The Eminence in GOT-Chapter 54: Interlude. The Burden of the Lion King

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***

The end of the fifth month of the year 299 A.D.

Office of the Hand, Red Castle, King's Landing.

«You monster! Myrcella is my only daughter. Do you think I'd let you sell her to those baked Dornish like a cheap whore?" As soon as he entered his chambers, Tyrion heard a loud, booming voice that could only belong to one person. In this city, only his older sister could walk calmly into the Hand's office and speak to him in such a tone.

«Myrcella is a princess. She was born for this, and it is time for her to fulfill her duty. - Tyrion replied calmly, looking down a few steps into the eyes of the queen dowager. You could easily read in them the pain and despair of a man once again reliving his worst nightmare.

«I will not let you send her to Dorne as I was sent to Robert Baratheon! - Though that's essentially what happened. Cersei knew better than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms what it was like to live with a man she didn't love, and she would never wish the same fate for her beloved daughter.

«Calm yourself, sister. - The younger Lannister answered her in as confident a tone as possible, knowing full well that in such a state his impulsive sister could make such a mess of things that Robb Stark and the Baratheon brothers wouldn't even have to bother to take King's Landing. - Dorne is the safest place for her.

«Are you out of your mind?! The Martells don't hate us any more than the Starks do and you expect to negotiate with them?! - Cersei screamed at him, almost hysterical, venting all the pain and anger she'd accumulated over the last few days on her hated junior.

«So we must seduce them. - The Hand continued to speak to her in the same calm voice, feeling that he was standing on a barrel of wildfire, where any wrongly spoken word could be the very spark that caused the explosion. - We need support in the war your son started.

«She'll be a hostage. - The queen almost spat out the words, feeling the hot fire of anger and hatred in her slowly fading away, replaced by a cold and calculating rage.

«Guest. - Tyrion shifted his emphasis a little, but seeing that his words had not reached his sister's ears, he forced himself to continue. - She will be the bride of Tristan Martell, Prince Doran's youngest son. He is being raised by the Tempers in Osgiliath, where Myrcella will go when the treaty is confirmed.

«What difference does that make? - Crossing her arms under her breasts, the queen asked.

«First of all, she will be far away from the Sun Spear and the Water Gardens, where most of the Martells live. - The Hand began to make up arguments that had long since been thought out. No, not for his sister or his father, to whom he reported every decade. No... for himself. Whatever the other courtiers here or in Casterly Rock might say, he genuinely loved his youngest nephews, Tomenn and Myrcella. Perhaps even more than their own father and mother. He was well aware that in a land of blazing sands and stinging scorpions the girl might be in mortal danger, but here in King's Landing, which might soon be besieged and taken, there were poisonous creatures many times more dangerous than any inhabitants of Dorne. So his choice was only partly politics. Albeit a more minor one. - Secondly, Felix Temper will protect her as long as she's on his land.

«You seriously trust the Bloody Jackal? - Cersei asked with a sarcastic arch of her eyebrow, a look that told her what she thought of the dwarf's mental capacity. - Has the wine finally washed away those "great" reserves of intelligence you boast so much about?

«Of course not. - Tyrion answered, walking over to the table and pouring some of the golden Borg wine into his glass. - But I know exactly what this Dornish man is willing to do for gain. Only the Tempest squadrons can now safely cross Stannis's blockade of Blackwater Bay, and they are the only ones bringing the very food we've been deprived of because of Spacer's entry into the war. Coupled with the fact that they don't pay a dime into the king's coffers by treaty with your late husband, the capital is now a river of gold flowing into the Jackal's pockets. Do you think he would allow any chance of being without it?

There was a short silence, where each of the two lions considered each other's answers and searched for something that would allow him to finally win the argument.

