POV: Grand Maester Pycelle;
Restricted Council Chambers, Red Keep, King's Landing.
Year 289, the sixth day of the fourth moon.
Two days after a raven departed Winterfell...
It was early afternoon, the Grand Maester had called an ergency council an hour before. An important ssage had arrived shortly before from Winterfell.
Two scrolls had been received, one of them written by Lord Eddard Stark himself for the eyes of the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, and King Robert himself.
Pycelle had arrived first at the doors of the hall, but before him awaiting him was the Queen herself, Cersei of House Lannister.
"Good afternoon, Grand Maester." The woman, three months pregnant, said in a cordial tone.
"My Queen, what a pleasure and honor it is to et you on this bright day," Pycelle replied, bowing slowly.
The man had just turned seventy-three, physically he was in better condition than any sixty-year-old, but the maester, for many years, had played his part of [Old decrepit weak and frail] to perfection. He walked more slowly than an eighty-year-old man and had learned to simulate small aches and pains here and there to perfection.
Probably not even an actor could simulate Pycelle's farce better.
The Knights and Lords had their armor of steel, the Ladies their courtesy, and Pycelle had his.
"It is Great Maester...
A fortune for to et you, Maester Pycelle...I have been looking for you." Cercei began to approach while maintaining a friendly smile.
"I am at your service, Your Grace.
Are so physiological problems bothering you, my Queen?
The third month of pregnancy can bring nurous episodes of nausea and..." Pycelle was interrupted.
"No, Grand Maester, thank you for your thoughtful concern..." For so reason obscure to Pycelle, Queen Cercei hardly ever allowed him to visit her.
It was Robert who forced Cersei to call on the Grand Maester during Prince Joffrey's delivery.
"I am here, Grand Maester, for I hear that news has co from the North...
As you well know, Robert does not allow to attend council etings... and you must know that my Uncle Gerion took part in a dangerous battle on Isle Mormont.
So, Grand Maester. I have co here as a concerned niece for her loving Uncle...
I would ask if there is any news from the Isle." Cersei.
"Your Grace, it would be my duty to warn the council first.
I fear... "The lioness's eyes narrowed and beca less kind.
Pycelle's allegiance had a definite hierarchy:
1) Himself.
2) The Citadel.
3) House Lannister, or more precisely Tywin Lannister.
4) The King and the realm.
Pycelle would, in cases of necessity, change the order of that hierarchy, but never the first.
The instincts of the man who had managed to live to a venerable age by spending decades of that life in ease and security shrieked a warning of danger.
"Yes, my Queen... I understand that concern for your family may be too heavy a burden for your condition... As Grand Master and protector of the health of the royal family, it is my duty to try to help... " Pycelle's slow speech was interrupted again.
" Maester, we don't have much ti. Soon the other mbers of the council will arrive.
Let us cut through the unnecessary formalities and get straight to the heart of the conversation." Cersei.
"Yes... my Queen.
I am pleased to inform you that your Uncle, Lord Gerion is well and appears to have sustained no injuries during the battle." Pycelle.
"Good... I am relieved, Grand Maester... but tell more.
How did the Iron Fleet expedition go?
Our loyal subjects of House Mormont and Tallhart?" Cersei.
"... Well, my Queen... It seems...
It seems the North has managed to prevail against the forces of House Drumm, my Queen...
The Iron Fleet has suffered a grievous defeat at the hands of the forces of the North, Your Grace." Pycelle.
"... I believe you ant, that 'The forces of the Kingdom' of my husband, King Robert, prevailed against the rebel forces, Grand Maester...
Tell more... Any news of the fate of Lord Helman's legendary barbarian heir... Bloody Snow, if I am not mistaken?" Cersei.
"Well, Your Grace, I have not yet co to know the details...
I believe the information you seek is written in this second scroll which I fear is for Jon Arryn and King Robert's eyes only...
Lord Stark himself, wrote and sealed that information, your grace... " Pycelle said in the most humble and contrite tone she could muster at the ti.
Cersei looked quite annoyed.
Pycelle knew why the queen had co to him first.
King Robert, for the third ti in five years, would personally attend this eting, and Cersei's spies had inford her of this ''incredible'' event...
"... I understand, Grand Maester...
In any case, I'm sure you'll represent the incredible and heroic deeds of my Uncle Gerion very well...
After all, he was in command of King Robert's Fleet, and the credit for this great success belongs to House Lannister.
I would like you to 'highlight' the fact that Lord Gerion even disobeyed the direct orders of my father, Lord Tywin Lannister, to help the loyal subjects of his majesty King Robert...
I hope he can entrust this task to you, Maester Pycelle." Cersei said in a much more authoritative tone than before.
"... I... Your Grace.
The courage of Lord Gerion's heroic deeds, will not be set aside in this eting." Pycelle.
