(Red Keep, King's Landing, Blackwater Bay, The Crownlands, Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, Westeros, Planetos)
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(Queen Cersei Lannister POV)
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The whole prospect of what she was presently doing was far too coddling for her liking. But that was her fault she supposed. When father first proposed the fostering, it had been Jon Arryn who'd convinced her of allowing it. Just as it was Jon Arryn who persuaded her to allow it to continue in the wake of the Greyjoy Rebellion. During that time, she'd spoiled Joff, and it had backfired terribly when Lyonel returned at ten name days. Joffrey and Lyonel were like barrels of wildfire and dragon flame.
If she wasn't confident in Lyonel's abilities as an Archer, she'd be far more angry than she was. Ordinarily she'd never excuse the wounds Joffrey received, but the situation was a matter that she could no longer ignore. She'd ignored it in the hope Joffrey and Lyonel would eventually bond, but clearly this wouldn't happen, not any time soon.
She was dabbing ointment on Joffrey's wounds. This was an ointment Lyonel had made himself through a half-year of study at the Citadel to study various subjects. Lyonel would be mad at her for ''wasting good ointment on a lackwit'' as he liked to say. Joffrey would accuse Lyonel of poisoning the ointment if so much as a whiff of an infection was found.
Which was why neither of them would know until later.
Much later…
''Ow!'' Joffrey said dramatically.
''Oh, please. It's nearly healed.'' She says dismissively.
''It makes me look ugly, like Lyonel.'' Joffrey says, as she turns to put the ointment away and places a bandage on his cheek. She frowns as she turns.
''A Prince should have scars, it shows people you're a survivor, your father would approve.'' She says, knowing that would make Joffrey more amenable to it, though she was referring to both Robert and Jaime in this case. Joffrey idolized Robert, but Robert was predisposed towards Lyonel, Myrcella, and Tommen. All he'd ever had from Joffrey was disappointment. The pregnant cat, the brief period of time in which Joffrey was a squire, the list went on. ''You're a warrior, like your father.'' She said.
''I'm not like him, I didn't fight off anything. Lyonel, he could have killed me. I'll carry this reminder for the rest of my life.'' He seethed. ''I couldn't do a thing, he beat me until he was satisfied. And the two Stark girls saw him do it.'' Joffrey was venting, but she knew she needed to make him understand.
''And who gave your brother cause to do this? Who was it swinging a sword like a dothraki savage at the sister of your betrothed, who is also the daughter of the Hand of the King? Your brother, has killed over a dozen men from far greater distances with that bow of his. He'd never have shot you if he wasn't sure you'd survive it. Frankly you should be grateful.''
''Grateful!?'' Joffrey shouted indignantly. ''He's scarred me for life!
''Listen to me very carefully, Joff. All these little incidents, you've never given your brother a reason to trust you. Do you know what he tells me? He says the first time you fuck up when he's on the Iron Throne, your off to the Wall. You need to take this for the wake up call it is. If you have any hope of retaining your life as it is now, and staying away from the Wall. You need start acting like the prince you are, rather than the fool your brother believes you to be.'' Says Cersei.
Joffrey stays silent for a few minutes.
''I don't have to marry her do I?'' Joffrey asks, which for now she'll allow as it shows Joffrey isn't arguing the points she's just made clear.
''Yes, you do. She's very beautiful, and young. And if you don't like her, then you only have to see her on special occasions, and when the time comes, make little princes and princesses.'' Joffrey grunts. ''And if you'd rather fuck painted whores, you'll fuck painted whores. And if you'd rather lie with noble virgins, then so be it. You are my darling boy, and so long as you give Lyonel no cause to send you away, the world will be yours to enjoy.'' She says, before deciding to drive the point home. ''Do something nice for the stark girl.'' She says.
''I don't want to.'' Joff replies petulantly, and Cersei resists the strong urge to groan.
''No but you will. Lyonel expects you to act like a child and ignore her. Prove him wrong, and you'll find the occasional kindness will spare you all sorts of trouble down the road.'' She said, and Joffrey pauses thoughtfully.
''We allow the northerners too much power. They consider themselves our equals.'' She decides to indulge him.
