[Chapter Size: 1500 Words.]
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At last, Theon awaited Joffrey's wedding, and the Red Keep was alive with celebration.
Though he could not attend the Red Wedding for certain reasons, it pleased him well enough to witness the Purple Wedding instead.
Selena clutched Theon's left hand nervously, while Myrcella held his right with calm confidence.
At the gate, a servant hurried forward to greet them.
"Lord Theon, Princess Myrcella, and this is…" He faltered, not out of disrespect, but because he did not know Selena.
"This is my second wife," Theon said.
The servant immediately bowed.
"Greetings, Lady. Forgive me for not recognizing you."
Selena waved it off politely, showing it was of no concern.
Smiling faintly, Theon led both women toward the center of the feast.
Nobles from every corner came forward to greet him. Before the new Warden of the Riverlands, both Crownlands lords and those from afar lowered their stance.
All knew this "little kraken" was far more cunning than Lord Walder Frey, yet infinitely more dangerous. Some whispered the Drowned God himself had gifted him a suit of armor forged from salt, said to be indestructible.
Guided by attendants, Theon reached his seat, remarkably close to the king. In this game of power, proximity to the throne spoke volumes.
Only two sat apart from the usual order: Tyrion and Sansa, husband and wife.
Tyrion toyed with his wine cup when Theon approached with his own.
"Our Lord Chancellor does not seem very merry," Theon said, raising his glass. "Come now, my friend, this is the King's wedding."
Then he turned to Sansa.
"It is an honor, Lady Sansa. Lord Tyrion is fortunate indeed to wed such beauty."
Sansa smiled faintly and inclined her head.
"Thank you. Princess Myrcella is beautiful as well."
After finishing his cup, Theon added, "Selena too is lovely."
He refilled his goblet and went on to offer a toast to Olenna and Margaery Tyrell.
"Queen of Thorns, Little Rose, it is a pleasure at last. Lady Margaery, you are even more radiant than I had imagined."
Olenna responded first.
"Clever squid, you are a far better man than your father. If my son or grandson possessed even half your talent, I would rest easier."
"Clever squid?" Theon scoffed. "I despise that name. I am not clever, nor sly. Who would burden a man so honest and simple with such a cruel title?"
"Ah, may the Seven send such a man straight to hell," Olenna muttered, though her tone left Theon unsure whether she jested or not.
"Some people will find their way to hell soon enough," Theon said with meaning, meeting her gaze.
When he walked away, Olenna leaned toward her granddaughter.
"What a dreadful young man. He wields far too much power."
Margaery frowned.
"Why say that? Even if he secured the Riverlands, that hardly warrants such praise."
Olenna squeezed her hand.
"Some people must go to hell, for everyone's sake."
Her words puzzled Margaery. She could not guess that her grandmother was already plotting to poison Joffrey.
Meanwhile, Tywin Lannister watched the hall with the cold gaze of an old lion surveying his domain.
"Lord Hand Tywin, it has been too long," Theon said as he approached.
Tywin turned. "I did not expect old Walder Frey to fear you so greatly."
"How could my good father-in-law fear me?" Theon chuckled.
"I know that old man. Ambitious, forever clawing at the high table. If not cowed by you, would he truly have given you his daughter?"
Theon only spread his hands, as if to say, Believe what you like.
Having finished his rounds, he returned to his seat to await the day's true spectacle.
With guards leading the way, King Joffrey arrived in splendid royal attire. The feast roared to life.
The marriage of Westerlands and Reach, the lion and the rose, seemed a vision of harmony and strength.
None dared challenge the old lion Tywin, though the viper of Dorne had openly spoken of vengeance to his face. King's Landing was far from peaceful beneath the surface. Tyrion saw as much and was quietly glad he had sent Shae away.
Joffrey, brimming with pride, lifted his cup when his eyes found Theon. Theon rose at once and returned the toast with respect.
In truth, Joffrey valued Theon more than Tywin. With Tywin, the boy-king always felt constrained, overshadowed by ministers who bent to the lion's will. With Theon, he saw someone who appeared, at least for now, more dependable.
As the fool on stage stumbled through his acrobatics, few adults paid him any attention. Yet Myrcella watched eagerly, though her view was often blocked by guests moving in and out.
