《Game of Thrones/ASOIAF: King Business - Tommen OC-SI》


 Chapter 1

    The realization of where I was came only a moment after Joffrey fell from the dais, hands on his swollen neck as he choked on foam and green bile.


    Cersei Lannister, that beautiful yet nasty character from the Game of Thrones TV show, was dashing past the stunned bride to reach her son, her brother and lover doing the same from across the wedding grounds, shouldering past the gaping nobility.


    Ser Balon Swann already had a hand on my shoulder, pulling me from my chair toward the other side of the dais. The Kingsguard bowled by the blubbering Mace Tyrell on our way through and rushed me toward Maegor''s Holdfast.


    I didn''t have to look into a mirror or grope my own face to know who I was. I was a boy now, no older than fourteen, with the memories and feelings of a life in this fictional world instead of a successful businessman in the prime of his life.


    Of course, I thought bitterly, not so successful that I avoided getting killed by one of my most ruthless competitors. In fairness, I''d kidnapped the man''s brother and sent him a finger every day until the man backed out from a government contract. In the end, when they had my eyelids peeled and my throat cut to the bone, I regretted none of it. I''d known misery and hunger and loss, fought and clawed my way to the top in an industry where a quarter given was a death sentence. And never had I given it, not even in the end. Death came easier than a step back to me.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    I lived and died by the sword, I thought. No more, no less.


    We had reached my rooms by now. Two other armsmen had followed us after we crossed the gates, though they stopped at the doors when Ser Balon and I stepped in. The knight was talking to me, I noticed, and forced myself to listen.


    "Your brother is dead," Ser Balon told me. The kingsguard had a worried look in his stocky face, but he still fell to one knee in front of me without hesitating. His white cloak draped over his forward leg, looking dark as night as it caught in the shadow of the room. "Long live King Tommen."


    After a moment, I allowed myself a small smile. I''d only walked forward in my life. Only forward. This would be no different.

 Chapter 2

    Chapter 2


    I stood beside Cersei Lannister under the dome of the Great Sept of Baelor, praying over the little shit that was my older brother. From the show, and Tommen¡¯s memories, I very much preferred the silent and pale blue version of Joffrey Baratheon. The dead king had those strange, painted stones over his eyes, and Widow¡¯s Wail rested on his chest.


    Not for long, I thought. And it won¡¯t stay Widow¡¯s Wail either.


    It had only been a day since Joffrey¡¯s death. The whole court was abuzz with wild rumors and tales. Thankfully, I had been allowed to stay in my rooms. It worked out well enough. My mind could not be idle, not now, and I had needed that time to think. I had plans to execute; secrets and plots to unmask; friends to court and foes to kill. And it all started here in this overly lavish sept, with a conversation I¡¯d been expecting and dreading the whole day.


    It was then that Tywin Lannister stepped in through the arching doorway. He stared straight at me as he approached, walking through the sept like his presence was a blessing to the Seven.


    ¡°Your brother is dead,¡± my grandfather said from across the resting stone. ¡°Do you know what that means?¡± When I kept silent, he added, ¡°I¡¯m not trying to trick you¡±


    ¡°It means I¡¯ll be the next king,¡± I said simply.


    ¡°Yes, you will become king. What kind of king do you think you¡¯ll be?¡±


    ¡°A living one, hopefully,¡± I said. ¡°Kings were cheap and plentiful, not two years ago. Yet four lay dead, now. Only Stannis still lives.¡±


    ¡°Do you think he won the war?¡± Tywin asked.


    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t be having this conversation if he had.¡±


    Tywin had a contemplative look in his face. I¡¯d changed gears on him from the beginning of the conversation, answered in a way he hadn¡¯t expected. How will he test me now?


    ¡°What¡¯s the difference, then, between all the kings in this war? Stannis lives and your brother is dead, it is true. But why can we still have this conversation?¡±


    I suppressed a smile. ¡°It¡¯s about legacy, grandfather. Stannis lives, but what will be his legacy when he dies?¡± Tywin Lannister raised an eyebrow. Hook, line and sinker. ¡°What did Robb Stark leave behind? A broken north, his family killed or missing. Uncle Renly? An exhausted Stormlands and a maiden queen.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Joffrey might have died before Stannis, and made many mistakes, but he left us with five kingdoms. And me, of course, his heir.¡±


    Tywin nodded, a glimmer in his eyes. For all the talk around the great and terrible Tywin Lannister, he was an easy man to appeal to. Once you knew what moved him, what he loved and hated and desired, you realized he was just a man killed by his own son on the toilet. He was as formidable a foe as I would face in this world, but in the end, I¡¯d seen him caught with his pants down.


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    ¡°I see you have the right idea,¡± Tywin said. ¡°What kind of king does one have to be to leave something for those after him, then? What must he possess?¡±


    ¡°This is hardly the place or the time,¡± Cersei said sourly.


    I ignored her. ¡°A strong one?¡± My grandfather blinked at me ¡°Justice? Holiness?¡±


    ¡°Robb Stark was strong and fierce; he was undefeated in the battlefield. Lord Karstark killed your cousins when they were prisoners, and the Stark boy took his head for it and called it justice. What did that do for him when his own bannermen turned on him? ¡± My grandfather walked around to stand next to me. ¡°Stannis Baratheon is said to have the favour of a red priestess and her god. She looks into the flames and whispers of great victories and triumphs in his future. Yet he broke his ships against King¡¯s Landings¡¯ walls and scurried back to Dragonstone. Tell me, what did they lack? Your brother included.¡±


    An easy answer. ¡°Wisdom,¡± I told him. ¡°A king must be as wise as he is strong, as just as he¡¯s flexible, as pious as he¡¯s wicked.¡±


    ¡°Yes! Yes! Wisdom,¡± Tywin said with as much emotion as I remember every seeing from him. ¡°Robb Stark was strong and shrewd in battle, but he was no politician, and that got him killed. A wise king knows what he knows and what he doesn¡¯t. You¡¯re young, just like Stark. A wise young king should listen to his counselors and heed their advice until he comes of age. And the wisest kings continue to listen long afterwards.¡±


    Tywin put a hand on my shoulder and steered me toward the doors. ¡°You know the faults of your brother. He was neither wise nor just or strong. If he had been, perhaps he¡¯d still be alive.¡±


    I could almost feel Cersei flinching back from where she stood by Joffrey, so much so that I wanted to continue the conversation next to her just so I could continue to see her squirm with her overbearing father on one side and her dead son on the other. Alas, it was not to be. Tywin walked me up the stairs as he went on trying to butter me up to give him all the power over the realm, with a sprinkle of sex education.


    Leaving the Sept, we strode past Jaime on his way to rape his sister next to their sons rotting corpse, trading awkward greetings and platitudes the only way uncle-fathers and nephew-sons could.

 Chapter 3

    Chapter 3


    The man who stepped into the room looked nothing like the actor who portrayed him. He was tall and thin and steely eyed, walking with the type of confidence that went beyond the swagger and bluster of empty arrogance. It¡¯s almost aloof, I realized. There¡¯d be no grand threats if he decided to kill you, only the cold bite of steel as it slipped through your ribs.


    A good man for what I had in mind.


    ¡°Ser Bronn of the Blackwater,¡± I greeted with a smile. ¡°A pleasure to finally meet you. Please, sit, drink.¡± I pointed to the table. ¡°There¡¯s wine of all colors of the rainbow, from the Arbor in the Reach to Volantis and Lys in the east.¡±


    Bronn looked at me, gave a cursory glance around the room, then stopped to eye the reds. ¡°Aye, your Grace. I think I¡¯ll take you up on that.¡± He sprawled on the chair across the hearth from me and reached for a decanter.


    ¡°Good, good.¡± I took a sip of my own wine, watered and spiced. ¡°I¡¯d avoid the green one, were I you. The storage keeper told me it¡¯s a known Qohorik vintage, but I¡¯m still not entirely convinced it¡¯s not some plot to have me drink wildfire. It¡¯s hard picking your drinks as a king, these days.¡±


    Bronn only chuckled and reached for a square of cheese. I kept the silence for a few minutes as we drank our wine and listened to the crackle of the fire. This was my second meeting of the day, the first being with another in the service of one of the Lannister siblings. Qyburn was a delight to talk with, and a very intelligent man. He had been grateful for the notes I gave him on the bits of random knowledge I figured would be useful for him, and, of course, for free hand on all the rapists and murderers languishing in the black cells to aid him in his research. The only thing I¡¯d asked in recompense was his loyalty to me instead of my mother, and some of his time devoted to the study and construction of oversized missile weapons.


    I¡¯d be having need of a few ballistae in the future.


    Across the hearth, Bronn seemed completely relaxed where he was, slumped on his chair as if the future King of the Seven Kingdoms wasn¡¯t but two paces away. I was about to make my offer when he started.


    ¡°Double,¡± he said simply.


    I raised a questioning eyebrow. ¡°Double?¡±


    ¡°Aye. Double of what the imp is paying.¡±


    I laughed. ¡°I¡¯m afraid Uncle Tyrion¡¯s only gold now is mice, and his silver dust.¡±


    ¡°Killing a king will do that to a man, I suppose,¡± he said. ¡°Even half o¡¯ one.¡± His dark mail shone maliciously against the light of the fire when he shrugged. I wondered if he spoke out of experience in the business of kingslaying. I certainly hoped he wasn¡¯t planning on gaining any in the near future.


    Bronn filled another cup and drained it. ¡°Still,¡± he said, wiping at his mouth, ¡°the dwarf said he¡¯ll double whatever I¡¯m offered. ¡®S only fair I give him the chance to cover it.¡±


    ¡°What does that make it, then? He gives you dust and I raise you¡­ soot?¡±


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    ¡°A castle is what he offered,¡± Bronn said, unamused. ¡°And a highborn wife. Don¡¯t even need to be pretty and all. Just with a cunt noble enough to make little lordlings to wipe my ass when I¡¯m old.¡±


    ¡°You want two castles, then?¡± I quipped. ¡°A high price for a knight. Many would work for the simple honor of serving their king.¡±


    ¡°Many can¡¯t tell where their swords end and their arse starts, with how deep they have it in them,¡± Bronn replied. Then he looked straight at me. ¡°And I doubt you¡¯ll have me doing a knight¡¯s job, uhn?¡±


    I smiled. Now we were getting somewhere. ¡°Stokeworth,¡± I told him. ¡°And the soft-headed lady that comes with. I¡¯ll even turn a blind eye when she inevitably falls from her horse in a few years.¡±


    Bronn shrugged. ¡°Happens often enough.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure it does.¡± I raised my cup at the sellsword. ¡°A toast, then. To our future endeavours.¡± Bronn answered in kind then drank his cup dry, only to fill another and do the same. I waited until he was done to speak.


    ¡°Now that that¡¯s done.¡± I slapped my thigh and put down my drink. ¡°Here¡¯s what I¡¯ll have from you, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. First, you¡¯ll start training me together with my Uncle Jaime. Do not worry. Officially, I¡¯ll be asking Ser Balon of the Kingsguard and Ser Loras of Highgarden, but I know dark blades kill as easy as shiny steel. Second, I want you to find some¡­ like-minded individuals. Good killers, Bronn. Discreet, competent men. I don¡¯t want to have one of my plans foiled because some sadist shit decided to stop and rape a horse¡¯s corpse or something.¡±


    ¡°Aye, aye. I know the type.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± I waved a dismissive hand at him. ¡°I¡¯ll trust you with the hiring process. Just tell them they¡¯ll be well paid and richly rewarded. And, from time to time, I¡¯ll call upon this select group to help me¡­ right a few wrongs, if you will.¡±


    ¡°When you want someone¡¯s neck to be snapped,¡± he said dryly.


    I smiled widely. ¡°Exactly, right a few wrongs.¡±


    ¡°Seems straightforward enough to me.¡±


    ¡°Great!¡± I said. ¡°And thirdly¡­ it just so happens that I already have someone in mind.¡±


    Bronn snorted. ¡°And who would that be, your Grace?¡± If he was surprised that this child king was openly talking about murdering someone, he didn¡¯t show. It was a good mentality to have, too. Assume everyone is a killer and you¡¯ll never be caught on the wrong foot when they come for your neck.


    ¡°Well,¡± I started, ¡°I''m a very godly person, Ser Bronn. As an anointed knight, I¡¯m sure you understand.¡± I ignored his sniff at that and stood. ¡°I¡¯ve been hearing some disturbing rumors surrounding the Faith in my capital, and I¡¯d hate for our dear septons to be corrupted from within by a few bad seeds. Sometimes it¡¯s best to get your hands in the dirt and rip them out by the root, before they can grow into strangling weeds.¡± Walking to the hearth, I threw another log into the fire and stoked it with the poker. ¡°Have you heard of a man called the High Sparrow?¡±

 Chapter 4

    Chapter 4


    Cersei Lannister stormed into the small council room with the fury of a true Baratheon Queen. "Out!" she yelled as the doors banged open. "All of you, out! Now!"


    I smiled. People acting the way I expect them to always gives me a good, warm feeling.


    I was crowned and anointed the King of the Seven Kingdoms not three days ago, and I''d seen my mother and my potential bride, Margaery Tyrell, talking in the upper gallery after the ceremony. Margaery came to me that night, just like in the show, and there had been no Ser Pounce to interfere this time. She had also come every night since, and the whispers afterward were as soft and subtle as I''d expect from the granddaughter of Olenna Tyrell. It was only a matter of saying a few words to certain maids and servants, and here was Cersei.


    The usual suspects scurried out of the room in the face of my raging mother. Varys tittered behind his hands; Pycelle hobbled; Mace blustered and sweated, but stayed behind precisely as long as Oberyn Martell did¡ªwho lazily picked up his cup of dornish red and smirked his way out of the room¡ªas a supposed show of importance.


    Tywin Lannister was, of course, unmoved and unamused by his daughter. He was sitting to my right¡ªa fitting place for the Hand of the King¡ªbut to anyone present in the room it had been clear who was leading the meeting. I''d been silent most of the time, taking the measure of a real small council gathering, listening and learning from what was categorically the best and worst of the Seven Kingdoms.


    Before I left my grandfather for the day, however, I would see the flow of power changed. Tywin Lannister would no longer be in full control of the Kingdoms, even if I doubted I''d escape his ever-reaching influence as easily as I planned. Cersei''s interruption was just a poor entertainment before the main feast.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    As the doors closed behind the bumbling Mace Tyrell, the Queen Mother glared at me from across the council table. "I will not be sent away like a dying horse for its final ride, do you hear me? I am the Queen."


    "But mother," I started, putting on my best innocent look. "I thought you would like to visit Casterly Rock again. I know how hard Joffrey''s death has been to you. To all of us. Perhaps you should¡ª"


    "It was that little flower bitch, wasn''t it?" Cersei''s beautiful face contorted into a nasty snarl. Her true colors always came out in times like these. "What has that tart been hissing to you, Tommen? What does she whisper in your ear when she milks your cock at night?"


    Many, many things, I wanted to say. Instead, I just faked a groan. "Mother, please¡­"


    "What is the meaning of this, Cersei?" asked Tywin in a clipped tone.


    She turned on her father. "That Tyrel whore has been visiting your golden little grandson every night since his coronation. And now, suddenly, he wants to send me to Casterly Rock on some made up charity mission for the Faith."


    "Margaery always tells me she misses Highgarden," I explained, "and she says the simple thought of it always soothes her heartaches. I thought, perhaps, it would be good for you to visit your childhood home."


    "Don''t you see what she''s doing," Cersei snapped. She rushed around the table, holding her flowing red and gold dress with both hands to her sides. She stopped next to my arm and crouched, looking me in the eyes with an almost crazed expression. "She wants to separate us, Tommen. She knows I''m here to protect you, and she wants me away so she can get her claws in you."


    Tywin stood silent by my side, observing. I gave him a confused look, then turned back to her. "Mother¡­ I don''t think¡ª"


    "Of course you don''t!" She grabbed my forearm so hard I thought she would rip the sleeves of my Baratheon-gold doublet. "I spent too much time with Joffrey, but I see now that I need to work on you as well. You must understand how these things work. How the game works."


    "Enough, Cersei," said Tywin, slapping his hands on the council table. His growling voice brooked no arguments. "I will not have you ruin another piece of my legacy." He waved his wine goblet in the direction of the doors. "Leave. I will have words with my grandson."


    Cersei fumed where she crouched for a moment, calculating whether it was worth bandying words with her father. In the end, she must have arrived at the intelligent answer, for she turned to leave. "We''ll talk later, Tommen."

 Chapter 5

    When Cersei was off and away, Tywin stood and gestured to follow him. The small council room was located somewhere in the middle of the Tower of the Hand, and it was a short walk past expensive halls and up stone stairs before we reached the Hand''s solar. The room that once belonged to Eddard Stark had tall, narrow windows, with an imposing mahogany desk at one end and a smoldering hearth on the other.


    Tywin bid me sit on the guest''s chair and rounded the desk to settle across from me. He served us both a goblet of watered wine, then he waited.


    His power plays were becoming rather inelegant, at this point. I raised an eyebrow. "Yes, grandfather?"


    He looked at me through stony green eyes. "Is this true?" he asked. "What your mother said. Did Margaery Tyrell visit you at night?"


    "She did," I told him. "The night of the coronation, and every night since then."


    He hummed into his drink. "And does she whisper suggestions in your ears?"


    "Oh yes," I said, smiling. "And the good, innocent young king follows her commands like a trained little puppy."


    Tywin stared at me for a moment before nodding. "Good. Let her think she has you in her hands. The Tyrells are the most powerful House after ours. They can raise a hundred thousand swords if needs be, and the Reach comes with a coin worth its weight in gold when winter comes. It is likely you will have to marry her."