''How would you handle them? If you were King?'' She asked.
''I'd double there taxes.'' Her lack of being impressed most have shown. ''For a start. Then command them to supply ten thousand men to a royal army.'' That was slightly more of a vision, but Joffrey was still… lacking.
''A royal army?'' She questioned.
''Why should every lord command his own men? It's primitive, no better than the Hill Tribes. We should have our a standing army of men loyal to the crown, trained by experienced men instead of peasants who've never held pikes in their lives.'' It's a good idea, in theory.
''And if the Northerners rebel?'' She asked.
''I'd crush them, seize Winterfell and install someone loyal to the realm as Warden of the North. Uncle Kevan maybe.'' Joffrey said.
''And these ten thousand northern troops would they fight for you or their lord?'' She asked.
''For me, I'd be their king.'' How very shortsighted.
''Mmmhm, but you've just invaded their homeland and asked them to kill a family that has ruled them longer than the existence of House Baratheon. Not to mention who knows how many of their brothers.
''I wouldn't be asking,'' She doesn't bother to hide her disappointment.
'The North cannot be held. Not by an outsider, its simply too big and too wild. And when the winter comes, the seven gods together couldn't save you and your royal army. A Good king would know when to save his strengths, and when to destroy his enemies.'' She says.
''So you agree?'' Joffrey asks, having missed her entire point.
''No, because what I want or believe doesn't matter. I can only influence, and unless you prove yourself more than what he thinks you are, Lyonel will deliver on his threats. You will be a prince no more, you will find yourself at the Wall.
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(POV Shift: Jon Snow)
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Whatever he was expecting at the Wall… he didn't find it. He knew - even expected - that the watch wasn't as grand as it once was, but to find so many lackluster and poorly trained recruits. Men who were largely criminals and poorly disciplined… it was disappointing. Of the handful of men of repute here, the best of them was undoubtedly the Ranger, Mors Westford.
Father had spoken great tales of the man, he was a hero from the Rebellion. One of the only two Lord's of the west who stood with the Rebels from the outset, despite the consequences they had to face. Mors was a Warg, he'd only heard tales of such men from Old Nan, but his hound looked every bit as intimidating as Ghost was to some of the brothers of the watch.
But at least Ser Westford wasn't the only competent member here, and he had a wealth of experience to learn from. But to think that his lot in life now was to call thieves, rapers, and murderers brother? It turned his stomach.
''Alright, let's see what you farm girls and princesses have to show for yourselves. Snow, you against Grenn.'' Ser Alliser ordered.
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(POV Shift: Lord Tyrion ''The Imp'' Lannister)
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It was painfully obvious what Ser Alliser Thorne was doing. The man had been a Knight who fought for King Aerys. When his father sacked the city and King Aerys Head was shown. Ser Alliser had led the garrison to surrender. His father's offer was simple. Heads, spikes, walls or take the Black. Only two men took the black. Ser Alliser was one of them. So to have Ned Stark's bastard join the watch… Ser Alliser was creating discord and resentment against the boy for things Tyrion's own father had done.
Misguided and petty revenge.
But who was who to judge?
''Surely Ser Westford is the better man to train them? Who better to foster unity?'' He asked.
''Perhaps, but Ser Alliser spent twelve years training and leading the Garrison of King's Landing. He's the more experienced Master-at-Arms.'' Says Lord-Commander Jeor Mormont.
''You can see what he's doing plainly. He's pitting Jon Snow against them, rather than having Snow help train them.'' Tyrion says.
''Ser Alliser's job is to train them. How he does that is his choice as Master-at-Arms of Castle Black.'' Lord-Commander Mormont says gruffly.
''That'll hurt.'' He said, watching as Jon broke the nose of the man he was facing easily enough. He may have to intervene.
''Aye, but no one comes here to be coddled.'' Mormont says, before turning away.
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Tyrion waited behind the door, listening to the conversations.
''You broke my nose, Bastard.'' He heard Grenn say.
''It's an improvement.'' The sounds of a scuffle followed Snow's less than intelligent answer.