«You think you're so smart? - Cersei continued the argument, realizing inwardly that this upbringing, only jokingly called her brother by the gods, was right, and moved on to something she could and did use filigree, as well as the name of her house. Threats. - That the hundreds of dusty books you've read make you smarter than everyone else? - Her smile turned sarcastic on its own, and her emerald eyes began to glow the color of the most intense Wildfire. - No. If that were true, the Seven Kingdoms would be ruled by Maesters. Or do you think that piece of paper your father gave you is going to protect you? Ned Stark had one, and where is he now?

«The deed is done, Cersei. - As someone who'd heard his sister threaten him hundreds of times, Tyrion knew exactly what needed to be done. More specifically, whose name had to be mentioned for her to surrender. - This decision has already been approved by Father, and you cannot challenge it.

«No... - The young lioness said in shock, falling down on one of the chairs in the chambers. She knew as well as anyone that Tywin Lannister's decisions were always carried out and there was nothing that could be done about it.

Watching his sister raging in his room, Tyrion inwardly wished he could go to her and calm her down. He was well aware of an old prediction, given to her by some frogwoman, that a "Voloncar" or younger brother would be the cause of her death. Coupled with the fact that Cersei blamed him for their mother's death and despised him as a freak and a dwarf, it made for an impenetrable obstacle to any kind of relationship.

«Cersei, calm down. - Softening his voice as much as possible, he addressed his sister a few minutes later, when there was nothing left in the Hand's office but a sturdy mahogany desk and a couch upholstered in silver and gold, which the still young woman had no strength to overturn. - You must realize that Myrcella will be even more dangerous here than she was in Dorne. If Stannis or Renly's men take the city, she will suffer a fate far worse than that of the youngest Targaryen child. Neither you nor I want her raped by stormtroopers and then killed. So sending her to Dorne would be the best option.

There was no response to his words. The young widow gave him a searing glare and left the chambers without a word, slamming the door shut with a resounding thud, leaving behind a mess of unspoken threats.

«What should we do with her? - Tyrion said aloud, looking around at the torn documents, books, and glass shards scattered around the room. His sister was becoming more violent and uncontrollable by the day, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nor did he want to.

There was a creature far more dangerous, cruel, and uncontrollable than his restless sister in the royal chambers nearby. And by the evil joke of the gods, it was his nephew.

***

P.O.V. Tyrion Lannister.

The beginning of the seventh month of the year 299 A.D.

Small Council Chamber, Red Castle, King's Landing.

«This Myrian rug suits this place much better than the old one. - Varys's voice was as soft and velvety as ever, making me suspect that he was trying to deceive you. But in the four months I'd been Hand, I'd long since gotten used to it and accepted it as part of the image of the Master of the Whisperers.

«He's not from Myr, but from Osgiliath. - I corrected him, putting aside another book on the art of siege from the time of Ancient Guise, finding it unhelpful.

«I didn't realize that our southern friend had started making carpets. - The soft smile on the eunuch's face grew even wider, powdered palms quietly turning the pages of one of the books lying around the assembly hall.

«I don't think there's a thing left in this world that Temper doesn't barter with. - I grinned, catching sight of the last member of today's Small Council. - There's our new head of the city guard! Why are we late? And where is your golden cloak?

«Let's not do this..." Bronn snorted angrily, walking quickly from the door to one of the six seats and plopping down on it in a simple manner. - I've got enough problems as it is, and if you keep bothering me, I'll just quit.

«I pay you too much to quit. - I answered, seeing that the mercenary was grumbling and not even thinking of carrying out his threat. - What happened in the city that the head of the Gold Cloaks has so many problems?

«Peddlers. Fucking peddlers. - Bronn cursed angrily, but when he saw my questioning look, he continued. - Those red rags have lost their edge. They've driven grain prices so high that most townspeople have to give their last copper to buy a couple ounces of grain. And that's on Steel and Bread Street. Flea Bottom and Stochnaya Ditch are not even worth talking about - I saw some mongrel being roasted on a spit there myself. The people are not happy. People are rioting. And throwing shit at my boys.

If I understood "red rags" correctly, he was referring to Temper's men, one of the few reasons why the king and everyone in Kings Castle hadn't already been eaten by starving poor people.