"Well, Grand Maester.
Your queen, Lord Tywin, and all of House Lannister thank you for your gracious gesture...
I believe you're right, Maester. I've been having a lot of physiological pains lately with the pregnancy.
Co see in my chambers after the eting is over." Cersei cast one last smile and then walked away with a moderate but steady step. The queen did not bother to greet the 'respected and illustrious ' wise maester.
"Yes, your grace," Pycelle said in a humble tone.
Pycelle knew what had to be done.
Try to downplay the North as much as possible, especially House Tallhart, and exalt the contribution of House Lannister as much as possible.
Even he thought it wise to try to slow down and mitigate the influence of that northern house...
The citadel had recently asked for his help in 'advising' King Robert to make House Tallhart's knowledge more open to the entire kingdom.
Pycelle thought it was a very bad decision to allow House Tallhart to get its hands on precious texts held by the order of maesters.
It had now been more than three years since the Citadel had been in close business partnership with House Tallhart....
The Order's biggest business was the writing and copying of texts.
Currently, that task was delegated to House Tallhart...
Pycelle knew that the Citadel was making a fortune in this way, increasing their inco by at least 30% and that House Tallhart was earning less than a fifth from the deal, but the biggest danger was that in that short period, the Tallharts had gotten their hands on over a tenth of the total texts stored in Oldtown...
A very considerable number, exceeding at least ten thousand...
If House Tallhart had bothered to copy and preserve each of those texts for themselves, they would already own the second largest library in Westeros and perhaps Essos...
The Citadel was trying to grease as many wheels as possible to get its hands on the monopoly of paper and soap...
' What the hell is Qyburn up to? He's been in the service of that house for more than five years now...
That loafer is not doing his duty to order.
If I were him, I'd have gotten my hands on that information by now. '
Thought the Grand Maester in frustration before entering the council chambers.
About thirty minutes later...
The council eting had started for more than five minutes.
All the mbers of the council except for the fleet master, Lord Stannis, were present at the council. Even the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy was seated at the table.
A rare occurrence, as Robert still did not have full confidence in the Knight who had killed a dozen of Robert's friends during the Battle of the Trident.
Present were:
Robert Baratheon, the King, and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.
Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King.
Lord Gyles Rosby, Master of Coin.
Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
Lord Varys, Master of Whispers.
Lord Symond Staunton, Master of Laws.
And Gran Maester Pycelle.
"So where do we stand with this army?
Stannis left two days ago with the Fleet.
How many n have we assembled?!" King Robert asked in an impatient tone.
"Currently 8,000, your grace.
We are still waiting for many Storm Lords to arrive.
It will take at least another two weeks to leave.
We estimate that we will be able to leave with at least 20,000.
Many more Lords from the Crown Lands, River Lands, and Western Lands will join us on the march." Jon Arryn explained calmly.
"Two weeks, eh?... Agreed, but not a single day longer!
If any Lords are late, for one reason or another they will be left behind.
They'll even march at night if they want to catch up with us! Ahahaha.
Then... why did you request my presence?! Did so other lord decide he wanted to test the weight of my hamr?!" Robert asked.
"The eting and your presence, my King, was prompted by your good and faithful servant, Grand Maester Pycelle, your Grace.
It seems... that glad tidings have co from the North.
Am I right, Grand Maester?" Lord Varys asked in a cordial and respectful tone, mildly pointing out that it was King Robert himself who was responsible for the disturbance.
"Yes, Lord Varys...
My King, less than three hours ago news reached us from the North.
As you well know, my King, that vile traitor Lord Balon has launched an attack on Bear Island as well as Lannisport and Seagard...
Lord Jason Mallister is still busy fending off the forces led by Rodrick Greyjoy... while it seems the Fleet of over a hundred Ships, led by Lord Denys Drumm, has been defeated by your loyal servants...
Lord Gerion Lannister has heroically volunteered to take on the heavy burden of commanding the Northern Fleet, my king.
And here, forgive , he must have slipped between my robes... Yes, here it is.
This is a letter for you from Lord Eddard Stark himself.
Hopefully, Lord Stark will explain in detail the events that took place on the Isle..." Pycelle said as he struggled up to hand a closed piece of paper into the King's hands.
"A ssage from Ned, eh?" Robert hastened to break the seal and imrse himself in the reading.
More than three minutes of silence passed. All that could be heard were Robert's little laughs and grins, as well as the annoyingly loud sips he was gobbling from his cup full of alcohol.
"Ahahaha!!!
By the Seven! how I wish I could have been there to witness it!!! Ahahaha!
That boy deserves a knighthood!!! Ahahahaha! So it wasn't just rumors and tavern dances!!
I can feel my blood boiling!!!
Jon! You must read this!
