( Cersei POV )
A knight of the Kingsguard was always posted outside the doors of the council chambers when the Small Council was in session. Today it was Ser Loras Tyrell.
"Ser Loras," the Queen said pleasantly, "you look quite grey. Did something happen, perchance?"
The news of his defeat had spread far and wide - especially as it was learned that he was struck down whilst distracted by a woman. The same woman who had supposedly beaten him at one of Renly's fool tourneys, and who had now been made a knight, or a dame as the King liked to call it.
Not quite the pimples I was hoping for, but still a humbling. Loras hated the mention of his loss. His face quivered slightly at her allusion to it. Truly, Cersei had been sorry to miss it when she had heard.
It was the first bit of good news she had gotten in a long while.
As fond of Osmund as she may have once been, she was fonder of him now. Even if he did at times seem as slow as Robert. Mayhaps I will offer him more than a hint and a smile...
The councillors quieted as she entered the room. It was crowded, she noticed, with nearly more people than the table could afford to seat, many sat with their arms touching. Lord Mace's fat face split into a smile, and he offered his greeting to her, loud enough to wake Pycelle from his slumber. The others rose, mouthing pleasantries. Cersei allowed herself the faintest of smiles, "My lords, may I ask where the King and his Hand are?"
Behind her, the doors swung open and her son confidently strode in, "Just a small delay, Mother. Nothing to fret over."
He claimed his seat as Lord Tywin made to sit at the opposite end of the table. He offered all the table a small smile and gestured for them all to sit with his hands. Cersei followed, claiming the seat of honour to his right, only to be thwarted as Tyrion hopped up onto the seat to his left, shooting her a vicious little grin as he did so.
Cersei looked around with hidden disgust at the table. My councillors. Were she to have any say in it, she would have had all the roses uprooted from the council post-haste. Tyrion as well would be gone. Instead, her son had only invited more in. Not only did she have to tolerate Lord Mace, but also Lords Mathis and Randyll. Lord Paxter was mercifully still absent alongside Garlan Tyrell, seeing to the siege of Dragonstone.
And then there were the newest arrivals of the lot. Prince Oberyn sat next to his niece, the harlot more undressed than dressed. Some of the lords wanted her, she could tell. Men had been looking at her that way since her breasts had began to bud. Because I was so beautiful, they said, but Jaime was beautiful as well, and they never looked at him that way. When she was small she would sometimes don her brother's clothing as a lark. She was startled by how differently men treated her when they thought she was Jaime. Even Lord Tywin himself...
Cersei clenched her fists at the boldness of the girl, though thankfully Tommen seemed to ignore her presence in it's entirety.
"Do we have wine?" the Queen asked.
Tommen frowned as one of the lords was about to offer her some, and interrupted them, "No, Mother, we do not. Not in these chambers, at any rate."
The Queen's mood only soured further, "I see."
"Grandmaester," the King began, "I hear we have received a letter from the Vale?"
"We have, Your Grace." Pycelle plucked it from his pile of papers and smoothed it out. "It is a declaration, rather than a letter. Signed at Runestone by Bronze Yohn Royce, Lord Waynwood, Lords Hunter, Redfort, and Belmore, and Symond Templeton, the Knight of the Ninestars. All have affixed their seals. They write-"
They write a deal of rubbish, Cersei thought. Evidently, the King cared to disagree, "They write that they mean to remove Littlefinger as Lord of the Vale, forcibly if need be. Yes?"
"Yes," Pycelle nodded, uncertain.
The King tapped the table with his wedding ring once, "Does Lord Baelish seek our help?"
"Not as yet," Pycelle said. "In truth, he seems quite unconcerned. His last letter mentions the rebels only briefly before beseeching me to ship him some old tapestries of Robert's."
Unconcerned, Cersei thought. When I get my hands on him...
The King tapped the table again, "And these lords of the declaration, do they appeal to the King to take a hand?"
"They do not."
The King tapped the table one last time, "How long would it take to send a raven from here to Runestone, Grandmaester?"
Pycelle frowned, "Mayhaps between three or four days, Your Grace. Assuming the weather is fair."
Tommen nodded and reached down, withdrawing a letter which he then reached over and handed to the Grandmaester, "Have this sent to Runestone. Do not open or read it, Grandmaester, I will know."
There was an undercurrent of steel in her son's voice, and Pycelle nodded again nervously.
"And the contents of the letter?" Tywin asked.
"What we had discussed, my Lord Hand," Tommen answered. "Surely you remember?"
"And a letter will be sufficient?"
"Place your faith in me, my lord. You did it before, and your faith was rewarded then, was it not? I'll not misstep now."
"Hmm."
Cersei gazed at her father, and then at her son. The looks they shared. There was a certain sense of unease, of subtle wariness about her father that he had not had before. Does he know? Of all the people Tommen could have told, her father would have been the wisest choice, she would admit.
"Might we discuss the fleet?" Lord Mace asked. "Fewer than a dozen ships survived the inferno on the Blackwater. The crown must restore it's strength at sea."
The King frowned, "Truly? I was under the impression that much of our strength was yet laying siege to Dragonstone."
Ah, Cersei resisted the urge to smile. The Fat Flower resents one of his vassals being raised up over him. Whether the effect of her son's decision had been intentional or not, she could not deny it's wisdom. The less power the roses have the better.
"Well..." Lord Mace struggled to find the words. "Of course it is, Your Grace. Yet strength at sea is most essential. And it is not wise to leave so much strength in the hands of one house."
"Are the Redwynes not loyal?" the King innocently asked. "Has some fresh treason been discovered, my lord?"
"No, Your Grace," Mace spluttered. "But it is not prudent-"
"Ah, yes. I see," the King tapped his ring again. "Wise words, my lord."
"Could we make use of the Ironmen?" she suggested. "The enemy of our enemy? What would the Seastone Chair want of us as the price of an alliance?"
"They want the North," her father said. "Which I have promised to House Bolton."
It was as much a reminder to the King as it was a rebuke of her suggestion.
"How inconvenient," she said. "Yet surely the North is large. The lands could be divided. It need not be a permanent arrangement. Bolton might consent, so long as we assure him that our strength will be his once Stannis is destroyed."
"Balon Greyjoy is dead, I had heard," said Pycelle.
"Do we know who rules the Isles now?" Lord Rowan asked. "Leo, Theo?"
"Theon Greyjoy was raised at Winterfell, a ward of Eddard Stark," Tywin said. "He is not like as to be a friend of ours."
"I heard he was slain," Lord Mace said.
Varys would have known, Cersei thought with some irritation. "It matters not," Tyrion said. "Forming an alliance with the Greyjoys is like trusting a pirate to guard your treasure. They may claim loyalty today, but tomorrow they'll be off plundering and pillaging with whomever can offer them better terms. Mark my words, they are not to be trusted."
"True enough, Uncle," Tommen agreed. "Yet it is Balon who was the untrustworthy one. Lord Quellon was considered wise for his time, was he not? I believe my mother is right, and that some of the Greyjoys may be reasoned with now that Lord Balon has passed."
Cersei preened at the compliment. "It's risky," Tyrion warned.
Tommen nodded, "As are all things." He reached down and withdrew another letter, handing it over to Pycelle, "Send this to Harlaw, Grandmaester. As before, you are not to open or read it."
...
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