Jaime V

The king went very quiet when they reached the city.

Evidence of the Ironborn attack was everywhere. Every stall in the fish market had been broken or burned. Though much of the rubbish had been cleared away, the party passed by half a hundred broken windows and doors ripped off their hinges, all the work of the grasping tentacles of the kraken. The docks, previously packed with merchantmen from as far abroad as the Port of Ibben and the Straits of Qarth, sat eerily empty and abandoned.

Joffrey took it all in with a stony expression, hard and grim. In that moment, Jaime Lannister was reminded of nothing so much as his own father. "Everyone gather at the Sept of Baelor!" he cried to the milling crowd who jostled one another for a look at him.

"Is that wise, Your Grace?" Jaime whispered to his nephew.

"If I'm not safe in my own city, I'm not safe anywhere, Lord Commander," the king replied firmly. Where they should've made their way up the hook to climb Aegon's High Hill, the royal procession turned left on the Street of Sisters.

"Make way! Make way!" Ordered some Stark men, who were the chief armed presence to be seen.

"Honey, make sure to stand at my side where everyone can see you, Lady too," he said to the queen. Together, they dismounted and climbed the steps side by side.

Jaime kept a hand on his sword pommel as he observed the scene. King Joffrey stood high on Visenya's hill, right outside the great sept. Though dressed like a freerider, clad only in boiled leather and ringmail, one couldn't fail to recognize the king. Children pointed. Women gasped, and old men looked on in silent patience. He squeezed Sansa's hand once, then spoke up to the assembled people of the city.

"King's Landing!" he roared, and all was silent. "You have been attacked, and I was not here to protect you. For that, you have my sincere apologies."

"It was them traitors, milord!" a man yelled. A few scattered grunts of agreement bubbled up here and there.

"Treason, yes," the king agreed. His voice carried well. "Treason found me as well. My traitor uncle, Lord Renly of Storm's End, seized my person at a tourney, feasting in his own hall, an honored guest, or so I supposed. They murdered my father, Robert, and held me prisoner! He took up with the pirates of the Iron Islands, and even now they wage a war of terror on us all!"

Indignant screams and jeers followed, as well they might. For all his faults, Robert was ever popular.

"Thanks to Lady Sansa here, who brought wolves of the North, and the valor of my Kingsguard, I was able to cut my way out of the trap and return to you!"

They cheered, but Joffrey didn't smile. He let it go on for a time, then held up a hand for silence.

"I shall not lie to you. Our troubles may have only just begun. On my way here, we ran into Ironborn reavers, a longship prowling the Blackwater Rush, seeking plunder. Instead, they found this!" He raised his black axe, and this time the cheer was like to deafen them. "It will be a hard fight, and no man who lives within a day's ride of water shall rest easy for some time. Even so, I vow to you that the parts of the city they broke shall be rebuilt, better than ever they were! You will be safe again, and those criminals who despoiled you shall be brought to justice! I go now to the Red Keep for a council of war. A strong watch shall be kept on the bay, but don't grow careless. Farewell, and seven blessings to you all!"

Getting the crowd to disperse and the king safely inside the walls of his castle took far longer than Jaime would've liked.

***

"So, as far as we can determine, the Iron Fleet under Victarion Greyjoy has taken Dragonstone for a base, and their reavers are harrying our coasts. Is that correct, my lords?"

The men of the small council, such as they were, nodded one by one. Renly was against them. Grand Maester Pycelle was dead, and Lord Stannis too. Jaime was not terribly shocked to hear Varys was a traitor, but now they were terribly short-handed and all but blind. As for himself, he sat in Ser Barristan's seat, feeling quite unequal to his office. It was just the four of them: King Joffrey, Lord Stark the Hand, Ser Jaime, and Littlefinger.

"The maester at Duskendale is bringing us ravens, Your Grace," Lord Stark informed the council.

"Good. We must reestablish contact with the rest of the realm. Many don't even know my father is dead. Lord Redwyne heeded me, at least. His fleet is at Lannisport while my Warden of the West assembles his muster."

"My Warden of the West." Such was the way King Joffrey referred to Father. He chuckled bitterly. "Woe to the Iron Islands."

The Hand frowned. "Your Grace, about your orders..."

"We've discussed it, Lord Stark," the king cut him off sharply. "I instructed grandfather to spare the children, at your request, but they shall be utterly dispossessed. No lands, ships, or castles shall they retain. Any who still hold to the Drowned God will lose their heads for it. Treating these pirates gently is what got us in this mess in the first place."

Stark looked as if he'd swallowed something sour, but knew a battle lost when he saw one.

"A bold stroke, Your Grace," Littlefinger flattered the king. "Many lands and lordships shall be won in this war."

