The Eminence in GOT-Chapter 58: The die is cast (Part 1)

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P.O.V. In the third person

The middle of the ninth month of the year 299 A.D.

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

The first meeting of the Small Council since the Battle of Blackwater had been scheduled as soon as Tyrion could get back on his feet. No matter how much of a buffoon and clown he was in the eyes of others, Tywin was well aware that his youngest son was the only reason King's Landing had not fallen in the first minutes of the battle against Stannis Baratheon.

Yes... Fate liked to mock the long-no longer young lion in his old age. He, head of House Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport and Guardian of the West, one of the most powerful lords in the Seven Kingdoms and by far the richest, was powerless against the stupidity of his own children.

Cersei and Jaime. The two marvelous twins Joanna had given him had given him so much hope. Cersei, beautiful, intelligent, and genuinely more concerned for the good of her house than her brothers, and Jaime, one of the most handsome men in all of Westeros and the best swordsman of his generation. There is no telling how proud Tywin was of his children, every time he looked at her. His favorite and only wife, Joanna.

But it all fell apart.

Jaime was the first to strike, agreeing to join the Kingsguard of the scorching Aerys Targaryen so that he could burn in his beloved Wildfire for eternity in the afterlife. This robbed him of his heir, his favorite son, and his footing, knocking the ground well out from under his feet. But Tywin got his revenge. Tasteful revenge. It was his son who pierced the Mad King's rotten heart, and his faithful dog Clegane who killed the Dornish whore queen and her son, cleansing the continent of dragons forever.

"It's a shame we never found the girl," Tywin thought as he watched Baelish and Varys, today's hero and scapegoat, enter the hall with quick steps. - "But if she hasn't stuck her neck out in all these years, she's probably dead and her body lies at the bottom of Blackwater Bay."

The second blow his children struck together. Incest. Ugh... How disgusted he'd been when he'd heard about those rumors, and later, when he'd reread the Maester's copy of The Origins and History of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, with biographies of many high lords, noble ladies, and their children, which Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark had read in their last days, he'd realized it was true. What those two were thinking when they did such a thing Tywin didn't know. Nor did he want to know. There was no turning back the clock, and all he had to do was clean up the mountain of problems created by his negligent descendants.

The third blow came from Cersei. No matter how coldly Tywin treated his daughter, he always saw her as a reflection of his beloved wife and let her get away with a lot, from excessive spending on silly things to unjustified cruelty that went beyond all bounds. Over time, this grew into the fact that she began to take the good of the house as her own, indulging her passions and desires, putting them above the rest of the family.

The result was a corrupt, cowardly slimeball who, by a cruel joke of the gods, became king and his grandson. He's done so much damage that two of the seven kingdoms wish to see his house heads on spades, and the rest are just waiting for the opportune moment to tear the Lannisters and everything he's spent so long and hard for years building to pieces.

"Eh, Joanna, if only you were alive," the Old Lion thought sadly, not showing a single muscle in the way he felt. Meanwhile, Mace Tyrell entered the hall, accompanied by Mathis Rowan and Randyll Tarly, his daughter and ugly son, instantly turning the old sadness into cold fury. - "If it weren't for him..."

«Let's begin the Small Council meeting. - He said, rising to his feet and nodding to Maester Pycelle, who had arrived last, waddling slowly to the last available chair. - We have many topics to discuss, and time is short. Let's start with the most important: where is Tommen?

«At Rosby, Father. - Cersei answered, trying to look at the table so no one would see her red eyes swollen with tears. She had shed so many tears in the last few days that they could fill a large goblet. - I sent it there before the siege began in case Stannis took the city.

«I've already sent a raven there, My Lord Hand. - The Grand Maester rasped in his aged voice, wrapped even tighter in his gray robe. - His Majesty Tommen will arrive in King's Landing in a few days.

«Excellent. - Tywin nodded, making a small note in his mind that his daughter was not so hopeless and could sometimes make the right moves for the sake of her children. - What of Stannis's army, Lord Tarly? It was your son who was sent after them after the battle.

«The rebel army is camped at the Bronze Gate, Lord Hand. - A bald and skinny warrior with a stump for a left arm answered. - There they set up camp and began to fortify it. If the banners are to be believed, that's where Stannis Baratheon and his Hand, Alester Florent, are.

