Loren Lannister (299 A.C. Fifth Moon)
Family Dinner – The Royal Dining Chamber
To say this dinner was quiet was an understatement. The food was, as usual, abundant, though "usual" already meant quite a lot of food. As he ate, he knew it was time to perhaps start rationing here as well. At least lessen the meals, and perhaps announce that the crown would be sharing its food with the people. Yet knowing his nephew and sister, making that happen might prove quite the difficulty.
As he ate a piece of crab leg, his niece asked something only an innocent mind could ask.
"When will Sansa and Joffrey be married?"
He smiled at his niece, but when he looked at Sansa Stark, he saw her jaw tense. Cersei gave her daughter a smile, though like many of her smiles, it did not reach her eyes.
"Soon, darling. When Sansa has flowered, and the war is over."
Not likely, if it was his concern. He had not taken much stock of the girl before; she seemed timid. But then again, she was in a city where her family was at war with the crown, and living with a king who had taken her father's head, so being timid might be expected. Sansa kept very still now. He remembered her smitten face in Winterfell; now the thought of marrying his nephew brought only silence.
Myrcella did not seem to notice, smiling happily as she spoke about her new dress. Although even if there was a marriage, he doubted his niece would still be here to see it. She would be sent away to be a ward of her husband's family, to make sure she was protected and also to gain allies. Perhaps that was what the realm needed.
Myrcella then spoke to Sansa, her smile bright, a true smile, one he had never seen on his sister. One, he thought, that Cersei might wear if she ever truly gave one.
"Mother says I will have a new gown for the ceremony, and one for the feast."
Sansa's face remained still as she looked toward the princess.
"Yours will be ivory, likely with black, gold, and red, considering our house colors. The maiden's cloak, though, will be a direwolf on a white field."
He smiled at his niece. He remembered the joy of his own girls when they spoke of gowns, even if Alicent also took to swordplay and archery, much to the dislike of his aunt, who had taken over their education in ladyship when Lysenne died.
Sansa remained quiet, and Myrcella looked expectantly at her mother.
"The princess just spoke to you."
"Pardon, Your Grace, I was lost in thought," Sansa replied, then turned toward Myrcella. "I am quite sure your dress and mine will be quite beautiful."
Then Sansa went on, but the words that followed sounded hollow, courteous words.
"I am counting the days until the fighting is done, and I can pledge my love to the king in sight of the gods."
"No doubt you will. Hopefully, by still keeping you as his bride, the King showed the North he values them. Shame he did not do so before, because without them, he would not be sitting on the throne," he said as he looked at Cersei.
All of them looked at him in surprise.
"Truly, uncle?" Tommen asked.
"But of course. If it was not for the burning of Sansa's uncle and grandfather, or the ordering of Eddard Stark's head afterward, the war likely would not have started. Surely the crown might need to pay the North quite the sum to repay what was done to Lyanna Stark, maybe even exile for Prince Rhaegar, as was done to Prince Aerion Brightflame. Yet she was not the first lady taken up with a prince of the realm. If the Mad King had not done what he did, we might still have dragons on the throne.
"As for the Northmen, I read reports of the battle of the Trident. Robert truly broke the Targaryen forces by killing Rhaegar, yet it where the Northmen who held the center; the fierce northern shield did not break against the men of the crownlands. If that center had broken, mayhaps Robert and Rhaegar never would have met."
"Mother always says it was House Lannister and uncle Jaime that won the war," Tommen said, uncertain.
He inwardly sighed. Was that woman teaching her children that their house was untouchable? Did forget, the Dance, or the field of fire, or even their grandfather.
"Well, because of our house, it might have ended. Yet our house, your grandfather included, waited to strike for opportunity. Thanks to Pycelle, the gates were opened and this city was sacked. Both good and bad, as it showed House Lannister's loyalty to the new regime, but those wounds still linger in some minds in this city.
"Then there was your uncle Jaime," he added sarcastically as he looked at his sister. I know you, idiot. Do not think me as blind as father.