    "I will do it for the sake of lasting peace in the Seven Kingdoms."


    Tywin made a sound that could pass for a snort. "I''m sure you will. Do not underestimate her, however. She''s her grandmother''s heir in all but name."


    "Of course," I allowed. "But as long as Margaery is Queen, the Tyrells will not make a move. At least not until she births a male heir. After that, I''ll have to take more precautions." And I would, trust me. I had no intention of being shanked the night my firstborn came into this world.


    Tywin gave me a tight nod. "Good. Never underestimate your enemies, and always keep in mind what their goals are. If you know what they want, you know what next they will do. I see that, at the very least, you''re not arrogant like your mother or an unambitious fool like your Uncle Jaime."Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "Thank you, grandfather," I said warmly. The silence stretched on, just the way Tywin liked, and I let it. Finally, a few minutes later, I nodded to myself as if struck by some revelation about what he said. "I see," I half-whispered. "I take it Uncle Jaime has not taken you up on the offer of becoming your heir, then?"


    Tywin clicked his tongue. It was clearly a sensitive topic for the old lion. "No."


    "It makes sense," I compromised. "It''s a lifetime commitment, after all. Their vows are until death." Then I smiled at him. "Then again, the king does have the power to oust a kingsguard from his service. For whatever reason he sees fit. Joffrey did it with Ser Barristan easily enough¡­ tactless as it was."


    Tywin gave me an inquiring look. "You would discharge your Uncle Jaime?"


    "No. I would discharge him and order him to take the heirship of the West," I said. "If that be your wish, of course."


    Tywin was silent for a minute, lazily stirring his goblet on one hand. "At what price?" he asked finally.


    I told him, "The debt."


    "You would have me clear the Iron Throne of its obligations to House Lannister?" he asked incredulously.


    I barked a laugh. "No, grandfather, no. What would be the point in that? You won''t recall the arrears while I sit the throne, nor while my children do. No. I would have House Lannister assume the crown''s debt to the Iron Bank, instead."


    It was Tywin''s turn to laugh, though there was no humor there. "That''s absurd. When was an heir worth almost three million gold dragons?"


    I scowled. Fine, if not the carrot, the stick. "As you wish. Then I''ll retain Ser Jaime and pardon my Uncle Tyrion in his upcoming trial. I''ll keep the dwarf at my side until you pass away, and he''ll be given the Rock the very day your body is buried beneath its crypts, to drink and whore away all you''ve ever built." I stood up, knocking my wine in the process. I slapped my hands down on the desk, uncaring as they stained red with wine. "Then, as your body rots and your bones break, I''ll come to your tomb and ask you again if some gold was worth the name Lannister."


    Tywin Lannister didn''t even blink as he considered me and my words. Slowly, he rose from his seat. I only realized how much taller he was when my eyes came up to only his chest. When I finally looked up, he was staring at me with unknown emotions on his face. Anger and irritation were dead set on his gold-flecked eyes, but there was a grudging sort of pride there as well.


    "Very well," he rasped. "House Lannister will assume the crown''s debt to the Iron Bank, and¡ª"


    "And," I interrupted, "when the time comes, Ser Gregor Clegane will serve his King. I''ll have need of him yet."


    Tywin caught on quickly. "He''s my sworn bannerman. I won''t hand him over to appease some dornishwoman''s memory."


    "You won''t be handing him over to anyone. When the time comes, you''ll not lose any prestige over it." I sat back down as a show of respect. No need to poke at his wounded ego even more. "In return, I''ll honorably dismiss my Uncle Jaime, to assume his rightful place as heir to Casterly Rock. And, for the duration of this Winter¡ªbe it a year or twenty¡ªI''ll cut the taxes to the Westerlands in ten percent."


    Tywin ground his teeth loud enough I could hear his jaw clicking. "Twenty."


    I smiled. It was good to be king. "Fifteen."

 Chapter 6

    Chapter 6


    I paced around the fine silks and golden cushions of my sitting room, waiting for the knight''s return. I''d sent Ser Balon in his little quest less than an hour ago, yet it seemed to me like I''d been walking the length of my apartments the whole day.


    The conversation with my grandfather had gone as well as could be expected, but it still served to push Tywin away from me. Perhaps he did it out of respect; perhaps he was only testing me, but it simply made me feel anxious and isolated. The close quarters of the Red Keep was beginning to fray on my nerves. The keen eyes of lords and servants alike watched me wherever I went, and it was a disturbing thought that none were in my service. The scene between Petyr Baelish and Ned Stark walking through a garden, where Littlefinger pointed out which spies were whose, came to mind earlier today on my way from the throne room, and the realization that I was truly blind and deaf in the game of thrones without my grandfather was a jarring wake up call.


    If I wanted to win the game, I needed men I could trust, I needed allies, and I needed to leave the Red Keep, even if for a goddamned hour.


    For today, I planned on doing all three.


    There was a sharp rap at the door, then, and I quickly yelled, "Enter." The knight was barely inside when I fell on him. "Did you bring them?" I asked.


    "Yes, Your Grace," Ser Balon Swann said, lifting the two heavy rucksacks with both hands. He wasn''t my first choice for the stunt I was about to pull, but Bronn was busy hunting down the old Sparrow, and this could prove to be a great opportunity to take the measure of the man that had turned into my shadow since I became king. "Two sets, just as you commanded."


    "And did you make mention of this to anyone?" I questioned.


    "Of course, not, Your Grace." Ser Balon frowned. "You made it clear it was for my ears only."


    "Indeed I did." I considered him for a moment, then spoke, "I must be sure you are my man, ser. Not my grandfather''s; not my mother''s. There are plenty of those around. No. I need to know if you''re with me or not."


    Ser Balon was quick to put down the rucksacks and go down to one knee. "My sword is yours, my king, as is my life. You have the Kingsguard, my brothers¡ª"Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    "Are Lannister creatures," I told him. "Trant, Blount, Kettleblack¡­ my own Uncle. I admire your loyalty to your fellow white brothers, Ser Balon, truly, I do. But tell me with honesty¡ªwho do they really serve? Me, or my mother? Who does Blount bow to? Whose feet does Kettleblack lays his sword at? And Trant¡­ gods. My Kingsguard is made of child rapists and sellswords, drunks and cripples."


    Ser Balon looked bewildered. "Child¡­ rapists?" he muttered.


    I gesture airily with my hands. "A thought for another time. My point, ser, is that there''s very few people truly loyal to me in King''s Landing. And the ones who actually follow me, do so for money. Think about it. There are reachmen and westermen aplenty crawling through the Red Keep who''d claim their duty is to me; but, in the end, they follow their own lieges. And the Crownlords, the ones that do not bow to Stannis, are loyal to the Iron Throne. Not me, the King, but the throne and what it represents." I let out an irritated breath. Knowledge of the show was all well and good, but it was loyal swords that make and break kings; and as of now, I was short a few thousand. "Can you understand my hesitancy now, Ser Balon?"


    "I¡­ I understand, Your Grace," he said. He shifted in his armor for a moment, like he was struggling with himself. Then, as if he became another person entirely, Ser Balon Swann looked up from his feet with his jaw set and fiery determination burning in his eyes. "Then even if I stand alone, my king, I will stand with you. To the death."


    I looked at the Kingsguard knight for a long moment before nodding. "We shall see," I said simply. I picked up one of the rucksacks from the knight''s hand and inspected its contents. Inside, a red cloak was wrapped around a shirt of mail and leather gear, and a set of steel plate and cap sat to its side. My mind went back to one of my missions for the day, and to the story of the young bodies steeped in blood, wrapped in Lannister red.


    I shook myself from my wandering and turned to the Kingsguard. "Good work, ser. This will do fine." I nodded to the doors. "Call the boys in. I made sure the two outside are remarkably similar to our own sizes. Tell them to go into my bedroom, close the door, and spend some time looking for any hidden entrances."


    "Hidden entrances, Your Grace?" Ser Balon asked, rising to his feet.


    "There are tunnels and passages running through every part of the castle, and the Spider has eyes and ears everywhere¡ªthe King''s apartments being no exception. Tell them to look for any gaps in the stonework, any secret passageway, arrow slits, boltholes, the whole lot. It should buy us enough time to leave before anyone notices."


    Ser Balon gave a quick salute and went off to do his part. As he was ushering the men in, I stepped behind a painted screen of cloth and lacquered wood and changed into the Lannister garb. When the doors to my bedroom closed, Ser Balon did the same, and not five minutes later the both of us stepped out into the halls of Maegor''s Holdfast no longer King and Kingsguard, but as simple Lannister man-at-arms.

 Chapter 7

    Chapter 7


    "Did you leave them the gold?" I asked quietly.


    "Yes, Your Grace," Ser Balon whispered, casting a wary glance around us. He was looking to the walls as if every tapestry and corner hid a spying enemy, and I noticed his hand never strayed far from the pommel of his sword. "A coin each, as you said."


    I shot him a tight nod and turned to take a left on the first corner, down the narrow servant stairs, past the doors to the Queen''s Ballroom, and out onto the yard. Tommen had lived his entire life within the walls of the Holdfast, and his mind had mapped out every known path in and out of the castle within a castle. We passed by Ser Meryn Trant guarding the drawbridge without fanfare¡ªthe man cared not for another pair of guardsmen out on duty, and Ser Balon even looked reticent about approaching the knight after I questioned his fealty. Just the same, we were able to cross the outer yard of the Red Keep proper, and the gold cloaks didn''t spare a glance as they waved us through the great bronze gates. They weren''t paid to keep anyone inside, only out.


    I could feel Ser Balon''s tension grow next to me as, instead of following the main thoroughfare going out of the Red Keep straight to Cobbler''s Square, where I told him we were venturing to, we took a sharp right turn on the first alley I saw, and followed it for several minutes until we were skirting the outer reaches of the ramshackle district of Flea Bottom. There were very few people on the streets we passed, and the sight of the two of us dressed in Lannister cloaks was enough to send most of them scurrying away.


    Ser Balon placed an uneasy hand on my shoulder. "Your Grace," he hissed, urgency in his voice. "I must insist we turn away. You told me we were going out to the markets¡­ to see and hear the people of your city."


    It was just as well he had stopped me here, for I''d glimpsed exactly what I was looking for on an alcove by the side of a small warehouse ahead. "And so we are, ser." I shrugged off his hand and swiped an arm toward the mother and babe pair huddled under the alcove, gaunt and grimy as they slept. "These are the people of my city as well. My proud subjects. What do you think of them, Ser Balon Swann of the Kingsguard?"


    "Your Grace?"


    "Go on, tell me. What do you think?"


    Ser Balon frowned, no doubt trying to puzzle out my question for any hidden meaning. "They are¡­ poor, Your Grace," he answered finally. "I know not of the circumstances of her life, but most smallfolk live and die with little to their names. It''s supposed to be worse here, in Flea Bottom."Stolen novel; please report.


    I scoffed, turning my nose up at the pair. "The right answer was vermin, Ser Balon, scurrying little parasites that infest my city, living off the generosity of their betters without giving anything back in return." The Kingsguard knight stood stunned for a second, then decided to simply bow his head in submission instead of voicing his thoughts. "And since we''re already here, there''s no reason to let this side trip go to waste," I said, smirking at the knight''s questioning look. "I think we might as well start the clean up right now. Ser Balon, take the babe and cut his throat. Silence the mother however you will, but make sure she lives to see her child getting a nice big red smile."


    Ser Balon actually took a step back. He looked at me like a floundering fish, his mouth opening and closing yet unable to form words. "I¡­" he trailed off. "Your¡­ Your Grace¡­"


    I turned on him, my whole expression shifting to something ugly. "Did I stutter, Ser Balon? You said you were my man back at the Keep, didn''t you?" He nodded pitifully back at me. "Then do as I say," I snarled, spittle and venom flying out of my mouth in equal parts. "Do as your king commands and cut that wretched, vermin spawn''s throat."


    With his brows drawn and his mouth agape, I watched as duty and honor warred in Ser Balon''s face. In reality, I''d already believed his declaration of loyalty back at my rooms. His words then had been valiant and noble and all that, but it was his eyes that told the truth¡ªa man was hard-pressed to lie with his eyes. This, however, was a test of character; a test to the strength of his vows. Which will win? I wondered. Those of the Kingsguard, to obey his king without question; or those of a knight, to protect all women and children?


    Ser Balon''s borrowed sword was halfway drawn when he seemed to come to a decision and let the sword slide back inside its scabbard. He glanced at the miserable sight of the mother and child one last time before falling onto his knees, head down in defeat.


    "I¡­ I can''t, Your Grace," he said.


    At once, I stopped the charade. "Good," I told him. I already employed a man willing to butcher babes in their mother''s arms, and he was out there at that very moment gathering more butchers at my request. What I needed now were knights¡ªtrue knights, symbols of chivalry and virtue that would grant my reign long-lasting legitimacy and acclaim. The Kingsguard was often seen as an extension of their king, and I would not have my name sullied by association with baby killers and the like.


    I walked up to the kneeling man and put a comforting hand on his armored shoulder. "Stand up, Ser Balon Swann. Your vows were tested, and your will as a true knight affirmed. Rise now as a proper member of my Kingsguard."


    The simple command broke through Ser Balon''s confused look and he shot to his feet. I could see the thousand questions running through the knight''s head, so I raised a hand to stop any incoming queries. "Come," I ordered, turning on the ball of my feet. "You can reflect on this later, ser. For now, we have somewhere else to go that will test your vows." The mother on the alcove had woken from her slumber during our brief argument, and I flicked a silver coin in her direction when I walked past the warehouse.


    Ser Balon hastened to catch up. "Where¡­ where are we going, Your Grace?" he asked.


    I went on the tip of my toes and threw an arm around him, smiling all the while. "We''re going to a brothel, of course."

 Chapter 8

    Chapter 8


    The smell of a brothel is something that doesn''t change, no matter where you go. They try to hide it with candles and perfumes and scented powders, and by all standards, Chataya''s was better than most, better even then the ones I''d been inclined to in my youth. But in the end, if you got a nose for it as I did, it was still the same smell of old sex and melancholy that stood out from the spicy incense in the air.


    Flowing silk and sultry whispers can only bury so much misery.


    Ser Balon fidgeted next to me on his stool as we waited for the madam to appear. He looked caught between half-naked girls as they danced and swayed across the common room and a few words said in oath to a fat man in fat robes in the middle of a sept. It was enough to make me pity him when I realized he was just some odd years older than Tommen, young enough to be my own son.


    "I don''t care about this part of your vows, you know," I told him over my wine cup. "I shall take no wife, father no children and whatnot. Yet many a man of the Night''s Watch visit the brothels nearest the Wall. Mole''s Town, I believe the name is. So long as you''re discreet and don''t get them with child¡­" I shrugged. "And I doubt these girls will be marrying anytime soon."


    Ser Balon shook his head as if to center himself. Too many naked girls will do that to a young man. "The Kingsguard is not the Night''s Watch, Your Grace." His tone was low and firm. Rightfully so, Ser Balon was still a bit sullen toward me after the little baby murder debacle. "And I will not sully my white cloak."


    I nodded. The honorable answer, as I''ve come to expect out of him. He was a better man than I.


    A few minutes of silence later and I spotted the most famous whore in King''s Landing as she entered the room through a side door. Chataya was a tall and lithe woman, wearing thin slips of bright silk that accentuated her glossy black skin. She talked and laughed with the patrons like a queen holding court, before stopping to speak with one of her guards.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Quickly, I downed the rest of my drink and stood up. A few eyes turned to watch me, but I felt my identity was safe enough within the enclosure of my helmet. "Come," I said to the kingsguard. "I believe I''ve given him enough time to have his fun. The world waits for no man, not even kings. Or princes, in this case."


    I walked across the common room toward the end of the bar, shouldering past drunk lordlings and nameless knights. Some raised their voices behind me, but Ser Balon was quick to dissuade them with his size alone. There''s just something about a big man in a big armor that sobers you up like a bucket of cold water.


    Coming up to the brothel''s madam, I gave her a small bow and a crooked smile. "Lady Chataya." I turned my voice into a thin, wheezy thing. "Pardon the interruption, m''lady, but we''re here to see the Prince. We was told he had come to¡­ sample of your wares."


    When she turned to address me, she was quick to hide her distaste behind a purple smile. We had gotten quite a few of these glances from the noble patrons and Chataya''s girls when we first entered, all armed and armored in red. This was the most expensive brothel this side of the Narrow Sea, and I doubted even Lannister man-at-arms made enough coin to step inside this place.


    "You heard correctly, good ser," said Chataya in a silky accent. "But I am afraid to say the Prince is currently undisposed toward visitors. Perhaps you could come back another time, yes?"


    I reached inside my armor. It didn''t go unnoticed to me that two other bouncers had approached us from behind. I pulled out a purse and put it on top of the polished wooden bar. "We''re here on Small Council business, m''lady. Quick word with the Prince and we''ll be out of your hair."


    One of her men poked inside the purse with meaty fingers and nodded slightly at her. Chataya''s smile turned a bit more genuine. "If that is the case, I would be more than happy to personally tend to your needs," she said. Then she opened her slim arms in a gesture of surrender. "Our patrons, however, are not for sale."


    That took me by surprise. A scrupulous whore. I didn''t know whether to applaud her or to end the farce and simply order the Prince down. In the end, I chose neither.


    "Not to worry, m''lady." I pointed at the gold. "That''s just to interrupt him enough to give him a message. Tell him Ser Gregor and a friend are waiting for him downstairs, if you would."

 Chapter 9

    Chapter 9


    We only had to wait for a few minutes before the Red Viper came rushing down from his room, bronze-colored robes hanging half-open and a wicked dagger clutched on his hand. I''d commandeered a small den on the bottom floor of the brothel''s single turret, and Prince Oberyn barged into it without even having the grace to knock.


