Chapter 28: Part XXVIIINotes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing for a while.
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"If the intellectual ability of kings were exerted to the same degree in peace as in war, human affairs would be more orderly and settled."
Joffrey Augustus ("borrowed" from Salust)
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The Red Keep - King's Landing – 298 AL
Thanks to good weather the Coronation Feast was set up outside, if it had been raining the tables would have been brought into the Great Hall instead, and the additional space offered by the expansive grounds not only allowed for additional guests to attend but for other sources of merriment. Fools, jugglers and dancers entertained the crowd as myriad Lords and Ladies dined lavishly and downed expensive wines and even Eddard Stark would have been less dour than usual if he couldn't have helped himself thinking about how much this was all costing.
At least Joffrey himself had made it plain that the celebratory Tournament arranged for the next day should only offer winning prizes of a sane amount of money, not enough to fund several lifetimes of utter debauchery as Robert had always insisted upon, and he also insisted that there wouldn't be a second feast laid on for it.
If the new king's mother had been given any authority in the planning for the coronation it would have all been a far more lavish affair, but fortunately for the state treasury, if not her blood pressure, she remained an unwilling resident of Casterly Rock. The general feeling on this, including that of the members of her own family not trapped with her, was that it was all very much for the best.
Lancel Lannister remained an even less willing resident of the dungeons under the Red Keep. This was also generally considered a good thing with only those who wanted him beheaded instead offering a dissenting opinion.
Despite festivities being less extravagant than they might have been they were however efficiently organised, coordinated in a manner that more resembled marshalling an army than they did planning a banquet. Tywin Lannister's intimidating manner and habit of barking out orders soon got the servants in line and by the gods he wasn't going to let the guests mess up his schedule either. After waiting their turn to pay homage to the new king in the Great Hall, swearing fealty to him before the Iron Throne, everyone was then shuffled outside and directed out towards the festivities there, being cajoled to clear the way if necessary.
Unfortunately the sheer number involved meant that by the time the last few reached the front of the queue those who had been presented to Joffrey early in proceedings were now several drinks in and some were getting rowdy. A disapproving glare directed their way by Tywin or Eddard Stark acting as hosts was usually enough to get them to behave however, it wasn't seemly to get so drunk before the king had even arrived and had a chance to enjoy his own feast.
Needless to say Tywin's most disparaging glares were the ones being directed at his son Tyrion who appeared to have gotten himself involved in an impromptu drinking competition with Thoros of Myr. At least they were both happy boisterous drunks, rather than obnoxious aggressive ones, Stark decided. Although given the rate they were pouring wine down their throats one or both of them was going to be dead, or at the very least unconscious, before nightfall he predicted.
Looking around from his seat at the High Table reserved for the most important dignitaries Stark spotted that the new king himself had finally arrived with a small retinue in tow and he prepared to go and greet him. Before he could get up however he noticed to his mild surprise that his daughter Sansa had already hurried to do so, dashing off from where she had been sat with Robb and Arya at another table nearby. Was that spontaneous, he wondered, or had they previously arranged to meet before he set about greeting the guests?
Flanked by Ser Barristan Selmy and Sandor Clegane, Octavian smiled as Sansa came to meet him. "Lady Sansa" he greeted her with a gentle bow.
"Your Grace" she responded, performing a well-practiced and graceful curtsy.
"I'm glad my message reached you. Just a moment" Octavian requested before turning to his bodyguards. "I know you're both loathe to leave my side, you especially Ser Barristan" he addressed the knight specifically. "But can I request that if you're not going to go help yourself to food and wine you could at least stand further away so I can talk to my betrothed without an audience."
"I'll get a drink" Clegane said quickly, seizing the opportunity when offered because he had been bored out of his mind the previous two hours listening to people kissing the boy's arse. "I mean if that's really what you want, Your Grace" he added quickly when Selmy threw him a disparaging look.
"It is" Octavian confirmed.
Thank the gods for that, Clegane thought to himself happily, before bowing and heading off towards the nearest bottle at speed.
"You know for a big man he's surprisingly fast on his feet" Octavian observed as Clegane dashed away.
"When properly motivated, Your Grace" Ser Barristan wryly concurred. "I'll be just over there and I'll make sure to fend off anyone else that approaches" he added, retreating far enough away that he could be back at his king's side immediately if needed but reasoning the lad wanted a little freedom to talk to his lass without some old codger like himself overhearing.
Octavian beckoned Sansa to get a little closer. "I asked you to meet me when I arrived because I need a favour" he explained quietly. "I don't want to inadvertently insult anybody by not knowing who they are but you're much better at recognising sigils than I am and you seem to know about every House in Westeros" he continued. "If you're close by my side they'll all think I'm a boy showing off the very pretty girl I'm to wed but you're actually there because you can surreptitiously tell me who they are every time I don't know."
"Oh!" Sansa responded after a moment's pause. "I can do that" she agreed enthusiastically. That was one of the lessons Octavian picked up from observing Caesar. When you're important and powerful people like to be thought of as useful to you, it made them feel important too.
"You can't tell anyone, it'll have to be our secret" Octavian told her seriously, Sansa quickly nodding her agreement on that too. That made sense, she thought to herself, it was a secret that if revealed wouldn't just make Joffrey look bad it might hurt people's feelings for no good reason too. They weren't actually going to be lying to anyone, were they? It was more like a game really. A game where everyone was a winner.
It wasn't really fair anyway, she decided, thinking about it some more. "Expecting you to remember the names of all those people you were just introduced to for the first time isn't reasonable, Your Grace" she observed. "But I can see why you wouldn't want to upset the ones too silly to realise that" she added. "I'm happy to help you however I can" she told him sincerely.
