle of Riverrun to resupply before planning their next move. Your Grace, I fear it will take some time before your grandfather's men along with the Northern vanguard might be delayed."
"Then we're on our own for now," Daveth concludes.
Eddard noticed how quiet Daveth's been lately. "Daveth, your father and I fought to overthrow the Mad King eighteen years ago. We fought to put down Balon Greyjoy's rebellion. Even though some of the odds were against us, we still won in the end. The people follow your lead now. Whatever decision you make, your council will help."
Petyr and Varys nodded in agreement. Cersei and Joffrey, meanwhile, said nothing.
"Then let's begin preparations for the city's defense," sighed Daveth. "We'll need to have our garrison ready for the Redwyne Fleet's arrival—"
His thoughts were interrupted.
"Beloved nephew!"
Daveth's concentration was broken as the assembled councilors turned in surprise to see Tyrion Lannister strolling into the room with Bronn and the hill tribesmen accompanying him. Eddard's face turned to stone when he saw the Imp.
'What's he doing here?' the Stark patriarch thought. Last he heard Tyrion spent a year imprisoned at the Eyrie.
"You," Cersei said in a tone that was equal parts disbelief and distaste.
Tyrion shrugged. "I can see where Joffrey learned his courtesies," he said as he looked at his other nephews. "My word! Look at how much you've grown, Daveth. Sorry I missed your sixteenth nameday. I'm sure I can find something to make it up to you. And you, oh, Tommen! You're going to be bigger than the Hound, but much better looking."
"Can't imagine why," Bronn smiles wryly.
Tommen smiled as Sandor Clegane said nothing, but sent a small glare at Tyrion.
"You sure took your own sweet time returning to the capital, Uncle," Daveth added.
"We heard you were dead," Joffrey said in an indifferent tone.
"And yet here I stand," Tyrion replied in the same tone, but perhaps more sarcastically. He looked around and noticed someone else was missing. "Where's Myrcella?"
Daveth glanced at Cersei, who frowned at the mere mention of her daughter.
"I arranged a match for her with the Martells of Dorne. Myrcella will depart for Sunspear within the fortnight," Daveth informed.
Tyrion blinked in surprise. "I see," he spoke with a hint of sadness. "I suppose it's all in a day's work as sovereign. One more reason to help take some stress of your shoulders, nephew."
"What do you mean?" Eddard said.
"Yes, by all means, tell us why you of all people are here?" Cersei demanded.
Tyrion poured himself a cup of wine. "I believe that the King's advisors are welcomed at all Small Council meetings," he answered.
Almost everyone in attendance, even Daveth himself, looked confused. Tyrion pulled a scroll from his pocket and handed it to Varys. The eunuch took the letter and turned it in his delicate powdered hands.
"How kind of Lord Tywin. And his scaling wax is such a lovely shade of gold," Varys said as he broke the wax and unrolled the parchment. "Your father has named Lord Tyrion to serve as one of the King's principal advisors while he fights—"
"OUT! All of you out!" Cersei yelled, finally unable to contain her anger any longer.
"Your Grace—!" Eddard raised his voice, but was waived off by Daveth.
"It's all right, Lord Stark," Daveth said calmly. "We can continue this discussion at another time."
Eddard did not approve, but instructed the councilors to vacate the premises until whatever occurs between the royal family is resolved. After they left, Cersei marched next to the table as she began staring down Tyrion.
"I would like to know how you tricked Father into this."
"If I were capable of tricking Father, I'd be Emperor of the world by now," Tyrion replied.
"Has Grandfather lost his senses? Or did you forge this letter?" Joffrey accused with mounting annoyance. "I ought to have you thrown into a dungeon, you little monster!"
"You will do no such thing, Illborn," Daveth retorted dismissively. "Not while I rule."
Joffrey cast an angry glance at Daveth, who continues to ignore him as he extends his hand to Tyrion. The Imp hands the Young Stag the letter Varys was reading. As Daveth examined the letter, he murmured.