    Very rude, for a prince.


    "Ah, Prince Oberyn." I rose from behind a narrow table. My helmet was off, showing my Lannister-blonde hair. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me at this time. You are most gracious."


    Oberyn only had eyes for the burly form of Ser Balon, standing in the cramped corner of the room, but he seemed to deflate when he realized not even my kingsguard was large enough to be the monstrous Mountain That Rides. He looked between me and my knight for a moment, assessing us, and his posture betrayed violence.


    "Ser Balon," I said quickly, before the prince did anything foolish. "Kindly stand outside and make sure we''re not interrupted. I suppose you can let the Lady Ellaria in, but just her. In this case, and in this room, four would be a crowd."


    The knight nodded and slipped past Oberyn, all without turning his back on the dornish prince. Some men''s reputation demands caution, even from a kingsguard. He''d protested my plan of being left alone with an infamous poisoner and renowned warrior, but child-murdering aside, my word was still law.


    Oberyn let out a huff and sheathed his dagger with unnecessary flourish. "You have some balls, your grace. I''ll give you that much."


    "Coming from you, a compliment on my privates is a great boon. Please." I gestured to the seat opposite mine. "I do apologize for taking your time. I''m sure you were quite¡­ busy."


    "Indeed, I was," he said in his drawling voice. He considered me for a moment longer before he sat. "Such is the purpose of a brothel, no?"


    I spread my arms and smiled. "I wouldn''t know, my prince. Kings have no such freedom."


    "Is that so?" Oberyn reclined back on his chair, all cat-like in his lazing. He made relaxing in front of a potential enemy look easy. "Perhaps you should have imparted that wisdom of yours to your father. I hear he may have had more bastards than even I."


    My face turned grim. "You must understand that I intend to rule with higher standards than my father," I told him.


    Oberyn showed himself as quick of wit as he was quick to anger. I could see the muscles in his jaw flexing at the silent mention of his dead sister and her brood. "We shall see, King Baratheon."


    Before anymore could be said, the door slid open, and Ellaria Sand marched in past the large form of Ser Balon. Alas, she had taken the time to gather herself, and wasn''t half-dressed as Oberyn had been. She had the same olive skin as him, but her hair was a beautiful black, combed and oiled into ringlets, with not a strand of white as the Prince''s had.


    "King Tommen," she started warily. Her measuring eyes darted between myself and her lover, no doubt catching on to the previous tension in the room. "What an¡­ unexpected visit." She gave me a shallow curtsy and sat on the remaining chair to the side of the Prince.


    I managed to put a smile back on my lips. "I was just apologizing to the Prince for that, my lady. There is hardly any privacy to be had in the Red Keep, you see, and I''d heard you were planning to visit this fine establishment today." An establishment that is notably not owned by one Petyr Baelish. "But it is certainly a pleasure to formally meet you. I am sorry we could not speak before. It has been a rather tumultuous time for the crown, what with the wedding and all."This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    "Which one?" Oberyn asked, tilting his head to the side. "The one where your brother choked to death on his pigeon pie, or the next one, where you''ll marry his former bride-to-be?"


    "Pigeon pie?" I asked. "I would call it poison, from where I stood. Though I''m sure I don''t need to tell you. You know well about poison, don''t you, Prince Oberyn?" I affected a contemplative look for a moment, then shook my head. "Forgive me. One can''t help but wonder, in times like these."


    Oberyn stared back at me with piercing dark eyes. "You grandfather wondered just the same, did you know? It is almost funny, he came to me in a brothel as well. So did Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, on my first day in the capital. Do you Lannisters make a habit of accosting people in whorehouses?"


    "I''m a Baratheon," I told him. "But no. At least, I don''t." Then I smiled conspiratorially. "You are my first, you''ll be glad to know."


    Oberyn laughed. "Is that what you''re here for, then? Ellaria and I would be glad to have a royal third share our bed. I''m sure your future wife will appreciate your experience."


    "Not this time, I''m afraid. I''m here to talk about my sister."


    "Ah." Oberyn nodded. "Little Myrcella. She''s taken well to Dorne, I assure you. Last time I saw her she was swimming in the Water Gardens with two of my girls. And from what I hear, Prince Trystane is quite smitten with her."


    "That''s good," I said. "That''s good. She was my favorite sibling, you see, and I miss her dearly sometimes."


    "I understand the sentiment, your grace," said Oberyn. "More than you know."


    I nodded back solemnly. I could sympathize with him and his tightly wound bundle of grief and hate for my family. Had someone done to my sister what the Lannisters had done to his, no amount of empty platitudes could''ve stopped me from my vengeance.


    It just so happened I had his on the palm of my hand.


    "I didn''t come all the way here to inquire about her health, however." I ran a hand over the table, feeling the grain of the wood underneath. The roughness was reassuring. "I came to ask the wedding between Prince Trystane and Princess Myrcella to be brought forward."


    "You will find my brother can be patient beyond good sense," said Oberyn. "He will not reschedule the wedding simply because you want it to."


    "I don''t expect him to do it simply because I asked. In return, I will give you what you want. What you''ve wanted for the past twenty years."


    "Will you, now?" Oberyn asked, nonplussed. "Your grandfather has you beat in that, too. He has offered me a meeting with the Mountain, should I serve as the third judge on your Uncle Tyrion''s trial."


    I raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you want, Prince Oberyn? Would that be enough for you? A meeting with the Mountain?" Oberyn made to speak. I cut him off. "No. I don''t think it would. I certainly wouldn''t be if it were my sister."


    Oberyn frowned. "Is that your concern?" At my silence, he scoffed. "Then do not lose any sleep over it, King Tommen. We do not hurt little girls in Dorne."


    I smiled knowingly. I think I had heard that one before. "I do not doubt that you don''t, Prince Oberyn. Nor your brother. He is a sensible man, I hear. The Lady Ellaria and your daughters, the Sand Snakes, however¡­ I can''t say the same about them." Ellaria Sand shot up off her chair in her indignation, but Oberyn knew the game better than her and raised his hand.


    I was still the King, afterall.


    He leaned forward on his seat. "What are you trying to say, your grace?" Oberyn''s voice had regained his earlier tone of barely-contained, crouching malice.


    I shrugged my shoulders. "It''s rather simple, Prince Oberyn. Tell me, if you were to die in the capital tomorrow, even if by your own foolhardiness, could you assure me that the Lady Ellaria would not go back to Dorne and murder my little sister as quick as the viper that nests in your epithet?"


    Oberyn turned to Ellaria, who chose not to answer the question, and instead rebuked, "Are you threatening a Prince of Dorne?"


    I shook my head and smiled, as I would''ve for a misunderstanding child. "No, my lady, I most certainly am not. Quite the contrary, in fact. I wish to see the enmity between our families resolved as soon and as peaceful as possible. I have no desire to see future generations of Lannisters and Baratheons and Martells pay the blood price for something their ancestors did."


    "The Martells did not initiate this ill will," said Oberyn.


    I nodded. "Then it falls on me, a Baratheon and Lannister by blood, to see to its end. I''m not here to offer you a meeting between the Mountain and yourself, Prince Oberyn, though that''s as far as my grandfather will go, I can guarantee it. He takes great pride in holding the leash around the beasts'' neck, and will take it as a personal insult if anyone were to kill one of his bannermen without provocation." I opened my arms wide so he could drink in my magnanimity. "What I offer is the man himself, Ser Gregor Clegane, delivered within a few steps of the Dornish border, ripe and succulent for the picking." Then I smiled a mean thing. "Just as soon as Trystane and my sister are bound in marriage."

 Chapter 10

    Chapter 10


    Cersei I


    "Are we understood, whore?"


    The whimpering woman kept her eyes trained on the ground. "Yes, Your Grace."


    Cersei turned away and dismissed her with a wave, her usefulness expired for the day. "Good. Go now, but be ready for when Ser Meryn comes for you the day of the trial."


    She did not watch the woman leave, but nonetheless smiled when the door clicked shut. Ser Meryn, Grand Maester Pycelle, and even Varys, the disgusting eunuch, had all agreed to testify against Tyrion in a few days. Her father once said everyone had their price, and while Jaime was busy swinging sticks for glory and fame, she had listened, learned. The whore that once proclaimed undying love to her murderous little brother was now helping with his death, all for a few purses of gold and empty promises of safety.


    Lord Tywin should be pleased, she thought snidely. Perhaps he would have paid more attention to her competence growing up if he had realized back then that the only one with a whit of brain between their shoulders and pride in the Lannister name was the one with a cunt between her legs.


    Cersei stepped onto her balcony to enjoy the view of night falling over the city, sitting by a table of strawberries and sweetcakes that had been set there for her enjoyment. King''s Landing was a filthy thing, she knew, packed to the brim with unwashed peasants and simpering sycophants, and even after twenty years as queen, the smell of the city was like a punch to the gut. Yet, for all of its issues, it was hers. By right. Hers and her children''s.


    The thought of her beautiful golden children made the strawberry in her mouth turn sour, and she had to drain the last of the iced summerwine from her goblet to wash out the taste.


    From her tenth name day on, Maggy''s prophecy had been a fly''s buzz on the back of her head, real and small and bothersome, but otherwise harmless. Since Joffrey''s death, however, since she saw the golden shroud wrapped around his body in Baelor''s Sept, the fortune teller''s words were as thunder in her head, roaring death and doom day and night.


    The little beast had taken Myrcella from her first, sending her away to live in that pit of vipers; then Joffrey, poisoning him at his own wedding. Cersei had thought of his earlier words as she held her dying boy, and she knew the debt was truly paid. Her joy had turned to ashes in her mouth that day.


    And now¡­ now Margaery Tyrell had sunk her flowery fangs into her sweet Tommen. The younger¡ªand some said¡ªmore beautiful queen-to-be, come to take Cersei''s rightful place. She couldn''t help the growl that escaped her throat, and she threw her empty goblet against the stone wall, shattering its crystal face into a thousand pieces. With the torch''s light on them, the shards glittered on the ground like fresh-fallen snow flakes, or the countless stars in the night sky.


    It was a beautiful, broken thing.


    And, she realized, it was exactly what they needed to do to the young flower and her family of upjumped stewards. Crush them. Destroy them. If her father and innocent Tommen couldn''t see the danger the Tyrells posed to their dynasty, she would have to do it herself.


    "Ser Meryn!" she called out. The stormlander knight came rushing through the creaking door with sword drawn, and she could have cursed him for a fool. How could she be in danger if he was standing at the door the whole time?


    The knight looked around warily, sword swinging about, until finally sheathing his sword when nothing but the broken goblet seemed amiss in her rooms. "Your grace?" he asked, droopy eyes drawn in confusion.


    Cersei smiled apologetically at the kingsguard. "Forgive me, Ser, I did not mean to startle you." He stood up straighter as she spoke sweetly at him, and her smile grew brighter. Men had killed for her smiles. "Tell me, which of your sworn brothers guard my son at night?"


    Trant scratched at his patchy, red beard. "I believe it is Ser Balon that watches over King Tommen most nights, your grace."


    Cersei clicked her tongue. Of course it was that young fool letting the Tyrell bitch saunter over into Tommen''s room like she was already queen. She had tried bringing him to her side once, even promising to share her bed as she did for the Kettleblack brothers, yet Ser Balon remained steadfast in maintaining his celibate vows and made his excuses to leave. He was a fool, yes, and a cockless fool at that. Cersei couldn''t see why Tommen kept him close.


    "I want you to join Ser Balon in protecting the King at night. Starting now." Ser Meryn started to protest, but she bowled over him. "Do not argue with me, ser. Send one of my father''s men to guard me, if you must. But I want you at the King''s doors tonight. Let not one bother him. If they insist, cut them down. Do you understand? One of my sons has been killed already, and I will not have the same happen with Tommen. Kill anyone that approaches his room. For the King''s own safety."


    The knight scurried out to follow her orders, and she hoped that, even if Ser Meryn didn''t get to kill Margaery, which she doubted the man would follow through with, he would at least stop her from visiting her Tommen.


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    When he was gone, Cersei had the night servants clean out the rest of the food and prepare her for the evening. A massive copper tub was brought into her rooms, and hot water was hauled in by a line of servants. Her hair was washed and combed as she soaked in the scalding bath, with salts and cleansing herbs tickling at her skin, while chambermaids prepared her bed in red and gold colors. The smaller hearth inside her bedroom was stocked with fresh wood and lavender powder, and her night clothes were set aside over her dresser.


    Soon the servants left and she was alone. Jamie had not slept with her since she''d dismissed him for coming back to her half a Lannister, broken and defeated; the other men had always been lesser than her, tools and means to her plans and her lusts. Her bed was cold and empty when she climbed in.


    Sleep did not come easy for her, and when it did, Cersei dreamed of Maggy''s smelly tent, her empty mouth and her green skin. She dreamed of Maggy''s cruel words and her own cruel thoughts. She dreamed of pretty little Melara screaming in the dark well. Your death is here tonight, little one, Maggy had told the girl. Can you smell her breath? She is very close. She laughed after that. And it was that mad cackle that woke Cersei up, sweating and trembling in the middle of the night.


    Her bedroom door was creaking open with the rasp of wood on stone; the sound of Maggy''s throaty laugh. Cersei shuffled back under the covers until her back hit the towering headboard, heart thumping wildly in her chest. She wanted to scream, to call for help, to cry for her long dead mother. She opened her mouth to yell, but the words died on her tongue when someone spoke.


    "Mother?" It was a small, fearful voice that sounded from the door. "Are you there?" it asked.


    Cersei squinted at the darkness. "Tommen?" Her son shuffled closer until the light of the hearth illuminated his face. His beautiful yellow hair was tousled and tangled, and red shot veins traced his eyes, with dark bags hanging beneath them. Cersei let out a breath she didn''t know she''d been holding. "What are you doing here, sweetling?"


    "I¡­ I''m sorry," he said, voice trembling. "I had a nightmare... about... about you."


    Cersei found a small smile coming to her face. He was still just a boy, a child, and she was the only one standing between him and the vultures. "Come here sweetling," she said softly, lifting the covers closest to him.


    Tommen moved shyly to the side of the bed and crawled under the blankets. He curled up beside her until his golden head nestled under her chin, just as he did when he was younger.


    Cersei felt tears pricking her eyes.


    My boy¡­ my youngest boy.


    She brushed back his soft hair and kissed him on the forehead. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" she whispered.


    She felt him hold her closer. "You were back in the sept," Tommen said. "With Joff laid on the stone. Except¡­ except I was there beside him, too, and Myrcella, covered in golden silk. I¡­ I tried to escape, thrashing and kicking out, but the silk held me tighter each time. We called for you, screamed for you¡­ but you just watched us" He shook his head. "I''m sorry¡­ I''m sorry. It just¡­ it seemed so real."


    "It wasn''t." She wanted to deny it, to discredit his dream as nothing but a bad night''s sleep. But the shrouds¡­ the golden shrouds. It was her turn to hug him tighter. "I''m not going to let it happen," she said fiercely. "Mother will protect you, my sweet boy. Always. Do you understand?" He nodded against her chest and withdrew from her arms to favor her with a gentle smile. Cersei turned around to reach for one of the pillows still left on the bed. "You can sleep here tonight. You won''t have any more nightmares. I won''t let it."


    "Thank you, mother." Tommen''s breath tickled at her ear.


    Can you smell her breath¡ª


    Her boy hugged her from behind, one arm around her stomach, another around her shoulders.


    She is very close¡ª


    Then that same arm snaked around her neck and pulled. Cersei''s hands shot up to claw at him, prying fingers digging, but his forearm was as iron clinched around her throat. She felt something being crushed, and then there was no air in the world anymore.


    "Shh. It''s really me, mother," Tommen whispered in her ear. His trembling voice of just a moment ago was gone. It was something cold now; cold and cruel. "I want you to know it''s your own son choking the life out of you. You deserve to know that."


    She tried to call for help with her last breath, only to realize the crushing feeling had been her windpipe breaking.


    When her vision turned black at the edges, and her eyes started to sting with the pressure, she didn''t want to cry out anymore; she just wanted to talk to him, to ask why, but her lungs burned at the very idea of speaking.


    The last light faded, and Cersei felt herself being dragged into the darkness of a well by small, cold hands.

 Chapter 11

    "Enough," I told the lords of the Small Council, my voice low and icy. "Enough, my lords. I will hear no more of your bickering, not at a time like this." I got a few unsatisfied mutterings for that, and I swore Mace turned on his blustering a level higher. I simply pointed to the door. "Leave. I will have words with my grandfather."


    Tywin Lannister hadn''t even blinked at my order, even before I said I wished to speak with him. I didn''t expect any less. I might have won a bargain over him, but the Old Lion wouldn''t just roll over on his back. When the lords, eunuchs, and sycophants left the room, I turned to Tywin.


    "What have you found?" I asked. When he raised a questioning eyebrow and kept silent, I continued, "We both know my mother would not have killed herself. Rope around her neck and goodbye letter or not, she was not weak enough for it. And she loved herself too much. No. Someone did it. Someone killed the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in the center of our power, and no heads yet decorate our gates."


    Tywin''s countenance darkened as I spoke. I felt like he was angrier at someone daring to kill a Lannister with impunity than with the loss of his own daughter. "Yes," he rasped out. "While you''ve been paying your little visits to the Sept of Baelor I''ve been investigating¡ª"


    "I have played my part," I cut him off firmly. "If I''d shown myself outraged and suspicious, they would know it was murder and not suicide. Better the people believe she died of a broken heart, out of a mother''s love for Good King Joffrey, and that the new young King is pious and devoted in his grief."


