We entered King's Landing in triumph. The event was staged with as much color and ceremony as possible—trumpets blared, banners and standards fluttered, the army marched in solemn formation, and individual units, such as the Holy Hundred, demonstrated their training and cohesion along the route.
The people lined the road from the Dragon Gate to the Red Keep itself. They sang songs, whistled, and cheered, often throwing flowers beneath the hooves of our horses. Women lifted their small children high so that the king could see them—it was believed this would bring them good fortune in the years to come.
By and large, the common folk did not care whom their king had defeated or where. Many were so illiterate that they could scarcely imagine where this Riverrun lay, or what had truly caused the war. Moments like these interested them for entirely different reasons—whether there would be a distribution of food to mark the victory, whether a tournament would be held, and so forth. In essence, it mattered little to townspeople and peasants alike who sat the Iron Throne—Targaryen, Baratheon, Lannister, or anyone else. If the ruler lowered taxes, that was good. If, on the contrary, he "tied knots," then everything was bad.
One of the main truths that must always be remembered and constantly used is that people love spectacle. And we gave them that—within our means, of course.
We were greeted in the main square. The Hand, the entire Small Council, the nobility, and the knights all behaved as though the greatest victory in history had been achieved.
After the official proceedings, I kissed Margaery with genuine joy and gently stroked her rounded—still small—belly.
"How are you, my dear?" Without hesitation, I kissed my wife before hundreds of watching eyes.
"Everything is fine," she smiled, taking my arm, and together we went to the Red Keep.
We all rested for a couple of hours, and in the evening a feast was held in honor of the victory.
To be honest, after Riverrun I had corresponded with Tywin regarding the advisability of holding a tournament. After proper discussion, we abandoned the idea. Such an event would be an unnecessary expense. And the people would endure.
Money does not accumulate in the treasury very quickly, and in the present realities of war, it is wiser to conserve resources.
The night with Margaery was stormy. We had missed each other deeply and did not sleep until morning, losing ourselves in one another.
Margaery had changed a little—her voice had acquired a capricious edge, and at times irritation and fatigue slipped through. This was entirely understandable: pregnancy in such a humid and hot climate does little for a woman's peace of mind or health.
The next day, without delay, we convened a Small Council meeting. I was eager to hear the latest news.
It turned out that the council's ranks had thinned slightly—Prince Oberyn was absent. According to Kevan, Martell had been in intense correspondence with Doran and, at some point, announced that he was not feeling well in King's Landing and that his wounds were healing too slowly. Many understood that there was more to it than that, but there was no reason to keep Oberyn in the Red Keep against his will.
By Tywin's own order, Myrcella was left in the capital. This caused Oberyn great displeasure and drew a flood of tears from my sister. The irritated prince departed for Dorne without Myrcella, though he did take with him the embalmed head of Gregor Clegane as a trophy of war.
Here, I could not help but reflect. After the duel, I had given Clegane's body to Qyburn. I had been curious to see what he might accomplish with it. Now, having heard this news, I realized that the former maester had achieved nothing of value in his research and experiments. Still, I would speak with him tomorrow.
"Lord Tyrell continues the siege of Storm's End," reported Mathis Rowan. "In essence, the fortress is impregnable, and a direct assault would result in heavy casualties."
"And how is my good father resolving this matter?" I asked.
"He has set up trebuchets and powerful crossbows and bombards the stronghold daily. He has also offered the garrison a chance to lay down their arms. At first, they remained fiercely loyal to Stannis and did not even consider surrender. But the complete blockade is doing its work—especially since Stannis has effectively abandoned them by going to the Wall. Most importantly, Mace allowed the ravens into Storm's End, and now they know of the fall of Riverrun and Lord Edmure Tully's oath. According to Lord Tyrell, this news dealt a severe blow to the besieged's morale. They realized that matters would only worsen, and that if they continued to resist, the outcome could be grim for them."
"So things have finally moved forward?" I did not bother to hide my satisfaction.
"That is correct. Lord Tyrell offered them an honorable surrender, similar to the one extended to House Tully—or the continuation of the siege and death for all once the fortress fell. In the end, the garrison agreed to surrender, and the final details are now being arranged."
"I've heard that their commander, Ser Gilbert Farring, is notoriously stubborn, and that Stannis considers him one of his few truly reliable men. How did he agree to negotiations?"
"Gilbert Farring is a stubborn ram," Cersei remarked, irritably toying with her wine cup. "At least, he used to be."
"Perhaps," Tywin nodded, "and yet sometimes even such men are capable of thinking clearly and understanding the reality of their situation."
"Excellent," I said, pleased that events were finally reaching their logical conclusion. "And what of Stannis?"
"He rendered Westeros a great service by coming to the aid of the Night's Watch and defeating the wildlings," Kevan Lannister said quietly.
"Tell me more about that," I asked.
(End of Chapter)
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