"This does appear to be Grandfather's handwriting…"
"Daveth!" shouted Cersei.
He raised his hand to silence her.
"You've brought this on yourself, Sister," Tyrion said.
That comment made Cersei furious. "I don't know what you're talking about. I've done nothing."
"On the contrary. Father seems to have taken a dislike to the Small Council, says he was thinking how their heads might look on the wall," Tyrion said before turning to look at Daveth. "Nephew, are you certain of their loyalty? Do you trust them?"
"That depends on who's worthy enough to earn it," Daveth said without hesitation. "We're at war, Uncle. I cannot afford to have anyone give me some very bad counsel. It's a poison I refuse to swallow."
"A King should do whatever he likes," Joffrey pointed out. "Not spend his days playing around and looking at maps."
Daveth cast a sharp glare at Joffrey. "The Mad King Aerys Targaryen did whatever he liked as well, and look what happened to him. I'm sure you can ask Uncle Jaime about it once he's back in our custody."
Cersei looked very unhappy as her two eldest sons resumed arguing despite her attempts to keep them placated and end the hostilities between them, yet glanced away.
"Nephew, what are your plans for this war?"
Daveth looked at Tyrion. "Currently we're getting ourselves ready for the approaching Redwyne Fleet, but with Jaime captured… I believe I might have a solution to bring him back."
Cersei returned her attention towards Daveth. What was he talking about? A plan? What did it entail? Will it work?
"My contacts report that a fraction of the rebel forces are being led by Ser Loras Tyrell. As I'm sure you are well-aware, Loras is the heir to Highgarden and all lands of the Reach. If we manage to capture him, we can force Lord Mace Tyrell to withdraw his support for Renly and return Jaime to our custody, a trade of sorts. But to do that, we'll have to wait for the Knight of the Flowers to come to us."
Cersei's eyes narrowed. "If you believe I'd ever allow you to take part in the battle, you're sick with fever."
"Well guess what, Mother? It's not your decision to make," retorted Daveth. "And if you listen to what I say, we might get Uncle Jaime back in one piece."
Tyrion watched in amusement as he watched Daveth bearing his teeth and claws.
"Nephew…"
"Yes, yes, Uncle Tyrion. I give my consent," he said. "You are hereby instructed to serve as one of my principal advisors until this war is brought to an end."
Tyrion smirked in triumphant, while Cersei looked on in disgust. In her rage, she and Joffrey stood from their seats and stormed out of the room. Tommen reluctantly followed his mother and brother. Alone, Tyrion sat next to Daveth.
"I'm glad you're here…" spoke Daveth.
Tyrion placed a small hand on Daveth's arm. "As am I, Nephew. I haven't forgotten what you did to secure my freedom at the Vale. A Lannister always pays his debts, and I will find a way to repay you for this."
Daveth rubbed his temples. "Just try not to make a habit of this," he asked. "I had to call in a lot of favors to keep the Starks and Lannisters from tearing each other and the Riverlands apart. Grandfather… was not pleased. It took all I had to placate him."
"I imagine it wasn't easy, but nothing ever is. Even so, I think I might be able to help you with some things."
"How?"
"Your Grandfather asked me to advise you, and I imagine you've already got your hands full with enough problems."
"There is one thing…" Daveth suggested. "A few of my contacts in the city are stretched thin. And I suspect that there is a certain element who continues to plot behind my back. I need more eyes and ears on the ground."
"I'm sure I can find a way to manage that."
Tyrion got off his seat to leave.
"One more thing…"
Tyrion stopped mid-way to look at Daveth.
"Yes, Nephew?"
Daveth, now rising from his seat, had a serious look in his eyes.
"Send for Littlefinger. I have something to discuss with him."