"What did he do he asked the children. "He killed the Mad King," Tommed replied. "Do you know why?"
"Because he was an enemy of House Lannister. That is what mother says. And the books," Myrcella replied.
"No. He did it because the Mad King wanted to destroy the city."
The room went still, even Cersei frowned at him, and he frowned in return. Do you truly not know? Or did you never listen to a word my brother says to you? Or do you only ever see your own reflection?
"He wanted to destroy the city." Tommen wisherped.
"Indeed. My brother did the right thing and sadly was likely shadowed by anger and grief." He looked at Sansa. "Her father named him Kingslayer, a man without honor. Kingslayer for sure, but not without honor. Jaime told me he didn't give him a chance to reply. He saved this city, the one mistake he made was not protecting the royal children. Had Rhaenys lived, she could have been the bond that linked the current royal line to the old one. Yet instead they all died."
"Remember this lesson well, children: not everything you hear or see is true. Some things are false, a mask we put on to face the world or to fool the world about who we really are."
He rose from the table. "Sister, the dinner was wonderful. Perhaps next time, do not prepare so much. We are at war, after all."
He looked at Sansa. "Lady Sansa, shall I escort you to your room?"
The girl blinked. "I would appreciate it, my lord."
"Very well. Children, sleep well and remember what I told you." He looked at them both. "Sister, after the children are asleep, I shall return. I have need to speak with you."
"Goodnight, uncle, and you too, Lady Sansa," both Myrcella and Tommen said as they left the room.
Sansa walked silently beside him.
"Tell me something, Sansa. Do you truly wish to be wedded to the King?"
He heard her breath hitch.
"I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey, my Lord Hand."
Loren smiled at that.
"Truly, you hated your father that much. I can understand that."
Sansa stopped walking.
"My father was a traitor."
Loren sighed. "Sansa, you might fool Joffrey, Tommen, Myrcella, and maybe even some of the court. But not me. I know you hate my family. I know you hate Joffrey. Remember, my lady, I saw you at Winterfell and saw how you acted then. Your spell has been broken, and sadly neither of your parents prepared you for this great game of the lords. You know the cruelty Joffrey is capable of. He enjoys cruelty because, and you might know this already, the boy is weak. He has no strength of his own. He was neglected by his father, and my sister was cold with him, which caused all his beliefs to be reinforced. I will crack the boy down, because even kings need to be restrained. The realm will not survive another mad king."
Sansa looked at him with wide eyes.
"Shocked, no doubt. But my lady, unlike you, I have known for some time that the world is cruel. The world is no fairytale."
Sansa swallowed hard.
"So tell me, my lady, truthfully. Do you wish to marry my nephew?" he asked.
Sansa's lips began to tremble.
"No," she whispered.
"Good. Truth spoken in the night. Then perhaps there is hope for you yet. I can tell you now, you will not remain betrothed to him."
Sansa's eyes widened.
"Come, walk with me to your chambers. We shall speak of this more there."
Soon enough they arrived at Sansa's chambers. Two Lannister guards waited for them.
"You both can take ten steps away from the door."
They entered, and Loren looked toward something in the room. His hand brushed along the stones. Then he felt a slight wind, faint but enough. He pushed, and a piece of the wall opened. Something small quickly disappeared.
"Now we can speak freely."
Sansa's eyes widened again.
"Varys and his little birds. It is why I prefer to talk in my solar. I know the hole there. I had it blocked, at least for now."
He gestured for her to sit.
"As for you not marrying Joffrey, it is obvious. Sadly, my lady, your marriage to my nephew has no value. Your house, that of your father and mother, is at war with us. Your brother has called himself a king. You have no political advantage, no chance of armies, ships, or wealth."
"I understand. I thought after Father died I would no longer be betrothed to him," Sansa said weakly.
"An understandable notion, but at the time, my sister was in charge. Sadly, for you. You have great value as a political match when the wars have ended. Either when my sides lose, your brother or Stannis will likely marry of to one of their greatest supporters.
