He was watching the Throne Room from the vantage point of the secret room off to one side of the Iron Thorne, it was packed and the hubbub and swell of the court reached his ears. If he had so desired, he could have picked out the various individual conversations, but he had no need to push his sensitive ears so.
The court was packed as King Robert Baratheon, first of his name had sadly expired that morning, apparently having suffered some sort of a heart attack or aneurysm yesterday. He knew exactly what had killed the fat, drink sodden king, it had been his arts, planting instructions into the Kings wine-soaked brain, nay commands to exercise every day. Well, not to exercise, to push himself dangerously, recklessly hard in training. With all of this being a cover for his intended method of disposing of the King, for his mentalism was now strong enough to stop a man's heart with a mere thought.
That was a slight exaggeration, he had needed to concentrate fiercely to squeeze the muscles in King Robert's heart into temporary immobility, but he had succeeded, at least sufficiently to incapacitate the King, who had expired after a day's unconsciousness.
The Lord Hand, Ned Stark, slowly ascended the Iron Throne and sat down, the guards of the Red Keep, the vast majority of whom were his by dint of his mentalism, rapped the butts of their spears for silence. He was careful to not directly look at the Iron Throne, its glow, though not as harsh as that of Valyrian Steel, was still uncomfortable for him to look at.
It took quite a time for silence to fall but when it did, Lord Stark pronounced wearily "His Grace, King Robert has passed away, Grand Maester Pycelle has pronounced the King dead due to a heart failure, brought on by...over exertion in the training yards. As his son Prince Joffrey is not of an age to rule I will assume the mantle of Lord Regent, as per Robert's signed will and testament," here the northern Lord gestured with a parchment in his hands at the crowd.
The superb acoustics in the Throne Room allowed him to hear Lord Stark quite clearly, without having to strain his hearing at all.
The Stark Lords waited for the hubbub to die down, he noticed that Prince Joffrey looked rather annoyed and angry, his color rising, and it looked like the little shit was about to cause a scene, when Ser Jamie laid a hand on his bastard son's shoulder, apparently this being enough to halt the brats rant before it had even begun.
He could not extend his will to puppet Lord Stark, for the cursed glow from the Iron Throne stifled his powers almost completely, so he would have to rely upon the careful implantation of the things he wanted the former Hand to think and feel. And hope that the bloody great mass of twisted and partially melted swords obvious magic did not undo all his careful work.
"In light of the worsening situation in the fight with the Targaryen's, and in light of the Reach's decision to throw their lot in with the invaders, I, I have decided to open talks with.
the Targaryen's with the aim of bringing this war to a speedy and as bloodless an end as possible."
Pandemonium broke out at this pronouncement from Lord Stark, it took several minutes before things had settled down enough for Lord Stark to continue, "Prince Aegon, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, whose blood and birth are guaranteed by Lord Jon Connington, has informed me that there will be no blood vengeance enacted for the act of rebelling against his grandfather. He also promises that he will be merciful in respect of any and all who have opposed his claim to the Iron Throne. May the gods, old and new, have mercy upon us all."
He could feel the man's shame and sense of failure in his words, in the inflection of his voice, and he could not help but grin to himself. Everything was coming along nicely; his plans were almost complete. In a few more weeks Prince Aegon would sit atop that great mass of magical ironmongery,
With Varys and Littlefinger under his complete control, and with Tyrion Lannister more concerned about saving his hide and that of his siblings and their progeny, Lord Stark had found himself rather bereft of allies in the Red Keep.
Add in continual news of defections to the cause of the Targaryen restoration in the Vale, the Riverlands and the Crownlands, often Houses that were deeply emmeshed in Littlefinger's numerous schemes, and Lord Stark was running out of allies.
The wholesale defection of the Reach had been the final blow, and Lord Stark had bowed to the inevitable and decided that the cause of his former friend was now hopeless.
As they were dealing with Aegon and not that idiot Viserys things would likely proceed swiftly and easily and with no undue bloodshed, here he could not help but give an ironic smile. A member of the wamphyri, presiding covertly over a bloodless takeover? What had the world come to?
A commotion broke out in the Throne Room and her returned his attention to what was going on, Joffrey had apparently drawn his sword and was waving it about, threatening all and sundry. The lad's high pitched, hysterical shrieks about how Lord Stark was a coward and a traitor failing singularly to move anyone to agree with him. Prince Joffrey's shouted commands for the Kingsguard to fall in at his side, and for all 'loyal' Lords to rally to him was ignored totaly, his curses and vitriolic screams going up several notches in volume and pitch until his sworn sword, Sandor Clegane clouted Prince Joffrey behind the ear and the lad dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Lord Tyrion, the dwarfish new Lord of Casterly Rock pushed out of the crowd with several guards in attendance and asked that Lord Stark forgive the boys rashness, born of frustration and a lack of a full understanding of the recent events.
Lord Stark waved the dwarf away and commanded that the three Royal children be confined to their quarters under guard, along with their mother. Ser Jamie was informed that he could continue guarding Queen Cersei for the time being.
No doubt the fool would probably try something idiotic, like an attempt at escape, but he had left some deep hypnotic commands in Cersei's brain for this very purpose, she would unconsciously call out to him should she ever attempt to leave the Red Keep. So he should be able to easily foil any getaway that the blonde idiot would try and stage.
Littlefinger had already put himself forwards as an envoy to the Targaryen's, which Lord Stark had accepted, and the Master of Coin would be leaving the Red Keep within the hour to journey to the invading forces, who had advanced as far as the northern Stormlands
He would of course observe these negotiations himself through the eyes of his Thrall, and speak with his mouth if needed, but Littlefinger knew his job well enough that he would likely only need a little prompting and guidance.
Deciding he had seen enough he left the secret chamber and weaved his way through the maze of secret passageways and corridors, descending down through the rock atop which the Red Keep was built. Until eventually he found himself in his new chambers, which were coming along nicely, the main structures of which were very nearly completed, as were the required reinforcement of direct access to it from the tunnels and the several escape routes that he had insisted on being built.
His quarter had a 'flying off platform built into the side of the rock, a convenient place for him to launch and land in his bat form, and a winding passageway all the way down to the base of the promontory. From here several escape routes were available to him, along with a connection of the warren of secret passageways that also extended out under Kings Landing. many of which were former sewers, if his nose was correct.
All in all, he was pleased with how it was progressing, and he would await the furnishings and features that Baelish would be suppling to fully complete his new lair. Nice and safe and secluded, tucked away yet convenient for access to the levers of power in this realm he would govern from the shadows, well actually from the comfort of his new quarters.
Though that was a slight misnomer, he would do precious little governing in truth, his thralls would do this on his behalf, while he could indulge himself as he saw fit. He would in all likelihood only get involved in matters should they require his unique skills and power, and a part of him hoped that he would not get too bored. But then again, a wamphyri need never be truly bored, for were they not absolutely capable of making their own entertainment?