«Did you find out how many soldiers he has? - Tywin kept asking questions, trying to get a full picture of their situation, and so far it wasn't looking too rosy.

«My men counted twenty-five thousand, but from the tracks, another five have gone toward Storm's End. - Bloodhunter answered dryly and unadorned, stroking his lush gray beard with his right hand.

«Well, there's nothing we can do about him yet. - Lord Utesa Casterly said with his hands clasped together, hoping for more Baratheon casualties than the initial reports. - What of Lord Redwyne's fleet? He has two hundred ships with which he could easily break the naval blockade of Blackwater Bay.

«I'm afraid there's been a slight problem with that, my lord. - Instead of the Spaniards, Varys suddenly entered the conversation, catching the eyes of everyone at the table. - My birds have told me that Paxter Redwyne's entire fleet is on the Steps and cannot pass the Martell-controlled Straits of Torture.

«The reason? - Tywin asked dryly.

«A dispute over the price. - Answered the Spider, hiding his soft and manicured hands in the sleeves of his silk robe. - Prince Doran's men are demanding all ships be taxed as war ships, but Lord Redwyn refuses, citing the fact that some of his ships are merchant ships.

«How silly. - The Old Lion said with a wince, not understanding how the lord of the third or fourth most powerful house of Prostor could argue with sheep lovers over a few gold pieces. - Maester Pycelle, send a raven to Lord Paxter. Tell him to pay the Dornish the required sum and move quickly to Dragonstone. House Lannister will cover the cost.

«Of course, my Lord Hand. - The Grand Maester nodded, making a small note on the scroll he had brought with him.

There was a short silence, interrupted by Littlefinger's words.

«Lord Varis, will you tell the Small Council how your birds manage to get such detailed information from the distant Steps, but manage to miss such a large riot that was being prepared under your nose? - Baelish jabbed at his eternal rival, asking a question that everyone in the room wanted to know the answer to.

«No offense, Lord Varys, but I agree with our Master over Moneta. - Tyrion took the floor for the first time today, stroking the still sore scar on the back of his head, covered by his light-dark hair. - Stannis knew our plans too well, and the Stag's Men were too timely in their sabotage of the river and the walls. Had I not known the loyalty of everyone here, I would have thought there was a traitor in town.

All eyes, far from friendly, crossed on Spider, who surprisingly didn't even frown or change his face.

«You said it right, Lord Baelish. - He began to speak, leaning slightly toward the table. - My birds have indeed missed the threat. But they are but chicks who sing their songs to me. They can do nothing against the eagles and hawks. - Taking a small round from a small pocket, he placed it on the table. It turned out to be a small brass plaque, with the moon and whirlpool engraved on it. - It was found on the body of the man who started the fire under the walls of the Red Castle. One of my birds saw it and dropped an empty clay pot on his head. When he was brought to the dungeon and disarmed, he was wearing fifteen combat knives, several rare and expensive poisons, including the one used to poison the king, and a map of the city that marked the places where fires had been set that day.

«And where is this prisoner now? - Tywin asked, not hiding the irritation in his voice, angry that he was only now learning of the clue to the cause of the Blackwater failure. - Why haven't our masters untied his tongue yet, and why haven't you brought me the knowledge of how Baratheon was able to do all this?

«I fear he committed suicide. - The Spider replied sadly, and before the accusations of incompetence and aiding and abetting traitors could fall upon him, he added. - When he came to his senses, he immediately cracked a small ampoule, masterfully disguised as a tooth. It contained a poison, unknown to me, which quickly stopped his heart. Whoever had worked on him was very good at the art of healing. freewebnoveℓ.com

«Maester Pycelle, who in the Seven Kingdoms has the knowledge to do such a thing? - Tyrion turned to the old man, more or less versed in medicine and realizing that Varys had greatly downplayed the skills needed for such operations.

«The creation of artificial teeth had long ago been invented in the Citadel, but it was very laborious and hard work, any mistake in which threatened the patient with oral infection and death. - After a little thought, the Grand Maester replied. - In the whole world, only the current Archmaester Ambrose and a few healers from Essos are capable of such labor.

«If I may, I will recognize this symbol. - Mathis Rowan suddenly said, taking the plaque in his hand and twirling it a little, putting it back. - It belongs to an assassin's guild that began operating in Staromest and Highgarden ten years ago. I had no dealings with them myself, but once my men caught and killed a man who had poisoned the family of a large merchant who lived near my castle. I don't know the exact name of their organization, nor have I ever bothered to ask, but they seem to be the reason Stannis is so informed.