    He scowled even harder, then groaned in my direction, which in Tywinese I took it as acceptance. I just shook my head. This was Tywin Lannister''s greatest weakness. He should''ve discerned my reasons for acting as I have this past week by himself, but whenever something strikes at his family, at his legacy, he turns irrational.


    "Now, my Lord Hand," I started again, "tell me what you have for me. What have you uncovered?"


    "Nothing," he spat. The words were like gravel in his mouth, so harsh was his voice. "She sent Ser Meryn to watch over your door that night, the fool that she was. It was Lannister men that guarded her during the night, and they were the ones to find her in the morning, swinging from the rafters." His hands seized the lip of the council table, and the wood groaned under Lord Tywin''s impotent fury. "The guards were thoroughly questioned and disposed of for incompetence. No one was seen entering her apartments, no one was seen scaling the walls to her balcony. Nothing!"Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    I could have smiled. Indeed, I never did enter her apartments, only her bedroom, after scuttling through the passage found in my own rooms that led to hers. No doubt, I had some happy Targaryen couple to thank for the tunnels from the King''s room to the Queen''s apartments.


    "I see," I said, sounding disappointed. Leaning back on my kingly chair for the span of a breath, I readied my counter charge. Finally, I could push for another problem to be solved. "Something must change," I told him. "First my brother, poisoned at his own wedding, and now my mother, murdered in her own bedroom. A king and a queen. Who''s next? You? Me?" I shook myself. "No, we must do something. Once is happenstance; twice is coincidence; three times is enemy action. I will not wait to give them the chance to strike again. Gone were the days of Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Gerold Hightower, of Ser Duncan the Tall and the Dragonknight, yes, but that''s no reason to settle for the dregs that stand to guard us now. Kettleblack? Blount? Trant?" I started counting down with my fingers. "A thug, a drunkard, and a child rapist. No fit to watch over a two-copper whore, much less a Lannister dynasty. Seven Hells, grandfather, truly, these men should be at the Wall or worse."


    "I did not agree to some of the appointments your mother made to the Kingsguard," Tywin acquiesced, "even if I know Trant to be utterly loyal." He let his grip on the table slacken, and slowly schooled his face. Gone was the uncontrolled, tantrum-throwing man-child, back was the calculating businessman I knew him to be. "What do you propose, then, Your Grace?"


    I stood from my seat to pace around the room. It was said that the King shits and the Hand wipes, and I wholeheartedly planned to put that to the test. "Unfortunately, we cannot simply ask them to leave. Like it or not, the Kingsguard serve for life, and I will not soil the post like Joffrey did with Ser Barristan." I stopped, turning on him. "No, you will deal with this. Trant is loyal, as you say, and he still has his uses, but I want Kettleblack and Blount gone. Be it with their throats opened on a dark alley or with a bag of gold heading to Essos, I care not. Have it done, Lord Hand."


    Tywin ground his teeth and nodded tightly. "As you say, Your Grace."


    "Good, good." I glanced at the dipping sun outside, painting the shitheap that was King''s Landing in beautiful hues of tawny and crimson."I must go on my daily pilgrimage now. The people must see their king mourning." I turned on my feet and headed for the door, swiping my golden cape from my chair on the way. "Until later, grandfather."

 Chapter 12

    Chapter 12


    It was the thing of a few minutes to prepare a suitable escort for my esteemed royal personage to the Sept of Baelor. Ser Balon Swann had been outside the council room, waiting for my coming, and four-score Baratheon men had been expecting me on the Red Keep''s main bailey.


    They''d grown used to attending me on my way to visit my dear mother''s corpse this past week, everyday just before dusk, and despite some grumblings of taking Baratheon guards with me instead of the red cloaks, I knew King''s Landing had no love for my golden haired family. The sack at the end of the rebellion was still raw to some of the older smallfolk, and I did my best to distance myself from that image.


    We rode out on a snaking column of armored men and stamping horses, four men wide, ten men deep, with myself and Ser Balon at the center. Taking the same route toward the Sept everyday was a risk, I knew, but travelling incognito would defeat the main purpose of the excursion.


    When we left the more affluent neighbourhood of manors and townhouses that hugged the shadow of Aegon''s High Hill and the Red Keep, the people were there to meet their king. Huddled beneath the awnings of market stalls, old men and wizened crones said prayers and offered condolences; on the mouth of passing alleyways and side streets, young mothers raised swaddled babes above their heads for blessings; on open squares, pressed by the growing crowds, grimy and soot-stained men and boys vouched to fight my enemies. I waved at them all. A small, sad smile on my face.


    I had practiced the expression for hours.


    In my midnight black outfit, with a cape of Baratheon-gold draped over one shoulder, I knew I looked the picture of a grieving monarch. Young and solemn, I heard more than one comparison to the late Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. I didn''t mind. Rhaegar was much loved by the people, even if he was responsible for igniting the Rebellion.


    Robert Baratheon was cursing me from beyond the grave, I was sure.


    All in all, Cersei''s death did wonders for my popularity. Of course, it helped that my knights pressed silver stags into every waiting hand and distributed bread and salted meats wherever I passed by, but that was neither here nor there.


    My escort dismounted as we arrived, forming a cordon of plate armor and heavy tower shields at the foot of the Sept''s stairs to hold back the crowds. The setting sun behind the great marble structure threw the shadows of the seven crystal towers all across Visenya''s Hill, like dark fingers stretching across the city. I had even heard that some believers congregated at the farthest points of the seven shadows, to pray near where the Gods touched the mortal realm.


    Ser Balon and I continued on until we reached the main doors, only then giving our horses to one of the Faith''s servants. I had plans for the Faith of the Seven; I had no intention of letting the situation get out of hand like Cersei did in the television series, and while I knew Bronn was out hunting for the High Sparrow, I didn''t want the whole religious movement to fall apart. The Sparrows still had a part to play in the history of my reign.


    We passed the Hall of Lamps at the entrance of the Sept with loud, echoing footsteps, and Ser Balon stayed behind once I crossed the double-doors into the sept-proper. Inside, only the Kingslayer stood vigil beside my mother''s resting place, looking like a man lost in the currents of a storming sea. His eyes bleak and distant, shoulders hunched, legs shaking. From the other side of the room, he even smelled of defeat.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Jaime Lannister had lost the two things that defined who he was¡ªhis sword hand, and now his sword''s sheath. I hid a smile. It was not my fault the man decided it was a good idea to fuck his own sister.


    I approached him silently and layed a soothing hand on his armored shoulder. "Ser Jaime," I said softly.


    He didn''t turn my way. "Your Grace," he croaked.


    I looked down at Cersei Lannister''s body, clad in red and gold silks and glittering jewelry. There was no sign of the strangulation bruises on her throat, nor the rope burns she no doubt suffered after I left her hanging from the ceiling.


    The Silent Sisters sure did good work.


    Taking a deep, suffering breath, I let it all out with a heavy sigh. "Sometimes¡­ sometimes I wonder if perhaps this wouldn''t have ever happened if we were allowed to be a family," I said, voice dripping with meaning. "You and I and mother, Joff and Myrcella¡­ we could have been together, all of us." He finally looked at me then, eyes wide and fearful. I simply nodded. "I know, yes. To be fair, I''ve known it for a long time." I gave him my practiced, wistful smile. "I''m glad for it, too. I''m glad you''re my father."


    Jamie almost choked. He looked into my eyes, as if trying to determine the sincerity behind my acceptance, then brought me in for an embrace, my face flush against his chest piece. From the corner of my eye, I saw he still had his good hand interlaced with my dead mother''s cold one.


    Lovely.


    He broke off the hug and held me at arm''s length with the golden hand. "Tommen¡­ I¡­ I don''t¡­" he trailed off.


    I shook my head. "It doesn''t matter, father. We can''t keep reminiscing on past mistakes. Not anymore. I''m king now, and as king I must always look to the future." I bit on my lip, feigning distress. "Every time I look around me, it seems there''s less and less people I love and trust. Myrcella, Uncle Tyrion, Joff¡­" I paused here, for effect. I made sure my breathing was heavy. "And now¡­ now mother. I need you, father. I need you, even if it hurts carrying on without her."


    Good little knight that he was, Jaime wasted no time sinking to his knees. "Anything you wish, Your Grace," he whispered, almost fervently. "My sword is yours."


    Oh Jaime, you poor man. I knelt with him, clasping him on the shoulder. "It is not your sword I need, father. I have swords aplenty, and they didn''t stop what happened to Joff or to mother. No. I need you at Casterly Rock, as grandfather''s heir."


    "What?" Jaime''s head snapped up. "No, no. I need to be here, beside you. I need to protect what''s left of her¡­"


    I suppressed a scowl. This guy was beyond obsessive. "Father, please, you must understand. I have spoken with Lord Tywin about this, at length. I need his support, more than anyone''s. And," I added, "it''s the only way he''ll let Tyrion live past his trial. You know how he always hated him."


    Jaime growled. "He''s trading my life for my brother''s."


    "Well, not only that, mind. I got several concessions from him. You''ll be getting a House Lannister millions of dragons poorer." I smirked then, making sure it looked similar to the cat-like grin Jaime used to wear everyday. "You should''ve seen his face, father. It looked like he was sucking lemons out of a lion''s ass."


    Jaime snorted at the image. He took an anguished glance at Cersei''s body before nodding, more to himself than to me. "Very well. I will do it, Tommen, for you. When the time comes, I will revoke my white cloak and take my place as my father''s heir."


    I jumped into his arms. "Thank you, father. I knew you''d see sense." After a long moment of fake paternal affection, I pulled the both of us up and patted him on the cheek. "Don''t worry. I''m sure you''ll have lots of fun in the Westerlands."


    Jaime grimaced, smile souring on his face. I pitied him, too. Living on the Rock beneath Tywin Lannister''s thumb was a harrowing task to the bravest of men.

 Chapter 13

    As befits a Lannister of the Rock, even a supposed kingslayer, Tyrion''s cell was at the topmost floor of the dungeons. Which isn''t to say it didn''t reek of rat piss and rotten feces as soon as I walked through the door. The floor of the cell was covered in old hay and dust, with only a thin strip of light penetrating the oppressive darkness of the dungeons from a narrow opening near the stone ceiling.


    I found my uncle curled into a small human ball near the back of the room, shying away from the fire of my torch like a cornered animal, covering his face with his tiny hands. "Uncle?" I whispered.


    Tyrion twitched where he sat. "What?" he wheezed out, voice thick with disuse.


    "It''s me, Uncle Tyrion. Tommen"


    He lowered his arms then, slowly. Tyrion Lannister was never the most majestic Lion of Lannister at his best, but he was looking particularly wretched on this fine autumn day. He still wore the same deep burgundy vest and shirt he did during Joffrey''s wedding, only darkened with grime and torn around the shoulders, no doubt from when he was manhandled into his cell. His skin looked waxy and pale¡ªat least from the few spots I could glimpse that weren''t smeared with soot, and the first signs of food deprivation had already settled in, with the bones along his cheek and brow seeming to jut out more prominently along the ridges of his face.


    "Oh. Tommen, right." He paused for a moment, then seemed to remember himself. "Ah, where are my manners." He jumped up from the bench, stumbled, caught himself on the wall. When he could finally stand straight, he worked his throat for a moment and spat on the floor. Then he gave me a teeth-filled Lannister smile and bowed. "Welcome, Your Grace, King of the Andals and the First Men, titles, titles, to my most humble abode. What can this servant do for you?"


    I smiled. "I should''ve known you wouldn''t lose your tongue despite your time in captivity."


    "I have found captivity suits me, dear nephew," said Tyrion. He tilted his head to the side. "Have I ever told you of my time in the Vale? The view is certainly better than here, I will give them that."


    "I''ve heard rumors here and there. Something about milking your eel into my mother''s stew." I raised an eyebrow at him. "Are those the stories you wish to tell me?"


    Here, even Tyrion Lannister sputtered. Given a few feet of height and width he would''ve made a fantastic Mace impression. "Ah." He cleared his throat again. "Well, um, no, not particularly what I had in mind. I was thinking more of tales of the famed sky cells of the Eyrie."


    I simply nodded. Benevolent king that I was, I let the issue go. "Of course, uncle. I would be happy to hear more about it later."


    "That''s good news, that there will be a ''later''," Tyrion muttered. He opened his mouth to say something else but stopped, considering me. His mismatched eyes, sunken on their sockets and half-lidded with exhaustion as they were, still very much shone with intelligence. "Though, I must say, it''s impressive that you know about something like that, Your Grace. Word for word, as it is." His eyes flickered to a spider web on the corner of the cell before coming back to meet mine. "Varys, I presume?"


    "Not him, as a matter of fact. A ruler must have many eyes and ears, and I have mine even where spiders can''t reach and little birds don''t fly."


    Tyrion looked taken aback. "I see," he said, almost solemn. "Kingship has suited you, nephew."


    Without answering, I walked to the nearest sconce and placed my torch inside. Only then did I turn to him, making a show of eyeing him up and down. Not a terribly long job, that. "And I see kingslaying hasn''t suited yourself, uncle."


    "Tommen." Tyrion let out a tired sigh, then shook his head. "No, Your Grace, please. Surely you know I wouldn''t kill you brother¡ªmy own nephew."


    I stared back at him, feigning an intensity I did not feel, then nodded. "I believe you, uncle." I strode over to sit on the bench and, with an inviting motion of my hand, Tyrion moved to follow me. "I always did, really, but others¡­"


    "You mean my sweet sister," he said dryly.


    "Yes, mother. She was most adamant on your guilt."This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    "Was?" he asked. "I don''t think there''s anything Cersei would enjoy more than seeing my head separated from my body by way of sword."


    My face turned blank. "I''m afraid mother isn''t in a position to enjoy anything," I said. "She died, uncle, the week before last. It''s the reason it has taken so long for your trial."


    Tyrion rocked back against the wall as if struck, mouth agape. He took a moment to process my words. "The bells," he whispered under his breath. When he turned to me, his eyes were full of compassion. "Tommen I¡­ I''m sorry, truly. Your mother and I¡­ well, it matters not. She was still your mother. Cersei had no love for me, it''s true, but she loved all her children fiercely¡ªmore than anything."


    I nodded. "Thank you, uncle, but I''m not here to talk about her. I''ve done my grieving," I told him. "My mother''s death might have delayed things, but grandfather will push for your trial soon enough."


    "Of course he will," he said, shaking his great, dirty blond mane in resignation. A father''s love is no small thing in a man''s life, and Tyrion Lannister had never so much as felt a sliver of it. "The Gods know Lord Tywin has wanted to be rid of me since I first came kicking and screaming into this world."


    This time, I was the one affecting a gentle expression, one hand going to his shoulder. Many times I had debated whether to keep him alive or let Tywin have his wish, lop his head off and be done with it. Yet that very same hatred for the dwarf was a weakness, an opening to be explored, a check to his power if wielded correctly.


    Lord Tywin''s Bane, the Mad King named him. And, indeed, he could be a great liability, as he was with Daenerys by the end of the show. But he could be useful, too. A good peace-time administrator, morally flexible, and with enough daddy issues to take advantage of. I wouldn''t throw him away that easily.


    I waited for the moment to pass and cleared my throat. "Anyway. I''m afraid mother has already done considerable damage to your case. She had talked with several people before her passing¡ªservants, lords and ladies, witnesses and spectators. As the prosecution, she planned to bring all your history of¡­ misunderstandings and quarrels with Joffrey and herself into the open. Grandfather has taken that part over, now. And whether due to obligation or Lannister gold, many will come forward."


    "So it''s hopeless, then?" he asked, grimacing.


    "Not quite," I said. "I talked with Lord Tywin about the trial. He had wanted me to recuse myself, so that he''d sit as judge in my stead¡­" I trailed off. I was becoming a master of dramatic pauses. "Naturally, I dissuaded him from that thought. Instead, I managed to¡­ come to an agreement with him."


    "A dangerous proposition, nephew, bargaining with Tywin Lannister."A wily smile tugged on Tyrion''s lips. "I believe the proverb ''making a deal with the devil'' was first spoken specifically about my father, in fact."


    I laughed, an alien sound in this dark place. "Too right uncle, but needs must. Despite the more current dispositions in court, I happen to value your life quite a bit. Something about loving thy family, or so I heard."


    Tyrion snorted. "I''m afraid I''m not quite familiar with the concept."


    "Don''t say that," I admonished. "That''s rather unfair. Myrcella and I have always loved you."


    Tyrion raised his shackled hands in surrender. "I know, nephew, I know. Forgive me. It''s the adult Lannisters that have always had it out for me. Only Jaime¡­ well, I suppose, not even Jaime anymore." He looked around the room, as if to point out his brother was nowhere to be found.


    "Yes, Uncle Jaime. He''s¡­ not doing well since mother died. I''m sure you can imagine. It''s why he didn''t come with me today."


    Tyrion nodded, though he didn''t look convinced. Good, I thought. The less the two talk, the better.


    "He cares, Uncle Tyrion. He will do his part in our efforts to save your head." At his questioning look, I continued, "Lord Tywin had, above anything else, one major demand in exchange for your life. I''m sure you can imagine what."


    Confusion marred his face for only a second, before it hit. Nobody could accuse Tyrion of being slow after all. "Ah. Of course. Casterly Rock. The heirship," he spat. I could see the anger and resentment built up over years bubbling up inside of him¡ªlips upturning, skin flushing, eyes glaring at some nonexistent enemy¡ªthreatening to blow up.


    "Uncle¡ª"


    "It doesn''t matter," he said quickly before I could continue, the sudden anger leaving him as fast as it came. He let out a long, suffering sigh and turned to me. "I guess it never did. I was a fool for ever thinking the great Tywin Lannister would allow me anything in life, much less the Rock itself."


    "I''m sorry. I know that''s something you''ve always wanted."