"Ser Dontos Hollard, come here!" Theon called.
He remembered the man well. On Joffrey's name day, the drunken knight had nearly been killed by the king, saved only by Sansa's plea. Later, Littlefinger had bribed him to spirit her away in the chaos.
Theon stroked his chin. Should he keep Sansa under his own hand? Without the fall of Winterfell and the Green Seer's guidance, Bran would not have dared beyond the Wall. Surely, the northern lords would have rallied behind him against the Boltons.
Sansa's true value was clear: should both Bran and Rickon Stark die, she would become the key to unlocking the North.
But would Bran and Rickon die? That depended on the designs of Bolton and Littlefinger.
After much thought, Theon concluded it was not worth the risk. To offend the Lannisters and shelter Sansa, a girl whose role remained uncertain, was far too dangerous.
Dontos trembled with nerves when Theon called his name. Before such a powerful noble, the pressure was overwhelming.
Worse still, being summoned forward by Theon would later weigh heavily on his role in Sansa's attempted escape.
"Lord Theon," Dontos said, raising his voice deliberately, "perhaps it is best if I perform down there. After all, many children wish to see my act, and I would not wish to disturb Princess Myrcella."
Cold sweat drenched his back. His gamble was reckless, he was betting Theon would not kill him at the king's wedding, and that once he received his bribe, Theon would not trouble himself to find him.
A surge of contempt and anger rose within Theon at Dontos's words.
He stood abruptly.
"Whose son wishes to see? Then let him come forward to watch!"
His voice thundered louder than Dontos's, and his piercing gaze swept across the gathered lords. Yet none dared intervene; they simply looked away, feigning blindness.
Noting their fearful silence, Theon smiled with satisfaction.
"Carry on with your performance, Dontos Hollard."
Then he felt a tug at his sleeve. Turning, he found Myrcella staring up at him, wide-eyed with unease. Even Selena, though not frightened, looked surprised.
Suddenly aware of himself, drunk on the thrill of power, Theon exhaled, patted Myrcella's small head, and sat down once more.
He forced his breathing to steady, struggling to rein in his mindset. That intoxicating rush, the ability to terrify others with a glance, was dangerously addictive.
Back on Earth, he had been nothing more than an ordinary university student. He had never wielded such power. Now, relying on the system's foresight and advantages, he had grown contemptuous of nearly everyone.
His eyes drifted to Joffrey, seated not far away. The boy was a small lion who relished the taste of blood, arrogant, domineering, and cruel. And Theon knew he would meet his end here, on his own wedding day.
Even immortals, after all, begin as children.
Joffrey, oblivious, prepared his next display.
"Silence, all of you!" he cried. "We have had our fun, but a royal wedding is not merely feasting and merriment. It is history itself!"
"Now, let us welcome Joffrey, Renly, Stannis, and Robb Stark!"
As he announced the names, the wooden dragon in the center of the hall cracked open.
Gongs and drums resounded as four dwarfs rushed forth, reenacting the so-called War of the Five Kings.
It was nothing less than deliberate humiliation for Tyrion.
The dwarf-lord smiled awkwardly, trying to appear indifferent as the crowd erupted in laughter.
Most nobles roared with amusement at the crude farce, though a few looked on in disapproval, finding it absurd.
Varys frowned, watching the spectacle, then glanced at the eager sycophants around him. His resolve only hardened.
"Podrick," Tyrion muttered to his squire, "see that each of them receives twenty gold coins afterward."
The farce ended when one dwarf rammed his backside into the wolf's painted head. As they bowed, applause filled the hall. Even Theon clapped, not for the jesters, but for Joffrey himself.
As Tyrion had once said, the Seven Kingdoms had seen mad kings and foolish kings, but rarely one who embodied both as Joffrey did.
Myrcella frowned in disgust at the crude antics.
Just then, Joffrey rose and seized a purse.
"This was to be your reward, but you are no champions. A true champion would dare challenge my reign!"
Then he turned with.
"Uncle! Why don't you step down and join them? I'm sure they have costumes that would fit!"
Joffrey's sharp grin showed his intent clearly, he meant to humiliate Tyrion before them all.
Tyrion's eyelids twitched. He understood exactly what was coming.
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