''If I threw you over the wall, I wonder how long it'd take you to hit the bottom?''
''I'd wonder if they'd find you before the wolves did.'' Alright, no more.
Opening the door, Tyrion levels them all with an unimpressed look. Particularly the idiot holding Snow. He vaguely recalled the man being given the choice by his nephew directly, Wall or having his cock cut off. He forgot the name.
''What are you looking at half-man?'' The fool asks.
''I'm looking at you. All of you. Your faces. You all have such interesting faces.'' He says, channeling his inner father.
''What do you care about our faces?'' He was asked by… Rast, yes, that was the name.
''I don't know exactly, it's just I think they would look marvelous decorating spikes on the walls of King's Landing. You remember that being amongst your choices don't you Rast? My beloved nephew gave you three choices: getting your cock cut off, your head cut off, or coming here. How do you think my nephew will take it when he hears a man he offered mercy to was harming the man who was not only the brother of his brothers betrothed, but the son of the Hand of the King? House Baratheon's famous temper in all its glory.'' The pale faces and stiff expressions are enough of a response as they release Jon.
Rast fled the room, while Grenn and Pyp went elsewhere in the Armory.
''Everybody already knew what this place was. Nobody warned me. But no one told me, no one but your nephew and you. My father knew, and he left me to rot at the Wall all the same.'' Jon said bitterly.
''Grenn's father left him too. Outside a farmhouse when he was three. Pyp was caught stealing a wheel of cheese for his little sister, she hadn't eaten in a week. The other lad's in your group? They all have similarly sad stories according to my discussions with Lord-Commander Mormont, except for Rast I suppose.'' Says Tyrion sagely. '' You were trained by the great Ser Rodrik Cassel, an anointed knight and veteran warrior. None of these boys have had such a luxury. You think you're better than them? Then make them better, elsewise sleep with a dagger close to your pillow. You do yourself and your father no honor nor favors by acting the way Ser Alliser wants you to be.'' Tyrion says, and turns to leave.
''What about Rast? What's his story? You said your nephew offered him three choices.'' Grenn piped up.
''The previous commander of the City Watch was woefully incompetent and horrendously corrupt. His corruption even spread to three members of the Royal Kingsguard. Someone murdered them all. My nephew was already investigating and promptly cracked down. Rast was employed as a breaker. When bed slaves were brought to the secret brothels, it was his job to break the girls so badly they wouldn't fight back or resist the abuse their patrons put them through. My nephew ended up taking his cock regardless when he found that out.'' Tyrion informs them, before adding on an afterthought. ''I doubt he'll be a reliable brother, and whoever kills the bastard would be richly rewarded.'' He says before departing.
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(POV Shift: Crown Prince Lyonel Baratheon)
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Tommen and Willem were both ecstatic at the prospect of becoming his pages with the opportunity to eventually become squires under him. Likewise, Ser Ronnet's bastard proved himself eager to take the opportunity to serve as his royal squire. That left a minor bit of business he now had to attend to, his little practice tourney with his Antlers and Claws dealt with.
''What's on your mind?'' Asked his betrothed.
''You heard about the incident at the Crossroads?'' He asked.
''Bits and pieces.'' Margaery says, and Lyonel doesn't believe it.
''Joffrey can't be trusted to keep an alliance with the North. Which is why I now turn to you Margaery. Your Cousin, Desmera Redwyne. She's said to be quite beautiful, and freshly flowered.'' He says.
''Mera is a sweet and lovely girl, as is her cousins Alyssane and Bethany.'' Says Margaery.
''Robb Stark is nearly a man, and is without a suitable bride. Desmera's mother, is your aunt, and marrying the North and Reach together does me more favors than Joffrey ever has thus far. I would also ask you to help me find a bride for Uncle Tyrion, and to convince your father to marry off one of your cousins to Ronnet Connington.'' Says Lyonel.
''The Heir to the North is a fine choice, grandmother and Uncle Paxter will take little convincing. As for your uncle Tyrion, that's a harder task, never mind a Knightly Lord. Certain assurances will have to be made.'' Says Margaery carefully.