Octavian smiled. "In case it's not clear you'll also be there so I can show off the very pretty girl I'm to wed" he told her, hoping that sounded chivalrous not demeaning to her. She was very pretty, pretty to the point of being decorative in fact which reflected well on him too. Moreover as the daughter of the current regent the match was politically advantageous as well, although he certainly wasn't going to stress that part of his reasoning to her.
In Rome the rich and powerful would employ a slave called a Nomenclator to remind them of people's names. It was a role Julius Caesar had utilised his own personal slave for, the well-educated and highly-intelligent Posca who Caesar had set free in his will, but for all his other positive attributes Posca could have never been accused of being decorative.
As a familiar figure approached Sansa leaned in close to whisper in Octavian's ear. "Lord Eddard Stark" she said. "Regent and Lord Protector of Westeros" she explained deadpan.
Octavian rolled his eyes. His sister would have thought that was funny too he decided as Sansa held back a giggle. "Thank you. Nobody ever bothered to tell me, I suppose they just assumed I knew" he played along as the two of them prepared to greet him.
Not too far away Shireen Baratheon was having rather less fun at the feast. Normally she assumed that the reason nobody wanted to be around her was because of the ravages greyscale had left on her face, but now she wasn't just ugly she was the daughter of an attempted usurper. After enduring her mother's company at their table as long as she could she asked Ser Davos to accompany her while she went to watch the entertainers perform and she was now trying to put on a smile as a man dressed as a fool juggled for a small crowd.
In a few days Ser Davos would return to Dragonstone with her mother and she would be left here alone as the latest addition to Lord Stark's household. His daughters seemed nice enough, and she couldn't see why people called him stern because he seemed very warm and friendly to her, but King's Landing wasn't her home and far worse she knew she might never get to see her father again after he headed north to take the black of the Night's Watch.
Ser Davos promised that he would send his son Mattos from Dragonstone to watch over her but that was scant comfort. He wasn't really an unpleasant young man by any means but he had fallen under the spell of the Red Witch and was nearly as preachy about his new religion sometimes as her mother Selyse was. Perhaps the greatest treat for Shireen since she arrived here had been running into Lady Melisandre in one of the hallways and taking the opportunity to stick her tongue out at her. Ser Davos thought that was hilarious, Melisandre less so.
Lord Stark didn't believe in the Faith of the Seven either, but at least the followers of the Old Gods didn't proselytise like those of R'hllor and the girl was able to attend Sept as she wished.
"Shireen, Shireen!" a young girl's voice called out gaining her attention.
"Lady Arya" Shireen greeted her.
"For the last time it's just Arya" the other girl responded. "We're like sister's now that you're my father's ward" she gushed. "I don't call Theon 'Lord Greyjoy', he's like my brother" she explained her thoughts on the matter. "This is my dancing master, I told you about him" the girl continued, indicating the man stood beside her.
"Syrio Forel, First Sword of Braavos at your service, My Lady" the man introduced himself formally, bowing deeply in the Braavosi manner before straightening up again. "Your father's skills as a naval commander earned him much fame and respect in my homeland" he continued. "His smashing of the Ironborn fleet at Fair Isle was toasted in every tavern in Braavos" he added, leaving off the usual foul language that he would employ when mentioning pirate scum like them. "Do I know you? You look familiar somehow" he enquired of the girl's companion.
"This is Ser Davos Seaworth, my father's… I mean my bannerman" Shireen introduced him.
Syrio frowned. "The name is not familiar but…" he began before trailing off. "The smuggler, you're the smuggler!" he suddenly exclaimed.
Bugger, Seaworth thought to himself. "I hope you're not planning to take my head like you promised to do if we ever met again" he asked in as jovial manner as he could. "I appreciated you letting me keep it the last time."
The Braavosi swordmaster appeared bemused in the extreme. "How does a smuggler manage to get invited to the coronation of a king?" he asked incredulously. "How does one become a knight?" he wanted to know.
"Strangely enough by smuggling" Seaworth told him honestly. "It's a long story but I'm wondering myself how the First Sword of Braavos ends up teaching swordplay to a little girl in Westeros."
"I'm not a little girl!" Arya protested.
"You are. You are even dressed like one for once" the Braavosi countered.
"Not by choice" Arya replied, pouting. Her father had insisted on the heavy, restrictive gown.
Syrio chuckled. "At some point you will need to learn how to dance in a dress not in trousers."
"I'd prefer to get put out of my misery with a sword" Arya muttered to herself.
"Only someone that's never been at the wrong end of a blade and has the scars to prove it says something like that" Seaworth observed from personal experience.
"It's alright for you" Arya told him, glaring. "You've never worn a dress."
"Yes I have, you can hide a lot of smuggled goods under a dress" Seaworth told her. "Of course that was before I had the beard. I'd never pull it off these days."
"And Lady Davos Seaworth doesn't have the same ring to it" Shireen joked. "Oh" she suddenly exclaimed, "Lady Yara is coming over" she spotted the daughter of the Lord of the Iron Islands heading their way.
"With Theon" Arya added. "I can introduce you, or she can I suppose."
Syrio Forel shook his head sadly, first a smuggler now pirates, he thought with dismay. "Is there anyone that cannot get an invite to these things" he asked rhetorically.
Notes:
Note from the Author:
Caesar's wife must be above suspicion, sometimes because that makes her useful in a way people won't expect. Sansa was always very good with Sigils and the histories of the Great Houses, it's one of the earliest indications she was brighter than people thought often she was.
Davos mentions to Shireen in GoT episode 4x03 Breaker of Chains that he was once nearly beheaded by a First Sword of Braavos. That being Syrio Florel and them meeting again under very different circumstances seemed too good an idea to let go to waste. As a mercantile trading power the Braavosi disliking smugglers, and pirates even less, is a certainty.