    "Bah!" He offered me a forced grin. "The whores here are better anyway. They are too blond in Lannisport."


    I smiled with him. "That''s good," I said. And it was too, just not for the reasons he suspected. He was at his lowest now, all soft and buttered up. An easy prey if there ever was one. "As selfish as it might be, I''m glad you''ll be able to stay here in King''s Landing. I need people I can trust if my rule is to flourish. Competent people, not the groveling parasites that hound me day and night for any scrap of royal approval I can relieve myself of. No. I need you, uncle. You. Many may not, but I remember how it was during the siege. And I also remember how you worked tirelessly to protect us, to save us, while Joffrey and mother feasted and made merry."


    The torchlight danced over Tyrion''s scarred face, over his twisted body, and I could see my words, my approval¡ªsomething long denied to him, seeping into his bones, rounding up his shoulders, straightening his back. Like water to a parched man, he drank it all up, so I pushed on.


    "If you wish, I would have you on my Small Council when the time comes."


    I knew he''d go for it before he even answered.


    "Your Grace, I¡­ I would be honored," he croaked, jaw tight with emotion. Shuffling from his seat, Tyrion knelt in front of me. "Tell me what I must do."

 Chapter 14

    The day of Tyrion''s trial dawned with a chill I had not yet felt since I became Tommen. I couldn''t decide if it was a good or a bad omen, though anything that chased the oppressive heat of King''s Landing could not be wholly evil.


    My footsteps thumped hollowly upon the elegant marble corridors as I made my way to one of the more secluded gardens inside the Red Keep, with Ser Balon''s sharp armored strides ringing behind, always the dutiful protector.


    The cool light of the morning sun spilled forth from the many windows and open courtyards of the castle, bathing the halls of the keep in soft bluish tones as we strode by. It almost made this accursed palace seem pleasant. Lamplighters in Baratheon black and gold livery scuttle about, snuffing out the candles and oil lamps they''d lit the night before with short ladders beneath their arms and long metal sticks to smother the flames in their hands.


    The candle wax and oil bills the Crown accrued every month had been one of the most insane things I''d ever seen, and now with mother dearest no longer in the picture, I had restituted the rule of using candles only at night and in oft frequented places. The Chief Steward¡ªnow former Chief Steward¡ªhad zealously protested my decision, explaining to me, as if he would to a misbehaving child, how keeping the candles and torches lit all day round throughout all the keep was an expert display of power and wealth.


    The whole of the Red Keep. Even areas that had not been inhabited since the early days of the Targaryen Kings. The fool must have thought I had my mother''s narrow-mindedness or Robert''s drunken indifference to say that to my face. So, as the ex-Steward was being dragged away for embezzlement and misappropriation of funds, I told him, "I much prefer the eight thousand gold dragons the Crown will have available to spend on the betterment of its people over your petty power plays, good ser."


    A good catchphrase that had the servants of the Keep murmuring my praise for days. Truly, I was a wise monarch.


    He was just another of Littlefinger''s cronies ensconced into every possible office in my castle that I had recently rooted out. I dared not move against Petyr Baelish''s men inside the city proper, lest I gave away my game too early, but given how sweet and innocent young Tommen was before Baelish left for the Vale, he would simply assume Lord Tywin was cleaning house and putting his own loyal men in the offices of the Red Keep. A big loss for him, to be sure, but from what I gathered so far in my careful investigations, it was nothing compared to the stranglehold Baelish had on the whole economy and industry of the Realm¡ªthus a hitch not big enough to make him change his plans.


    I turned a final corner and glimpsed two Tyrell guards standing a few feet down into the small inner courtyard, faces hidden beneath their helms. As dangerous an adversary as the likes of Varys and Littefinger were, Olenna Tyrell was the only person in Westeros who could exert soft and hard power on par with Tywin Lannister, and I''d just been invited to break my fast with her.


    I marched past the guards without stopping, only turning my head around to give a silent nod to Ser Balon. He''d stay behind with the Tyrell men, maybe throw some dice together, drink some ale, rape a peasent. Things men do in this world.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Underneath the small gazebo that crouched near the edge of the garden, Olenna looked as in her element as a northman would beneath a heart tree. Dozens of clay pots hung from wrought iron hooks over the sides of the gazebo''s railing, overflowing with knotted vines and blooming flowers that seemed like a single interlaced organism, ready to creep up along the flanks and smother their prey in beautiful greenery.


    A trap worthy of the Queen of Thorns.


    "Your Grace," said Olenna. She was sitting behind a large table set square in the middle of the open floor, with a full spread of cheeses and pastries and fruits that could have fed a smallfolk family of four for a whole week before her. "Forgive an old woman for not standing to greet you. My knees aren''t the same as they were in my youth, you see." She pointed to the chair opposite her. "Please, do sit down."


    I wanted to roll my eyes. A slight before we even began sparring. "No problem at all, Lady Olenna," I said, pulling the chair out. "I find myself growing weary of courtesies these days."


    "I can imagine." She sniffed, her wrinkled nose twitching. "This city is filled to the brim with both shit and brown-nosing lickspittles. Not unlike my son, the Lord Oaf of Highgarden. I expect he''s made himself known to you by now. He will be the one who walks around puffed up like a prized peacock. I pray you''ll forgive me for his existence. I confess to being half guilty of it."


    "Hardly." I smiled. "He''s a dear, the Lord Mace. Very astute, too. I value his words greatly."


    She regarded me for a moment, then threw her head back and cackled. "You''ll do just fine for our rose, oh yes."


    I had a mind to eat before arguing on the finer points of governance, some points which would no doubt aggravate Olenna, but her self-assured statement that I would simply do for Margaery had just enough pretension to bother me.


    "Will I?" I said. "I didn''t know your granddaughter and I were already betrothed. I believe they call that putting the carriage before the horses, my lady." I put some teeth in my smile. "A dangerous notion, that."


    "Dangerous, Your Grace?" Olenna''s gaze sharpened. "You are not a devout student of history, I take it?" Olenna''s words were spoken softly as a petal, her posture easy and relaxed. But I could see the briers pricking up as her gaze sharpened.


    I raised an eyebrow. A non-answer if there ever was one, but that seemed too much like a gotcha question for me to give her a yes or no.


    Not to be stopped, she barreled on. "Very well, let me lecture you. When your father raised his banners in rebellion against the Targaryens, Brandon Stark had just been murdered in King''s Landing. He had been on his way to marry Hoster Tully''s eldest daughter in Riverrun when he heard of his sister''s abduction, and rode to King''s Landing to demand the dragon prince''s head, fool man that he was. But even after he died, the Stark-Arryn-Baratheon alliance still needed the Tully armies, so the good, dutiful Ned Stark honored his older brother''s vows and welcomed the rebel Riverland forces into the fold by marrying Catelyn Tully." She rested her wizened hands over the table. "Dangerous would have been for Ned Stark to renege on his family''s promise of marriage. And now, just like your father''s alliance needed the Tullys, you need the Tyrells."


    I nodded along. "Well said, my lady. Truly well said." Olenna Tyrell was a woman used to winning verbal battles, so she took my words as acceptance. With that indignant huff all old folk are wont to do when they finish spelling out the truth of the world to the young and foolish, she resumed eating.


    Eager to eat as I was, I snuffed out my amused expression and, seeing as there were no attendants to serve¡ªor listen in¡ªon us, reached for a plate myself. While the average person ate a hundred times better on my old world compared to Westeros, I was royalty here. Not a day had passed where I hadn''t feasted on at least seven courses during the grand dinners and feasts. And that was a bill I was most ready to foot.

 Chapter 15

    Chapter 15


    As I filled my plate with slices of honey-glazed ham and turkey, cheese wedges, biscuits, quail and duck eggs, and a hand-full of grapes on a side bowl, I turned back to the Queen of Thorns. "I''m glad you brought up Lord Stark. Tell me, my lady, have you ever been to the North?"


    If Olenna found the out of the blue question jarring, she didn''t show. "No, I''ve never seen much point to it," she said, munching on a jam-stuffed roll. "Snow, cold, honorable fools, Wall. What else is there to see?"


    I chuckled into my cup. She certainly had a way with words. "I have, you know. We went to Winterfell after Lord Arryn''s death, to ask Eddard Stark to be the new Hand." I shook my head. "We dragged him here to die, it seems. But I did learn a valuable lesson from him. Do you want to know what that was?"


    Olenna dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief. "No, not really," she said. "But I''m sure you will tell me anyway."


    I let out a small laugh. I walked right into that one. "Yes, well, the lesson is fairly simple. The woman a man marries can make or break him."


    She snorted. "Why, you could have easily learned that from your father."


    Now, I had killed Cersei Lannister not two weeks ago, choking her with my own two hands even as I wore her son''s face, but that was a low blow. "That was highly uncalled for, Lady Olenna." Unbidden, a scowl darkened my face. "Perhaps you forget who you speak to in your old age."


    "Old age comes with a few privileges, you see." Olenna''s posture was easy and relaxed as she spoke, her eyes bright. My vexation seemed to breathe new life into her. "I will be joining them soon enough, so I get to disparage the dead as much as I want."


    I tried and failed to swallow down my irritation. There was something about kinging that utterly disagreed with disagreements, and I was growing too used to getting my way. The perils of being a hormonal teenager.


    "My point," I ground out, "is that it was the Lady Catelyn, a woman Ned Stark so readily married after his brother died, that started the War of the Five Kings by kidnapping my Uncle Tyrion. It was her that freed Ser Jaime from Robb Stark''s camp, as if that would magically get her her daughters back; it was her who told Lord Stark to trust in Littlefinger, of all people. Now, her family lies buried beneath the dirt or scattered across the land. An ancient and proud name such as the Starks, a lineage of over eight thousand years, might just be brought down by the bad decisions of one woman who married into the family."


    "That seems a very narrow view of the war, if you ask me," she said dryly. "In any event, do you truly think my Margaery is a fool like Lady Stark?"


    I let out a deep breath. I couldn''t let her get under my skin. "No, no," I said genially. "Margaery is a beautiful and capable woman. Any man would be happy to marry her. But as a king, I must be extra cautious. I must evaluate all the options and choose what is best for all the realm. Therefore, I was hoping to renegotiate the terms of the union. If you''re amenable to it, I can get the contract written up by tonight."


    "Oh, and what else do you want, pray tell me?" Olenna asked.


    "A million gold dragons," I said. She laughed, of course, and I saw it in her eyes the moment she thought she''d overestimated me, that I was a silly little boy playing king after all. I expected nothing else. "It''s not an unreasonable dowry, my lady, not to marry into the Crown."Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    "The Crown already owes House Tyrell a million dragons, and you want another million on top?" she asked. She seemed amused more than anything.


    "Owed, my lady." I wagged a finger at her. Two could play the disappointed parent game. "You rebelled against the Iron Throne, against the rightful king. All debts were null and void when that first rose banner was raised in the name of the false king Renly."


    She waved her hand airly. "Yes, yes, owed." Point to me. "That is as may be, but let us speak plainly here. You need this alliance more than us. Your armies are spent. Stannis may have been beaten back, but say one thing about him, he''s a stubborn bastard.  Your control of three of the seven kingdoms is flimsy at best. No. Margaery is your best match, I assure you."


    "Perhaps," I told her. "Then again, I could always marry Ysilla Royce and bring the Vale back into the fold." I shrugged. "Or a Dornishwoman. I''ve become fast friends with Prince Oberyn, you see, and I''m sure he would gladly offer suggestions."


    "And who would feed the realm, then?" she asked derisively. "Your grandfather burned the Riverlands from the God''s eye to the Trident. The Crownlands by itself can barely sustain King''s Landing, much less the other kingdoms. And do not forget the Tyrells have the largest army still in the field."


    And there it was. I tutted with my tongue. "The Reach has a bigger army, not House Tyrell. You''ve tied a pretty noose about the Reach, to be sure, a great web of marriage alliances to finally put the entire south behind your house. But one snip here, another snap there, one blow against your house of cards, and it can all come tumbling down." I gave her my sweetest smile. "Say I marry the daughter of Lord Tarly, instead, or one Matthis Rowan''s daughters, and name the one whose daughter I didn''t marry as my Hand. Lord Rowan is a sensible man, and Randyll Tarly the greatest military mind in the Realm who hasn''t a crown on his brow. That would be three of your strongest bannermen¡ªcounting the Florents who still hold to Stannis. Then, say my uncle, the heir to Casterly Rock and future Lord Paramount of the West, marries into another great house. Well¡­" I spread my hands and leaned back against my chair. "Of course, a few houses would never move against the Tyrells. Mace''s wife is a Hightower, and you are a Redwyne yourself. But while Horas and Hobber walk freely about the Red Keep, they are still our hostages, like as not. Their ransom was never paid. Lord Paxter will not sail against the Crown with his sons in our hands. It might not be enough to nullify your houses'' power, but it will severely weaken it for generations."


    Olenna''s face grew stormy. It seemed she didn''t appreciate candidness as much as she thought. "Are the thousands and thousands tons of food that even now flow into your city not enough? The seventy thousand Tyrell swords we can raise? And the hand of the most eligible maiden in all the Seven Kingdoms?"


    I nodded, though the maiden part almost made me laugh. I waited for the perfect moment¡ªwhen Olenna reached for her cup with angrily shaking hands¡ªto speak. "Did you know I''ve been fucking your granddaughter, Lady Olenna?" The Queen of Thorns snorted on her drink, then coughed into her hands. To her credit, she recovered quickly for someone her age. I popped another grape in my mouth.  "I know why you sent her to me and all that, but I''m no Luther Tyrell. Truth is, you overplayed your hand. Now you have a despoiled lady in your hands, one who''s a widow to two kings no less. If I tell the entire realm I won''t marry her because she''s cursed or some such nonsense, many a great lord will agree with me.


    "Come now, the Reach is fat and bloated like your lord son, we both know it. A million dragons is a small price to finally solidify your position as Wardens and Lords Paramount with a royal wedding."


    If not for her noble upbringing, Olenna would''ve been baring her teeth as she looked at me for a long moment. "It is not as if we have a choice in this, is it?" she said, clicking her tongue. Gods, she was just like Tywin when he doesn''t get what he wants.


    "Don''t pout, my lady, it suits you not." I clapped my hands and put on a beaming smile. "But do not worry. It''s not all doom and gloom. There''s no need for us to have a hostile relationship. We''ll be family soon. Accept my proposal and let me tell you how I plan to put three of your great-grandchildren on a Lord Paramount''s seat, and one on the throne."


    At this, her eyebrows threatened to climb off her head. When the breakfast was over, and our agreement was settled, Olenna left with a pleased smile on her face.


    I let her have it. I was a merciful god, after all.

 Chapter 16

    Chapter 16


    Switched to present tense to test it out (temporarily).


    Blood sprays the crowd near where the duel ends, and I uncomfortably shift atop the deformed pile of metal that is my seat. The senseless violence dressed up as divine justice, and the dying wails of Ser Meryn Trant aren¡¯t nearly as disagreeable as actually sitting on the Iron Throne, so cold and sharp the thing is.


    The people in the great hall of the Red Keep watch it all in bewildered silence as ol¡¯ Meryn¡¯s horrendous display of bedside manners comes to an end with a pathetic whimper, his white-pommeled sword finally falling from his grasp to clatter against the ground.


    Death is very much a foreign concept for most of these well-to-do and noble folk, despite this world¡¯s circumstances. It¡¯s something that happens outside the walls of their mansions to the unwashed masses, or to the brave knights of the stories fighting for their king or for a maiden¡¯s hand. Up until you get a double serving of gore and guts right in your lap, like the group of ladies in the first row of the stands. Then the shrieking starts, women swoon off their seats and men holler their approval or their frustration.


    Ignoring the pandemonium that descends on the room with the death of a kingsguard, I look to the faces of the people around me feeling vindicated: from Oberyn¡¯s languid amusement, Varys¡¯ theatrical horror, Margaery¡¯s syrupy sympathy, Tyrion¡¯s overwhelming relief, and finally Tywin Lannister¡¯s blood-chilling rage. I could almost smell the anger wafting off him like a heady spice.


    All is as it should be. I did tell him Trant still had his uses.


    After an appropriately melodramatic time, I stand from the throne. With the chaos around the room, few turn to me. Until Ser Balon smacks his armored glove on the marble pillar like a gong repeatedly, the loud clangs echoing off the tall arching ceiling of the great hall.


    The voices slowly die out and I clear my throat. ¡°Good people of King¡¯s Landing. Noble lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms. We stood here today, in sight of gods and men, to judge Tyrion Lannister for the most vile of crimes¡ªkinslaying. As men, fallible and weak and human as we are, we judged him guilty. Despite his pleas, despite the lack of direct evidence of his wrong doing, we had no choice but to point our sword of justice in his direction, based on circumstantial evidence alone.¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    I clench my fists white, my head bowing for a solemn moment. Then I look up with a genial smile on my lips. ¡°But we are not alone,¡± I announce grandly. My arms go out wide, as a father welcoming his children would. ¡°The Gods look down upon us, and the Father metes out justice as he sees fit. And he saw fit to grace us with his judgement today, to the joy of the righteous... and the terror of the wicked.¡± I turn to my uncle, still sitting on his little stage like a puppy. ¡°Tyrion of the House Lannister, I hereby clear you of all charges. Walk away as an innocent man this day, and may the Gods bless your path.¡±


    The room explodes in chatter again. Bronn gives me a perfect bow from where he stands near Trant¡¯s body, sword still bloodied. I told him the new Lord of Stokeworth needed to know proper manners not a week ago, and look at him go. I glimpse Jamie rushing to Tyrion¡¯s side, a smile on his face for the first time in weeks. I almost feel like a decent man for a change; a man doing good unto others.


