Late that night, in the Hand's study, everyone was present except Pycelle, who was too old to come: Cersei Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, and Varys.
Varys stood beside the brazier, warming his soft hands. "Just think. Renly had tens of thousands of men, yet after one battle his army collapsed like a landslide. Truly unbelievable."
Cersei said, deeply displeased, "I always knew he was nothing but an embroidered pillow. When it came to telling jokes, he was first-rate."
"Better a man who tells jokes than one who swings a great hammer. I originally thought Renly, Stannis, and Gendry would tear each other apart at Storm's End. My informants do not always occupy the important posts we wish they did."
The Queen Dowager was very unhappy. "Do we have no better plan? Are we simply going to sit here and wait?"
"Lord Varys, you need to think of something. Otherwise, this already tiny Small Council will become even smaller."
Varys gave a nervous little chuckle. "Ah, if you and your noble brother continue competing like this, Your Grace will have no Small Council left at all."
"Could the news be false?" Cersei asked.
"From what we know of Stannis, he does not lie. He is like steel. Stannis has sworn allegiance, and ravens have flown from Dragonstone and Storm's End. It seems Renly has already reached the Wall," Varys said.
Tyrion had heard enough. "I fear Joff will be disappointed," he said. "He had prepared such a sharp spear for Renly's head. In any case, whether Renly has reached the Wall or not, one thing is clear. Gendry has benefited." This was truly not good news. He had hoped the Baratheons would fight a bloody war and leave both sides crippled.
"Renly's army has surrendered in full. I suspect Gendry is now leading those soldiers north through the Kingswood at a gallop. He has fought a hundred battles and is said to have won them all. He is far more troublesome than Renly. To the north, he has allies too: the Vale, the Crackclaws, the North, and the Riverlands," Tyrion said.
"Is there no resistance?" Cersei asked.
"The lords of Storm's End have all lowered their banners and gone over to him." Varys sat back down.
"If only we could kill the Storm," Tyrion said.
"My lord, you truly dare to dream," Varys said. "Gendry has Ser Barristan at his side, along with that mysterious red priestess. Those people are all unfathomable. Not to mention Gendry himself, a warrior of almost divine strength."
"Renly has failed. They love Gendry, not Stannis. Strictly speaking, what they love is that side of Robert. Stannis is not as good as Renly, and Renly is not as good as Gendry. If we seize the chance, someone may discover Joff's shining qualities. Joff is still better than Stannis, surely," Tyrion analyzed.
"My lord, your idea is excellent. But in my view, we should first fight the battle before us. The Stormlands are lost. Think of the other lands," Varys said. A thought flashed through his mind. Once King's Landing fell, he did have ways to kill. The premise was that Gendry had to dare come to the Red Keep as he hoped. His little birds were already waiting in the tunnels.
"True. We must survive this battle first, then stir Highgarden into action," Tyrion said. "At this moment, we need allies."
Varys chuckled. "My dear Lord Tyrion, surely you do not think these mighty lords and noble knights can be bought and sold as easily as chickens in the market?"
"I think they are not so different from chickens, Lord Varys." Tyrion looked at Varys. "I would wager it is easier to buy a lord than a chicken. Of course, lords crow more proudly than chickens, and if you put a price on them like a merchant making a deal, they will be deeply offended. But gifts delivered into their hands, along with honor, lands, and castles? They are rarely so polite as to refuse."
"But bribes can only move a few minor lords. They cannot buy all of Highgarden." Tyrion thought for a moment. "The premise is that we must first gain some strategic advantage, rather than remain as passive as we are now."
"I heard Lord Mace's favorite youngest son was a close friend of Renly's, and that he was wounded in the fighting at Storm's End?" Cersei asked.
"Loras, Queen Dowager. His relationship with Renly was far closer than you imagine," Varys said with a laugh. "And Loras almost had his face ruined. Boiling oil burned his neck and back. Fortunately, that pretty face was spared. Even so, Lord Mace of Highgarden cannot be pleased. Back then, at Storm's End, he was the one who faced off against Stannis for so long."
"The key is the Knight of Flowers. Mace Tyrell has three sons, and the youngest, Loras, is his favorite. Aside from this beloved youngest son, Mace also has a beloved young daughter," Tyrion said.
"We need to win them over," Cersei said after some thought. "Gold, honors."
"The best way is marriage," Tyrion said. "The Smith taught us a lesson. Through Daenerys, he gained the loyalty of some loyalists, including those savage Crackclaws, and Dorne has begun to grow ambiguous as well. We should also consider gaining an alliance through marriage. We have three children in hand."
Varys immediately understood the meaning beneath his words. "You want King Joffrey to marry Margaery Tyrell? Or Princess Myrcella to wed Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers, or Willas, the heir to Highgarden?"
"Yes." Tyrion vaguely remembered that Margaery was only fifteen or sixteen, a few years older than Joffrey, but not by much. Besides, she was so beautiful and charming.