«What strange times we live in. - Tyrion said with a touch of misplaced amusement, taking the badge and twirling it between his fingers like a professional cheat. - Stannis Baratheon, who would rather break than bend, works with assassins' guilds that have masters of medicine, the equal of which can be counted on the fingers of one hand all over the world. If someone had told me this a couple months ago, I would have thought it was a joke. A very bad joke.

«Joke or not, these assassins signed their own death warrant when they spied for Stannis, rioted in the capital, and dared to kill the king. - The Old Lion summed it up calmly, glaring menacingly at his son, who was quickly losing all his cheerfulness. - Lord Varys, given your past service to the crown and the fact that you simply did not have the means to fight such an enemy, I will give you another chance. Find out where this band of assassins are and who patronizes them. Every last one of them. You will be given additional funds and men, but if no results are achieved, you will go to the scaffold.

«It will be done, my lord. - The Spider bowed low, wiping his sweaty palms on the sleeves of his robes.

«Let's move on to the next topic. - Taking out a small sheet of paper, Tywin said. - Tommen will be returning to King's Landing soon. The wedding needs to take place as soon as possible. Lord Mace, do you have nothing against it?

«Of course not, Lord Tywin. - Fatty Rozan nodded, still reeling from the realization that he was sitting in the Small Council chambers deciding the fate of the realm.

«Excellent, then we must plan the award ceremony. - The Grandlord of the West continued, once again getting into his element and dragging all those present around him. - The first order of business is to decide who will receive what awards. Lord Baelish you will need to....

This Small Council lasted into the evening and ended only when all the problems of a nation in crisis had been sorted out and discussed. Only the Tyrells and Lannisters were on the side of the crown, fighting on two fronts against the Starks, Tullys, and Baratheons. There were many issues to be discussed, many tasks to be solved, and everything to be done to bring the Seven Kingdoms at least a little closer to the long-awaited peace.

***

End of the ninth month of the year 299 A.D.

The great hall of the castle, Osgiliath, Valley of the Sunflame, Dorne.

«Well, I raise my glass to Stannis Baratheon and Tywin Lannister! May their armies be strong, may their warriors be fierce, may their pockets be bottomless! May they cut each other's throats! - I finished the first toast on the rights of the host, raising the goblet filled to the brim with wine.

- May they tear each other's throats out! - I was vehemently supported by all present, even Doran, who had fresh peach juice in his goblet instead of wine and a mountain of fresh fruit on his plate because of aggravated gout. Still, Quibern's recommendations about giving up meat, sweets, all spicy things and alcohol, he, though with a squeak, but fulfilled and felt the effect perfectly. The mere fact that he could reach my domain was one of the clearest proofs that my doctor, with his necromancer's habits, was right.

All the great lords of Dorne are now gathered in the Great Hall of my castle. The Martells, the Fowlers, the Daines, the Jordains, the Quargils, the Ullers, the Gargalens, and many others among those who could easily field more than half a thousand warriors. Of course, Dorne is Dorne and most of those present have at least one bloodsucker in the hall that they would love to poison or slit their throats. But several factors held them back - respect for the power and wealth of my house, the dozens of Blackguards standing along the walls with their pets, and the unknown purpose for which Doran Martell had announced the gathering of his vassals and designated my castle as the gathering place.

«How is Elia, Oberyn? - I asked my brother-in-law, who had come here with his brother, leaving the running of Sunspear, Water Gardens, and Boardwalk Town to Ariana, Quentin, and the Sand Snakes, for whom this was one of many tests of intelligence and people management skills.

«She was fine. - Without hiding a smile, the second prince of Dorne replied, not even looking at the pretty maid who had passed by. Not surprising, though-the last time he did that, I gave him a good slap. After that, we had a sparring match, where I used my size and the narrow field I had chosen beforehand to give my old friend a good beating, constantly reminding him of the terms of the marriage. - The birth went well, with no surprises. The girl is named Tisaya, and she promises to grow into a beauty that will break many hearts in the Seven Kingdoms.

«That's good. - I nodded contentedly, leaning back in my master's throne and taking a deep sip of ruby Dornish wine. I usually preferred Borne, but to drink the main drink of Dorne's longtime enemies in the presence of all its lords would have been extremely disrespectful and would have hurt my reputation in the eyes of the others.