If my side wins, your bloodline makes you a prized bride for many lords in the realm, however, not for the King himself," he said, and Sansa's eyes rose again.
"I do not understand."
"Well, my lady, I must be blunt, you are a daughter of an ancient house. If your family loses the war. All your brothers would likely be dead or sent to the Wall to join your half-brother," Loren said.
Sansa's face turned pale. "Which would leave you as the sole heir of your ancient house, the North, and Winterfell. Unless your sister is found."
Sansa began to tremble.
"I am sorry, my lady, but that is the truth. Rebellion is not something to be taken lightly. Remember what I told you about the Targaryen children."
She nodded.
"You are Rhaenys. So it is likely you will either marry Tommen or a member of my house."
"That is what I am. A piece on the board, to be moved around. To be played with until the piece breaks," Sansa said with a sob.
"Perhaps. But even pieces on a board can be valuable, if that piece can make more moves than one," he said.
"How?" she asked.
"By becoming sharper and learning to see beneath what people say. Like I said at dinner."
He studied her closely, curious if she understood his motives.
"Nothing in the realm is what it seems. Many things are hidden," Sansa replied.
"Indeed. Although some people are what they appear to be, those are few. Like your father. Yet he paid the price for it. He was too honorable to see this place is not meant for that."
He looked at her carefully.
"Tell me something. Why am I telling you all of this?"
Sansa frowned, then her blue eyes widened. She swallowed hard.
"Because you want me to be prepared."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I am a potential match. And you are currently unmarried and do not have a son to succeed you," Sansa replied, looking at him strangely.
"It is true. My father wanted me to remarry, and he suggested you. Yet I have not made my decision," Loren answered calmly.
"Why have you not?" Sansa asked.
"Because I wished to see if you have what it takes to be the future Lady of Casterly Rock. You would be the Lady of the Westerlands, not a small position. Then there is the fact that you would be a stepmother to my daughters."
"I would be a good lady, my lord," Sansa replied timidly. "I would care for your children as well."
The reaction surprised him. She was already trying to make it happen.
"Sansa, that may be. Yet why are you so eager to be my future wife?"
Sansa looked at him tiredly.
"Because of all the people in this city, based on this conversation alone, on how Joffrey reacted to you, and because Beth is currently in Lannisport. I heard the story that you fought alongside my father and Ser Rodrik. Even in the North they spoke of you with respect. And now you have spoken to me with respect. Not as a little dove, as the Queen likes to call me. And I want to leave King's Landing. This place only brings bad memories."
Loren looked at her thoughtfully.
"Very well. Now remember what I told you. Be alert. Listen to what is said. And we will see what will become of us."
"I will. And thank you for tonight," Sansa said quietly.
Loren rose and went to the door.
"Goodnight, Lady Sansa."
"Goodnight to you as well, Ser Loren," Sansa replied, and she noticed a tiny smile on her own face.
"You both can return to your places," he ordered the guards as they returned to their posts.
Loren then walked back toward the family dining chamber. He entered, and only Cersei remained.
"I walked the lady back to her chambers."
"I did. A girl yet learning," he said.
"Hmm. That girl is an idiot. You know, she told me of her father's plans to send the girls back to Winterfell. Without that, I would not have had warning to prepare," Cersei remarked.
Loren poured a cup of wine and sat down.
"Her own father."
"Indeed. That girl would have done anything for Joffrey. She was in love with him. Or at least the idea. But all that changed since Joffrey took her father's head," Cersei noted.
"Yes. That boy has a talent for making friends. I do not think he truly has any. A trait learned from his lovely mother," Loren said.
"Friends are weakness, and they can only betray you," Cersei replied.
"Hmm. You are also quite difficult in winning loyalty."
Cersei looked at him, puzzled.
"Gold wins loyalty, and fear keeps them in line."
"Hmm. Father has done quite the job if that is what you have learned. There is more than one way, and not all ways inspire loyalty."
He had done it himself, inspiring loyalty. The men who followed him were men of Castamere. They were personally loyal to him. He fought with them, bled with them, and provided for them.
