Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Priapus, Marethyu, Beans, Malcolm Tent, Mike God of Lore
The Unbound
Chapter 11: Ascension
– Cersei Baratheon –
Despite the near-assassination, the tourney continued almost immediately. They couldn't show weakness by calling off such a massive event over anything, that was something that the Lannisters and Tyrells actually agreed on for once.
As she watched the horse races, she paid close attention to Orys on his stallion. It was a gift from his grandfather, a purebred stallion with near-golden hair and a red and black saddle. Even the Prince's horse had become another strike in the fight over him. Red and gold were the Lannister colours, but black and gold were the Baratheon ones. It was a smart move from her father, but then again, he was rarely stupid.
She'd heard the stallion was from Dorne, from a lineage of powerful horses and it showed, as Orys, despite not being the best rider, kept pace with the others. Orys was a good rider, make no mistake, but he was racing some of the best riders in the seven kingdoms and still keeping pace.
Of course, she'd heard their guests from the Reach claiming that they had better horses than Dorne, and they might be right. But her father was hardly going to go to the Tyrells for a horse to get a leg up in his pissing contest against the Tyrells, was he?
Glancing at Joffrey, she made a note to keep an eye on him. His jealousy was only growing more obvious, and she wouldn't put it past him to try to poison Orys' horse. She hadn't forgotten the pregnant cat incident. In hindsight, she should have let Robert beat Joffrey for it to try to dissuade his violent side. She'd coddled him too much, and now she was paying for it.
Prince Oberyn seemed surprised to see Orys' new stallion, but she highly doubted her father let the Martells know the horse was being bought by the Lannisters. In fact, this was probably just another power move from her father to show the Dornish houses that he could outwit them. She didn't like the Dornish 'prince' and how he lingered around her son. She didn't think he was the culprit, especially after her talk with Orys and his explanation of his suspicions toward Baelish, but that didn't mean she trusted the sand snake.
She wanted to take Baelish's head. To order the Mountain to split the conniving little snake in two. Instead, she let Orys continue his own plans. It was hard to let go of control, but recent… revelations had convinced her to do so.
She was not a religious person. This was no surprise to anyone who truly knew her. Sure, she paid her respects to the Seven, but it was lip service and nothing more. Even as a child, she'd loathed the idea of being beholden to some nameless beings that people called 'Gods'. Why should she kneel and degrade herself before them when they had done nothing for her?
And yet, the Gods had done something for her, hadn't they? Not the Seven, silent despite the Septons' endless lectures and ramblings. No, it was the Old Gods that had listened to her desperate pleas when she'd held her dying son all those years ago.
Ithelia, the Fate-Changer. She had prayed for a miracle, to anyone who would listen, and someone had. The name Orys had given her explained much, why things didn't seem to be going the way that old witch had prophesied. A god with the power to change fate itself obviously held more power than a crazed old witch living in the woods.
Orys said that his survival was not meant to be, and that his very presence was changing the fates of all those around him. It meant, for the first time since she'd heard Maggy's prophecy, Cersei did not feel the weight of it, shackling her and damning her.
Maggy had claimed that she would marry a king, not a prince, something which came true. Maggy said that her children would die wearing the crown. That Robert would have sixteen children, but she would only have three. That her little brother would murder her.
And yet, Maggy's predictions had only continued to be true until Orys had survived that illness. Perhaps Maggy had not counted him, as he was meant to die when he was barely a babe, not even seeing his second nameday. Or maybe she wouldn't have had Tommen if she had lost Orys. How much had changed from Orys' survival? If this were true, then her children were not doomed to die crowned, she was not doomed to meet her end at the hands of her little brother.
But this also meant that she owed everything to this Ithelia, and that scared her. She knew the gods were capricious creatures, and what they freely gave, they could take away just as easily. Orys was blessed, loved by the Old Gods and given their names. She couldn't deny that, not when it explained so much.
So, while she was not a religious person, she had become a convert to the Old Gods, not out of worship, but out of debt. She didn't care which religion held sway over the smallfolk as long as it meant her son was alive and powerful. If the Old Gods blessed him, then the Seven deserved to be forgotten. What had they done for her family? Nothing.
