On a normal day, the golden hall of the Lannisters would be bustling with activity. While there are still servants and maids moving from one place to another, the majority of the residents have yet to return from the wedding of Casterly Rock’s daughter Rosalind.
It is perhaps strange then that Jonn Lannister, the heir of Casterly Rock, sits at head of the great table with quill in hand. While his face is smooth, calm as he scratches out figures upon a scrap of parchment, his eyes tell a different story. It would seem that not all of the lions are best pleased with the marriage of Landyll’s daughter.
It was at least an hour ago that bells rang out from a sept somewhere in the city, marking a marriage before the sights of gods and men. And now the sounds of gates being opened and a litter being carried through by serving men makes itself plain from outside. Muffled speech, a sharp command, and then after a long moment the doors are thrown open and the party can be heard moving within the manse. More voices, including a woman’s voice, and then the sound of receding steps ... and a different sound, of steps approaching.
Ser Rickard enters, led by a servant. He leans upon a cane of golden wood from the Summer Isles, topped with a gilded lion’s head. The years have been less kind with him than with others, as the thick waist and thinning hair shows. His green eyes, however, are undimmed. “Good morning, ser. It was a fine wedding, if you wish to know,” the old man remarks. He dismisses the servant who led him hither with a nod, and then makes his halting way to a couch.
A tap of the feathered end of the quill upon the wood tabletop and Ser Jonn brings his eyes to his uncle. The gold flickers in the depths of the green as he takes in the aging lion’s appearance. “Good morning, uncle.” He stands and moves toward the couch as well, to give aid if the older man wishes it. “I did not care to know,” he says in a tight voice. He swallows, forcing his voice into calm. “Welcome to King’s Landing. I trust your journey was without incident?”
Settling into a seat with a brief wince on his fleshy face and a creak of protest from the couch, Ser Rickard studies Jonn with a grave expression on his lips. He strokes his beard, a moment, before offerng a suden smile. “Of course, ser. Melissa and I found it to our taste. I’ve had her prepare rooms for us, with your steward’s aid, but you’ve probably guessed this.” The cane shifts, his large, gnarled hands resting upon its head. He surveys the manse with a passing eye and then says, “Well-appointed here, and orderly. Yet our affairs at court are disordered, according to Loren. Why’s that?”
Wood creaks and groans as the young Jonn seats himself upon the arm of the couch. He returns an wrist upon one knee and turns to look at the other. “Right to the point, then,” he says, a touch of amusement entering his voice. He shrugs at the question. “Did he not tell you?” One golden brow arches. “I am young and full of ill temper and misguided pride. It has gotten the better of me lately.”
“Hrmph,” the old Lannister says, heavy brows furrowing. “I thought it’d be harder,” he goes on, “to convince you of this, but it seems some wisdom has graced you. No more dangerous man than a fool who believe he’s not one… Of course, all men are fools, when we get down to it.” Another shift in the seat, and Rickard stretches his bad leg—legacy of a skirmish some fifteen years earlier—before him. “I gather you know why I’m here, then; it’s not a pleasure visit. Melissa, of course, is wanting for a husband, so that’s a fair enough excuse for outsiders. My nephew wants me to help ease your path through court, and to make sure that House Lannister is a guiding influence in our young king’s reign.”
A nod from the young Lannister, his fingers drumming in syncopation on the knee. “I suspected he might send someone, but I did not guess it would be you.” He is silent for another moment. “But I am glad of it all the same.”
“A guiding influence.” He says this at great length, as he rises up from the arm of the couch and moves a step away. “What exactly did my father have in mind?”
“Little enough to begin with. Reacquaint myself with those old lords and knights I know,” Ser Rickard responds. “Sound them out. Perhaps try to ... ease any concerns they have about the heir to Casterly Rock, now that Ser Jaesin’s been such a gallant fool.” A brief smile, oddly warm—he always liked Jaesin. “And then ... I do not know. Get a better grasp on the centers of power here. A Baratheon as the king’s royal forester, that Tyrell woman’s husband as commander of the City Watch… perhaps it’s time a Lannister wrung some office from his grace.”
