( Arianne POV )
He's killing himself, Arianne thought.
The king sat at the head of the table, leaned back in his seat, leading the small council. His eyes were red, ringed with dark circles that spoke of lost sleep. Bruises covered one half of his face, hard-won on the training yard. He looked dead, exhaustion seeping into his bones, bored beyond himself. I would be bored too, Arianne thought. She had intended to seduce him, to make him shed his scruples. But how does one lead astray a man so estranged from the very idea of pleasure? Neither boldness nor subtlety seemed suitable for such a task.
The queen had made a valiant effort, Arianne could admit. The court was slowly filled with jugglers, singers, minstrels, fools. The king had little patience for any of them. He much preferred the company of knights and maesters and septons - and always those of his own choosing. He seemed utterly repelled by the very notion of vice. Rarely did so much as a drop of wine touch the king's lips. And no matter how low the cut of Arianne's gown, the king's gaze was never cast her way. Neither lace nor sheer silk nor chiffon nor golden chains seemed to excite him. Not a single whore made her way to his bedchamber, nor a single coin to a brothel on his behalf. He had no mistresses, no midnight trysts or affairs. Nothing. If she hadn't known any better, she might even have thought him a sword-swallower.
And yet, if rumour was to be believed, the king and queen's private affairs had grown far less familiar, as of late. Did the boy feel no lust, no youthful urgings? It was one thing to be loyal, but quite another to be lustless. Was he not a man?
Tommen takes more after his Uncle Stannis than anyone else, Arianne mused. He even seemed to incite some of the same resentments. The king spends too much time counting coppers, the king is too pious, too stiff, too sanctimonious. Not that Tommen was dour in his dutifulness. He was easy to a smile, easy to a jape, and normally the Imp could be found plying him with one. Pleasantness suffused his manner. A fine pretence, Arianne had learned. A useful tool. One of the many in his arsenal.
"A thousand ships!" Lord Mace huffed. His fat face was red with outrage. "Your Grace, this must be answered fiercely!"
The king seemed unaffected by the news. "And so it will be, my lord. Rest assured, the ironmen will be forced back from your shores in due course."
"A thousand ships?" Queen Cersei asked, no doubt struggling to hide a smile behind her stern expression. It was not much of a secret, her loathing for the Tyrells. And with the Old Lion absent, she seemed more comfortable giving voice to her disdain. "Surely not. No lord commands a thousand ships. Some frightened fool must have doubled the number. Or else Lord Tyrell's bannermen are lying to us, puffing up the numbers so they don't look lax in their duties."
"It is not a word of a lie," the king interjected, before Lord Mathis could object to Cersei's words. "The Iron Fleet is a thousand strong."
"And how do you suppose we dispose of them, Your Grace?" the Imp asked.
"We do nothing," the king answered.
Lord Mace sat stunned, his jaw slackening. "Your Grace-"
Tommen held up a hand to silence the protests of Lord Tyrell. "Peace, my lord, peace. Rest assured that I understand full well the importance of the Shields. I have been preparing for such a eventuality for a long time. Or did you fail to note Asha Greyjoy's visit, Lord Tarly's departure from this council?"
Lord Mace seemed to struggle to swallow his tongue, even as he forced himself calm. "Still. A thousand ships. Only the Arbor has the strength to repel such numbers."
The king nodded his acknowledgement. "The kraken may well be mighty with it's many arms, but caught unawares it is naught more than an animal."
The Imp, as ever, caught on quickly. "A trap?"
"The Shields will serve well as a distraction, my lords," the king explained. "Bait. Lord Hewett is safe - at my behest, I might remind you - and so are his wife and daughters. Lord Tarly readies his men for a potential assault on the Shields as we speak - working in tandem with young Willas at Highgarden. The reserve fleet left at the Arbor by Lord Redwyne is being prepared by Ser Horas. The ironmen may be fearsome foes at sea, but on land they are lambs to the slaughter. And Lord Tarly was the only man who ever managed to hand my father a defeat in battle. Rest assured he will make quick work of them, and once he does we can push on to Pyke with ease, and stamp out the Ironborn threat from our shores once and for all."
"And what of Stannis?" Cersei asked. "Balon Greyjoy once offered my father an alliance. Mayhap his son turned his eye upon Stannis."
The king scowled. "Euron and Stannis? An alliance? Use your head, mother. Even if my uncle could stomach working with a pirate, what would Euron stand to gain? Stannis lacks the men needed to support the Crow's Eye in his endeavours. Not to mention that my uncle has his eye set on the throne. Most the realm loathes the ironmen. Stannis may be stubborn, but he's not stupid. He won't risk angering what few lords may still be thinking of lending him their support."
Cersei Lannister pursed her lips and flushed red at being rebuked, but fall silent she did. Her son has her house-trained, Arianne though amusedly. Like a disobedient cat. It was almost disappointing. Despite worming her way into the Lannister queen's confidences, Nymeria had not had much of anything to report. At least for the moment, it seemed as though Tommen had his spiteful bitch of a mother on a tight leash. "I see," she finally said, a sour look on her face.
Not that the matter was settled. Not by any stretch. The Tyrells would cause their own trouble in court, seeking to pressure the king to do more than he had promised, just as Cersei would wreak her own havoc to spite and frustrate their attempts. Trouble would be caused, rumours spread and tensions stoked, plots hatched and executed. Not for the first time, Arianne lamented being left out of the fray. Even here, as Dorne's voice on the council, I am an afterthought.
The king turned away from his mother. "Grandmaester, is there aught else?"
Pycelle cleared his throat. "There was a letter, Your Grace. From the Vale. The Lords Declarant have arrested Lord Baelish."
The king nodded and took a sip of water from his glass, hiding his mouth, but Arianne could swear she saw the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. His gaze turned meaningfully in his mother's direction, and she inclined her head and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Another secret? Arianne thought. Even now, in the king's most inner circle, mystery shrouded every look.
It was as intriguing as it was irritating. The king had a deft hand for secrets, she knew, yet after months of work Arianne was privy to precious few. So many secrets. How did he manage to keep them all straight in his head? "Do they have any more demands?" the king asked.
"Not as such, Your Grace," the Grandmaester said. "They merely demand justice for the murder of the Lady Lysa Arryn, for which they hold Lord Baelish responsible. They declare they have taken the Eyrie. I expect they are - in a subtle fashion - asking permission to execute him."
"Hmm."
"Is there anything you'd like done, Your Grace?" the Imp asked.
"The Vale is mountainous and readily defensible," the king said. "Any campaign in it would quickly become a bloody one. And I'm not keen to start a quarrel with these Lords Declarant over one such as Lord Baelish, to throw away the lives of honourable knights so carelessly.
We'll make overtures to them for now. See if we can't usher the Vale back into the fold without violence." The king reached out into his doublet and drew out a letter. "Here, Grandmaester. To the Eyrie."
Pycelle accepted the letter with gnarled hands. "Of course, Your Grace." What use are these councils, Arianne thought, if the king has his mind made up already? Perhaps that was the problem. She had been approaching the king in the expected ways, trying to catch his attention. But even here, the king was akin to a mummer.
With his guard raised, the pleasant look plastered on his face, she was doomed to fail, just as the new queen had. Working her way into Margaery's confidences had yielded little of any worth, though at least Arianne could comfort herself with the fact that it had not cost her much.
But if she could somehow catch him unawares, without any pretence to slow her way...
...
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