"Imp, they are my children, not chickens in your market. You rotten maggot," Cersei cursed.
"Dear sister, if we lose this war completely, you will understand how fortunate we are to sell them at a good price now." Tyrion looked at Cersei. "The Smith will send Joff and Tommen on their way, their pretty heads stuck on spears. He has always been ruthless, and he does what he says. As for your Myrcella, I fear that little angel's fate will be full of hardship too. If the Smith is a lustful fiend like Robert, then who can say? Even if he is more of a gentleman, your dear daughter might still..."
"Shut up." Cersei sat in her chair and nervously picked at her fingernails again.
"But Joffrey is already betrothed to Sansa Stark," Cersei objected.
"A betrothal can be broken. What good is there in the king marrying a runaway traitor girl?"
Varys stroked his soft hands. "We can tell the king that House Tyrell is richer than House Stark, and Margaery is lovelier... lovely enough to share a bed with."
"Exactly," Tyrion said. "Joff cares a great deal about that."
"Nonsense. My son is still young. How could he care about such things?"
"You think so?" Tyrion shot back. "Cersei, he is thirteen. I was married at that age."
"Your ridiculous story brought shame on us all. Joffrey is far nobler than you."
"So noble that he orders people to beat female captives and his own betrothed?"
"He was angry."
Thinking of that violent little Joff, Tyrion remembered that after Sansa fled, he had only grown more violent, developing a passion for shooting rabbits and cats.
Tyrion and Varys had discussed arranging for Joffrey to visit Chataya's brothel. Perhaps after tasting a little sweetness, the boy would become gentler, perhaps even grateful. Gods willing, Tyrion might then act freely with the king's support. Of course, the key was secrecy, and the difficulty lay in getting the Hound out of the way.
Tyrion spoke, his words sweet as honey. "In any case, a marriage alliance with the Tyrells is worth attempting, because it may be the only way for Joffrey to live until his wedding night."
Highgarden meant fifty thousand soldiers, a beautiful girl, and the grain they so desperately lacked. No matter what, they had to try again. The Stark girl was sweet, true, but she had fled, and House Stark's strength was far below House Tyrell's.
"There is sense in that." Varys placed one soft hand on Queen Dowager Cersei's sleeve. "Your Grace, you have the heart of a loving mother, and I understand that His Grace the king misses his little sweetheart. But those of us who presume to govern must always place the welfare of the realm's people above our own desires, if only for a time. In my view, this marriage is necessary."
"Say whatever you like. But Joffrey is proud by nature, and you are forcing this on him," Cersei said. "If you anger Joff, deal with it yourselves."
Tyrion was pleased they had reached an agreement, but the choice of envoy began another round of struggle.
"Then write more letters," Varys said.
"Letters cannot compare with the sincerity of an envoy," Cersei objected.
Tyrion said, "Then which of us should go to Highgarden? Our offer must reach Lord Mace before he chooses his master."
...
"Ser Jacelyn Bywater is of noble birth. We should send him," Cersei said first.
Tyrion rejected it at once. An envoy was not a mere messenger, but a representative of the Small Council and the king's will, sent to handle the matter properly.
"We should send you, Tyrion. It would be no different from Joffrey going in person. Who could be better? Your tongue is as sharp as Jaime's sword."
Are you that eager to drive me out of the capital, Cersei? Tyrion thought. "You flatter me, sister. In truth, I think a mother is better suited than an uncle to arrange her child's marriage. Besides, you have a gift for making friends that I cannot hope to match."
They pulled and pushed at one another, Cersei and Tyrion. In the end, with no other choice, they had to send a fairly large delegation, led by a cluster of Crownlands nobles and protected by a captain of the Gold Cloaks.
Varys shook his head. At present, they truly had no one useful.
At that moment, Tyrion especially missed Littlefinger's silver tongue. If he had gone, perhaps the result would have been better.
"And Myrcella," Tyrion said. "We will send her to Braavos immediately. No matter whom the girl is eventually promised to, Tyrell or Martell, the first condition is that she stays alive."
Pain crossed Cersei's face. "Oh, that is the second one."
"She will board a Braavosi ship. I will have her well escorted."
"Why not one of our warships?" Cersei asked.
"We still have warships," Cersei said. "Fierce Wind, Sea Swift, and other ships, including King Robert's Hammer, Lion Star, and Lady Lyanna."
"We no longer control the coastlines of Crackclaw Point or Dragonstone," Tyrion sighed. "If we make a great show of it, it may achieve the opposite of what we want."
"Then I will also see to Myrcella's safety," Cersei said.
"I want to protect Myrcella even more than you do, but we must move carefully. Braavos is the strongest and most influential of the Free Cities. Even Gendry and Stannis cannot afford to dismiss it."
"My lord, I must admire your cleverness," Varys said.
"Ser Arys Oakheart will serve as her personal guard," Tyrion said. He was one of the few true knights among the white knights, a man who had felt remorse after striking Sansa.
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