The faith would call Orys a heretic if they ever learnt the truth. They'd decry the entire royal family for her seeking divine aid beyond their useless, passive Seven. They should pray to the Stranger that they never learnt the truth, because she would personally hang the High Septon from a Weirwood if they dared to so much as sneer at Orys.
As the race came to an end, with Orys in second place, she watched him dismount his horse, which seemed oddly passive and obedient for such a powerful stallion. He congratulated the winner, some Reach knight not worth knowing, and hugged his betrothed as she ran up to him. Arianne Martell stroked his horse's mane as they spoke, clearly praising the purebred Dornish mount and trying ineffectually to hide her jealousy of Margaery.
Orys held Margaery against him, the Highgarden rose resting her head on his shoulder for a moment before they parted. Despite her usual reaction to seeing the younger girl clinging to Orys, Cersei barely felt a hint of jealousy or worry. It was her that Orys had confided in, not Margaery. Yes, Margaery would be his wife but Orys trusted her above all else. She was the only one to whom he had confessed the truth.
Robert was boasting loudly of his son's skill on horseback, to the point of it being nearly insulting to the winner who was being ignored. Again, she saw Joffrey's bitterness as their father praised Orys and slapped him on the back proudly. Joffrey desired that same praise, but when had he ever done anything praiseworthy?
"Quiet down, you lot. Your king has an announcement to make," Robert bellowed from the royal box, making her pause. She wasn't expecting this so soon, but then… she wasn't the only one who cared for Orys, was she? The crowd quieted slightly as Robert rose and gestured for everyone to listen. It was rare for him to make speeches or spectacles, and she could see the curiosity on the crowd's faces as they turned to him. His words weren't slurred, as he'd decided to keep his wits about him after the assassination attempt.
The boxes were arranged to put the Great Houses close to the royal box, and she could see some of the most powerful men and women of the Seven Kingdoms paying attention to Robert as he waited a moment to let things settle down.
"I am not a good king," Robert started, sending a wave of confusion and some half-hearted protests through the crowd. "Don't think for a moment I don't know it. I'm better than the mad dragonfucker we kicked off the throne, but I'm a fighter, not a thinker. I don't give a damn about copper counting and petty squabbles. You all know it, you've all probably said it behind closed doors. I sure as fuck have."
A wave of uneasy laughter went through the crowd, clearly unsure of what was going on. Her father raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in his eyes. Olenna Tyrell snorted, muttering something which made Mace wince and look around desperately to see if anyone else had heard.
"I'm the King because I was the best damn choice we had. Well, the best that didn't run off North the moment the rebellion was over," Robert joked, slapping Ned on the shoulder as the Lord Stark stood there, looking very uncomfortable. Robert was clearly delusional when it came to the Starks, because Eddard Stark on the throne was a recipe for disaster. His blundering had proved that. "But by the will of the gods and the fostering of a miserable old lion, that's not true anymore. Orys, come up here."
Her father's ever-present scowl flickered at that. Robert was both insulting and praising him in one sentence, but putting Tywin in the same sentence as the gods was one way to get the arrogant old man to smile, if only for the briefest second.
Orys hesitated, heading up to the royal box as Robert pulled him into a one-armed hug, placing him at the front of the box. Cersei gave her eldest a reassuring smile as he looked at her, and Orys straightened up. The surprise on his face was genuine; he may have known this was coming but he didn't expect it so soon.
"I'm stepping back. I'm getting old, fat and tired. I don't want to waste whatever years I have left sitting on an uncomfortable throne listening to you sorry lot bicker. Orys hasn't been home long, but by the gods he's done more in these weeks than I have in years. I, Robert Baratheon, the First of my Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm of Westeros, the fucking Demon of the Trident," Robert rattled off, making her freeze. Wait, was he going to- "Hereby abdicate my throne to Prince Orys."
That wasn't what she'd suggested! It wasn't what she had been pushing him to do. She'd convinced him to step back, but to abdicate the throne entirely? Cersei felt her mind freeze as she tried to work out what was going on, but her proud, supportive smile never faded, nor did her shock show on her face. Those who knew her best could see it in her eyes, Jaime giving her a questioning look, but to most she looked as if she knew this was coming.
