"We are delighted to see you, Your Majesty," Varys said softly as he settled into his seat. At the same time, he folded his hands within the wide sleeves of his spacious robe and regarded me with a slightly ironic, yet very gentle and sympathetic gaze. He seemed the very picture of a loyal advisor and most devoted servant. Not knowing who this man truly was, it would be all too easy to mistake him for such. And he smelled of some kind of floral junk.
"Your presence is somewhat unexpected, but certainly welcome," Kevan said, rubbing his chin and fixing on me a gaze, a gaze so similar to that of his older brother.
"With the approval of Hand of the King, I will attend the council," I replied, carefully studying my great-uncle.
Here's what I knew of him: Tywin's younger brother lacked one trait nearly universal among the Lannisters—he was not ambitious. By nature he was a doer rather than a leader. Yet Kevan had many virtues: he was intelligent, brave, honest, and loyal. And most importantly, he possessed an exceptionally strong sense of duty.
Such people are rare. Moreover, he is my relative, and therefore undoubtedly loyal and devoted. People like him should be valued and cherished. After all, they are the stones of the foundation upon which I intend to build my kingdom.
"It is good that you found time for us," Pycelle said with a groan as he lowered himself into his chair, leaning back heavily and folding his hands across his stomach. "Your Majesty, you will undoubtedly grace the council with your presence."
"Thank you, Grand Maester," I tried to keep a straight face and refusing to react to the flattery.
Cersei and Jaime Lannister entered the hall next, followed by a trio of men: Mace Tyrell, Mathis Rowan, and Paxter Redwyne.
The scene of astonishment at seeing the king attend his first council meeting repeated itself. I was beginning to find it amusing.
Of all the new arrivals, only Cersei's face showed not just surprise but also wariness. She looked from me to Tywin several times. Following my grandfather's example, I tried to kept my face impassive and unreadable.
Cersei frowned — for some reason, she clearly did not like my presence here.
Lord Mace Tyrell was the most delighted to see me, as if I were his own son. I even thought he might embrace or kiss me, were it not for the company around us.
Lord Mace looked impressive — a tall, broad-shouldered man of about fifty, plump and good-natured. His thick hair was streaked with silver, but his movements still suggested strength and confidence.
On this council, Mace served as master of ships. It was rather amusing — my father-in-law had never distinguished himself as a naval commander. And, frankly speaking, he regarded the sea with a degree of apprehension, preferring to fight on land. Yet he had little success there either. I knew Mace to be ambitious and somewhat vain, and one of his cherished dreams was to lead a grand army and win a glorious battle. He longed to go down in history, so to speak.
Mace's lack of naval talent was skillfully compensated for by the presence of bannermen and friends. For instance, his companion Paxter Redwyne — thin, stooped, with remnants of red hair around his bald pate — the ruler of the Arbor, had a reputation as an experienced, cautious, and decisive naval commander. He was also Mace's cousin and brother-in-law, as Lady Olenna had been born Redwyne. The Arbor fleet was considered one of the largest and most disciplined in Westeros.
Mace's second bannermen and companion, Mathis Rowan, Lord of Goldengrove, was a strong, clean-shaven man with thinning hair combed back and a narrow, aquiline nose. He possessed a sharp mind, prudence, authority, and loyalty.
With such advisors, it was much easier for my father-in-law to feel like a competent politician, a capable strategist, and an experienced commander.
It was both instructive and interesting to compare all these people. Joffrey's impressions of them had differed greatly from the true state of affairs. We so often fail to view those around us objectively — underestimating the strengths of our friends and loved ones while exaggerating their faults.
Everyone took their seats and, breaking into small groups, began quiet conversations. Pycelle asked after my health; I replied that all was well and asked in turn how he was feeling.
"Unfortunately, the years have caught up with me," he groaned again. "It is difficult for a young man like you, Your Majesty, to understand that old age is a guest who always comes. There is no escaping it."
"But one can delay its arrival," Varys said calmly. "And retain enough strength even in old age."
"Not everyone is capable of that," Pycelle muttered at the eunuch with displeasure.
Lord Tywin sat calmly at the head of the table. Taking advantage of the moment, he quickly glanced through some document. The others watched him with undisguised respect. We waited for the last members of the council, and I already had a guess as to who they would be.
Finally, they arrived. It would be difficult to imagine a stranger pair.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and swift as a snake — Oberyn Martell. And beside him a small man: Tyrion Lannister. Agility and intellect, fearlessness and cunning… They spoke loudly, and Oberyn's rough, guttural voice easily drowned out Tyrion's quicker, sharper speech.
The late arrivals stepped into the hall and instantly realized they had kept the others waiting. Though I suspect that was precisely the effect they intended.
The Red Viper wanted to demonstrate his independence — and at the same time showthat he didn't give a damn about all these people gathered here. I believed Lord Tywin had invited Prince Oberyn to the council. He attended the meetings but held no specific office; he served more as the representative of the Martells and their interests.
And Tyrion did what he did because he was Tyrion. At present, in the absence of Petyr Baelish, he was acting master of coin. And it would surely be very important — and useful — for me to learn handling finances. But that could wait…
As he sat down, Oberyn cast a glance around the table. He did not stop on me — apparently, in his eyes, I was still a complete nobody — but he lingered on Tywin for several moments.
A fleeting shadow of displeasure crossed the Hand's face. Had Tyrion arrived alone, Tywin might not have resisted the urge to comment. But Tyrion had not come alone — and an alliance with Dorne was desperately needed.
So Tywin merely gave a curt nod to the newcomers and said:
"Everyone is here. Let us begin our council."
(End of Chapter)
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