King's Landing.
The Dragon's Crown, some flatterer once called it. The crown jewel of all House Targaryen's accomplishments in Westeros.
Starting at Aegon's self-coronation...
And ending with the death of the last Targaryen king at the hands of his Kingsguard, all the while as the armies of his rebellious bannermen fell upon his citizenry.
No crown jewel was King's Landing now, no edifice of glimmering splendor as Aegon the Conqueror might have envisioned it.
A rotting spectacle of excess and misery, even without the army on the horizon.
What few loyal lords Joffrey had left had sent word of it's passing, spoke of the many noble Reach banners held aloft among the ranks.
Florent, Roxton, Tarly and more, near half the great chivalry of the Reach descended upon the royal capital. One and all declarants for Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and of late master of the Stormlands.
And to greet them?
Desperation, foolishness and zealotry.
--
"The scouts estimate as many as thirty thousand men," said the spymaster Varys carefully as he spared me a brief glance "And Ser Aron Santagar reports we ourselves might enjoy half as many men. Fifty seven hundred men of the City Watch, with thirteen hundred knights, squires and men-at-arms from the royal court and surrounding bannermen and the remainder derived from the Poor Fellows we've been recruiting at Lord Bolton's recommendation."
"For which he has the crown's thanks," said the boy king hollowly "In supporting our restoration of order to the capital."
Soft words to shield against what seemed inevitable. By way of my recent alliance with Varys, I'd had more information into the crown's workings than I'd ever thought possible.
Particularly into the organizing of the Poor Fellows, and those few knights who had taken up oaths of celibacy.
Six thousand men was not a small number to equip and train, regardless of how much the smiths of the capital could be pressed into producing arms and armament. Armed as they had been with cudgels, the Poor Fellows had managed to bleed the city into fearful obedience at the Queen Mother's command. Hundreds had died, thousand more suffering some sort of injury or a malady. And no doubt there had been more than a few women raped, regardless of how well cloaked the Poor Fellows were in their piety.
After all, you didn't recruit so quickly without accepting the chaff along with the wheat. There were more than enough doughty men in King's Landing who could swing an axe, if also swing it against an innocent.
Not that Cersei had cared, nor Joffrey. Despite my instructions on the usage of appearances and imagery, the boy king had delighted in hearing of the blood-letting, and had given similiar pacification orders against certain neighbourhoods whenever the wish struck him. Half a hundred whores had died when he'd ordered raids into the harbourside, them and sixty sailors to boot.
"A bloody peace is a peace still," Cersei had said one night after a late council meeting "Let the lowborn remember why we rule and they serve."
"Joffrey will need to rule these people once the war is ended," I said without heart "We need them to love him, not fear him. Backed into a corner, men will not fight long for a man they fear."
"They will fight, Lord Bolton. Else they will die."
---
Days passed, and as they did they turned to weeks. Weeks of hesitation and patience, as small sorties led from within King's Landing returned with diminished strength. And as they did, the Tarly-led army waited patiently, spreading itself beyond the city walls as they built siege weapons and erected earthen-works. They sent foragers and scouts across the land, to warn them of enemy approaches and see that enough food be had to feed their hungry men.
Little enough of the latter would be found, for Cersei had had enough wits in her to order the harvests of the neighbouring lords to be sent to the capital's granaries, purchased at such a high cost that even the wealthy Lannister queen had to grit her teeth and bear it.
"They'll pay threefold once the war is ended," she swore "To charge such rates on their king..."
The stress of it all was mounting on her and Joffrey both, and each took to expressing it in different ways. Joffrey preferred to order raids into districts of the city, his fear and paranoia growing as to the existence of subversives called the Antler's Men, "rebels" sworn to crown Stannis as king.
Or so it had seemed. From what I could remember of them, it had seemed more likely that it was a false-flag, one conducted by the Master of Whispers so as to the lead the boy king on a trail of targets. A brief investigation of the deceased rebels did not help, only indicating persons who had loaned previously from the crown. Men and women who would now not be able to repay the crown, but perhaps might have hoped to see the debts wiped clean under Stannis.
A perplexing conundrum, but one I was glad not have to deal with myself.
Almost as glad as I was to begin plotting my escape from the capital.
Mine and many others.
--
"You're mad."
An understatement if there ever was one.
"Your Grace-"
"Joffrey, hear him out."
Yes Joffrey, listen to your mother. Listen, and set me free.
"I don't have to hear him out," said the boy king with a glare in my direction "Not when it's obvious what he intends: You're trying to flee the city, with my own blessing."
He's not nibbling.