Barristan, co along! Looks like soon there'll be soone worthy of your sword! Ahahahahah!!!" Robert thundered, handing the piece of paper to his most trusted man.
"Yes, your grace." Barristan rose from his chair preparing to reach the side of the King's Hand.
In the anti, Robert rose from his chair walking alone to the refreshnt table. The king had decided to sip sothing more fortified than ordinary wine.
Pycelle froze at the sound of those words...
He was witty enough to guess the aning of his king's praise and ramblings.
Three minutes later...
"Lord Jon... So, Lord Jorah Mormont scored a great victory against Lord Drumm?" Pycelle tried to ask, hoping his hunches were unfounded.
All the mbers excluded from reading that letter were eager to know what had happened on Bear Island.
"Great Victory is too reductive, Grand Maester...
The Northern victory was overwhelming.
Only 700 n of the more than 5,000 ironborn who took part in that expedition will return to Old Wik...
Fifteen ironborn dead or captured for every Northern soldier fallen in battle, my Lords.
Lord Stark and Lord Mormont write that the credit for this success belongs to House Tallhart. Lord Duncan Tallhart, aka 'Bloody Snow' to be precise.
The boy led the resistance with less than a thousand n until reinforcents arrived, and challenged Lord Denys Drumm to a duel and won...
He even won the ancestral sword of House Drumm, 'Red Rain'.
The Crown owes a lot to that boy." Announced Jon getting three surprised faces and one shocked one in response.
"Ahahahaha!
Did you hear that Barristan?
What did I tell you?!" Robert blurted out.
"... I admit my defeat, your grace," Barristan replied with a slight, amused smile. The Knight of over fifty years took a gold coin from his purse and placed it on the table in front of the King's chair.
''Ahahahah! You'll see they'll write another ballad.
Keep your gold, Knight!
You know what, on second thought...
Give it to Lord Gyles! That way he'll be less worried about the 'expenses of the military campaign'!
Ahahahahahaha!!!"
End POV.
----------------
POV: Tycho Nestoris;
Iron Bank, Free City of Braavos.
Approximately three days after a Grand Maester had to endure the complaints of an 'enraged Lioness'...
The Director-General of the prestigious and powerful Iron Bank of Braavos was finishing up reviewing the docunt to be delivered in the future for Master of Coin Gyles Rosby...
The Iron Bank had recently accepted King Robert Baratheon's request for a loan worth one million gold dragons...
A huge loan, even by Bank standards.
Rarely did the Iron Bank grant loans worth 500,000 gold coins or more.
Any loan above that amount required the approval of the Bank's high council.
This council consisted of three senior managers of the Bank and the ten leading mbers of the families with the highest shares in the Bank. The top ten shareholders...
Only the president of the Iron Bank knew the identity of these mbers.
At each eting, each of those ten mbers sat at the table in a special robe and mask.
Rare garnts and artifacts provided by the House of Black and White since the dawn of that institution's foundation.
Those magical objects prevented facial, physical, and even vocal recognition of each mber...
It was impossible to notice any differences or peculiarities that characterized each person in the world.
Each ti a new president of the Bank, the only figure in the world who knew the secret, was elected and chosen by the second council of Bank officials, a council of which Tycho was a mber, that person had to take part in a special and secret ritual always at the House of Black and White...
If the President ever broke that secret and failed in his oath, his na and that of any mber of his family or loved one would beco a top priority of the 'Faceless n'...
Tycho, who had recently been elected as the Bank's General Manager, the third-highest position in the Bank, was also attending those etings along with the Vice-President.
"Director Nestoris!... Two letters from the North, Sir..." Said Tycho's assistant as he hurriedly entered his office.
Tycho hoped until the last that he could have Ronan, 'The Iron Trainee', as his assistant. Although Jorakhet was also a good assistant, he wasn't even half as good as that numbers prodigy.
"Jorakhet... even if the entire world was on fire and on the verge of collapse, you'd still have to knock before entering...
A drop of ink has just stained this docunt.
You will now be in charge of copying and drafting it." I scolded with a kind look but a serious tone Tycho.
"Ye... Yes, Director! I implore you to forgive , Sir.
I assure you it will not happen again!" Said Jorakhet bowing at ninety degrees.
"... Never mind, boy.
... then these letters?" Tycho.
"Right away, Director!" Jorakhet placed two sealed docunts on the table.
One with the seal of House Dustin... from the composition of the letter it looked like an invitation to so event.
Another was more familiar... It was a report from his informants in the North.
About five minutes later...
"Director, is everything alright?" The boy asked, seeing his boss's face gloomy and confused.
"Not really, Jora...
I don't have the desire to attend this wedding between Lady Barbrey Dustin and Lord Jorah Mormont...
But the most annoying thing is that Bank just badly invested 100,000 golden dragons."
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