When I first arrived in this city and took up my position as Hand, a very sad and sad picture was revealed to me. Confusion in the Small Council, where my dearest sister "ruled", who did nothing but organize a tournament in honor of her beloved son. Bribery and embezzlement among the Gold Cloaks, who have become in essence a kind of mercenary unit, ready to serve those who pay more. Abandoned towers and walls, not ready for future sieges at all and not even planned to be repaired, despite my father's orders. Hungry and poor townsfolk, made even poorer by the cutoff of supplies from the Vastor due to Renly Baratheon's coronation and wedding at Highgarden.

And that's not even mentioning Cersei and Joffrey's antics, turning all the citizens of King's Landing against our house. Killing innocent babies and children, though they turned out to be Baratheon bastards, and shooting starving beggars with crossbows at the Red Keep made the Lannisters look like monsters in human skin to everyone in the capital. If the gods knew how much I wanted to shake the neck of my "favorite" nephew at that moment, they would surely grant my wish.

Something had to be done. No matter how proud my father was of the name of our family and said that "a lion should not be interested in the opinion of sheep", but when there are half a million sheep and they are so angry that they are ready to claw at you with all their claws and fangs... you become afraid of being trampled by them. My first decree authorized the slaughter of game in the Royal Forest, which was considered the King's ancestral domain, where no one but lords could hunt. After that, inexpensive and fresh meat began to appear in the city, soon diluted by fish caught in the Blackwater by rebuilt fishing boats.

But this did not solve the food problem. People needed bread, vegetables, grain and many other things, because you can't live long on meat and fish alone. And ordinary people were not used to such expensive products. But there was nowhere to get them - Blackwater Bay was blocked by Stannis's ships, the Outlands, Riverlands and Stormlands had rebelled, and the rest of the Realms grew just enough to feed themselves.

So when the Tempers' trade convoy of ten ships arrived in town, carrying everything the starving city lacked, I was relieved. According to the captain Bronn had met with on my behalf, the Southern Jackal had changed the routes of his trade caravans, making one of them come to King's Landing at least once a month. This solved the food problem, though not completely, but it gave these Dornish people power, which they took advantage of by jacking up prices.

By the way, why...

«In your guys? - I asked in surprise, looking at the mercenary who wasn't even joking. - Not Temper's men?

«Those red rags mostly sit in their holes, coming out only in the mornings to spread the grain. And they do so accompanied by those huge dogs that have already torn apart a few brazen poor people. - Wrinkling and frowning, Bronn replied, occasionally resting his hand on his favorite dagger. It was a bad habit, showing that the native of the far North was annoyed. Not too much, though, or he'd be reeking of fresh blood and disemboweled intestines by now.

«There's a reason for everything. - I said, thinking hard. - If the Tempers have raised prices so high, even with all the fish, meat, and provisions coming into town from Rosby, and people are still buying from them, then the townspeople have a good reason to do so. Lord Varys?

«Hmmm... Perhaps it's about the rumors that appeared on the streets a couple of days ago. - After a moment's thought, the Master of the Whisperers replied.

«Rumors?

«There's a rumor on the streets that the Baratheon brothers will soon unite at Storm's End and march on King's Landing with a single army of a hundred and fifty thousand. "To punish the incestuous brats who murdered their brother king and execute the judgment of God upon the rotten family of lions." - Bronn answered instead of the eunuch, making my eyes involuntarily round.

I'd known about the poor septon preachers calling on the townsfolk to overthrow Joffrey, who'd already distinguished himself by shooting another crowd of people begging for bread at the Red Keep, but for it to be on such a scale... No, such panic wouldn't happen in a few days without reason. Someone spread these rumors and did it very well. The only question is, who?

«Rumors do not arise by themselves. Especially such convenient and untimely ones. - I voiced my thoughts, to the nods of those present. - Varis, do you know the roots of these rumors?