"In a way, yes." I said, preparing to lie boldly through my teeth "That is in fact the image must be presented. If what you have been told is true-"
"It is."
"Then the Starks are already marching upon King's Landing. Between them and Lord Stannis's new sycophants, the capital will be surrounded, cut off from resupply or succor until Lord Kevan Lannister is able to reach us. This matter necessitates a suitable response."
"And giving you leave to flee the city is not a suitable response."
"I am not asking to flee the city. I am asking to go north and create circumstances by which your enemies might be defeated by division. Robb Stark may have well held his ego in check thus far, but he will not turn down a crown if he can help himself. Though the capital is under siege, the Reach lords will not mindlessly throw their men against it's walls and with their loyalties so frail I do not expect your uncle to force them to. Therefore it will be a siege, a siege of King's Landing will take weeks, months even. If in that time I can insert myself into Robb Stark's council once more, if I can poison his mind against Stannis Baratheon-"
"Then perhaps you might provide me with enough Northern swords to thin my uncle's armies. Which does not in anyway excuse your request that Sansa Stark join you. She is a hostage, Bolton."
"Because I need to earn Robb Stark's trust, and quickly. Whatever negotiations we may have carried out with House Frey, they alone cannot effect treason against an army many times larger than their own. If I can poison the Stark council, turn him against Stannis, even instigate skirmishes enough to lead into an actual battle... then you can watch as your enemies kill one another from the safety of King's Landing and then sally out in great numbers to throw them all back!"
Joffrey stifles himself, a show of restraint so theatrical yet well managed that I dare not stare. He turns to his mother, looking for some sort of counsel or wisdom by which to refuse me.
How unfortunate for him that I've spent days seeding the idea with her, musing upon how best to turn the Baratheons and Starks against one another.
Literally the only advantage of being her catspaw, that.
"He makes a convincing argument, my son. And as much as I do not care to admit, we're starting to lack for options by which to reverse our enemies fortunes. The Gods only know where Ser Kevan is to be found, and I do not expect the loyalties of the Arryns or Martells to swing our way."
"It's ludicrous, mother! Simply surrendering Sansa Stark back to the Starks? When they still have uncle Jaime? When they still have your father? They'll have nothing to hold them back from slaying them both!"
"There are other hostages," I hastened to point out "Robb Stark's own uncle is a prisoner at Casterly Rock, him and several Riverlanders as well. The boy is tied to his mother's apron strings, and she will not countenance losing her brother. Were Edmure Tully here, I would ask for him instead. Your Grace, I ask you to consider this: Imagine hearing such a tale yourself, from some loyal Westerlander knight. Would you believe it to be a work of fiction, some schemer's plot to worm their way into your trust? Were your lord uncle or grandfather to effect such an escape themselves, would you not celebrate and fete their accomplishment? Thumb your nose against House Stark?"
"But-"
"Your Grace," I say with as much sincerity as I could muster "Despite all that you have sacrificed, despite all that we your loyal servants have striven for... we are on the verge of losing this war, and you your throne. If you could think of any other way I might serve you, deliver to you your enemies beaten and bound... I would welcome it."
"The Faith Militant-"
"Will hold the walls and fight bravely till the last drop of blood is shed in the streets of King's Landing. They will police your capital and restrain your discontent masses, and portion out the foodstocks so that starvation does not become a risk. But they alone cannot turn the tide here, nor I myself if truth be told. Make no mistake, but we ourselves face a challenge as nothing King Robert ever faced, not against the Targaryens or the Greyjoys. A victory here will not only prove your right to rule as divinely decided, but it will lay in motion the beginnings of a reclamation that will cement House Baratheon's hold on the Iron Throne for a hundred years."
"I..."
"The choice is yours, my king. You have only but to make it."
--
In the end, he had agreed.
Oh, it'd take a fair amount of convincing, but between his mother and I, there was no other outcome in the end.
In a couple of days time, Black Walder and I would "effect" a daring escape of many of the rebels present in the capital following a decision to send them all to the hangman's noose and the headsman's axe. With Lord Varys's "help", we'd make our way the nearest possible gate, hiding overnight in the capital before escaping through one of the more lightly guarded gates.
Or at least, that was the plan agreed upon with Joffrey. In practice, Lord Varys would be joining us in our escape of King's Landing, though he would be unlikely to remain with us for the duration of our travel. And unbeknownst to either the Lannisters or Varys, I was fairly sure that the Queen Mother's younger children had been safely ensconced in Rosby, which made it fairly certain that if things went just right then that information could be passed or sold on...
Heh.
Careful now.
I'm not out of the woods just yet.
