Jaime was not pleased to see anyone from Storm's End. Yet I managed to persuade him that we needed to strengthen our ties and friendship with those lands, for I bear the Baratheon name in form, and I simply cannot forget or turn away from such powerful and warlike lords and houses.
In truth, the rumors about whose son I am will fade with time — especially if we triumph over all. And it is necessary to seat a Baratheon in Storm's End, just as Robert once did with Renly. And I had such a man: loyal and willing to accept a secondary role. I am speaking of my younger brother, Tommen. The main challenge with him is turning him into a proper warrior and a brave man. Now, without Cersei—who so often indulged him—everything has become possible.
Jon Cafferen—of average height, extraordinarily broad-shouldered, and somewhat short-legged—knelt beside Garth, and together they recited the words of the oath they had learned beforehand, the text of which I had composed with the help of Kevan and Mathis. The High Septon, already recovered from his brief imprisonment, accepted their vows.
"Congratulations, sers," I said after the ceremony, shaking each of their hands. "I am glad to see you among my ranks!"
Behind my back stood Herald Orm and Tyrek Lannister. The Crown's Guard Service had carried out a brilliant operation and, almost miraculously, managed to locate the boy. All the evidence pointed to Petyr Baelish as responsible for his abduction—this man never ceased to amaze with his activity and cunning.
Tyrek—a curly-haired, golden-blond, well-built youth—looked thin and exhausted. After arriving in the capital, he rested only a few days, and then, at his own request, I took him on as my squire and bodyguard. He had not yet earned his knightly spurs, but with his zeal and ability, that day was clearly not far off.
In time, Tyrek promised to grow into, if not a legendary warrior, then certainly a highly skilled knight. His loyalty was beyond doubt, and songs could already be written about his thirst for vengeance against Littlefinger. It seemed that by finding and freeing him, I had gained not only a devoted man, but one who with all his heart and soul longed to settle accounts with Baelish.
The other squires and stewards had given him the nickname Nanny even before his captivity—shortly before his disappearance, Tywin Lannister had forced him to wed one-year-old Ermesande, the sole heiress of the immensely wealthy House Hayford of the Crownlands. From the standpoint of expanding Lannister influence, the marriage had been highly advantageous, though it provided an excellent opportunity for mockery.
Tyrek could only scowl in response to the elaborate—and at times quite sharp—jokes of his sharp-tongued companions.
That evening we held a modest feast in honor of the two new Kingsguard. Nothing unusual or grand—just a shared supper for about sixty people in a comfortable atmosphere. I hoped that many small gestures, including such gatherings, would allow me to know my people better and forge strong bonds between us.
***
"So, my lords, let us begin," Kevan, seated at my right hand, cleared his throat and fell briefly silent, gathering his thoughts. Three days earlier, I had confirmed him as Warden of the West. For the duration of his stay in the Red Keep, Kevan had temporarily transferred those powers to Daven Lannister, so that it would be easier for him to deal with Cersei.
We were in my solar, and our shared table stood not far from a large and highly detailed map of Westeros that covered the entire wall. Nearly everyone, save Pycelle, had already appreciated how convenient it was to discuss matters while consulting it.
On my left sat Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove. He still held no specific office on the Small Council and merely filled in as Master of Laws in the absence of Tyrell. The intelligence, determination, and loyalty of this man were beyond praise. More than once I had taken note of his qualities, shown my appreciation, and repeatedly bestowed gifts upon him—fine steeds, expensive armor, and hunting birds. Of course, for a man of his wealth, my tokens were insignificant, but we all know it is not the gift that matters, but the attention. Moreover, he understood that should one of the positions on the Small Council become vacant, he would be the first candidate.
Behind Rowan sat Pycelle, and beside him Qyburn—modest and courteous as always, dressed in simple gray and black robes.
Behind Kevan, half-turned toward the table and facing me, sat Jaime, his legs stretched far out before him in brown suede boots.
At the other end of the table, distancing himself somewhat from the rest of us, Tyrion lounged comfortably in a half-chair, holding his ever-present goblet of wine.
Near Tyrion, seated monumentally and impressively, was Genna Frey—sister to Tywin and Kevan, and my great-aunt. I had invited her onto the Small Council for several reasons. First, a woman's perspective on a problem can prove very useful. Second, back in Riverrun she had made a strong impression with her deep thoughts and calm reasoning. She knew how to get to the heart of a matter. Well, and third, unquestionably loyal Genna was married to Emmon Frey and knew the many intricacies of affairs there exceedingly well. Having such a person during a war with the Twins seemed a worthwhile idea indeed.
(End of Chapter)
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