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."
...
Cersei ceased her preening. He is leading a mummers farce, she realised. All our counsel he has heard before, in his dreams.
Pycelle nodded again and Tommen turned to face Tyrion, "So, Uncle, how fares our vaults?"
Tyrion cleared his throat, "Well enough, Your Grace. After Lord Mace's rather generous dowry," Lord Mace seemed all too happy with himself, "we find ourselves quite comfortable."
"And our incomes?"
Tyrion sighed, "Our incomes have never been greater. And yet we have too many gold cloaks and too little gold. Though large, the crown's incomes are not enough to keep abreast of your father's debts."
"So we will have to renegotiate those debts, no?" Tommen said. "Starting with the Iron Bank."
"The Braavosi have a saying," Lord Tywin cut in. "The Iron Bank will have it's due."
"That they will," Tommen agreed.
"Yet surely we can come to some arrangement," Cersei added, eager to have her voice heard. "There must be someone at the Iron Bank we can speak to, come to some arrangement."
"The Iron Bank is the Iron Bank," Lord Tywin said. "There is no someone."
Cersei frowned, "But someone does work there, it is comprised of people."
"And a temple is comprised of stones. One stone crumbles and another takes it's place and the temple holds it's form for a thousand years or more. And that's what the Iron Bank is: a temple. We all live in it's shadow, and almost none of us know it," he declared. "You can't run from them, you can't cheat them, you can't sway them with excuses. If you owe them coin and you don't want to crumble yourself, you pay it back."
Tommen smiled a knowing smile and turned back to Tyrion, "I want you to arrange the purchase of ten-thousand dragons worth of Iron Bank shares, Uncle. Even if it does not give me leverage, it will pay dividends after enough time, no doubt. Make whatever arrangements you think necessary."
"A substantial sum..." Tyrion glanced at Lord Tywin for approval and then saw the look on Tommen's face and nodded, "I will see it done, Your Grace."
Pycelle shuffled through some more papers at the ensuing silence, "The next matter... we have had a letter from Lord Frey putting forth some claims..."
"How many lands and honours does the man want?" snapped the Queen. "His mother must have had three teats."
"You may not know," Oberyn finally spoke up with a small smirk, "but in the brothels and winesinks of the city, there are those who suggest that the crown may have been somehow complicit in Lord Walder's crime."
His words were incendiary, and all the lords shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Cersei was merely thankful it would be his last day on the council. "Do you mean the Red Wedding?" Tommen asked.
Pycelle cleared his throat noisily, "These sparrows are especially outspoken," he warned. "The Red Wedding was an affront to all the laws of gods and men, they say, and those who had a hand in it are damned."
Cersei was not slow to take on his meaning, "Lord Walder must soon face the Father's judgement. He is very old. Let the sparrows spit on his memory. It has nought to do with us."
"No," said Lord Mathis.
"No," said Lord Mace.
"No one could thinks so," Pycelle agreed.
"A little spittle on his grave is not like to disturb it," Tommen agreed. "But I think he ought to be punished for such a heinous deed. A few of the Frey heads that partook in the Red Wedding should suffice, when the time comes."
"Lord Walder would never sacrifice his own," said Pycelle.
"He will not have much choice in the matter," Tommen said. "But that is a matter for another day. For the meantime, we allow the people to say what they will about him. And whilst we await his funeral, I must ask how the planting is going. Lord Mathis?"
"Well enough, Your Grace," he answered. Lord Mathis had been made Tommen's Master of Works, an appointment she objected to, for he was surely another hidden rose, but Tommen had again refused her counsel. "You will be pleased to know that many of the Lords have accepted your proposal, and the shipments of seeds for planting have begun in earnest all across the Crownlands, Westerlands and parts of the Riverlands and Stormlands."
"All winter crops or crops that may grow fast enough to be harvested before winter, yes?"
"Aye, Your Grace. Mostly breeds of winter wheat, corn and some potatoes as well. And animals. Breeding pairs of black-nosed sheep and haired cattle have been procured and sent to the Riverlands, to the lords with marginal lands not yet under the plow for meat, milk and wool. They're hardy enough to survive in the winter snows."
"I am gladdened to hear it, my lord. I pray we can avoid a famine," Tommen said. A fool errand, Cersei thought. We ought to let the more quarrelsome sheep starve, not pay for their meals. "And the construction?" he continued.
"The walls are near completely repaired, and the Mud Gate is being rebuilt. And the storehouses you ordered are nearing completion."