Jonn listens quietly, nodding his head in certain places. “I should like to know what concerns they have,” he says with one of those head nods. “And I am not certain gallant fool is the best way to describe my dear brother.”
He takes a breath, and gives a brief smile of his own—one that is rather ironic. “I know the King is ill-pleased by my involvement in the bread riot, and Prince Aegon dreams of murder after I outed his villager wife. We have a certain arrangement between us, Sarmion Baratheon and I. We were negotiating a marriage between our houses, but other matters have come into focus.”
“I’m sure you’d not think so,” Ser Rickard says, and smiles a tight smile. “Whatever your lord father said at the time about how it suits his plans ... Well, he can lie when needs be.” A shrug, and he goes on to say, “Aye, the king is displeased, that wastrel Aegon ... and Prince Viserys, a man who you might have cultivated as an ally in regards to this Dornish business of the king’s, he thinks you’re irresponsible beyond words and not to be trusted.”
A puff of breath, a *harumph*, and he adds, “I’ve already spoken to acquaintances, you see. If you mean to improve our lot, you’ll have to win the king or the Hand to your side. Taking part in this putting down of Starion Flowers, that was a good start—the Young Dragon likes that sort of thing, doesn’t he? But Baratheon… There are rumors about the man. I think there are those who’d be happier with some other man as the king’s warden of the kingswood.”
“I had no wish to be heir,” Jonn says with an easier smile. “If that’s what you mean. I was perfectly content with my lot, but Jaesin had different ambitions.” He gives a small shrug, “I can only be what I am.”
Another breath to calm himself. “I wished Prince Viserys to think that of me, so long as Jaesin was heir. But now he isn’t and I have done little to change the man’s opinion of me. As far as Ser Sarmion is concerned, I do not doubt that some would be happier… some of Tyrell persuasion, no doubt. But they would be unwise to remove him from the kingswood; for he is a very dangerous man and can do less harm there.”
Ser Rickard strokes his beard at that, considering; he knows Stormbreaker only by reputation. Then he says, “It’s true, it’s a minor office compared to some. Yet if the Tyrells are putting effort into dislodging him, it may be something we can use. A little uncertainty at court always offers opportunities, for those bold enough to grasp them.” He gives Jonn a weigh glance, and then nods. “Well enough. I do not intend to run matters here, if you fear that; I doubt you’d allow me, even if I wished it. Which is good. But as an advisor, as someone to open doors… that, I’ll do, so long as you don’t fritter away my efforts, or those of your father.”
And with that declaration, he pushes himself out of the couch, bracing himself with his cane. “First thing, I suppose, will be to make sure we’re ready for when the Sealord arrives. There are ... possibilities there, for Casterly Rock.” He starts to turn, apparently to leave, mind already turning, when he pauses. “Ah. I didn’t mention, did I? We’re to fete him. The Sealord, I mean. I decided to use a favor from Lord Cargyll, to secure such an honor.”
“True enough,” says Jonn of the Tyrells. “I shall see what I can learn; the Saltcliffe Tyrells are nothing if not verbose in their mislike of Ser Sarmion. If there is an effort, they will be in the vanguard.”
“So long as I know of your efforts, I will not sabotage them. I will of course give you the same courtesy.” He says this gravely, again ready to lend a hand if the older man should require it. That is certainly not the Jonn Lannister the rumors speak of.
Mention of the Sealord does cause an eyebrow to arch once more. “The Sealord of Braavos. I imagine all of the houses are angling for position with that one, no? We shall have to put our best foot forward, then.”
“Fair enough, ser. Fair enough. I’ll retire now, and take a rest before going about our business. Shall we dine together, in the evening? A chance to see Lady Kellyn again, for one thing. And to discuss this business with Landyll’s bastard. Now she’s wed, it’s time to return to a happy family, so far as the rest of the houses are concerned… But we’ll discuss it, of course.”
And with that, he takes his leave after a brief bow, cane clicking at the floor.