The crowd went wild, Orys froze and looked at his father in bewilderment, which was shared with the entire tourney grounds. Robert, in a truly casual manoeuvre for the very serious moment, took off his crown and slapped the damn thing on Orys's head without a care, slapping his son on the back with a proud smile. Orys's surprise was clear on his face as he visibly gathered his thoughts.
"That's all I have to say. Get back to your drinking, scheming and whatever else you fuckers do," Robert said, moving back to his seat and sitting down with a heavy thud, calling for his first goblet of wine of the day with a satisfied smirk on his face.
"If you'll excuse me, for but a moment, Lords and Ladies, I think I need to speak with my father," Orys said, causing a smattering of laughter as Orys delayed his own public announcement and turned back to Robert. "Father, how much have you had to drink today?"
Robert snorted at that, looking at his goblet for a moment before he downed it all in one go.
"Exactly one goblet. Soon to be far more. I've made my decision, Orys. My last act as King, to leave the damn thing to someone who is better prepared to handle it," Robert said simply, making Orys pause for a moment.
"I- I'm not ready, I thought I'd have more time," Orys admitted, making Robert snort.
"You think I was? You can handle it, you're my son, and while I might not like the grizzly old fuck, your grandfather trained you well. If the assassin was after me, I'd be dead, and you'd be stuck with the crown anyway. I'd rather pass the thing off on my own terms than have the choice taken out of my hands by an assassin's blade, a hunt gone wrong, or just my own poor fucking decisions catching up with me," Robert explained, unusually solemn. "I've talked with Renly, and I'm taking Storm's End back. Not straight away, but he likes responsibility about as much as I do. Or maybe he just wants an excuse not to marry so he can play with his flowers."
When had he spoken to Renly? How had this happened under her nose? She wasn't truly surprised by Renly being willing to give the seat of House Baratheon back; her brother-in-law was as carefree as he was careless, an indolent man who barely paid attention to it or his position as Master of Laws. That was half the reason Stannis had been so bitter about Renly being given Storm's End. No, what shocked her was that this had happened entirely under her nose. She had started this, but Robert had taken her suggestion and run with it. Was this good? Maybe. She wanted Orys to have more power after all, but it showed a level of independence she hadn't expected from Robert. This was more than Robert just wanting to escape his own duties.
Or was this Renly's idea to begin with? Renly was close with the Tyrells, and this would make Margaery Queen far sooner than otherwise planned. Had he convinced Robert of this? Had she been outsmarted by Renly? No, by Olenna. If this were a scheme, it would be the Queen of Thorns, not any of her pretty roses. This would weaken her power, going from Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to the Queen Mother. That was why she wanted to delay the full abdication. She could feel her power slipping from her grasp- but Olenna looked just as surprised as everyone else. Or she was a very good actor, smirking behind her surprised facade.
No, no, this was fine. Just last night, Orys had shown her how much he trusted her and her alone.
Orys went to speak before he cut himself off, visibly unsure of how to react to the new role he'd been thrust into. The crown didn't quite fit him, designed for Robert's thicker skull, and he had to reach up to neaten it so it didn't slip off entirely.
"Orys, you've been trained for this since the day you were born. You can do this, and far better than I can. I loved Jon with all my heart, but he let me act like the spoiled boy I was when I was fostering with him. He should have clipped my ears when I started to slack on my duties, but he never did and I made a shit king because of it. As miserable as he is, you can lean on your grandfather if you need help, and the Small Council, and as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, I'll help you in any way I can, even if it's just taking my hammer to the head of anyone who causes you trouble," Robert continued in a surprisingly soft voice. "You can handle this. I know you can."
"Thank you, father. I won't let you down. Even if I'm half convinced you're just doing this so you have an excuse to head north and break some Greyjoy skulls," Orys teased lightly, making Robert laugh loudly.
"If only. I'm fat and rusty, and the melee showed me that I'm not the unstoppable force I used to be. I'll not give a fucking squid the honour of cutting down the Demon of the Trident," Robert snorted with a dark grin. "If some no-name squire can knock me flat on my ass, I don't belong on the battlefield. What a fucking embarrassment, gonna have to work off some of those feasts."
