Alarming news came from the North. The Night's Watch had sent letters to all lands and lords, pleading for aid. A huge army of wildlings was moving toward the Wall, and the Watch feared they would not be able to cope on their own.
The Hand did not respond to these appeals. He seemed quite content to let the North wallow in its own problems.
Having managed to figure out a little bit how Lord Tywin thinks, I myself understood that it was better for us to wait and see. Even if the wildlings crushed the Watch and broke through the Wall, there were influential lords who could stop them: the Boltons, the Umbers, the Manderlys, the Glovers, the Karstarks, and others.
The wildlings were not the Others, and the North could handle such an enemy. It was somewhat encouraging that, according to Varys' reports, Lord Stannis had put all his men on ships and sailed away from Dragonstone. The canon was repeating itself; Baratheon would most likely land near the eastern end of the Wall. It seemed that Lord Rowan, who had not yet returned from Braavos, had achieved nothing at the Iron Bank.
A couple of days passed quietly. During this time, I prepared for a difficult and very serious conversation with my grandfather. I planned to win at least a modicum of respect with a single, but very deliberate and meaningful act.
And finally, the long-awaited day arrived.
At that meeting of the Council, everything went along the beaten track: Oberyn Martell continued to demand the head of Ser Clegane. Day by day, the Red Viper grew more irritated and angry. Promises that "someday, when the war is over," Clegane would be summoned to King's Landing no longer satisfied him.
The situation was heating up. Oberyn was constantly stirring things, and I watched with interest to see how Lord Tywin would get out of it. On the one hand, he needed Dorne's loyalty; on the other, he did not want either Clegane—an extremely useful man—or Oberyn to die. And the matter, as in the canon, was apparently heading toward a trial by combat, in which Oberyn would face Clegane.
The demand, disguised as a request, that we all wanted to see Princess Myrcella, puzzled Oberyn. Yet he was so eager to see Clegane that he was forced to agree. And now my sister had already boarded the ship and was on her way.
Upon receiving this news, Lord Tywin announced that the next day, as soon as his granddaughter arrived in King's Landing, Prince Oberyn would get his duel.
Lord Paxter Redwyne departed for his own island of the Arbor to receive the fleet and bring it to sea. Then, if all went well, an army would march out of King's Landing and head for Storm's End. Formally, Storm's End still held loyal to Stannis Baratheon. The stronghold was defended by two hundred men under Ser Gilbert Farring. The garrison was not large, but the fortress itself was one of the most impregnable in Westeros. Therefore, without the fleet and a blockade from the sea, talk of capturing it was empty rhetoric.
Mace Tyrell had repeatedly hinted to the Council that he was ready to lead the army. My father-in-law was eager for glory, and the siege of Storm's End seemed like a surefire victory under the current circumstances.
Lord Tywin had not yet decided whom to entrust with the task, and I intended to take advantage of that.
We discussed several issues for a couple of hours, and then the meeting ended. The lords began leaving the Hand's chambers, but I remained seated.
Cersei, noticing that I wasn't leaving, lingered as well.
"Did you want something?" Tywin asked when he saw I was staying behind.
"If you have time, Grandfather, I would like to discuss something."
"In private?" He glanced at Kevan.
I quickly weighed the options. There were clearly more advantages than disadvantages to having Kevan present during the conversation.
"It would be very helpful if Lord Kevan stayed."
At the same time, we pointedly ignored Cersei. At first, she clearly intended to stay until the very end, but under her father's piercing and slightly ironic gaze, she could not endure it. She left, giving me a very eloquent look.
I sighed—it seemed I was in for another extremely unpleasant conversation tonight.
"So, what shall we talk about?" my grandfather interrupted my thoughts.
"About the Kingdom's debt," I replied firmly and turned to my relatives. "As you know, the Crown's debt is just over six and a half million dragons. Until recently, it was less, but the funeral and memorial service for King Robert, my own wedding, the tournament in her honor, and the ongoing war have increased it even more."
"We are aware of all this," Tywin replied calmly.
"Yes, but do you know that a little more—perhaps a million at most—and the state will not be able to pay off its debt, or even maintain it? We will go bankrupt."
"How do you know this, Your Majesty?" Kevan asked after a moment of silence.
"Tyrion and I have spent a lot of time studying Lord Baelish's documents over the past few weeks. The reports on revenue and expenditure show that we are very close to a crisis."
"You've been looking into the finances?" Kevan's voice held a note of skepticism.
"Yes. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—I had to take care of it."
"I hope Tyrion wasn't drinking all this time while you were digging through papers and doing his job?" Lord Tywin asked.
"I'm sorry you underestimate your own son and his intelligence. Without him, I wouldn't have been able to sort through the mess Littlefinger left behind."
"Have you really found something reprehensible?" Kevan leaned toward me.