The wine poured down by the river.

In their love of a good fight, beautiful women, and good food, the Dornish were not behind their farthest neighbors, the Northmen.

Hot gazpacho, pisto, Deinovsky chicken, various kinds of paella, raxo, red peppers stuffed with meat and mushrooms, peppered lamb sausages, kraken tentacles boiled in spices, the softest brisket of heavenly bulls, and dozens of kinds of sharpest cheese that would make a man unused to such things almost breathe fire. Wide platters, filled to the top with food, were brought by the dozens into the Great Hall, where lords, ladies, sworn knights, their squires and the most trusted servants who were allowed here, swept them all away, drinking so much alcohol that if the local public had not been accustomed to such things since childhood, they would have fallen into a drunken stupor long ago.

People relaxed and enjoyed a good feast, cheerful music, beautiful women and men (priests of love of both sexes, which I took in the best brothels of the city) and laughed at the fools of the Spartans, Stormwalkers, Westerners and Ironborn, dying far to the north, for the sake of their degenerate kings. If the Northmen and Rivermen were remembered, it was only in toasts and eulogies.

Robb Stark, despite his father being the drunkard king's best friend, was beloved in Dorne. Especially the story of when he captured the Kingslayer, defeating his troops by a head. The second reason was the knowledge that the second man in the North, Ruse Bolton, was married to my sister and to joke about it in front of me would be a great folly.

«My lord, they have arrived. - A servant briefly informed Doran and me as Oberyn stepped aside and twirled Alliria Dane, sister of the now deceased Vorian Dane, from disease or poison, in a dance.

«Excellent. - Doran nodded and with a nod ordered me to begin.

«Bam-bam-bam-bam... - The loud clatter of a golden goblet adorned with carved ivory quickly drew attention, causing the lords to stop drinking and the musicians to play their tunes. - My friends, we have gathered you all here today for a reason! Today is a truly momentous occasion! I'm sure you're all wondering why we're gathered here today. Why have you left your ancestral castles and come here without even knowing the reason? The answers to these questions will be told to you by our suzerain, the head of House Martell, the Lord of the Sun Spear, Prince Doran!

All eyes crossed at once on the fifty-year-old pale man who had held Dorne in an iron fist for ten years, in spite of all the snakes that inhabited it.

«Thank you for your kind words, Felix. - With a smile, the prince rose to his feet, without a single movement to show how much pain he was in. Gout, the disease of the rich, began to torment him four years ago. I had seen it myself more than once in my old world, but I did not know its cause or how it was treated. I had to get Quibern to find a cure, and he did some work. Now the disease had receded and Doran's legs were no longer one big red swelling, but it was hard for him to stand and walk without a cane or the help of his faithful bodyguard, Areo Hotah. - I have gathered you here for one important and in its own way epochal event.

After this statement, the last whispers in the hall disappeared and everyone turned to listen, catching every word of the First Prince of Dorne.

«The Seven Kingdoms. The greatest state in the world, superior to the distant Golden Empire and all the other kingdoms of Essos, created by Aegon Targaryen. - Doran began his speech loftily and nobly, clasping his hands behind his back, only to switch to a completely different, completely opposite tone a second later. - Nonsense. Ridiculous nonsense written by cowardly Maesters at the behest of the Crown. There were no Seven Kingdoms. There was only Dorne and the Targaryen Empire, who bared their teeth when they dared to come to us! - He was silent for a second to wait out the howls of approval raised by the lords who agreed and cheered him on. - We joined the Seven Kingdoms only a hundred years ago, on a voluntary basis, when both nations were tired of constant warfare. And how did the Targaryens repay us? High taxes, hardship and a ban on full control of the Steps, unnecessary military campaigns during their Blackfire Rebellions, the deaths of my sister and her children. Dorne gained nothing from this alliance. Only starvation, ruin, and death. - At this point Doran took a brief pause to catch his breath and begin to speak with renewed vigor. - But those times have passed. Now Dorne is united and stronger than ever! Our warriors are strong! Our ships are strong! Our lands are impregnable! So why should we submit to the Iron Throne?

«YES!

«Why should we listen to the orders of a bastard king or a hollow-headed deer that looks more like a log than a man?!

«Yes!

«We don't!

«To the Iron Throne!