######
At one of the Tarly's war camps…
Lord Randyll Tarly gives orders to his men and walks to the cage holding Jaime Lannister. The infamous Kingslayer is tied to a wooden pole, a good distance from the walls of his cage. Mud and bruises covered his face and his leather clothes were worn slightly. His time in captivity had dirtied his long hair (now some hairs are starting to turn grey) and his beard grew out and was now shaggy as he had not having been allowed a razor to trim it. His charm was still apparent, however, and Jaime resembled a magnificent yellow beast – his green eyes glowing brightly in the night.
"Lord Tarly," Jaime greeted, "strange to find you here of all places. I half expected to be left in one castle or another for safekeeping, but you have your men drag me wherever you go. Have you grown fond of me? Is that it? I've never seen you with your wife."
Randyll stood tall and firm, wearing chainmail and boiled leather with a breastplate of grey steel donning a red archer on a green field. He carried his ancestral Valyrian steel sword Heartsbane across his back in a jeweled scabbard. A lean and balding man with a short, bristly grey beard, Randyll prized courage and martial prowess over all else. A fierce, ruthless warrior and a highly effective general, Randyll defeated Robert Baratheon during the rebellion and now bested Jaime Lannister as well.
"Who I spend my days with doesn't concern you, Ser Jaime," Randyll said gruffly.
Jaime continued. "And yet you apparently don't seem rather concerned about what might happen once the legendary Oathkeeper sets one of his plans in motion?"
"I'm a Tarly," he replied. "That name means something. We lead our armies wherever we go."
"You were the only man to defeat Robert Baratheon in battle. Not even Rhaegar Targaryen could accomplish such a feat."
Randyll stood firm. "I know what games you're playing at, and I assure you I will not bend or break as easily as you think. I swore an oath to House Tyrell—"
"—you swore allegiance to the Crown as well, Lord Tarly," he corrected. "So it appears your loyalties are somewhat… flexible, to say the least. Say what you will about loyalties, but it doesn't change what happened here. You know Renly Baratheon is rebelling against the Iron Throne, and how your liege-lord Mace Tyrell had your House thrown into the fray, fighting a pointless cause."
Randyll stood silent.
"I considered you above such dishonor," he continued. "Last I checked you didn't think highly of Lord Tyrell's decision to declare for Renly."
"There are no easy choices in war. But I'm not blind at our odds."
Randyll turns to leave, but looks back at Jaime.
"The Tarlys are pulling out of this war. I know when defeat is on the horizon, and I imagine House Tyrell will soon learn their lesson the hard way. We've heard what the Oathkeeper does to his enemies."
"If that's true, then that means you know you're on the losing side so now you aim to win back Daveth's favor. How convenient. Think he's going to negotiate with you? You don't know my Nephew very well now, do you?"
Randyll huffed at this façade. "Last I heard he's not unreasonable. Daveth might be a boy, but he's put up a much stronger fight than his father did. We'll petition House Tyrell to end hostilities before the chaos further tears this country apart."
The Lord of Horn Hill leaves the cage, leaving Jaime alone once more.
"Well, that was something…" mused Jaime as he nudged at his restraints. "Now to find a way to get out of these blasted chains…"
######
At King's Landing…
"You wanted to see me, Your Grace?" said Petyr Baelish.
"I did," Daveth nods. "Walk with me."
As Petyr and Daveth walked down a hallway next to a courtyard, some Kingsguard and some of Daveth's guards approach from behind as a servant boy is scrubbing grime off the floor.
"I wonder if I might ask you for a favor."
"Of course, Your Grace."
Daveth had to play his moves carefully. He didn't trust Littlefinger at all, but even he understands that even one misstep could set his plans ablaze – the little weasel would catch wind of what he was up to and move to counter them.
"The war should come to a decisive end soon, but reports further north suggests that the Vale refused to budge an inch – even after I've sent ravens to answer the call."
"Curious. The widow Lady Arryn remains at the Eyrie, yes?" Petyr suggested. "Seems like the only logical place for her to be."