    The thought is absurd enough it almost makes me laugh.


    Before I can be swarmed by supplicants and sycophants, I sweep down the stairs of the throne and turn to leave the great hall by a side entrance. As I pass by the great nobles sitting on the dais beside the throne, Margaery gives me a meaningful look, and I gesture to the door I was heading. That was a supplicant I don¡¯t much mind entertaining.


    Before I even cross the door to the side corridor to wait for her, Ser Balon catches up behind me, and I hear the rest of my much diminished Kingsguard¡ªBlount and Kettleblack (Jaime notwithstanding), scrambling in their heavy armor after us like clumsy ducklings.


    I walk further down the corridor until I come to an airy alcove ringed by hanging flower pots. Outside the weather is warm and bright and cloudless as a midsummer¡¯s day, as if an apocalyptic winter wasn¡¯t just around the corner. The open windows look down onto a well-manicured garden of fruit trees and flowerbeds. A breeze rich with the smell of fresh earth and lilacs sends my blonde hair blowing along my forehead, and I allow myself a moment of relaxation. My eyes close and I sink down on the padded bench, enjoying the warmth of the sun against my skin.


    A king¡¯s business is unending. A good king, at least. There¡¯s no nine to five here, and I can¡¯t mentally check out like Robert did figuratively, or Aerys literally¡ªnot if I want to rule as I intend to. Not if I want to survive glacial armageddon, fiery gods, and dragon queens. But I am used to it. This is where I thrive, under pressure, challenged, with my life on the line. I will break before I would bend to this shit world.

 Chapter 17

    I don¡¯t have to wait long until I hear soft footsteps approaching. Opening my eyes slowly, I squint against the sun. Washed in daylight as she is, Margaery looks as much a queen as Cersei ever was, dressed in a tasteful pine-colored dress with golden flowers embroidered along the bust and sleeves. It¡¯s certainly a change from her usual provocative attire.


    The Kingsguard splits apart at her approach. Margaery¡¯s two ladies-in-waiting wait outside their protective ring. She stops a step away from me and curtsies deeply, granting me a faceful of cleavage. Ah! There she is.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± she says in that soft voice of hers I am beginning to grow used to.


    ¡°My lady.¡± I rise smoothly and bow over her extended hand, brushing my lips over her knuckles. ¡°I hope the trial wasn¡¯t overly disturbing to you.¡±


    Despite the small differences between Margaery and her actress, they have the same cheeky, sideways smirk. And let me tell you, that smirk is a dangerous thing. ¡°It was certainly¡­ stimulating, You Grace. The court will be speaking about it for months, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Indeed, the trial was as much of a shit show as I remember, only without Shae¡¯s appearance. I held her back at one of the mansions in King¡¯s Landing. No Golden Globe winning scene for Mr. Dinklage this time, I¡¯m afraid, but I doubt his Westerosi counterpart will care much. I even let him defend himself after every witness¡¯ testimony, so gracious a king I was.


    It¡¯s funny how the bare minimum due process can make such a huge difference, even if I still gave him the death sentence that ¡°forced¡± him to call for a trial by combat. I had thought of changing the judicial system of Westeros, until I almost smacked myself upside the head and laughed the matter off. A system where the rich and powerful get to fight off criminal charges in a nonsensical trial by combat using hired men, when I was the richest and most powerful man in the country? Why would I ever get rid of it? Sign me the fuck up.


    I smile sagely at Margaery. ¡°It went as the Gods decided, my lady. No more, no less.¡± Her hand still on mine, I lead her to the bench where we can sit facing each other. ¡°What more could we faithful ask for?¡±


    She giggles behind her hand. ¡°Of course, Your Grace, of course. We bow to the wisdom of the Gods.¡±


    With slight of hand borne out of a lifetime of handling knives and picking pockets, I reach behind her as we move to sit and pick a yellow rose out of a hanging pot. Before we¡¯re seated, she has a sunny golden rose stuck to the side of her hair facing the window, and the people around us are none the wiser.


    ¡°And here I was thinking you had already plucked my flower, Tommen?¡± she whispers.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    I feel a shiver run down my back. The experience dissociation between my mind and my teenage body is an ongoing struggle, trust me. ¡°That hardly seems appropriate for a young maiden to say,¡± I try to tease back.


    She tilts her head innocently. ¡°What? The innuendo, or the witticism?¡± I groan in my hand. Margaery had a thing for puns. ¡°Then again, it needn¡¯t be so scandalous now, does it? I heard you came to an agreement with my father for a betrothal between our families.¡±


    ¡°Grandmother,¡± I pointed. ¡°But I¡¯m sure you knew that already.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you think too highly of me, Your Grace. I don¡¯t know much of anything. I¡¯m just a little girl,¡± she says, then quieter, ¡°your little girl.¡±


    I sigh. I¡¯m too old for this shit. ¡°Is there a reason why you¡¯ve openly approached me before our betrothal is even made public, Margeary? Or do you simply wish to murder me by means of terrible word play?¡±


    She laughs again, a real one. There¡¯s even a snort there at the end, but I¡¯m too much of a gentleman to comment. ¡°I have a request, Tommen.¡±


    ¡°Before we¡¯re even wedded?¡± I quip. ¡°I dread to think of my life when we finally tie the knot.¡±


    Margaery sits up, all snobbish like. ¡°Grandmother says that once a couple is wedded and bedded, a wife has the right of two requests no husband can deny, one for each.¡± She picks the flower out of her hair, brings it up to her button of a nose, and smells it deeply. The she throws it out the window like a divine offering. How she can make that simple action look so erotic, I have no clue. ¡°I think we¡¯ve covered the latter plenty enough, don¡¯t you? So I am, as you once said, cashing in.¡±


    I had to give it to her. ¡°Very well, very well,¡± I said. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s contrived a dozen more reasons for my acquiescence before she ever even thought of coming up to me, so there¡¯s no point in wasting time. ¡°What is it you need?¡±


    ¡°I would like you to appoint Loras to your Kingsguard,¡± she says. ¡°You¡¯ve grown close enough during your practice. You know of his skill with a blade and ahorse; you know of his valor and his bravery in battle.¡± Then I feel her hand sneaking up my knee. ¡°And I would feel terribly safer with a familiar face to protect me, my king. Will you do this for me?¡±


    What a terrifying woman. Then again, he was my next choice of white cloak anyway.


    Undaunted, I smile wickedly. ¡°You seem overly eager to have your brother guarding our chambers at night. Something I should be worried about?¡± Bit hypocritical coming from me of all people, but I have to take my chances when I get them otherwise she¡¯ll think she¡¯s winning every interaction.


    ¡°Of course not, Your Grace.¡± She smirks again. Like a cat on the hunt. ¡°Without your household knights there, it just means I can be louder.¡±


    My hormonal mind freezes for a moment. I take a deep breath, my eyes close. Then I rest my head back against the wall and exhale. Fuck me, and fuck being fourteen again.


    ¡°Yes, well¡­ I can hardly say no to that, can I?¡± I manage to croak out.


    Margaery smiles victoriously. Fair play to her. ¡°Oh, thank you, Your Grace,¡± she says loud enough so the others around us can hear. ¡°You¡¯re too kind, too kind. My family will not forget this.¡±


    Before I can say anything else, she¡¯s up and curtsying and gliding away with her ladies, clucking and giggling like hens. As if she didn¡¯t just hijack a Kingsguard position from right under the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

 Chapter 18

    Back to past tense


    I heard him before he even turned the corner. Nobody walks like Tywin fucking Lannister. The raw purpose present in his every step is simply formidable, and it was aimed right at me.


    I had a million things to do today, but I¡¯d been resting on my sunny bench by the alcove for a good half hour after Margaery left. It¡¯s a small miracle to find a cozy spot in the Red Keep that¡¯s not full of adulating courtiers and doesn¡¯t smell like human shit.


    But as I saw Tywin zero-down on me from across the hall, the color of his red doublet matching his temper, I knew my peace was to come to an early end. I didn¡¯t mind it. I wasn¡¯t made for peace. Never saw the point of it.


    I greeted him when he made it past Ser Balon. ¡°Grandfather.¡± I pointed across from me to where Margaery sat a while before. Same venue, different public. It¡¯s a whole different show, like as not. ¡°I thought you would¡¯ve been the first to ambush me today.¡±


    He didn¡¯t even look at the bench, just stood in front me. Guy¡¯s got a hard on for staring people down. ¡°Finished with your bed warmer for the day, did you?¡± he snarked.


    Fun fact about Tywin. If you annoy him enough he becomes as sassy as a teenage girl. Did he think I¡¯d take calling Margaery my bed warmer personally and snap at him like a spoiled child whose toy was about to be taken away? As far as I know, that¡¯s as accurate a description of what she is to me as anything, betrothal notwithstanding.


    ¡°Not for the day, no,¡± I said, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll see her later.¡± Then I put my feet up on the bench and crossed them at the ankle.


    ¡°I thought you were smarter than this, Tommen,¡± he said. ¡°What happened today was a farce. You should have recused yourself, as I said. You let yourself be blinded by whatever love you have for that hateful little creature. You even let him defend himself after every witness.¡±


    Tywin lecturing me about letting my feelings over someone mask my view of reality is precious. Especially when we¡¯re talking about Tyrion.


    ¡°You mean I gave him a fair trial?¡± I shook my head. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. I still sentenced him, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    ¡°To that sham of a trial by combat, you mean.¡±


    I waved a hand. ¡°If you wish to complain about a trial by combat, you can take it to the High Septon. I have no hand in what the Gods decide.¡±


    ¡°The Gods¡­¡± he seethed. ¡°Do I look like a fool to you? That I don¡¯t know that uncultured thug follows your word? You should have¡ª¡±


    ¡°Should have what?¡± I cut in. ¡°Told you what I was going to do? And give you the chance to summon the Mountain from whichever hole you stash him in? Or give you the chance to be rid of Tyrion¡¯s champion? I think not.¡±


    His eyes flashed. ¡°You don¡¯t think you should have trusted me with your plans? When I am your Hand?¡±


    I snorted. The nerve on the fella. ¡°The last king that trusted Lord Tywin Lannister got his city sacked and a knife on his back for his troubles.¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    I swore a vein popped on his head; Aerys was a touchy topic with Tywin. But before he could snap back at me, a door banged open from the opposite side of the corridor Tywin came from and loud chatter filled the halls.


    As if I meant to do it all along, I slowly stood from the bench and fixed my fancy black and gold coat. Just as a group of lower-standing Reacher lordlings and heirs, some just a scant few years older than myself, rounded the bend behind us and came into view. By the level of their laughter they were no doubt well within their cups. They had come for Margaery¡¯s wedding with Joffrey, and had stayed over after the disaster. When you¡¯re as rich and powerful as lords and ladies are in their own corner of the Seven Kingdoms¡ªall with almost no accountability¡ªthere¡¯s no end to parties, you just drink long enough until the next one starts.


    They didn¡¯t count on barging into the conversation of the two most powerful men in Westeros, however, to whom their feeble local power meant nothing. Their faces were a picture.


    Twyin and I pretended we weren¡¯t at each other''s throats just a minute ago long enough for them to bow their way back from where they came from, uttering apologies and proclamations of loyalty all the way.


    The doors closed behind them with a click this time. Tywin motioned with his hand, and two of his men went to either end of the corridor, no doubt to look out for and stop any new comers.


    We had been half-whispering up until that point, so much so I don¡¯t think even our guards heard our conversation. There was no need to have the whole court thinking the king and his hand weren¡¯t seeing eye to eye. That¡¯s a recipe for a civil war, right there. Especially when the Old Lion was involved.


    I was sure Varys or one of his little birds was listening in on us. The walls had ears in the Red Keep, as they say, but I doubt our conversation was any news to him, even if they could pick out our voices. For those in the know, what happened in the Great Hall earlier today was obvious enough.


    ¡°Do you know why I did what I did?¡± I started again. ¡°Why I arranged so Meryn would die and Tyrion walked away free?¡±


    With his composure regained during our interruption, he played uninterested. His weathered face turned almost mocking. ¡°Go on, enlighten me, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Tyrion is my assurance, my lord. My assurance against you. I¡¯ll keep him by my side from now on. Give him a post on the Small Council. I know you won¡¯t contrive to have him killed, even if you wouldn¡¯t mind him stumbling into his death. Jaime might be your heir, but if I ask¡­¡± I opened my arms and shrugged. ¡°Well, we both know he holds no love for the business of lording, don¡¯t we?¡±


    Tywin seemed to freeze for a moment. ¡°You would go against my word, about my own lands?¡± His voice was a cold whisper.


    Fun fact about Tywin number two. He respects power above everything. If I show him too much deference, he¡¯ll walk right over me. But if I go too far, he¡¯ll drown my entire family in a castle. It¡¯s a tricky little balancing act.


    I lifted an arm to assuage him. ¡°Not if I could avoid it,¡± I said. ¡°The Westerlands are my biggest supporters, and as you say, Tyrion isn¡¯t fit to rule there. The lords won¡¯t support him. But you¡¯ve abandoned a king before, my lord. So long as you don¡¯t betray me while you live, I won¡¯t go against your wishes on the succession of the Westerlands, even after your time.¡±


    I could still see the flicker of irritation in the set of his brow. He¡¯s a man unused to being told off by someone. In his mind, neither kings nor gods are above a Lannister.


    ¡°Very well,¡± he said. ¡°Keep your word, Tommen. Or you¡¯ll see if I truly wouldn¡¯t kill off one of my own.¡± Then he turned to leave.


    I only nodded. Fair enough, even if I knew he was bluffing. Until I had a kid, I was the only Lannister the realm would accept as king. That gave me a good-sized wiggle room to poke the lion¡¯s tail.


    Then I remembered something, and quickly strode after him before he got too far away. ¡°Oh, and grandfather.¡± He slowed until we were walking side by side, like the good little buddies that we were¡ªdeath threats aside. ¡°Believe it or not, I didn¡¯t save Tyrion just to annoy you. He¡¯s innocent, plain and simple.¡±


    Tywin frowned. ¡°You can¡¯t know that.¡±


    ¡°And yet I do,¡± I said. This time, I made sure to whisper: ¡°And you¡¯ll help me catch the culprit, and the little dove that flew right out of our hands.¡±

 Chapter 19

    Ser Balon¡¯s swing felt heavy as a plow-horse against my sword. Our blades met in a harsh clang of metal, and I only just managed to push him off in a parry. We disengaged, and I took the time to wipe off the sweat that rolled down the side of my face. Despite the cool spray of the sea, the helmet and half-plate armor I had on felt like a boiling pot cooking me as it would a crab.


    We circled each other another time, swords raised at the ready, looking for any flaws in each other¡¯s stances. I was the first to bite, a tentative swing to open him up for a counter. A trap.


    Ser Balon didn¡¯t seem to care. Instead of a cautious approach, he deflected my half-hearted attack and came at me relentlessly. First a lunge, a half-swing followed by a thrust, then twice against my leg.


    I parried them all, my arm moving without waiting for my brain, but I couldn¡¯t find reprieve long enough to try my hand at that counter. He was taller than I was, his reach longer. I tried to move under his guard in between strikes, but then again he was also broader, so he shouldered me half-way across the fighting ring when I closed in, and we were back to where we started.


    For a moment I just stood there, panting heavily, my shoulders on fire with the weight of my dull training sword. Ser Balon stood across from me, unmoving but for the wind tousling his short bronze-colored hair. We were practicing in the same place Bronn and Jaime did in the show, a smoothstone terrace tucked against the cliffs beneath the Red Keep. Behind me, the terrace gave in to a sharp drop to the Blackwater. To the west, the setting sun painted the sky above King¡¯s Landing the color of blood.


    I usually came here to practice with Bronn, where a king could try his hand at some dirty fighting without causing a stir in court. But the former sellsword had been out in the city for the past week doing my bidding, and I¡¯d brought my one useful Kingsguard and Ser Loras Tyrell with me.


    I already knew well what fighting was. I¡¯d done it all my life. Your focus narrows to the man opposite you, your breathing comes quicker and quicker still, hot blood pumps through your veins. That all doesn¡¯t change. The feel is the same.


    But as I¡¯d learned these past months, swordfighting is a whole other beast compared to what I was used to, and Tommen¡¯s memories were next to useless in that regard.


    Still, they told me I was keen for a boy of fifteen, even if Tommen had never trained due to Cersei¡¯s meddling. Ser Balon said I got it from Robert¡¯s fighting vigor, but I knew otherwise. Let it not be said a son of Jaime Lannister had no talent with a sword in hand.


    Then Ser Balon was walking up to me again, slowly. He was a methodical fighter, an immovable rock in the middle of a storm. Until he turned the switch on and became the whirlwind himself. But I had no waiting in me. When he was within striking distance, I lunged. The knight brought his sword down to deflect mine, but I pulled off at the last second and went for an overhead blow, aiming for the neck.


    Then he twisted. His body moved out of the way quick as a viper. His sword met mine on its way down and rolled along the blade. Pain suddenly flared on my wrist. Were I a smarter man I would¡¯ve dropped the sword and called it a day, but I was already stubborn before I ever got my wits about me, so I tumbled to the side and tucked into a half-roll, still clutching the handle of the sword despite the discomfort it caused me.


    I turned to meet him again, intent on finishing the bout before my wrist gave out. And got a foot to the chest that took all the air out of my world. The sword flew out of my hand when my back hit the ground hard, and my helmet rang against the stone like a gong. I strained my neck and tried to curse the bastard, but it came out a pained groan. Before I could gather the energy to stand, Ser Balon was on top of me, his sword pointing down my neck.