"Remarkably fast, my lord," Tommen commented with a frown.
"We are only repurposing old buildings, Your Grace," Lord Mathis explained. "It is easier than building anew. And with so little in the way of crime or rioting to interrupt the works, they have been running remarkably smoothly as of late."
"I am gladdened to hear it, my lord," Tommen said. "Ser Bronn, I take it the reason for this is that you have been successful in your reforms to the gold cloaks?"
"Aye," he grumbled. "Gold cloaks must all report any bribes they receive, and accept any they are offered. Anyone offering a bribe is to be lashed on their first offense, and sent to the Wall on their second. Any gold cloak who accepts a bribe and does not report it is to be sent to the Wall. Any gold cloak who sol-sol-"
"Solicits," the King provided.
"Aye. Any gold cloak who solicits a bribe is to be sent to the Wall. All known thieves, murderers, rapists are to be sent to the Wall."
"And the new recruits?"
"Training," Bronn answered tiredly. "All city boys."
"Excellent work, Ser," Tommen smiled. "So much so, I think the time has come for you to enjoy some rest. Travel up to Stokeworth, Ser. Your betrothed, the lovely Lady Lollys, awaits you. Select one of your lieutenants to serve in your stead till you return."
Cersei straightened in her seat at the news. Bronn had kept his distance from her as best he could, but perhaps his lieutenant might be different. This would present some interesting possibilities.
"I will, Yer Grace," Bronn nodded.
"Speaking of the Wall," Pycelle broke in, "another problem has arisen. The brothers of the Nights Watch have taken leave of their wits and chosen Ned Stark's bastard son to be their Lord Commander."
"I glimpsed him once at Winterfell," she said, "though the Starks did their best to hide him. He looks very like his father." Her late husband's by-blows had his look as well, though at least Robert had had the grace to keep them out of sight. Once, after that sorry business with Joffrey and the cat, he'd made some noise about bringing his baseborn daughter to court.
"Do as you please," she'd told him, "but you may find the city is not a healthy place for a growing girl."
The bruise those words had won her had been hard to hide from Jaime, but they heard no more about the bastard girl. Catelyn Tully was a mouse, or she would have smothered Jon Snow in his cradle. Instead she's left the filthy task to me. "Snow shares Lord Eddard's taste for treason too," she said. "The father would have handed the realm to Stannis. The son has given him lands and castles."
"The Night's Watch is sworn to take no part in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms," Pycelle reminded them. "For thousands of years the black brothers have upheld that tradition."
"Until now," Cersei said. "The bastard boy has written to us to avow that the Night's Watch takes no side, but his actions give the lie to his words. He has given Stannis food and shelter, yet has the insolence to plead with us for arms and men."
"An outrage," declared Lord Mace. "We cannot allow the Night's Watch to join it's strength to that of Lord Stannis. We must declare this Snow a traitor and rebel. The black brothers must remove him."
"No," the King cut in, his tone firm. "I'll not make another enemy by rushing to judge a boy just for his blood. Snow may have Stark blood in his veins, but if I recall correctly he joined the Watch of his own free will."
"Yet he has offered your enemy food and shelter," Cersei reminded him.
"He offered my uncle food and shelter," Tommen shot back. "And if I recall correctly, we received letters from Lord Commander Mormont asking for aid, and yet we did not respond. So long as he offers my uncle no more than food and shelter, I will not begrudge the Lord Commander his desperation. In fact, I should seek to provide as much aid as he requires, if only to prevent my Uncle Stannis doing as we fear."
"A ploy," Lord Tywin cut in. "Yet a foolish one. You have no assurances. So long as Stannis remains at the Wall, the loyalty of the black brothers he will be able to compel. You would be better sending a hundred men to the Watch. To take the black, ostensibly, but in truth..."
"... to remove Jon Snow from command," Cersei finished, laughing. If this bastard boy truly is his father's son, he will not suspect a thing. Perhaps he will even thank me, before the blade slides between his ribs.
"Oh," Tommen smiled. "But I have assurances, Grandfather. Or have you forgotten?" Tywin considered his grandson's words for a moments and then nodded wordlessly with approval. Cersei frowned.
What assurances? Tommen reached down and withdrew another letter and passed it over to Pycelle, who by this point was becoming quite flustered by the sheer volume of letters the King seemed to have at the ready, "Send this to the Wall, Grandmaester. As before, you are not to open or read it."
...
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