The Young Lion
Act 1 Ch 20: Beginning Reforms
A week had passed since Joffrey's conversation with Eddard Stark, and during that time many of the different players began making their moves. Word from the Reach was that Mace Tyrell had already declared for Renly Baratheon to be the next king. They had already begun calling their banners and mobilizing their army. On top of that, the Stormlands also declared for Renly, despite Stannis's position as the eldest. In fact, out of the original thirty-five thousand, only five thousand kept their oaths and sailed to Dragonstone to answer his summons.
Robb Stark had quickly proved to be the dark horse in the War of Five Kings, just as he had in the original series. By sending back a scout with false information, he'd managed to trick Tywin into a trap. This resulted in two thousand Northmen going to their deaths, while Robb's other eighteen thousand crushed and routed his "uncle" Jaime's army, even managing to take him prisoner.
Tywin reacted in a very Tywin fashion, setting his mad dog loose on the Riverlands, accompanied by five hundred riders to burn it to the ground. The young king couldn't help but shake his head in derision for his grandfather's usual tactic, overreliance on fear being one of them. He even sent a raven to his mother ordering her to send him Ned Stark so he could do an exchange for Jaime – the same letter his paramour had brought him several days prior when she visited him in the night.
With all the chaos unfolding, Joffrey decided to call an early council meeting to discuss the current state of the Realm, as well as some of the reforms he had already begun to implement. As the meeting got underway, Cersei was quick to inform her son and the others of Tywin's command.
"He wants me to send Ned Stark for a prisoner exchange?" Joffrey asked aloud with a stoic expression and tone.
"Yes, dear," His mother responded with unusual urgency in her voice, clearly worried for her lover's safety. "Your uncle is in danger; we need to send him that dumb oaf as fast as possible to get him back."
Joffrey looked at his mother for a moment as if contemplating her words. Seeing him pondering the issue, Varys decided to chime in.
"The Queen speaks truthfully, your grace," He spoke in his usual effeminate tone. "Our best chance of retrieving Ser Jaime is through negotiations."
The King turned and gazed upon the Spider for a moment, his face not betraying an ounce of his inner thoughts.
"I agree," He finally said, gaining all of his advisors' attention, some even breathing a sigh of relief upon hearing his decision. "The best way to retrieve my uncle will be through negotiation, but…"
"But?" His mother asked.
"But I will not leave such delicate matters in Grandfather's hands," He said, shaking his head. "With his penchant for backstabbing, I'm sure he'll find a way to botch it."
Everyone in the room gasped at how dismissively Joffrey spoke of his grandfather. One might have been forgiven for thinking that the Small Council believed Tywin to be the king, not Joffrey.
"Joffrey, you do understand that your uncle's life is in danger, right?" The Queen asked, growing frustrated with her son's stubborn attitude.
"I'm aware, Mother," He replied, looking at her unemotionally. "I also know that Robb or any of his bannermen aren't stupid enough to harm him. Not as long as I hold their Liege Lord and two sisters hostage."
"Joffrey! Are you seriously considering leaving your uncle in the barbarians' captivity?!" She yelled as she slammed her hands on the table and stood up.
"Sit down, Mother," He said coldly, staring at her with a gaze reminiscent of her father's.
She paused and for a moment hesitated before she slowly slipped back down into her seat.
"And as to your question, no, I will not leave Jaime in the Northerners' hands, but there are more important things going on right now than one highborn knight's comfort."
"There's nothing more important than family," His mother huffed.
Rolling his eyes at the impetuous woman's antics, Joffrey turned his attention to Grand Maester Pycelle.
"Grand Maester," He spoke slowly, getting the old sage's attention.
"Oh yes, your grace?" He mumbled with a confused disposition.
"Write a response to my grandfather, and kindly inform him that I'll not be sending him either the Quiet Wolf or his daughters, and that I want him to cease hostilities with Robb until I've had the chance to parley with him."
Pycelle's and the others' eyes nearly bulged at hearing the King's command, and he began looking around like a trapped animal. Joffrey tilted his head to the side until the old man finally spoke.
"Your grace, I mean no disrespect, truly," He mumbled. "But surely Lord Tywin will become insulted if you refuse his request so boldly?"
"Oh?" Joffrey raised a brow. "Is it not the Hand's place to adhere to the decision of his King?"