"Yet gold and fear are not things you have been giving out lately," he said. "No. You have given blood and hatred. On top of the current food situation. Because of it, we are losing the people."
Cersei remained still.
"What, no reply?"
"I do not know what you mean. As for the people, they are but ants beneath our feet," Cersei snarled.
Loren rose abruptly.
"By all the gods. You are telling me Joffrey did it. Jason already questioned it. Now I know for sure. Tell me you did not know."
"I did not know. But he did what needed to be done," Cersei tried to argue.
"Needed to be done. Truly, what do you think is the result of this? Killing them does not make what Stannis Baratheon says any less true. It gives value to it. You treated that boy coldly, never telling him no, always telling him he was doing good. He does not see right from wrong. Combined with his liking for cruelty, we have a dangerous mix."
He spoke with the same look and tone their father used.
"You also gave him too much power. You made him believe, and the city believe, that he can do as he likes. The boy is but three and ten. You had the regency in your hands but allowed him to rule. Gripping power is not something many will let go of."
Cersei glared at him. It was an odd thing with her. She lashed out at Tyrion, always. Yet with him and their father, she likely saw the reflection.
"On the morrow, you will make sure the boy joins us in the small council. It is time he learns to rule, instead of spending his days tormenting animals and making foolish decisions that sink us deeper."
He drained his cup.
"Goodnight, sister. And remember what I told you."
Loren left the dining hall.
The small council room
The morning light slanted in through the narrow windows, catching dust motes that danced above the polished table. Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name, sat in the King's chair with his chin in his hand, tapping impatient fingers against the wood while Littlefinger read out the latest grim tally of shortages.
"Bread prices have tripled, Your Grace. The ships that might ferry grain from the Arbor are intercepted or turned away. And the Crownlands have—"
Joffrey's tapping grew louder. He did not hear a word.
Loren Lannister watched him, arms folded behind his back, his golden hair tied neatly at the nape. He waited until Petyr Baelish paused for breath, then spoke.
"Your Grace."
The boy king looked up with the lazy irritation of a cat roused too soon.
"Yes?" he answered.
"Tell me. What would be your ideal plan to solve this food crisis, with the Riverlands in flame, the Reach denying access, and Stannis's navy raiding the coast?"
The boy glanced at his mother as if she were meant to answer for him. Cersei Lannister sat regal and composed in her seat, her expression soft and approving.
Joffrey straightened in his throne.
"I would raise an army of Kingslanders and the City Watch. Then I would ride to my traitor uncle and put his head on a spike."
His smile was boyish and cruel.
The room held its breath.
Loren regarded him patiently. "A valiant plan, Your Grace. Yet tell me. What happens when you march the swords and spears out of the city to deal with traitor Renly?"
Joffrey blinked, as if the question itself were some affront.
"Nothing happens. This city is the greatest in the realm. None would dare challenge us."
Varys's brow creased. Littlefinger hid a smirk. Even Pycelle shifted uncomfortably.
Loren kept his gaze steady. "Not even Stannis? With ships enough to sail up the Blackwater and take the city the moment you strip it of its defenders?"
For the first time Joffrey hesitated, falling silent under his uncle's steady stare.
"To solve this food crisis," Loren continued, "and to begin repairing the broken trust between the people and the Crown, we could pawn part of the royal jewelry. With the coin, we can import food and hire sellsails from Essos to guard the coast."
It was reasonable. Sensible. Necessary.
Joffrey's face hardened. "What? I am the King. I will not sell royal possessions for peasant rabble. They should be grateful we allow them to live in our capital."
Cersei gave her son a small smile, indulgent and proud. "Well then," she said sweetly, "perhaps we should kill all the children instead. That solves a problem."
A jest. A terrible one.
Joffrey laughed. "Yes. We can get rid of the useless mouths."
Loren clenched his jaw. The others shifted, but no one dared rebuke the King.
"That was a joke, Your Grace," Loren said softly.
Joffrey's grin wavered.