    I sighed and I let my head fall down to the ground. After the first sparring session where I told him off for taking it easy on me, Ser Balon withheld nothing in our practice. Because of that, he was still undefeated against me. In fact, I hadn¡¯t won a single bout against any of my three training partners. It was to be expected, I knew. Tommen had never stepped foot on a training yard before I came into the picture, but all the losses stacking up like that still stung. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    When I looked up again, Ser Balon had his hand pointed at me instead of a sword. I grit my teeth and took it, and he heaved me up like I weighed as little as Ser Pounce.


    ¡°Are you alright, Your Grace?¡± he asked, concern evident in his face.


    I turned away quickly so he couldn¡¯t see me scowl. Nothing rankled me like pity, even if I knew he didn¡¯t mean it like that. I¡¯d seen it all too often when I was a kid living off the streets, that look of pity tainted by distaste. That stayed with me, festered deep inside. Too deep to lose it with something as simple as dying.


    I waved him away. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I said, resting both hands on my knees. Still out of breath, my voice came out like a wheeze. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±


    I heard applause coming from the side. I turned to see Loras walking up from where he was resting against the rocks, his own sparring sword on his hips. He had a beaming smile on his face, all white and shiny. Little prick.


    ¡°Are you mocking me, Ser Loras?¡± I asked. I was a sore loser.


    Loras snorted. ¡°Are you joking, Your Grace? You were magnificent. Three weeks ago you could hardly hold a sword properly.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°I¡¯m quite sure people weren¡¯t supposed to know that.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°My grandmother is the Queen of Thorns,¡± he said, as if that explained it all. And it did, in a way. He reached behind his back, brought out a waterskin and offered it to me.


    ¡°Still,¡± I started. I grabbed the skin out of his hand and took a big gulp, then spat half of it out. ¡°I still lost. Nothing magnificent about that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a Kingsguard, Your Grace,¡± Ser Balon said, his tone even as always. The man looked like he had hardly broken out a sweat. What a fucking monster. ¡°If the King could guard himself, then what is the point of donning the white?¡±


    The lines on his face creased. As I didn¡¯t want to give him an existential crisis,  I just nodded in his direction. I took another swig at the waterskin before handing it back to Loras.


    ¡°I intend to host a tourney in a month¡¯s time,¡± I said suddenly.


    ¡°A tourney, Your Grace?¡± That was Ser Balon. I could almost see the gears turning on his head, the worry over the crowds and the feasts and the guests. Nothing on gold winnings and glory like most knights. Just duty.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± I said. ¡°To commemorate our victories over the Starks and Stannis, and the passing of another year.¡±


    Ser Balon only nodded, but Loras looked like a kid in a candy shop. ¡°That sounds grand, Your Grace!¡±  He slapped his hands together. ¡°I will have to visit Tobho Mott¡¯s shop before then. My silver armor has gained several chips during the war. Do you intend to ride yourself, Your Grace?¡±


    ¡°Not this time, I¡¯m afraid.¡± I gave him an amused smile. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t want the King to embarrass himself in front of the whole city now, would we?¡±


    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have that problem if you practiced more with the lance like I said, Your Grace,¡± Loras huffed.


    I shook my head. This kid was lucky he was my future brother-in-law. And a nice guy too, I supposed, if you took the cheek out of him.


    ¡°This tourney will be very important to my reign,¡± I told them. ¡°I intend to choose some new members of the Kingsguard after the recent¡­ tragic loss of Ser Meryn. He will be remembered fondly, of course. But the Kingsguard must go on.¡±


    Ser Balon grunted. ¡°Aye.¡±


    ¡°I hope to see you there, Ser Loras. No?¡± I shot him a meaningful look.


    Ser Loras Tyrell flushed. ¡°I, uh, yes, Your Grace. Yes, of course.¡± He bowed awkwardly. ¡°It would be an honor.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± I nodded. I didn¡¯t just want to hand him a white-cloak without a good reason, promise to my betrothed or not. ¡°I¡¯m sure you will make myself and your family proud.¡±


    We made our way back to the Keep after that. Loras headed to where his family was staying in one of the guest wings of Maegor¡¯s Keep, and Ser Balon followed me to my apartments. He¡¯d rotate his shift out after dropping me off for tweedle dee or tweedle dum, I couldn¡¯t remember which. I was counting the days for when Tywin would off them.


    When we reached my rooms, just after Ser Balon went inside to check if there weren¡¯t any nasty surprises waiting for me, I stopped him on his way out. ¡°Ser Balon,¡± I called.


    He turned at the door. ¡°Your Grace?¡±


    I walked up to him and grasped his shoulder. ¡°You are a good knight, Ser,¡± I told him. I looked him in the eyes to make my meaning stick. ¡°A good knight. Take pride in that.¡±


    I had to stop him from kneeling more than once before he finally left.

 Chapter 20

    After the adrenaline from practice had faded, my wrist had pained me all through the night. I woke up the next morning with dark circles under my eyes and with the offending wrist red and throbbing. The last thing I wanted in the world was to get sick in any way and end up depending on the healthcare of medieval, quasi witchdoctors. So I knew where I had to go today before it could get any worse.


    I wasn¡¯t exactly anticipative to a visit with Grand Maester Pycelle, even if I¡¯d conversed with him from time to time in between council meetings. He was a blubbering old lech, to be sure, but he had a keen mind. Keen enough I had to play the long game and talk with him several times about books and journals from men related to the faith, all so he would think nothing of the request I would make of him today.


    I rose from bed before any of my servants came to my door, for a change. It was a challenge getting used to being dressed and bathed like a toddler, but I had to play my part. With my poor night¡¯s sleep and the pulsing on my wrist, however, I didn¡¯t have the patience for it today, so I started the grueling task of putting on my own clothes like a normal human being. Oh, the horror.


    When I finished fastening up the last gold-colored button of my night black coat, I stopped and looked myself over in the mirror. As was a boy¡¯s due, Tommen had grown up considerably since the beginning of the year, and the face that I now wore had started to come into its own.


    Say what you will about the incestual dynamic duo of Cersei and Jaime, but they were damned good looking people. I would never be a behemoth the likes of Robert Baratheon or the Clegane brothers, but I had a nice mixture of height and handsomeness going on.


    I hadn¡¯t a care for vanity. But what a lot of people don¡¯t realise is that symbols do matter, and a king must be exactly that: a symbol¡ªa story that fathers tell their children about, of how they once saw the great noble king trot by on his mighty steed, his gleaming armor breaking the sunlight into a rainbow, or some such nonsense. That symbol must be untouchable and unreachable to the masses down below, kind and fatherly to children and servants, firm and decisive with his lords, vicious and cunning against his enemies. All in one person.


    Image is just another scope by which kings are measured, and I intended to pull off the solemn, dashing hero-king as best as I could. I even got my sad back story on point, with my father, mother and brother ruthlessly taken away from me at a young age.


    Taking a last glance at the mirror, I noticed something missing. Something key. On a whim, I walked up to the display hanger set over my bedroom¡¯s hearth. Widow¡¯s Wail rested vertically against the bronze-colored stone wall, point facing down. The smoky Valyrian steel sword was tinged with red and black ripples all along its blade, and the once impractical golden handle had been wrapped tightly in black leather.


    Yes, that would do fine. It was about time I brought out the big guns. A King Arthur must have his Excalibur.


    I took the sword belt from where it hung on the mantle and wrapped it around my waist. A new black scabbard with golden accents had already been looped on it, so I took the sword down and slid it in place with a quiet hiss.


    I already knew what I was going to call it. Hopebringer. As pretentious a name for a sword as it could be, but it was also a symbol. A rallying cry to the men and women of Westeros. It was the sword with which I would smite false kings and queens down; the sword whose blade would end the threat of the White Walkers once and for all. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Or, at least, that is what I hoped the stories would say. I had no intention of trading blows against dragons and those millennia old ice-demons, after all.


    A sudden knock on the door heralded one of my maids. I moved to the table where I usually ate when I was alone and called her in. She had my breakfast on a large platter with an even larger plate cover on top.


    For her to get in my room with food, the food tester would have had to taste it in front of one of my Kingsguards at the door. He would then lock back the food under the metal cover, which I would unlock again in my room. It was an annoyingly complicated system, but it worked.


    I watched Alyce stride in, her focus only on balancing the food. She was a pretty thing, only a few years older than I, with comely hazel eyes, suntanned skin, and black hair she kept under a head scarf. She wore the usual clothing of a noble¡¯s maid, a conservative dress in either brown or beige, with long flowing skirts and a white apron over her legs.


    The first time she served me, she seemed surprised I didn¡¯t immediately bend her down over a table or something like that. She must have heard horror stories of my supposed father from the other maids before she started working for me.


    She jumped when she saw me already up and dressed. ¡°Your Grace!¡± The platter wobbled on her hands, but she was quick enough to catch it and lay it on the table in front of me. ¡°I¡ªI beg your pardon, Your Grace. I thought you¡¯d be only just waking now.¡±


    I waved her off. ¡°Don¡¯t concern yourself with it.¡± I took a small brass key from where it hung on my neck and unlocked my food. As per usual, there was more than he¡¯d ever need: a full spread of fresh fruits, hard-boiled eggs, fried onions with bacon and cheese, smoked salmon from the night before, and hot bread with butter and berry preserves on the side. I hummed and plucked a grape in my mouth. ¡°Now, tell me, Alyce. How is your mother¡ªJoss, was it?¡±


    Alyce¡¯s eyes went wide as saucers at the mention of her mother¡¯s name, and red blossomed on her cheeks. ¡°My... mother?¡± she stuttered out. ¡°Oh, oh! She¡¯s, uhm, I¡­ I mean to say¡­¡± her mouth opened and closed a few more times before she just stopped trying.


    ¡°Well?¡± I stopped trying to spear an unpeeled quail egg and looked up at her. ¡°She¡¯s better, I hope?¡±


    I saw her struggling to swallow down her nervousness. ¡°Uhm, yes, Your Grace, yes. All thanks to you, of course.¡± She tucked an errant lock of hair under her scarf. ¡°She was back on her feet quick as a possum after the good Maester visited her. He prepared a, uhm, pottisse¡ª¡±


    ¡°Poultice,¡± I told her.


    Alyce brightened. ¡°Yes! A po-u-ltice for her chest, Your Grace. I spread it me¡¯self on her every night. Her cough is all gone, too. It was a blessing for the Gods, Your Grace. Your blessing, too.¡±


    I was pretty sure it was just onions and a few natural analgesics but I¡¯ll take it. I¡¯d sent the maester after I heard an off-handed comment by her with another maid. These are the people that clean my room, wash my clothes, prepare my food. You never know when a little kindness might just save you.


    ¡°Well I¡¯m glad, Alyce. Joss worked in the Keep her whole life. She deserves nothing less.¡± I smiled as gently as I knew how. ¡°And thank you, for my meal.¡±


    ¡°Oh, uhm, of course, Your Grace.¡± She curtsied deeply and moved to leave, then as if struck by an idea, she turned. ¡°If you¡¯d like, Your Grace, I could, uhm¡­¡± Alyce¡¯s flush had reached her ears by now. ¡°I mean, I heard what maids do and, uhm, if you wished¡­¡± she trailed off.


    I looked at her with sorry eyes. ¡°I would love to, Alyce, truly. And you¡¯re very lovely. But I plan on remaining faithful to my betrothed for now. Perhaps after my wedding, yes?¡±


    She seemed confused for a moment, but she just nodded enthusiastically and scurried out of the room.


    I blew out some air. It felt like I just kicked a puppy. It was terribly tempting to give in, but I didn¡¯t want to wake up twenty years from now with a bitter wife and a flower-themed boar waiting to gut me the next time I went hunting. I had a good rapport going with Margaery, and she was more adventurous than I expected. Give me some wiggle room to work on her, and I¡¯d be revisiting Alyce¡¯s offer soon enough. All in good time.

 Chapter 21

    It was Ser Balon¡¯s shift again, thank all the Gods, and we swiftly made our way out of Maegor¡¯s Holdfast and across two conjoining courtyards to the rookery, a squat tower made of the same pale red stone of the Keep that housed the ravens at its top and the Grand Maester¡¯s rooms beneath it.


    After an assistant pointed us the right way, we found Pycelle sitting inside a side den next to his chambers, hunched over a large tome. Aside from the space directly occupied by a few chairs and an examining table, the room was a mess. Dusty books were piled haphazardly atop open chests on the back and flowers and herbs hung from the ceiling like vines. On the walls, tiny glass jars and vials stood side to side with larger ceramic jars, and whole cabinets were filled to the brim with different medicines.


    I knocked gently on the door.


    ¡°Yes?¡± Grand Maester Pycelle said, eyes fixed on the book.


    ¡°A minute of your time, Grand Maester, if you will,¡± I said.


    Pycelle had a moment of surprise. ¡°Your Grace.¡± He closed the tome and rose quick as a man twenty years his junior. ¡°I wasn¡¯t informed you were coming. I apologize for all the clutter. Acolytes, these days,¡± he grumbled, then cleared his throat. ¡°Please.¡± He pointed to a chair across his own.


    ¡°Thank you, Grand Maester. And make no mention of it.¡± I walked inside the room proper, dodging book hills and grasping plants. The air inside smelled sharply of greenery and old parchment. I gestured so Ser Baelon stayed behind, and he moved to stand by the door. ¡°I would be suspicious if a Maester¡¯s room was not a mess. I heard it¡¯s a common trait of intelligent men.¡±


    ¡°Oh you shouldn¡¯t believe everything you hear, Your Grace.¡± He stroked his long white beard. ¡°A King must have a keen ear for veracity and falsehood, oh yes. Why, my own mentor in the Citadel, the now deceased Archmaester Yarwin, was one of the most organized creatures I have met in all my ears. Everything had to be spotless in his rooms, Your Grace. Spotless! He used to drive us acolytes raw cleaning all his belongings.¡±


    I nodded wisely. ¡°I see,¡± I said. But I didn¡¯t. I had stopped listening when he mentioned the Citadel. ¡°Once again, you have given me something to think on, Grand Maester. I will take it to heart, be sure of that.¡±


    ¡°I have been advising kings for a long time, Your Grace. I¡¯m only glad I can still help,¡± he said. The Grand Maester called for one of his servants and bid them bring out drinks. We made pointless conversation until Pycelle had his iced milk and I had my iced wine. ¡°Now, to what do I owe this honor, my King?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not here to honor you,¡± I told him, sipping my drink. ¡°Just giving you more work.¡±


    Pycelle¡¯s chest rumbled with soft laughter, the chains on his neck tinkling like bells. ¡°Healing the infirm is a Maester¡¯s honor,¡± he informed me. ¡°What currently ails Your Grace, then?¡±


    I put down my wine, took out my left arm and rolled up my sleeves. The wrist had started to swell, but only just. ¡°I believe I sprained it in practice yesterday.¡±


    ¡°A common enough injury,¡± he said. He rose from his seat and approached me. ¡°May I?¡± I nodded, and he gently cradled my wrist. He turned it from side to side, pressing different spots and looking for signs of discomfort. His knotted fingers were more like gnarled tree roots than anything else, but he was genuine in his care. After a few moments, he released me. ¡°Indeed, it is just a sprain, Your Grace. It should heal by itself in a few days. But¡ª¡± he lifted a finger ¡°¡ªI do have a compress I can make to speed up the process.¡±This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    He moved over to the medicine counter before I could even agree. He started taking powders off of cabinets and plucking herbs out of the small garden he kept on the ceiling. Despite his age, his hands moved deftly over the ingredients, grinding and mixing then grinding again.


    ¡°Have you finished reading Barth¡¯s diary, Your Grace?¡± The Grand Maester asked as he worked. ¡°I do not want to rush you, far be it from me, but any of his writings are extremely rare and valuable. Not many of them survived Baelor¡¯s purge, you see.¡±


    I allowed myself a smile. There it was, an opening. ¡°I am, in fact, finished with it, Grand Maester. I will make sure to have it sent your way.¡± The Grand Maester nodded, so I continued. ¡°The insights on the reign of Jaehaerys the first were truly a joy to read. He is one of the Targaryen kings I admire most.¡±


    ¡°As should everyone,¡± he said absentmindedly. ¡°King Jaehaerys is perhaps the most competent King Westeros has ever seen. His work on reforming our codes of law is, to this day, the lynchpin that holds the Seven Kingdoms together.¡± The Grand Maester resumed grinding for a moment, until he seemed to realise his faux pass and hurriedly spoke again, ¡°After your father, of course.¡± He coughed awkwardly over his sleeves. ¡°King Robert was a man amongst men. His exploits during the Rebellion, and later during the invasion of the Iron Islands, are legendary.¡±


    Brown-nosing alert. ¡°As was the Kingdom¡¯s debt,¡± I said.


    Relieved by my good humor, Pycelle just shrugged. ¡°All men have vices, Your Grace, kings more than most. It comes with the rigors of the office.¡±


    ¡°I look forward to discovering my own, then,¡± I said. Pycelle chuckled and turned back over the counter. After a while of hearing the crack of the pestle hitting the mortar repeatedly, I pushed the conversation to where I initially intended it to go. ¡°In any event, Grand Maester, I truly found the Barth¡¯s writings interesting. Reading about governance through the perspective of a High Septon was enlightening as well.¡±


    ¡°Oh no, Your Grace,¡± Pycelle said. He even stopped working again, turning to address me. ¡°While Septon Barth was most certainly a man of great faith, he never held the position of High Septon, only Hand of the King.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± I asked. ¡°He never really mentions his titles before he took up handship, so I just assumed.¡±


    ¡°A harmless mistake, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± I said.