"Without winning us the war," Joffrey said bitterly. "The enemy's fighting men are on the other side of Westeros, and we have no strength at sea to oppose them." He sat back on his chair, brooding on the problem. "Once we have ravens again, I want every holdfast near the sea or a river to be properly warned. They must set a watch for reavers and should have a good store of arrows at a minimum. They must not wander far from the walls of their holdfasts or in small groups. It is well that winter is upon us, and the people hunker down by their own hearths. Any place the Ironborn chose to raid, they must bleed for it."

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Ser Loras entered the small hall. He bowed to the king. "Your Grace, the man you summoned is without." The young man's face was a mask of grief. Jaime wondered at it. Did he love the king well?

I suppose one that young hardly remembers Aerys at all.

"Good, send him in," King Joffrey instructed.

Ser Jaime almost laughed when he saw who it was. The Onion knight!

"Your Grace." He knelt before the king. Ser Davos Seaworth had a plain, common face, the kind you'd pass by without noticing half a hundred times in the common room of any tavern. He dressed in dull-dyed woollens, and you would never know he was a knight save for the badge upon his breast, a ship with an onion on the sail.

"Rise, Ser Davos," Joffrey said warmly. "You were my uncle's man. Now you're mine. I have a matter fit only for a man with your unique skillset."

Smuggler's work, he means, Jaime thought.

"I am here to serve, Your Grace," Davos replied.

"Excellent. Your ship, the Black Betha, remains to you, correct? Good. I would have you depart as soon as may be. Head to Driftmark and see if you can rally the ships of the Royal Fleet, any that might've escaped Victarion. Offer Lord Velaryon the office of Master of Ships. It's his if he wants it. He's a prideful man, so you better take this." The king handed the onion knight a rolled-up parchment. "This is my royal commission, and bears my seal. Any ship or crew that remains loyal shall rally under the Velaryons to contest Blackwater Bay. That done, head to Dragonstone by stealth. I want to know if my cousin Shireen still lives. If you can return her safe to me, there's a lordship in it for you."

Ser Davos bowed low. "As you will, Your Grace."

Once the onion knight left them, the king spoke up again. "I also want word sent to the Braavosi. We wish to make common cause against the Ironborn. Piracy in the narrow sea vexes them as much as us. Lord Petyr, I'm sure you can find a merchant in Duskendale willing to take my message."

Littlefinger smiled greedily. "Anything else?"

"Yes, actually. I want you to find a man for me."

"Name him, Your Grace."

"I don't know his name," Joffrey said, making Littlefinger frown. "I mean, I want a certain kind of man. I want a merchant, a man who has financed many successful trading voyages."

Baelish leaned forward in interest. "Go on."

"I want a man who knows things, basic facts. I want to know the price of a cask of wine in Lannisport, a bushel of wheat in Oldtown, and current wages for journeyman carpenters in Stony Sept. He knows because it is his business to know. He knows how to buy cheap and sell dear. Which lords are in debt? Which lands had good harvests? Which poor? Where do smallfolk move when they are seeking work? I wish to know all this and more. You will find me this man, Lord Petyr, a man who knows what is really going on in the Seven Kingdoms. This man, whoever he is, shall be my new Master of Whisperers."

Littlefinger raised an eyebrow. "I am that sort of man, you know."

"Find me another. We must also discuss measures for waging this war without driving up our debts. I don't need tens of thousands of swords in the field. I need small, mobile forces: knights, freeriders, mounted archers, fifty to one hundred men each. They will ride along the coastlines, few enough to be tempting targets. I will participate as well."

"Your Grace!" Ser Jaime and Lord Stark said as one.

"Joffrey, we cannot risk hazarding you in the field," Stark warned, an opinion with which Jaime heartily concurred!

"Let my group be one of the bigger ones," the king said easily. "Ser Jaime will be by my side. It will be just the same as when we met the longship in the Blackwater, Uncle. I mean to bait them and bleed them. Once the squids are on dry land, we'll give them the hammer and anvil, much as you did. I was wise enough to let you have tactical command of our knights, was I not?"

Jaime sighed. "You were."

Joffrey smiled triumphantly. "Without ships, the only way we can strike at the Ironborn is by drawing them ashore. Marching on Storm's End would be damned foolish. They likely have food to last for years. For the nonce, the priority is protecting my people."

Lord Stark exhaled softly. "Will there be anything else, Your Grace?"

"My coronation, of course. I thought to combine it with a wedding, so Sansa can be queen for true. How are things in the North? Do you suppose Lady Catelyn might be able to travel? Surely she would like to see her daughter wed."

"That she would." Stark's frozen face finally cracked, and he smiled as well. "The snows are deep, but I think a journey is possible."

"Wonderful. Celebrations shall be modest, given the circumstances. Early preparations can begin, but I'll not schedule the ceremony until your wife arrives safely."

With that, they adjourned. Ser Jaime had rarely attended Small Council meetings before, mostly when he was guarding Robert, but he could certainly say none of them had ever gone quite like that.