Had Robert dropped the crown early to give Orys credit for dealing with the Greyjoys? Robert had expressed his own concerns that Orys didn't have the chance to build a reputation like Robert had during the rebellion. While he may have let himself go, people respected his past strength and the victories he'd once won. Even if Orys had done more than Robert in the Small Council meeting, it would have still been attributed to the King, not Orys. With this, Orys would have a small war to wage to win some renown. It wasn't exactly a genius scheme, but it was impressive for Robert if she was correct.
"I won't run the Kingdoms like you did. I might even make decisions you wouldn't approve of," Orys said, making Robert laugh again.
"I'd have had to run the Kingdoms at all for you to run things like me. You're a smart boy, a man really. The crown is yours and the Kingdoms along with it. You'll rule your own way, because you're your own man," Robert agreed. "If you were likely to run things like me, I wouldn't have given you the damn crown."
"You can handle this, Orys. We'll be here for you, as will your uncles and grandfather," Cersei finally spoke, getting a grateful look from him.
The pair continued to speak quietly as the tourney continued in the background, the entire crowd reacting to the news as it rapidly spread. Her eyes scoured the other boxes, seeing the many nobles whispering and scheming. How many were seeing Orys as someone they could exploit? How many were already plotting against him?
She'd need to make sure that she didn't get dragged to Storm's End, that she could stay in King's Landing to help him prepare for the worst of the vipers. They wouldn't take Orys from her, they wouldn't exploit her son for their own greed and ambitions.
– Margaery Tyrell –
The entire city was abuzz with gossip and rumours, and she could tell that even her grandmother had truly been caught off guard by the sudden announcement. King Robert was known for not being a particularly active ruler, in more ways than one, and nobody had really expected him to do anything, so his sudden decision had left everyone grasping at straws to try and work out what was going to happen from here.
"It's an honour to finally meet you, your Highness, or I suppose it is Your Grace now?" her father said, blustering and standing tall as he met Orys' gaze. "You raced well today. I wasn't aware you were such an accomplished rider."
"Horse riding was one of the few 'frivolities' that grandfather permitted me growing up. I'd hardly call myself accomplished, but I can handle a stallion well enough, especially one as well-trained as my new mount," Orys said humbly. "And it's still your Highness. While father may have placed the crown upon my brow, I've not yet been officially crowned and remain a prince, though for how long remains to be seen. I'm pleased to finally meet you, Lord Tyrell. Margaery has said much of her family."
Her father puffed out his chest, and after years of listening to her grandmother tear into him for his bluster and pride, she couldn't help but feel a little embarrassment as her father loudly spoke with Orys. He couldn't be happier to have a King for a son-in-law, even if neither were official just yet. He loudly flattered Orys while making it clear that he was boasting of 'beating' the other Great Houses and putting a Tyrell on the throne as his queen. It was not at all what she would call subtle, and even from here, she could see her grandmother's scowl growing with each word until it grew dire enough for her father to notice, his loud words trailing off mid-sentence before he gathered himself and continued, his gaze flickering over to Olenna repeatedly.
Her mother greeted Orys with far more grace, and Orys handled the meeting well, praising her mother for Margaery's beauty while also complimenting them for Loras' success in the melee, even if he hadn't won. The note of her near-assassination was left unsaid, even by her father, who knew better than to loudly discuss such things. Instead, Orys focused the conversation elsewhere by showing gratitude for the Redwyne fleet's fast response to the Greyjoys' raiding. They were better positioned to react to the Iron Fleet, and House Redwyne had reacted to the King's call. Unlike the Royal Fleet at Dragonstone, they didn't need to go around the entirety of Westeros to get to the Iron Islands.
She was just glad no Redwynes were present to hear her father take credit for all their actions. Even Uncle Paxter would frown if he heard his brother-in-law taking the praise that House Redwyne deserved. Sometimes she thought her grandmother was too harsh on her father. Other times, she understood entirely why Olenna felt the need to be so thorny. It took her grandmother, a Redwyne by birth, speaking up to silence her father's boasting.