"Of course, of course, your grace," He quickly added frantically. "It's just I don't know if this may be the best course with—"
But before the old ferret could finish, the King cut him off.
"Grand Maester, you're not questioning my command, are you?" He asked, his tone as cold as the winds at the Wall.
Seeing the same dead-eyed stare the Queen just experienced, Pycelle bowed his head.
"No, your grace," He said, as he bowed his head in submission.
"Good, then get to it."
Understanding his meaning, the old Maester bowed his head to the King and the other members, before getting up and waddling his way out of the meeting to fulfill the King's command. As the wooden door closed behind him, Joffrey turned to Varys.
"That's enough about the North and Lannister forces; tell me about the others."
"My little birds tell me that your uncle Renly is still making his way down the Roseroad, accompanied by Ser Loras and over a hundred retainers now." He paused, looking the stoic King in the eye. "He was last spotted passing Bitterbridge and should arrive at Highgarden within a few days."
"Highgarden, yes," Joffrey nodded his head. "Has Mace Tyrell truly declared for my uncle?"
"It would appear so, your grace." He nodded in confirmation. "He seems to have declared Renly the next king and has begun mobilizing all of his bannermen."
The young King remained silent, hearing the Spider's words.
"There's more, your grace," He added, his voice grave. "Apparently the majority of the Stormlands have also declared for him as well and have been spotted marching toward the Reach. The last song I received estimated a force numbered in the thousands, and that combined with the Reach's forces would bring Lord Renly's army to over a hundred thousand strong."
"Oh, what about their oaths to Stannis?"
"It would appear most of them have broken it; the few who remained loyal have started to set sail for Dragonstone."
"I see," the King replied as he contemplated the information. "That may work to our advantage."
He finally said, gaining the remaining advisors' attention.
"With such a large force, it will take them some time to organize and properly outfit them," he continued. "That's not to mention the logistics and supply chains they'll need to build just to feed such a large force, and with their clear animosity, the two Baratheon brothers are more likely to kill each other before turning their attention towards us. Which should give us plenty of time to prepare."
"Alright, and how are we preparing exactly?" Janos Slynt asked, speaking for the first time since the meeting started.
"I'm currently working on a solution; for now, we'll focus on what we can control," He responded as he stared into the bald worm's eyes, before turning to the newest member of the Small Council. "How have my reforms been faring?"
"Steady," the man replied as he fixed his monocle, looking down at his binder of papers. "The Merchant's Guild is well underway, with nearly seventy-three percent agreeing to join after your consultation. I do believe it's only a matter of time before all of them agree to register."
The one speaking was none other than the new Master of Trade, Lark Distar of the merchant House Distar. He was a relatively young man in his early to mid-thirties, with long, wavy brown hair and blue eyes. His house was one of the new noble houses that only appeared in the last fifty years when his father bought their noble title during King Jaehaerys the II's rule.
While his father had been a very talented and resourceful businessman, his son had proved to be a prodigy in the field, quickly growing his father's single shop into a business chain that ran from White Harbor all the way to Sunspear in less than a decade. So when the King decided it was time to begin the first step in his plan for the industrialization of Westeros by centralizing the Realm's trade sector through the Merchants Guild, he'd chosen Lark to be the Guild Master to oversee the day-to-day operations.
Not everyone had been happy with the King's innovation of a new Council seat, as well as the one whom he'd chosen to sit in it. Merchant nobles were, after all, mostly looked down upon by more traditional Noble Houses who put their stock in their "blood" rather than actual success. For Joffrey, though, who only cared about results, couldn't give a hot shit about what any of them thought about it.
Though the young man was surprised at first by the offer, he accepted almost immediately and got to work stabilizing the King's new Merchant Guild as well as convincing the other merchants to join it. It had proven to be quite a challenge to get a group of greedy, self-involved businessmen to agree to pool their individual resources as well as reveal their secret trade routes. It was only after Lark, and by extension the Crown, gave some concessions on commissions for revealing their trade secrets, which combined with the heavy tariffs for refusing to join, that they finally agreed.
Once everything was signed and sealed, Joffrey directed Lark to import as many consumer goods as possible, mostly wheat, flour, barley, and most of all, potatoes. Eventually, Joffrey planned to revamp the entire agriculture sector by having them switch from the three-field system to the four-field system, but with the war underway, he knew he'd have to wait until it was over.