"Besides killing children and valuable hostages," Loren continued, his voice level and unwavering, "what is your idea to stop this crisis?"
Silence swept through the room. The boy looked to his mother again, but this time Cersei remained still.
Loren did not blink.
"I thought so."
The chair creaked faintly as he leaned forward, and Joffrey almost recoiled at the sound.
"Let us do this another way, Your Grace," Loren said. "I will give you a week to come up with a proposal. A real one. If you fail, the jewelry will be pawned for loans. It is the only path that keeps this city from starvation."
Joffrey's lips parted, but no answer came. His throat bobbed.
"Are we in agreement?" Loren asked calmly. "I am quite sure a mind like yours, Your Grace, will find one."
For a long heartbeat, no one moved.
Now boy, be a man, Loren thought. Show the realm the King you pretend to be.
"I am the king," Joffrey said at last, forcing his shoulders back. "Of course I will."
He rose too quickly, the chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. "If that is all, uncle, I have work to do."
He left without looking at anyone else, his crimson cloak snapping behind him.
Later that day, Loren's Solar
The bald eunuch sat in front of him. The fact that this man was the Master of Whisperers did not sit well with him. He knew, of course, that his father had his own informers and that those in the city answered to him as well. Yet their network was not nearly as fast as that of the Spider.
He knew Varys was useful and kept the crown informed, yet he doubted the man shared all he knew.
"Lord Varys, how long have you been here in Westeros now?"
Varys looked at him with a smile that could mean anything and nothing.
"About thirty years or so."
"Hmm. What do you find of our country? Does it compare to your homeland?" he asked.
"It has its qualities, yet so does my home. Although I have been east for quite a while, where I was born even longer."
"Hmm, not that it matters. I suspect in every country we deal with the same shit life throws our way. Good lords, good kings, good men, or the other way around," Loren noted.
"That is quite true. Every place has its heroes and its villains. Yet I have yet to decide which kind you are. Lord Stark was honorable and wished to be the hero, yet in the end became a traitor and a villain," Varys said as he sat down.
Loren smiled at him.
"Tell me, Lord Varys, which of the noble houses of the Reach, besides the Florents, are likely to switch sides to us if we make the offer good enough?"
Varys looked at him thoughtfully.
"It is well known that Lord Tarly harbors a grudge against the current Lord of Highgarden, because Lord Mace took credit for the victory at Ashford. The other two options would be Houses Caswell and Ashford, both powerful enough to claim the title of Paramount, and both, like many, claiming descent from House Gardener. Perhaps House Hightower as well, because of the connections you have to them, my lord."
"Indeed, I suspected as much. The Redwynes are the ones I would wish for, but the Queen of Thorns is Mace's mother, and the Hightowers were my kin by marriage. Yet since Lysa's passing, those bonds have lessened. And even with what remains, I doubt they would break. Lady Alerie Tyrell is the current Lord of Hightower's daughter.
Yet perhaps, with an extra push…" he began but paused.
"Tell me, Lord Varys, can I trust you?"
"Of course you can, my lord," Varys said with a sweet smile.
"Ah, good. But I have something I wish for you to do. Something that cannot be told to the Queen. I doubt my sister can see reason on the subject."
"Hmm. My lips shall be sealed," Varys stated.
"Good. I know my nephew Harrold. He is the son of the Hightower heir and not yet betrothed. I wish for you to send them a message. If they break with the Tyrells and make it so others of the Reach follow their lead, then we will make him Lord Paramount, and Princess Myrcella will be betrothed to him."
The eyes of Lord Varys widened. "Oh, I think it can work, my Lord Hand. I shall see it done," Varys nodded, smiling.
Now let us see if Cersei will come screaming at me.
An hour later, the mockingbird stood in front of him, looking out the window.
"You wished me to broker a marriage pact with Lysa. Between the princess and Lord Robert Arryn?" the man asked, stroking his small beard.
"Indeed. My family and hers do not currently have the best ties, ever since the business with my brother."
Littlefinger looked at him thoughtfully.
"I can sing this song to Lysa. But what do I get in return?"