What did draw her family's attention was the arrival of Princess Arianne, who continued to cling to Orys like a bad smell. She was positioned highly enough for it to be difficult to just send the Dornish tart away, and something had happened between Orys and Arianne; she was sure of it. Not an affair, she was sure that Orys wouldn't do such a thing, but Arianne had a certain smugness about her that told Margaery that something had happened. She hadn't pushed Orys for answers because she didn't want to seem like an overbearing wife before they were even married. Such things could have the opposite effect with her driving Orys into the arms of another woman.
Her father went to speak, but her mother cut in first as she greeted the Dornish princess. Dorne was not a popular topic among her family. Oberyn was a source of contention after Willas' accident, and Arianne did not exactly aid with that by inquiring about Willas' health in her usual backhanded way. She also didn't win her parents over by outright flirting with Orys in front of them, complimenting him and how the crown suited him so well. It wasn't as blatant as many of the things she'd seen from Arianne; in fact, she was almost dressed this time, but it was enough to get her father blustering and her mother frowning. It didn't help that her father was far more susceptible to Arianne's Dornish charms than Orys, it seemed, his eyes glued to her breasts as she gave him a mocking bow. Arianne, the whore, immediately picked out her father as the easiest target for her venomous schemes, leaving him flustered and her mother scowling.
Orys remained calm, never biting the bait Arianne laid out for him, and as much as her father would love to keep Orys' attention to himself, such a thing was just not possible. It seemed like every highborn at the tourney came by to speak to their soon-to-be King. Even she had trouble remembering all the names and houses. Orys made sure to keep things on the more casual side of things, reminding people that this was a tourney ground, not a throne room, calling on the jovial atmosphere to lighten the heavier subjects and avoid dangerous territory.
Though even she had to wince when her grandmother sent her father away like a misbehaving child in front of so many powerful highborn. Admittedly, he was making a fool of himself by inserting himself into every single conversation and had inadvertently insulted half a dozen Houses already, evidently rather deep in his cups.
And yet, while her father had tried to bluster his way into every conversation, Orys had kept her by his side in a statement more powerful than words. Orys' attitude toward her reminded several of these powerful lords that it wasn't just their future King standing before them, but the Queen as well. Each introduction made Arianne scowl just a tiny bit, and she took pride in each and every one. If her grandmother wasn't watching like a hawk, she may even have been willing to indulge and stick her tongue out at Arianne, but she wasn't going to follow her father's example and get sent to bed without supper. Instead, she gave Arianne a smile that was the perfect picture of courteous, polite and beautiful.
Arianne's return glare brightened her day even more.
– Prince Orys Baratheon –
As the day comes to an end, I can only let out a tired sigh and permit myself a moment of private weakness as I press my face into the pillow of my bed and let out a groan. I can't deny that I am secretly thrilled by my father's announcement. It just feels right to have the crown on my head, even unofficially, but I swear that every single highborn in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond wanted to speak to me today.
If Grandfather could see me now, I'm sure I'd get a lecture on the importance of keeping appearances, even in private. For just a moment, I hear a giggle from Bella as she brings me my drink.
"Long day, your Grace?" Bella asks, pouring me a cup of juice. I'm tempted to get a skin of wine after today, but unfortunately, I'm not done yet. I have more to do, and this is one conversation that I cannot risk being even slightly inebriated for.
"I know full well you've heard me say this seven hundred times today, but it remains your Highness until I am officially crowned," I scold, getting a secret smile from her. "Fetch the outfit I picked out earlier. I have a meeting that I can't go to in mud-stained trousers."
I had hoped to speak with Lord Stark as well tonight, but he's been abducted by my father. In truth, my father even seems younger now. He walks taller and smiles more. He's happy with how today went. I'm almost certain that he caught Mother off guard with his proclamation, but I couldn't see any outside influence on him. This was something he decided himself
Bathing to clean off the grime from a day at the tourney, I permit Bella to assist me in dressing thanks to just how damn tired I already am. I shouldn't have taken part in the axe throwing contest this morning, but it looked amusing. I missed every axe, but fortunately it's not a skill expected of a Prince. I wanted to let loose and have a little fun, I wasn't expecting father to pull this anywhere near this soon. I thought I'd have plenty of advance warning. I roll my eyes at Bella's quiet joke about how she's more used to taking men's clothes off, not putting them on. Her mention about Margaery being a lucky woman gets a mildly scolding look, but I don't mind her impropriety that much, as long as she keeps it to when we are alone.