For the time being, Joffrey decided to focus on the problems at hand, which at the moment was the famine he and the rest of the city would endure under Tyrell's blockade. It was a particular favorite strategy for the lazy fat flower, who'd used the exact same tactic against Stannis when he held Storm's End during the Rebellion. So with the sudden surplus in their food stores, it was the King's hope that none of his citizens would starve during the coming war.
There was, of course, only one problem. Imported goods cost nearly double that of homegrown ones, and with the current financial straits the Crown faced thanks to Robert and even the Mad King, Joffrey was forced to call upon the nobles to help pay the tab. Suffice to say, the spoiled, entitled nobility were rather resentful that their hard-earned coffers were going towards feeding a bunch of commoners. Many at the Council agreed.
"Your Grace, I see no need to be funding such money towards something as pointless as feeding peasants. Who cares if there are a few less commoners when the war is over?"
Littlefinger spoke while Barristan, Lark, and even Varys looked at him with disgust. Though Joffrey just looked at him like he was a baffling fool.
"Yes, dear," his mother decided to interject. "We're in a rather precarious situation right now; that gold would be better spent reinforcing our walls or preparing our defenses."
"It's true what they say, birds of a feather really do flock together," He thought as he resisted the urge to bang his head into the table. "Seriously, how have they survived this long being this stupid?"
Joffrey took a deep breath to calm himself before he spoke.
"The greatest defenses in the world won't matter if we're forced to fight a battle on two fronts inside our own city." He said slowly, his words stirring many different reactions from the Small Council.
"What do you mean?" The Queen asked, clearly confused.
"If we don't handle the domestic issues first, then we face the possibility of losing the support of the people," He said slowly, as if he were talking to a golden retriever rather than a grown woman. Seeing she wasn't understanding his point, he continued. "If that happens, the people will turn on us, especially if they believe another ruler out there would make their lives better."
"Who cares if some lowborns are unhappy," Cersei scoffed but stopped the moment she noticed her son's disdainful gaze.
"Mother, this system only runs the way it does because all of the people agree that it does. The second the people decide the system isn't working for them anymore, they'll start by tearing each other apart, before they turn their claws towards us. Which will result in us being dragged out of our beds and executed in the streets like dogs. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd very much like to avoid that outcome."
With his memories of Earth's history, Joffrey could recall countless empires and kingdoms that imploded once the gap between rich and poor got wide enough. Just as it happened for Rome, France, and even the British Monarchy.
"I understand that, your grace, but the idea that the people would revolt against the Crown is—"
But before Baelish could finish, the King cut him off.
"Don't be an idealist, Lord Baelish, no one is a patriot on an empty stomach."
"Still, your grace, to set up entire breadlines for—"
"Enough!" Joffrey slammed his hand on the table, interrupting the Gold Cloak Commander. "It is the duty of the King to look after the welfare of his citizens, highborn and low. That is the sole reason I hold the title of Protector of the Realm, so I will hear no more opposition to the breadlines, is that understood?!"
"Yes, your grace." They all said at once.
"Good, let's move on."
Eventually, the King adjourned the meeting for the day and decided to head down to the Street of Steel to see the progress his new industrial sector was making with implementing more Bessemer Processes, Beehive Ovens, and Blast Furnaces for the new stores they'd recently bought up. He eventually planned to turn the entire street into his Industrial Sector of the city, but it would take time for them to construct anything close to resembling a factory, so for the time being, he settled for several smaller shops each working on the projects that he'd need.
As the King left the chamber first, all of his remaining councilors gazed at his back as he left, each holding a different expression. The old Kingsguard looked proud and happy, now that he was finally serving a good king for the first time since joining the Kingsguard. Lark wore a relieved expression, happy that the rumors he'd heard about the young king had turned out to be false. The queen looked anxious and concerned that her little cub was acting out in ways she couldn't understand. Janos Slynt just nodded his head like a bobblehead and accepted the king's decision.
Littlefinger, however, looked on with a sly, snake-like smirk. The naive boy-king had truly proven to be a blessing in disguise. With his ridiculous ideas on feeding the poor, many of the Crownland nobles had become anxious beyond belief and began to wonder if this was just the beginning of their treatment under the new King's rule. Many started to question their decision to swear fealty to the new king so early in the coming war, and wondered if perhaps they should've taken a safer bet on Renly.