«What is there to think about? - Bronn interrupted me, pulling out his dagger and twirling it between his fingers at such a speed that it looked like it might snap off at any moment and leave another scar on the playful mercenary. - The only people who need this panic are the peddlers who profit from idiot townspeople. We should take a couple hundred of my boys, kick them in the ass for this, and take their grain supply for ourselves.

«Take your time, Bronn. - I put my hand up and stopped him. - We can't do that. To quarrel with one of the richest houses in Westeros on the eve of Winter over such a trivial matter would be folly.

«Why would it be? - The mercenary looked at me in surprise, finally returning his dagger to his belt. Judging by the deeper exhalation of the Master over the Whisperers sitting next to him, he was making more than just me nervous. - You said yourself that there is no one richer than the Lannisters. So why worry about mere peddlers that your father can easily buy off?

«Sometimes I forget that Bronn is just a mercenary, albeit one with a lot of life experience. He has no knowledge of the lives of the High Lords of the Seven Kingdoms and their relationships, traits, and bloodlines. I'll have to explain it all on my fingers. - Yes, the wealth of my house and the House of Tempers are not comparable, but their sources and manifestations are quite different. The case of our house is unique. The Lannisters have owned the richest gold deposits in the known world since the Age of Heroes, and if we omit many things, all the gold coins of Westeros were created from our gold. But there is one thing that Lannes the Clever realized, and that is that when something becomes too much, it loses its value. And that includes gold. That's why our family, despite the riches under our feet, never mined more gold than we needed. So, yes, we surpass all Seven Kingdoms in wealth, but this wealth is expressed only in yellow metal, which is good for nothing but jewelry and coins.

«That's quite a mouthful, Your Excellency. - Bronn grinned thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. - I honestly can't imagine how much gold there must be for there to be a lot of it. But what you mean is clear to me. And the Tempers?

«They got rich in a more traditional way. - I continued my mini-lesson for a two-meter tall forehead that saved my life several times. - Their founder, the now-living Felix "Bloody Jackal" Temper, got rich selling exotics from the Outlands to the Free Cities and the Golden Empire, and then, having found a spear of Valyrian steel somewhere in the east and taking advantage of his friendship with the brother of the current Grandlord of Dorne, Oberyn Martell, became a lord, having received a useless piece of land in the Red Mountains.

«Now making the world's most expensive and strongest booze. - The mercenary finished for me. - You're rich because of the rock you sit on, and the Tempers are rich because of the man who made them.

-You could put it that way. - I answered thoughtfully, imagining how my father would react to such a comparison between the ancient and powerful Lannister family and the house of peddlers that had appeared a couple years ago, whose only advantage was a drop of lion's blood that had somehow gotten lost among the nobility. - Back to the question of why I don't want to fight with them. First, after the destruction of the Ironwoods, it was the Tempers who took the position of the second most powerful house in Dorne, fulfilling several roles at once - Guardians of the Dornish Sea, the second shield of the Prince's Pass, and the spare purse of the Sunspear. Second, according to confirmed reports alone, they can field nearly five thousand well-armed soldiers and under a hundred of their own warships, rumored to be as strong as our three-octave galleys. Third, Temper is raising Tristan Martell, Myrcella's fiancé, and if we mess with him, we'll make life very difficult for my niece.

«Right, so what do we do? - Bronn returned to our old problem, looking at me expectantly. - Rumors are still flying around the city, and if it continues like this, the poor will tear to pieces any noble who appears outside the castle walls.

«I'll personally visit the Tempers' factoria and talk to its head. - I said, but when I saw Varys, whom I had forgotten about because of my conversation with Bronn, I decided to clarify. - Lord Varis, have your birds whispered to you who's behind these riots?

«Why, no. They did. - The eunuch answered in surprise, causing me and Bronn to stare at him in surprise. - There is an "organization" that is very sympathetic to our late king's brothers.

«"Organization?" - I asked in confusion, wondering who it might be. Stannis and Renly had very different personalities, but organizing some unofficial community or spy network... too stubborn and straightforward for the former and chivalrously ambitious and squeamish for the latter.