Heading out, without Bella, it doesn't take me long to arrive at my arranged meeting. I'm early, but unsurprised to find the invited party already waiting for me.
"Thank you for coming, Grandfather," I say, greeting Tywin as he turns to face me.
"One doesn't refuse an invitation from a King," Tywin replies simply. "Though I must confess, I was surprised to get your message, from your mother no less. Never had I thought I'd see my willful daughter willingly playing messenger for anyone."
The same words I've said a thousand times today tease the tip of my tongue. 'I'm not the King, yet.' I silence them this time. We both know it wouldn't be true. I haven't been crowned by the High Septon, but I hold as much power now as I will then.
"You've refused Kings before," I retort, getting a grim smile from him. "So I thank you all the same."
"Enough platitudes. Speak, Orys. You are to be King, sooner than anyone expected. Act like it," Tywin says simply. It's not an insult, simply a statement of truth. I've spent enough years learning under him to tell the difference. "What do you want that would have you taking such lengths?"
"I want the heads of Amory Lorch and the Mountain," I admit, watching him freeze.
"Courting the Dornish, then? You'd have me hand over two loyal knights to a people barely better than barbarians that refuse to even act as part of the Seven Kingdoms?" Tywin asks dangerously, his eyes glinting in the candlelight.
"I would. You're right, Dorne pays lip service to the crown and nothing more. I intend to change that, but such a feat would be near impossible with such bad blood. Lorch is incompetent, useful only for his barbarity and willingness to follow even the most disgusting of orders. The Mountain is imposing and his strength has been useful, but he's no knight and we both know it. I once watched the man kill one of the smallfolk for simply being in the wrong place and not moving fast enough," I reply. "But above all else, you taught me that everything and everyone has a price. They are loyal and useful, and as such, I will reimburse you for the loss of their services."
For a moment, his stare is unflinching and stern. Then, for the briefest of seconds, I see his lips twitch up into what could almost be called a proud smile.
"And what do you think is worth the life of Clegane? The man is a monster, true, but a monster under my command. Lorch is worth far less, but he remains a useful tool that you'd deny me just to please the Dornish," Tywin says quietly.
"Jaime," I reply, watching him pause.
"You intend to give me my own son?" he asks, almost looking amused despite the dangerous tone.
"I intend to give you your heir back. Dismissing him from the Kingsguard would have consequences, but it is certainly possible, and good preparation can prevent the worst of the shame and scandal that would come with it. Mother can convince Uncle Jaime to go along with it, you know he's always been wrapped around her finger," I continue, and from the way his aura lightens and his posture changes, I know I have him on the hook.
Uncle Jaime won't be happy, but I see this as a necessity for House Lannister. Uncle Tyrion is a genius, and one I respect, but Grandfather would sooner sink Casterly Rock into the sea than let Tyrion inherit it. It is his one true weakness, his blindness and hatred of his youngest. To get the heir he actually wants back, he'd cut off Lorch's head himself.
I know my Grandfather very well.
"I intend to make you the Master of Coin when I restructure my Small Council," I continue, seeing his eyebrow rise. "You taught me everything I know about finances and economy, but you didn't teach me everything you know. Baelish, no matter how much people claim he is a financial genius, has left me with an empty coffer, debts to more people than I care to think of, and a record system so convoluted I was tempted to order his execution the moment I saw his books. My father holds much of the blame, but Baelish is either incompetent or treasonous. Either way, he has no place by my side. I want the best economic mind in Westeros, and until I learn enough to surpass you, that remains you."
"You believe Baelish to be behind the assassination," Tywin says simply, and for a moment I freeze. "You know me well, Orys, and you've learnt well how to weaponise what you know. You truly are the family member who resembles me the most. But you forget, I know you just as well. You can't hide the hatred in your eyes or bile in your tone when you mention Baelish. Such a lack of control is dangerous. It alerts the prey before you're ready to strike."
I don't respond for a long moment, before I nod.
"You've made an alliance with Prince Oberyn, then?" Tywin asks, reminding me that I'm dealing with someone who is likely far smarter than I am. My gifts give me an edge, but I'm still new to this game. Trained, but not experienced.