«For Dorne!

«To the Martells!

«The unyielding, the unyielding, the unyielding!

«Let the lions and the stags go to hell!

«This is the perfect opportunity for us. - The prince continued his speech as the lords calmed down at the sight of his upraised palm. - The War of the Four Kings is coming to its conclusion. The Lannisters and Tyrells, though victorious at the Battle of Blackwater, are trapped. Watching them from the south is Stannis Baratheon, who is just waiting for a chance to siege and take King's Landing. Robb Stark is coming from the north, having besieged Harrenhal and stormed Maidenpool, kicking out the Mutons who betrayed the Tullys. Not to forget Balon Greyjoy, plundering the entire west coast of Westeros, from Bear Island to the Shield Islands. There's no place in the Seven Kingdoms where the fires of war are burning except Dorne and the Vale of Arryn. And we will take advantage of it. - Doran fell silent for a moment, stirring the tension and piquing the interest of those present. - We will repeat the deeds of our distant ancestors, who have held the kings of the Vale and the Stormlands in fear for centuries! Like Samwell Dane "Starfire" we will take and ravage Staromest!

«Yes!

«Like Ebben Fowler "Dubolom" we will burn Highgarden to the ground, seizing the treasures of the most fertile land in the world!

«Yes!

«Like Moros Martell, Jin Jordain, Obes Quargil, and many others, we will ravage the Expanse!

«YES!!!

«We will turn their castles and cities into ruins! We will take their gold, their crops and their livestock! And on the backs of their horses, we will reach King's Landing and repeat what our ancestors did to the Gardener's Oak Throne millennia ago! We will destroy the Iron Chair to the ground, leaving only a puddle of second-rate steel!

«YES! Martell! Martell! Martell! - Driven by the fervor of their speech and the alcohol in their blood, the Dornish roared with joy. So loud and furious that the windows in the Great Hall rattled dangerously, causing me to tense involuntarily. Still, raining shards down on my head was the last thing I wanted right now.

«But we won't be doing this alone. - Doran said softly but firmly, whose voice, despite the others' boos, traveled through the room and into the ears of everyone present. - There is another man in this world who hates the Iron Throne and its minions as much as we do! From this day forward, we make an alliance with Robb Stark, King of the North and the Trident!

The wide doors leading into the Warchief opened, admitting three men dressed in clothes unusual for Dorne, especially thick and coarse cloaks with the three most important crests in the North embroidered on them.

My ward and heir to the Dreadfort, Domeric Bolton, the head of the northernmost house on the continent, Jon Amber, and the heir to the third most powerful family in the North, Vilis Manderly, have come to my court to forge a new alliance that will turn the political scene in Westeros upside down.

«The North!

«The North!

«The North!

«My close friend and one of my most loyal vassals, Felix Temper, has played an important role in the conclusion of this alliance and the negotiations! - Showing his hand at me, Doran continued his speech while the servants were seating the northerners in the seats prepared for them and bringing specially prepared food so that the guests would not get an eating disorder from the unfamiliar food. - As a token of his past and present services to me and my family, I am doing what I should have done years ago. From this day forward, House Temper ceases to be mere lord vassals and becomes a house of bannermen!

«Temper!

«Temper!

«Temper! - As if not noticing what was being said, the Dornish continued to chant as they continued to pour themselves more and more wine. If Doran had said this before, before his power over Dorne had become close to absolute, or when the lords were sober, there would surely have been those who would have objected. But now, elated by the feast and the opportunity to plunder the most fertile region of the Seven Kingdoms, they were willing to do whatever their suzerain told them to do. But tomorrow, when most of them sobered up and remembered tonight, there would be more discontent....

«Drink up, my friends! Have fun! - Doran continued to speak, though it was evident that such a long speech and standing on his feet made him uncomfortable. - For it will only be a few days before our army is on the march! In a week's time, we will take the Night Song and rest well in Lord Caron's halls!

- To a feast at the Night Song!

«And in two decades, we will already be standing at the walls of Highgarden! It's time for the High Garden to remember why it's surrounded by three high walls!

«To the Martells!

«To Prince Doran!

«To war!

«To war!

As the First Prince of Dorne leaned back in his chair and soaked his parched throat with fresh juice, I sat quietly in my seat and involuntarily recalled how we had come to this.

And it all started two and a half weeks ago.....

***

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