Ah. The man always looked for advantage.
"Hmm. I think something can be arranged. Your current lordship, quite a lonely tower, if I recall correctly."
Littlefinger's brow rose.
"Indeed it is. I am surprised you know so much about my home."
"Well, I do of course keep an eye on the lords of the realm, especially those who sit on the Small Council and have risen far. Yet that was not my point. There is currently a lordship of an ancient castle, with quite a bit of land, standing empty," Loren began.
"What do you say? For brokering this pact, you become the new Lord of Harrenhal."
"You would make me a great lord overnight," Littlefinger said.
Let him be comfortable. This man helped set up this current war. He wants something we could not give him, something that can make him rise. But what? Loren did not know. Yet he saw the gleam in Littlefinger's eyes when he mentioned Harrenhal, a glint of satisfaction.
"Indeed. You bring me the Vale, and you will become the Lord of Harrenhal," Loren stated.
Littlefinger's eyes narrowed as he walked from one end of the room to the other.
"Janos Slynt was promised the same thing. And he is currently rotting in the black cells."
"That may be true, but I did not need Janos Slynt," Loren said with a grin.
Littlefinger sat down and smiled at him.
"Very well, my lord. I shall bring Lysa Arryn and the Vale."
"Good. And do not forget," Loren looked at him sharply, "the Queen must not know."
After Littlefinger left, he returned to administrative work, taking account of the city's defenses. If they were to hold against either Renly or Stannis, he needed to be sure. The defenses were probably ready to receive them, but the more reports he received, the worse they became. The city, even as it was being reformed, was not ready to handle a siege. Nor were systems in place to arm the citizenry.
At least he still had the one thousand and five hundred men he brought from the west. He missed five hundred, those who had ridden out with Bennard.
Still, in the morning he would begin splitting those into fifteen groups to organize defenses along the walls and within the city, and begin recruiting citizens into the levy. If they did not want to be sacked, they would need to fight to prevent it.
After another hour of work, as his dinner arrived, and after he finished it, Grand Maester Pycelle entered.
"Ah, Grand Maester, welcome. I hope you were able to finish your meal as well?"
"Indeed I did, Lord Hand. A small meal of seabass and onions," the man said.
"Good to hear. I asked you here for your advice on a plan I am setting in motion."
"I am here to listen and advise the King and his Lord Hand," Pycelle said with a shaking bow. Loren thought, old man.
"Very well. Have a seat," Loren said, and the man sat with a grunt.
"Well, I have been thinking on how we can begin to reconcile the kingdoms. I have shared this with members of the Small Council, but the plan might not sit well with the Queen, considering it will involve my dear niece. So the Queen must not know."
The maester frowned, but nodded along.
"Ah yes, the princess, eleven years old. Likely able to be wedded in a year or three, if not more. Any lord would be honored to have her as his bride. I suspect you already have a choice in mind," the old man asked attentively.
"Indeed. I have decided to wed her to a kingdom that has not had good relations with us since Robert's Rebellion, and which lies at the doorstep of the Reach," he noted.
Pycelle's eyes widened. He suspected what Loren meant.
"I mean to marry Myrcella to Doran's second son, Prince Trystane Martell."
"Marry the princess to Dorne?" Pycelle asked.
"Indeed. It is high time the Dornish were reintegrated into the Seven Kingdoms," he ended.
Pycelle nodded. "A wise plan, my Lord Hand."
"I thought so. Although I fault my father, Jon Arryn, and Robert for not making inroads with them sooner. If Rhaenys were alive, a marriage between her and Joffrey might have sealed the realm. Perhaps then parts of the Reach and Dorne would still stand with us. And if Robert still wanted a marriage with the Starks, he could have married Sansa Stark too Tommen . Yet what ifs are not going to heal the realm," Loren noted as he took a sip of wine.
"Indeed, my lord. And this marriage will likely heal the wounds," Pycelle murmured as he stroked his beard.
"Now remember, the Queen must not know," Loren ended as he poured the maester a cup of wine.
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