"I have. The attempt was made to try and frame Oberyn, so we have a common cause. Working out that he was here to try and get revenge for his sister was no great leap. For all his silky words, there's a bloodlust in his eyes at the mere mention of either of the two," I admit, making Tywin pause in thought. "I know the mines are failing."
The change in subject gets his attention, his body stiffening as I pull out my next card.
"Failing?" Tywin asks, his tone shifting to a very dangerous territory. "And what would make you think that?"
"You never gave me the reports for the mines, but it didn't matter. You taught me too well for me not to be able to connect the dots from the reports you did have me working with. The amount of gold mined each year has slowed, to a trickle in some places. You've done a lot to keep this silent, as Lannister gold is what gives us power, but I learnt by your side. I've spent hundreds of nights going over reports at my little desk in your office," I point out, once again seeing that not-quite-smile that's tinged with pride, only this time it is mixed with displeasure. "I don't intend to share this with anyone, of course. I am a Lannister by blood, and I would not betray my family. But I know you've been seeking new ways to supplement the wealth in preparation for the worst. As my Master of Coin, you'd have more options open to you."
"You always were a quick study," Tywin praises in an extremely clipped tone. "Giving up the pair would make the Lannisters look weak."
"We both know it's only a matter of time before Gregor needs to be put down. His temper burns like wildfire, and he cares little for the station of his victims. Smallfolk or Great House, he attacks like a rabid animal when his fragile ego is bruised. Sooner or later, you'll have to deal with him and the consequences of his cruelty. When the loss of your monster is inevitable, isn't it best to ensure you profit from it?" I reply. "They both have a litany of crimes that would warrant them being stripped of their titles. If I announce your position as the Master of Coin alongside their execution, it makes it clear that I don't hold House Lannister responsible for the deeds of the pair."
"And if the Dornish take this gift and spit in your face?" Tywin asks simply.
"I will not have my Kingdoms divided. If House Martell chooses to hold onto the past, then perhaps another House should lead Dorne," I reply with a cold tone. "I hope Doran Martell will see reason, as I believe his brother and daughter will, but if he doesn't, then he will be removed. House Martell will bow and bend, or they will be broken. Either way, I still believe that those two are stains upon the honour of House Lannister, and my father's decision not to punish them is a stain on House Baratheon. This is as much for me as it is for House Martell."
Despite the grim topic, for the first time, his smile remains for more than a split second. Then it falls and I know I'm about to get a lecture on the danger of 'honour', but I know I have him. Maybe he'll squeeze more out of me, but I know I have his silent agreement.
— Bonus Scene — Petyr Baelish
As he read the note, he felt a shard of ice colder than anything beyond the wall stab into his heart. Something had gone very wrong, and he could feel the headman's axe coming down on him with every passing moment.
The chaos from Orys' sudden ascension had been fortuitous, but someone else had used the same chaos to strike at him in the worst possible way. He was trying to clean up his loose ends, to make sure that nothing could point back to him for the poisoning… and now he was down two whores.
Two whores that he had used. One to smuggle the poison into the city. One to place it in the cup. It was hardly unusual to see a whore at the tourney grounds with so many wealthy men away from their wives, after all. Neither had met him directly, of course, but the fact that both were missing sent a shudder through him. There was just enough to link him to them, to the people that he'd used to set everything up. Someone knew too much, and there was only one possible suspect.
Varys.
The Spider had made his move, perhaps after his little birds whispered about Baelish's meeting with Orys. He'd barely begun to look into Varys for Orys, to find the 'evidence' he needed to frame the Spider, and then this happened? No, Varys was acting first. He truly hated when his opponents were competent.
Why Varys hadn't produced them yet was anyone's guess, as the eunuch was truly unpredictable, but he had to be the man (and Petyr used the word very generously) behind this. Varys had hard evidence that could link him to the assassination attempt.
So, all he could do was strike first and strike hard.
– Prince Oberyn Martell –
He had done such shady work before, of course, but never before had secret investigations been quite as entertaining. How kind of Baelish to do all his scheming in the brothels where nobody would give the manwhore of Dorne a second look.
If only everyone used whores for their schemes, life would be so much more enjoyable.
Author's Note: Bobby B does as he pleases.
Written: 21/07/2025