Daveth noticed. "If we are to remain the Seven Kingdoms, then standing idly by is not an option during times of war. You know about Lannisters and their debts. And I have mine. I have a proposition for you, Lord Baelish."
"Oh?" he asked curiously. "And what would that be?"
"I heard a song once about a boy of modest means who found his way into the home of a very prominent family. He loved the eldest daughter. Sadly, she had eyes for another."
"When boys and girls live in the same home, awkward situations can arise. Sometimes, I've heard, even brothers and sisters develop certain affections. And when these affections become common knowledge, well, that is an awkward situation, indeed. Especially in a prominent family. But prominent families often forget a simple truth, I've found."
Daveth couldn't help but feel as if it was a slight on his mother Cersei. Whatever differences she may have with her son now, Cersei was still Daveth's mother.
"And what would that be?" he asked.
"Knowledge is power," Petyr answered.
Daveth was growing tired of these political games. "Seize him."
The guards seize Petyr, who is taken aback by this sudden act.
"Cut his throat," he ordered.
A guard holds a knife to Baelish's neck, but Daveth intervenes.
"Wait. As a matter of fact, I've changed my mind. Release him."
The guards let Petyr go and stand aside as Daveth stares down Littlefinger.
"Knowledge is power, yes, but overstep your boundaries and you'll find yourself making dangerous enemies. Power is power as well, but abuse it and you'll find yourself being surrounded by unruly vassals who want to see you dead. Both are two sides of the same coin, each filling in the blanks of the other. As Master of Coin, you find gold where others cannot. And I grow tired of these little games you play, Lord Baelish. So you will listen to what I offer: I will name you Lord of Harrenhal and grant you its tethered lands and incomes to be held by your sons and grandsons after you when the fighting is done. I'll even arrange a match for you with Lady Lysa and have you named Lord Protector of the Vale until Robin Arryn comes of age. And in return, you will bring the Vale back into the fold and ensure they never remain indecisive in wartime again. Think about it for a while. Good day."
Daveth walks away from Petyr, his guards and Kingsguard knights following close behind. The servant boy scrubbing the floor looks up at Littlefinger. In the feudal hierarchy of Westeros, Baelish was a very minor individual. His family has a small tower on some remote spit of land and are of little note. Because of that, the powerful major houses like the the Tullys, Lannisters, Arryns, or any other wouldn't consider him a worthy person to marry into their families. However, the offer to name Baelish Lord of Harrenhall would be a big promotion for him and make him considered a suitable match for someone of a powerful status.
One offer could change everything, and it was presented in front of him like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. A person from small, unnoticeable origins to be given the chance to marry into a powerful family of a powerful domain… Littlefinger could not help admiring Daveth for his boldness.
"Clever boy…" Petyr quietly remarks.
######
At the Eyrie...
Lysa Arryn was furious. "You want me to send the knights of the Vale away and leave my little boy unguarded?!" she demanded to the gathered lords.
"This is a royal decree, my lady," said Lord Yohn Royce. "Even if the rumors had a degree of merit, Jon Arryn would have given his life to aid King Daveth Baratheon against the rebel forces and other treacherous elements seeking to undermine him. We merely request you allow us to honor your late husband's memory."
Several other lords and ladies of the Vale, including Lady Anya Waynwood, Lord Gilwood Hunter, Lord Horton Redfort, Lord Benedar Belmore and Ser Vance Corbray. Many of the Valemen had already expressed their desire to enter the fray once they learned of Renly Baratheon's rebellion against Daveth. They also knew how fond Daveth was of their late lord, but Lady Arryn continued denying them that.
"If the Oathkeeper does end up winning, then I'll gladly go to King's Landing to swear fealty. But until then, the Knights of the Vale will stay in the Vale!" Lysa remained adamant. "The safety of my son and your lord is what's important now. That is it."
As the assembled lords and ladies left, Lysa looked on with worry.
'They mustn't learn the truth,' she thought as she returned to her room.
Weekly Power Status
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