''Then take this back to your grandmother. When the time comes, I shall appoint a certain powerful Lord of the Reach to my Small Council, one she can trust will serve the best interests of House Tyrell and her granddaughter. Who knows, I might even appoint the man as my Hand of the King… if I have certain assurances that my Uncle has an offer waiting to be made for his hand in marriage when I ascend to the Iron Throne.'' Says Lyonel, being deliberately vague.
''And who would this Lord of the Reach be?'' Asks Margaery.
''Not so fast.'' Lyonel lightly chides. ''All I'll say is he is one of the Reach's three most powerful Lord's, or at least that's the perception of much of the rest of Westeros.'' He says, turning to look away. ''In regards to Connington… I offered his bastard the position of my Squire. If Ronnet helps me in certain matters, I will have my Kingsguard help train the boy, and I will also see to it that certain lands, incomes, and titles are restored to House Connington. If your Cousin, Megga were to be offered to Ronnet as a bride… I will do Lady Olenna a favor and inform her exactly who I intend to appoint to my Small Council from the Reach… after all my assurances are met.'' He says.
''I'll speak to my grandmother, rest assured we will give this the careful thoughts it requires.
''Thank you, Lady Margaery.''
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(POV Shift: Lady Catelyn Tully)
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She and Ser Rodrik had arrived incognito at King's Landing, with any luck they'd be able to discreetly meet Ned, and ask him to investigate. As they rode through the Mud Gate, they were met by Two Gold Cloaks.
''Welcome to King's Landing, Lady Stark. Would you mind following us please?'' One of them asked.
''I would actually, we've done nothing wrong.'' She protested.
''We've been instructed to escort you into the city.'' The other of the two said.
''Instructed?'' She asked, mildly annoyed. ''I don't know who's bren providing you your instructions, but-'' The guardsman rides closer, handing her a scroll, wrapped with a string bearing the sigil of the Mockingbird.
Petyr's Mockingbird.
Wordlessly she follows them. If Petyr knew she was coming, it was likely that he knew why. and had prepared the information she seemed.
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(POV Shift: Olenna Tyrell)
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Lyonel Baratheon.
She might have just slightly underestimated the young Stag.
Slightly.
He wanted a bride for his uncle Tyrion. Not an unreasonable matter. Tywin was blinded by hatred and hadn't bothered to wed the poor boy off. Little older than she'd normally consider, but her great-niece Alyssane was only about fifteen or so years Tyrion's Junior.
Now Robb Stark. That was very interesting. While marrying Desmera to the heir to the North was a very profitable choice and honestly she would agree to it all too easily. it was the fact that Lyonel Baratheon suggested it. And specifically Said he couldn't trust Joffery to keep an alliance with the North. So why he was outwardly allowing them a chance of more influence, he was arranging a debt. One that he was promptly repaying with this mention of a Small Council appointment if they also married off some poor girl to Tyrion Lannister and Ronnet Connington.
The sliver of information regarding the hand of the King possibility, that was the true golden offer. Loras in the Kingsguard and the offering of an appointment to Hand of the King? She needed more assurances. But she also couldn't afford to turn it down.
And the Crown Prince offered an easy way to acquire it? It annoyed her, truly it did. He made the offer, and before she even had a chance to go back and bargain for more information on who he had in mind. He provided a clue and promised to directly tell her, not Margaery, her.
Still it was also refreshing. There were so few opponents of real worth anymore. She just might enjoy this future King….
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(Author's Note:)
Sorry this took way longer than expected and the opening scene took up way too much of the chapter, it was just shy of 1,125 Words. I expected at most eight or nine hundred. This meant I had to extend the chapter, and also change things up that I had planned for this chapter. The Conversation with Grand Maester Pycelle for instance, I'd have liked to have merged it with the chapter but honestly this chapter took way too long to finish.
I do think I am paying the price for not having planned this out before I started writing it. There may come a point where I'll have to rewrite entire sections of this fic more completely than my current edits.
For the record I tend to use the third weeks of each month to do my edits. A bit of the content referenced in this chapter will have to be have been added into into previous Chapters. Which will have been done by the time of this chapters Release.
Anyway, rants over, see you guys next chapter.
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