A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 63: The Lion's Burden

298 AC - Kingslanding

The council chamber of the Red Keep was dimly lit by flickering candlelight, the heavy scent of wax and parchment hanging in the air. Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the long table, his expression a mask of cold calculation. His golden eyes flicked over the gathered lords, weighing them as he always did.

To his left sat Tyrion, swirling a goblet of Arbor Red, his mismatched eyes gleaming with something between amusement and irritation. To his right, Jaime, the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, sat stiffly, his golden hand resting on the polished wood of the table. The others filled their seats in silence—Grand Maester Pycelle, the ever-smiling Lord Varys, and the brooding Lord Tyrell, his presence here more necessity than choice.

Joffrey lounged in his chair like a boy playing at being a king, which, in truth, he was. His fingers tapped idly against the jeweled hilt of his dagger as he smirked at the assembled lords. The arrogance in his expression was unbearable.

"They call me King Joffrey the Just," he sneered suddenly, his voice high and grating. "The greatest king the realm has ever seen! Even the people cheer for me now. They feared me before, but now they love me! They know what happens to traitors, and they know I am their rightful king!"

Tywin did not flinch. He did not scowl, nor did he allow his growing irritation to show. He merely watched Joffrey, his face like sculpted stone.

Tyrion, ever the one to needle the boy, took a slow sip of his wine before speaking. "A pity they did not cheer as loudly when they starved, Your Grace," he said dryly. "Or when they threw dung at your name."

Joffrey's smile vanished, replaced with a look of furious indignation. His lips twisted, and his fingers curled around the dagger's hilt as if considering whether he should use it.

Before the boy could speak, Tywin raised a single hand.

The room fell silent.

"You would do well to remember," Tywin said, his voice cool, "that a king's power is not in his words, but in his actions." He allowed a pause, letting the weight of his words settle. "And right now, your kingdom is under siege from all sides."

Joffrey scowled but said nothing.

Tywin shifted his attention to Tyrion, who had leaned back in his chair, watching the exchange with great interest.

"Your marriage to the Stark girl will proceed as planned," Tywin said. "The North must be secured."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his amusement fading. "And if the North does not wish to be secured?"

Tywin's golden gaze settled on him with the weight of a hammer. "They will fall in line once we give them a son of Lannister blood. When my plans are done, your sons will rule the North, just as my blood rules the South."

Tyrion's grip on his goblet tightened, but he did not argue. Not here, not now.

Jaime sat silently throughout the exchange, his jaw tight. He had returned from captivity changed, thinner, harder. Even his golden hand, polished and regal, seemed more like a burden than a gift. He had not spoken much since his return, and more notably, he had not touched Cersei.

Tywin had noticed.

And so had Cersei.

She sat across from Jaime, her emerald eyes burning with resentment. She loathed that he no longer came to her bed, loathed that he had changed in ways she could not understand. And she loathed the woman who had returned him to King's Landing—Brienne of Tarth.

But Brienne was not here now.

The council had more pressing matters to discuss.

Tywin folded his hands before him. "The situation has worsened."

Littlefinger was absent, still in the Reach, securing the Vale's allegiance. But the others sat up straighter at Tywin's words.

"We no longer face only Stannis," he continued. "The Dornish have joined forces with the new ruler of the Three Daughters. Worse yet—Viserys Targaryen has married into their ranks. His armies gather at the Marches as we speak."

Lord Mace Tyrell frowned. "The Marches? That is good for us. The marcher lords are sworn to Storm's End. They will be the first to suffer when the Dornish move north."

"A boon, but a temporary one," Tywin admitted. "Stannis will bleed first, but if he falls, the Dornish will march upon us next. And with a Targaryen at their back, they will have a cause worth dying for."

"Then we should crush them before they can rise," Joffrey said with a smirk.

Tyrion sighed, shaking his head. "Of course, why didn't we think of that? We'll simply crush them, like we would an ant beneath our boot. Never mind that we are outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and losing allies by the day."

Joffrey shot him a glare, but again, Tywin did not allow him to speak.

"Stannis will weaken them," Tywin said. "But they are not our greatest concern. That would be Aerion Targaryen."

The room fell silent.

Even Joffrey stopped fidgeting at that name.

"He holds Dragonstone, Driftmark, and Claw Isle, the only way the Reach Lords were able to aid us is through the Bay of Crabs" Tywin said. "And now, he has a dragon." 

The words carried weight. A hush fell over the chamber, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the table.

"The Crownlands will likely rally to him," Tywin continued. "Houses Bar Emmon, Crabb, Massey—they remember the old days. They remember the Blackfyres, and they remember the Targaryens. Now, with a dragon at his side, they will flock to him."

Lord Varys steepled his fingers. But with the Hightowers, Rowans and Hewetts at the capital the City is secured."

Tywin nodded. "The wedding of King Joffrey and Ceryse takes place on the New Year. Once Baelish returns, we will have the Vale, but time is against us. The Targaryens will not wait forever."

Silence settled over the room.

Then, Pycelle shifted in his seat, leaning toward Tywin. His voice was low, almost conspiratorial. "My Lord, I must speak with you privately. It concerns His Grace the King."

Tywin's gaze sharpened. "Speak."

Pycelle hesitated, glancing toward Joffrey, who was now playing idly with his dagger once more. Then, in a whisper meant only for Tywin, the old man muttered:

"He has been seen meeting with the Alchemists of late."

Tywin's expression did not change. He did not sigh, nor did he sneer. He simply stared at Pycelle for a long moment.

The boy was foolish.

Wildfire was dangerous. More dangerous than Joffrey could ever comprehend.

That foolish boy.

Tywin exhaled slowly, his mind already working through the next steps. He would have to deal with Joffrey sooner than he had planned.