Petyr Baelish was more than happy to feed their anxiety and play on their fear to gain their trust and support. Most of them already knew that the Master of Coin had the Gold Cloaks in his pocket and might prove vital when Renly finally marched on the Capital. In less than a week, Baelish felt his power and influence grow exponentially as more and more nobles flocked to his side.
"Thank you, Joffrey," he silently thought to himself. "Thank you for being such a dumb, naive, easily manipulated fool."
Littlefinger wasn't the only one who had internal thoughts as Varys watched the young King leave. He'd long since conspired against the Crown after he saw what a disaster Robert turned out to be. Now, though, watching the young boy-king, who reminded him more and more of his secret dragon prince, set out to actually change the system and put common people's welfare as a priority, he'd begun to have second thoughts.
"Why couldn't you have been born a little sooner?" He wondered to himself.
o-O-o
As the King made his way down the castle's corridors, servants and maids stopped to bow their heads as he passed by. Joffrey didn't pay them any mind as he strode, but what none of them saw was the sly smirk growing across his face as he walked. Everything was coming together so nicely; he'd already heard whispers of disgruntled noblemen pulling Littlefinger aside to have a few words or even inviting him to their villas for a "friendly dinner."
"I've shaken the tree, now it's time to see what falls out," He thought as he continued to make his way towards the stables.
o-O-o
Hundreds of miles away from the Capital, a raven flew through the dead of night to a certain command tent. Once the bird found its perch, a squire untied the note at its leg and brought it to his Liege Lord.
"Lord Tywin," He called out as he made his way further into the command tent. "A raven from the Capital."
At the squire's words, a man known throughout the kingdoms for his ruthlessness and cold pragmatism looked up from a parchment at his desk. The man's cold green eyes stared into the young squire's as if he were trying to extract information by sheer force of will, and with a simple hand gesture, bidded the boy to step forward. The squire complied and handed the rolled-up parchment into the old lion's outstretched hand.
"Now get out."
The unnamed squire bowed his head to both Tywin and his brother Kevan Lannister, before quickly scurrying out of the tent. As the young man left, Tywin broke the wax seal and unrolled the parchment, expecting to read a reply from his daughter, but the words that greeted him couldn't have been more different. After skimming through the document, a vein actually began to bulge at the side of his neck. Seeing his older brother's growing anger, Kevan stepped forward.
"What is it?" He asked as he approached the wooden rectangular table.
Tywin didn't answer his brother and simply handed him the piece of parchment. Kevan took the piece of paper and began to read the message it carried. After reading through the rushed paragraphs and numerous apologies, he finally got to the heart of the message: that Joffrey was refusing to send him any hostages and even ordered him to stand down.
"He can't be serious," Kevan finally said, looking up from the paper.
"He apparently is," Tywin responded calmly despite his clear anger. "It would seem my grandson is as much of a fool as I remember."
"…Still, to not allow us to exchange Lord Eddard for his uncle… How exactly does he expect us to get him back?"
"Apparently, he intends to negotiate with the Young Wolf himself." He responded condescendingly.
An awkward air of silence filled the command tent before the Lannister Lieutenant decided to break it.
"Well, my Lord, how would you like us to proceed?"
Tywin seemed to ponder his brother's question for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, before he seemed to come to a decision.
"I will not be dictated to by a half-grown boy who's never set foot on a battlefield on matters of war." He declared before taking the paper back from his brother. "Have the men ready to march; we'll regroup at Harrenhal."
"At once, my lord." Kevan bowed his head and began to make his way out of the tent when Tywin called out to him.
"And tell my son his cut-throat and savages are coming with us."
Kevan tilted his head and left to dispatch their Lord's order. Alone inside his personal tent, Tywin gazed back down at the letter his grandson had sent him. It had been some time since someone within his family had been so audacious as to completely refuse one of his commands, and it was a feeling he did not enjoy.
"Once I get done putting down one insolent boy, it seems I'll have to curb another," He said aloud to himself as he slowly burned the piece of paper over his desk candle flame.
Tywin stared down at the piece of parchment with a cold, unnerving gaze as it slowly shriveled up and turned to ash before his eyes.
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