«They call themselves the Stag Men and believe the rumors spread by the rebels about our king to be true. So they are doing everything they can to make it easier for the Baratheons to take the city. - The Spider explained, proving once again that nothing was happening in the capital without his knowledge.

«How much do you know about the people there? - I asked the most important question of the moment, looking at the Master of the Whisperers.

«I learned of their existence only a few days ago. So not so much. - After thinking for a moment, Varis answered. - So far, I only know of a few merchants whose employees have been spreading these rumors. But from the scraps of overheard conversations, there must be more. Give me some time and I'll find out more. Still, they're pretty well organized, for ordinary people.

«Of course, Lord Varys. Let's not get in the way of you doing your job. - I agreed, picking up a jug nearby and pouring myself a glass of wine. My mind needed to relax. - Just give our head of the city guard the names of these merchants, so that when you hear about the other deer, he can stop the rumors from spreading.

«As you wish, my Lord Hand. - Said the Spider, and left the meeting room with Bronn, leaving me alone.

"Well, maybe I should go see Shae?" - I thought, jumping off the chair and one gulp finishing the remaining wine in the glass. The hot Essorian beauty was waiting for me and the job could wait.

***

Same day, evening.

Salloreon's alley, Steel Street, King's Landing.

King's Landing had a reputation as the Seven Kingdoms' lagoon for a reason. After all, it was where most criminals from all over Westeros flocked, disgruntled by the cold of White Harbor, the pressure of one upstart from the Fingers in Chaiac City, and the huge competition in Staromest, which was full of scum from Essos and the Summer Isles. Lannisport and Osgiliath, where the guards were rampaging under the strict supervision of the Lords, are not worth mentioning at all. So there were plenty of murky and not so murky personalities in the capital.

That's why no one was surprised by the two shadows that jumped out of the house of the master gunsmith and, at the same time, the head of the blacksmith's guild, even if they noticed them.

The shadows, which in fact turned out to be two short men, dressed in identical leather clothes, in which were hidden so many weapons that would be enough for ten people, and black cloaks, perfectly concealing in the moonless dark nights, quietly glided through the alleys and nooks of the night city. Soon, as if by magic, they disappeared completely from the streets, leaving their theoretical pursuers with nothing, ending up in the basement of one unremarkable building located at the back of Bread Street.

«How did it go? - Asked them a thin bald man, dressed in exactly the same clothes, with only one difference - the small tag attached to the leather collar, covering his neck from accidental splinters, was silver instead of copper, showing his higher rank in the organization.

«No problem. - One of the men answered, kneeling down and taking a scroll out of a small pouch and handing it to his leader. - Salloreon had done the right thing, organizing his men as he had been ordered. Here's a list of items needed for further work.

«Good. - With a barely perceptible nod, the chief replied, reading the list out of the corner of his eye. - Is there anything else?

«Littlefinger's men and Spiderbirds had already been spotted near the fake merchants. At this rate, it won't take them more than three to four months to uncover the conspiracy. - Reported the second, also kneeling and handing the exact same scroll to the superior. - Here are the newly identified spies that were not previously known about. Most of them belong to the Queen, but there are a few working for Baelish.

«Very good. - A slight semblance of a smile appeared on the bald man's face for a moment, but it quickly disappeared beneath the wall of iron self-control instilled in him during his training. - You may rest. I will report the news to Osgiliath. I think my Lord Temper will be very pleased with the current state of affairs.

«Thank you, sir. May the blessing of the Old Gods be upon you. - His subordinates bowed before leaving his office and going to their rooms.

«May the blessings of the Old Gods be with you. - Said the head of the local branch of the Shadows, an organization of assassins, spies, and saboteurs created eight years ago by Lord Osgiliath on the basis of the assassins' guild that had come under his hand, and it was doing a fine job. As it does now.

The organization of the rebellion and the undermining of Lannister power in King's Landing was just beginning.

***

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