    With no more distractions, Pycelle finished the concoction quickly and applied it to my wrist, wrapping it all up with white bandages. ¡°All done, Your Grace. Give it two days and you will be back to form.¡±


    I tried the range of motion for my wrist and found it acceptable. ¡°My thanks, Grand Maester.¡± I crossed my legs over each other and reclined back on the chair, trying to look as nonchalant as I could. ¡°Do we have any writings by a High Septon here in the Red Keep, then? Septon Barth focuses mainly on the Kingdom¡¯s administration and laws.¡± I sighed deeply. ¡°But with all my losses in these last two years¡­ I¡¯m not sure, Grand Maester. I feel myself all the more drawn to the Faith. I believe I need the guidance of the Crone just as much as the wisdom of man.¡±


    ¡°Hum.¡± He swiped a hand over the small wisps of white hair still atop his head. ¡°No. I do not think we have them at hand, Your Grace. However, I do know they keep it several at the Citadel. I¡¯ve transcribed enough of them to know it well,¡± he said, laughing gaily.


    ¡°Do you believe you would be able to acquire them for me?¡± I inquired.


    ¡°Why, of course, Your Grace. You are the King. The Maesters of the Citadel serve at your pleasure,¡± he said. ¡°Are you looking for anything in particular?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Perhaps something from previous High Septons?¡± I hummed, looking into empty space as if in deep consideration. ¡°The more recent the better, I would think. They would know of the Faith¡¯s doctrines as it relates to our day and age better than older ones, no?¡±


    ¡°Well thought, Your Grace, well thought. Now let me see,¡± he said, stroking his beard. ¡°High Septon Maynard served as the leader of the Faith of the Seven for nearly thirty years before his passing. And he left extensive notes in diaries about his spiritual missions inside the Faith. Would that be acceptable?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Grand Maester.¡± I smiled warmly. ¡°High Septon Maynard¡¯s diaries sound just fine.¡± Because one Targaryen capable of riding dragons was more than enough for me.

 Chapter 22

    Bronn I


    Bronn¡¯s nose wrinkled. The room they¡¯d been waiting in stank of stale horse feed and human piss. It had been a stable once, tucked behind an old acquaintance¡¯s tavern near Fishmonger¡¯s Square, and even if they called it a storeroom now, the rank smell remained ingrained in the wooden floorboards.


    Truth was, he¡¯d been too long walking the perfumed halls of lords and kings. Too long fucking around with sweet-smelling ladies behind their husband¡¯s backs. So much so he forgot how it was down here in the grime and muck. And now that he would finally get to be a lord himself, with his own castle and servants to wipe his arse, the little king sent him on a hunt for a fucking sparrow of all things.


    He would do it, too. For the gold and the castle, but also because that kid scared the ever-living shit out of him. The way he smiled and talked and just watched you when you spoke, it was all fucking wrong.


    It didn¡¯t matter, in the end. He¡¯d do what he had to for his fucking castle. Even working for the little shit.


    He was sitting on an old barrel by the corner, passing time flipping a dagger around his fingers, back then forth then back again. The sun had set hours ago outside, the baking heat that had fallen over the city like a blanket earlier in the day had finally lifted, so it wouldn¡¯t be long now...


    ¡°When¡¯s that fucker gettin¡¯ here?¡± Red Lony said again for the tenth time in the past hour, then spat on the hay-covered floor.


    Bronn seriously considered throwing his dagger. Lony wouldn¡¯t talk as much with it sticking out of his neck, he was sure of it. He almost regretted calling the skeevy little man up for the group the young king asked him to gather. Lony was more rat than man: short, hairy, and given to biting if you get too close. But he knew few men who could handle themselves in a back alley knife-fight like Red Lony there did.


    And that¡¯s the kind of man he¡¯d be needing today.


    The others around the room grumbled a bit, but he¡¯d promised coin enough for the other five of them to keep their mouths shut, if only for now. They were an ugly lot, to be sure, dressed in shabby old tunics and soot-stained shirts, but they were killers one and all. Good at it, too.


    There was a sudden rap at the door, five in sequence, then young Cleon¡¯s pock-marked face peeked through the opening, still catching his breath. ¡°He¡¯sth leavingth,¡± he said, lisp and all. If Bronn hadn¡¯t seen him cut down three gold-cloaks who¡¯d beaten his mother up he would¡¯ve thought the kid was a simpleton.


    ¡°Right lads.¡± He hopped off the barrel and made for the exit. ¡°Time to go.¡±


    He kept a hand on his blade and an eye on Red Lony until he was well past the storeroom door. He trusted him enough to finish the job, if only for the coin involved, but you never show a man like Lony your back without thinking it through.


    The door opened up to a cramped alley squeezed between three-storey buildings on both sides, where an open wagon with bits of hay and cloth waited for him. There were no lamps near a place like this, and the moonlight barely cut through the clouds enough to illuminate the ground.


    One by one his men made it outside, and before they left for the ambush spot, Bronn stopped them. ¡°You fuckers know how this works,¡± he gruffed. ¡°Keep your heads down ¡®till we get there. If you see a gold-cloak patrol, whistle and spread out. Don¡¯t fuck ¡®round on the way or on the job, or I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯ll wake up tomorrow with a lead pipe half-way up your arse, eh.¡± He glared at their ugly faces, and got stared right back. Good. He nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s fucking go then.¡±


    xxx


    They made quick time down River Row, pushing the wagon past the stumbling drunks that filled the streets at that time in the night. Shanty taverns, brothels, and wineholes dotted this part of the city like fleas on a stray dog, probably sucking just as much blood as well. Bronn had to dodge three knife-fights and stear his men away from a couple of whores that looked like men too much for comfort.


    But in the end, they didn¡¯t run into any men on the city watch. Soon the road sloped up as it moved away from the docks; cobblestone replaced muck, and the air cleared of the smell of rank fish. The houses around them grew taller, some reaching up to five-storeys, built with greystone as foundations and topped by flat roofs, where whole gardens seemed to spill down from the sides.


    Cleon called a stop when they reached a small deserted square half-way up Visenya¡¯s Hill. Here, the Great Sept of Balor loomed ever closer, its seven crystal spires reaching for the clouds like fingers. On the opposite end of the square, a wide stone bridge that connected two buildings cast its shadow over the whole street.


    The perfect spot for a good bit of killing.


    Bronn nodded to the group, and without words, they spread out, surrounding the mouth of the shadowy street. Two of his men pushed the wagon until it stopped in the middle of the street, clogging the exit into the square. Anyone wishing to move past it would have to squeeze through the other side. The two men bent down around one of the wagon¡¯s axles, looking at it as if puzzling over a problem. Then they waited.


    xxx


    As he did every day at the same hour, The High Sparrow left his nest on the slopes of Visenya¡¯s Hill to proselytize to the poor and the wicked of King¡¯s Landing near the docks. He always had six of his Sparrows with him, men wearing plain brown frocks and carrying heavy maces, marked with the seven-pointed star on their foreheads as a symbol of their devotion.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Only five now, actually, as Bronn shoved a crude iron dagger through the eye of the first Sparrow who walked past the wagon. The rest of his men jumped out of their hiding places, aiming for throats and stomachs and hearts, closing on the five remaining Sparrows on all sides. None of them carried anything larger than daggers and dirks on their hands. They were out to muder, not to do battle.


    The Sparrow on the business end of his own blade dropped like a doll with its strings cut, taking the dagger with him. Bronn simply reached behind his back and pulled another one. He never left his room with less than five of them.


    Two of the Sparrows managed their surprises better than the others and brought their maces out. They shouted war cries and heaved their arms, but they swung only at shadows. Bronn glimpsed Lony ducking beneath a mace¡¯s swing, only to come up gutting the man holding it. Then Cleon was rushing past him, jumping on the back of a Sparrow who¡¯d gotten the best of one of his own men and stabbing down at his chest.


    When it was all done, blood covered the street like fresh-fallen rain. The High Sparrow was the only faithful left standing, his silver hair glinting in the night. He had watched unflinchingly as his men were massacred around him.


    One of Bronn¡¯s own men was down, clutching his side from a mace blow. Blood pooled over his hand. ¡°Please,¡± he gasped. ¡°Help¡ª¡±


    Until Lony shut him up with a dagger to the heart. Bronn gave him a tight nod and turned to the High Sparrow.


    The religious man did nothing, only opened his arms in surrender. ¡°The Gods are watching, my friend.¡±


    Bronn snorted. ¡°Aye. They¡¯re watching.¡± He picked up a mace, hefting it in one hand, and walked up to the High Sparrow. ¡°They¡¯ll keep watching, too.¡± Then he brought the heavy wooden arm of the mace over the High Sparrow¡¯s head.


    xxx


    Bronn lazily climbed the steps up to the King¡¯s apartments, whistling the Dornishmen¡¯s wife under his breath. He was back on his best silks now, after washing and scrubbing off the grime of the day before.


    The killing bit had been the easiest; it was the dumping and hiding of the corpses that sore¡¯d the muscles. Luckily, he was a lord now, or near enough a¡¯one, until he married the ditzy Stokeworth girl, and he¡¯d simply told his boys what to do while he sat and watched.


    Delegating, the nobles liked to call. A remarkable idea, he thought. He had half a mind to do nothing but delegating from now on.


    Around him, the castle was alive with activity. Maids and pages rushed about, carrying hot water for baths and platters of food and drinks, while red-cloaked Lannister men patrolled the corridors. Most of the people he met on his way gave him a clear berth, while others nodded his way. Came with killing a Kingsguard, Bronn supposed.


    Two more flights of stairs and he stopped at the door with the white-cloaked figure standing guard in front. Ser Boros Blount looked like a jester given a sword, all red-faced and sweaty in his mail and plate. He glared weakly when Bronn approached.


    ¡°Here to see the King,¡± he said easily.


    Boros the Belly puffed up like a toad. ¡°You¡ª¡±


    Bronn cut in. ¡°Just knock on the fucking door and tell him, will ya?¡±


    It took him putting a hand on the pommel of his sword to get the jowly man to open the door. Bronn saw him speaking with another Kingsguard through the opening, most likely the Swann knight who was standing guard on the other side.


    Another minute passed before he was ushered in. Just to fuck with him, Bronn feinted a rush in his direction as he went by, and Blount almost fell over himself.


    He chortled under his breath. No wonder the King wanted most of these fuckers gone.


    On the other side, the drawing room was filled with young lords and ladies, heirs and cousins and newly-minted knights talking and laughing as they broke their fast. Ser Balon Swann watched him closely from where he stood by the door, but made no move to stop him. He found the young king on a side table, talking with the Lady Tyrell and a few of her ladies on one side, and some Westerland lordlings on the other.


    Walking up to them, Bronn cleared his throat. ¡°Your Grace.¡± The heads on the table all turned to him, some sneering in distaste. He easily shrugged off the little cun*s. ¡°I have with me the man you wanted to see¡­¡±


    The King looked at him inquisitively for a moment, then nodded. ¡°Ah, I see,¡± he said simply. He kissed the Tyrell girl¡¯s hand and rose from his seat. ¡°Forgive me, my lords, my ladies, but I have a¡­ prior engagement with a holy man this morning.¡±


    The men and women around the room stood with the King, curtsying and bowing and doing everything short of licking the kid¡¯s boots as they both moved toward the door.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Margaery Tyrell said, all grace and naivety. She could¡¯ve fooled him. ¡°Be well, my King.¡±


    ¡°Are you going to pray, Your Grace?¡± one of the ladies on the table asked. She looked unmistakingly similar to some noble¡¯s wife he¡¯d fucked the week before last. A daughter, most likely. Looked just as dumb, too.


    The King stopped for a moment on his way out of the room, then turned to her. He had a nice little smile on his face, Bronn saw. Too nice. ¡°Yes, my lady,¡± he said. ¡°Yes. I do believe I will.¡±


    Then he swiftly left, gesturing Bronn and Ser Balon to follow. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck, and he suppressed a shiver. That little fucker really did scare the shit out of him.


    AN: Had some trouble coming up with Bronn''s voice. Sometimes it came out too forced, sometimes it seemed it was not enough. Settled for this.

 Chapter 23

    ¡°So we are agreed, my lords?¡± I asked, rubbing my temples to keep my head from exploding. ¡°Five thousand for the winner of the joust, two thousand for the melee, and a thousand dragons for archery?¡±


    Heads bobbed around the room and I breathed a sigh of relief.


    I almost wished Littlefinger had not gone to the Vale, because trying to get Tywin Lannister to spend gold was a tough mountain to climb. He¡¯d been taking care of the realm¡¯s finances since Baelish was away, and while I knew I could expect good results, I did not count with him being such a fucking miser.


    ¡°I will have Tyrion take care of the specifics,¡± I said. ¡°Stands, fences, tents, food vendors and the like. He has a good head for administration.¡± If Tywin didn¡¯t like that, his face certainly didn¡¯t show it.


    ¡°Good. Now that is done and over with. Lord Varys, you are the Master of Whispers. Please, whisper. Tell me of the Targaryen girl in the east.¡±


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± Varys said, his first words in this meeting. He was wearing long golden robes with flowers and swans embroidered on the sleeves and along the neck. No hood, which was a shame. ¡°Daenerys Targaryen has taken Meereen, the largest city in Slaver¡¯s Bay.¡±


    ¡°She rules it as Queen, I take it?¡± Varys nodded his bald head. ¡°What about the lords, then? In Meereen they are the so-called Great Masters, no? I doubt they¡¯ve taken well to her new status.¡±


    ¡°The details are blurry given the great distances...¡± he trailed off.


    ¡°But?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°But¡­ but it is said she¡¯s had some of them nailed to posts around the city¡¯s central square,¡± he said shakily. With the exception of Oberyn who¡¯d toured the Free Cities, and Tywin who was dead inside, the members of the council around me shuddered.


    ¡°How... charming,¡± I said. ¡°What about her previous conquests? Astapor, and the Yellow City of Yunkai?¡±


    ¡°Yunkai was retaken by the Wise Masters not long after she left,¡± Varys explained. ¡°And a tyrant now rules Astapor; I heard the dead of the city lay strewn on the streets and food is scarce to all.¡±


    I drummed my fingers on the table, nodding slowly. ¡°I see.¡± I wanted the lords of my Small Council to realize their possible future should they have treason in their mind. ¡°Not a great show of governance on her part.¡± I shook my head. ¡°It is a shame that so many people must suffer for the ambitions of someone so misguided.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s no secret women have not the heads for ruling,¡± Mace Tyrel said, puffing up on his seat. Coming from him, I had to swallow down my laughter. As did Oberyn, who rolled his eyes and smiled into his cup of wine.


    ¡°And what of Stannis, Lord Varys. What can you tell me of him?¡±


    ¡°He still broods in Dragonstone, Your Grace, though with his successful voyage to Braavos and the deal with the Iron Bank, there are signs of increased activity at the docks. I believe he¡¯s preparing for a voyage.¡±


    I clicked my tongue, and I felt the usual prickles of irritation creep up inside me. Tywin had told me the small fleet of ships with the Iron Bank¡¯s gold had left Casterly Rock two weeks ago, but it seems they hadn¡¯t made it in time to stop Stannis from getting lucky with the Braavosi.


    ¡°Should we be worried about another siege?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Unlikely,¡± Tywin cut in. ¡°Unless he hired the Golden Company, which I know for a fact are somewhere near Volantis, he hasn¡¯t the men for it, nor the ships anymore. Our troops are not tied up in the Riverlands fighting against the Starks, and the Tyrells have a considerable force close by. He has no hope of victory.¡± The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Olenna must¡¯ve severely neglected Mace when he was a child. Whenever anyone talked positively about him, or his family, or the Reach, his nose went up like a sniffing dog and his cheeks ruddied something fierce. And I had the privilege to have him as my father-in-law. Wonderful.


    I clapped my hands. ¡°Now then, enough about mad Targaryens and false kings. Any news of the realm I should be aware of?¡±


    ¡°I have some news, Your Grace,¡± Oberyn said. ¡°Grand news at that.¡± He reached into his jacket and pulled out two raven¡¯s scrolls. One had a blob of orange wax, with the spear-and-sun seal of House Martell. The other had Myrcella¡¯s personal sigil, a crowned doe facing a golden lioness. ¡°A message from my brother arrived just this morning. The Princess Myrcella has wed Prince Trystane in a modest ceremony in Sunspear, as per the Princess¡¯ wishes.¡±


    He leaned over the table and slid the two scrolls over to me. From the corner of my eyes, I saw Tywin watching me like a hawk. ¡°Myrcella was only supposed to marry at eight-and-ten,¡± he said gruffly.


    ¡°She wrote to me, asking for permission,¡± I lied. I broke open the seal and quickly scanned over the small letter, including a hidden message at the end, in a silly language she¡¯d devised with Tommen when they had to hide everything from Joffrey. ¡°So I gave it to her. I¡¯m to be married this coming year, and I¡¯m younger. It¡¯s only fair, no?¡±


    ¡°The realm rejoices with the joining of two of its great houses,¡± said Grand Maester Pycelle from the side. I¡¯d honestly forgotten he was there.


    Looking up over the scroll, I shot the Master of Whispers a discreet nod.


    Varys cleared his throat. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not all is well in Dorne, my lords,¡± he said in that thin voice of his. ¡°A band of outlaws has taken residency in the marches. Whole villages were sacked, crops burned, women taken.¡±


    ¡°I heard that from my brother as well, Your Grace.¡± That was Oberyn. An old hand at lying. ¡°The lands of Lords Yronwood, Wyl, and Manwoody have all been attacked.¡±


    ¡°And why have they not taken care of it?¡± Lord Tywin asked. He¡¯d surely seen the trap closing in by now, but it was too late.


    ¡°These bandits are smarter than your average hoe-weilding peasant-turned-outlaw,¡± Oberyn said, lounging on his chair like a great cat despite the subject. ¡°They skirt the border between Dorne and the Stormlands to avoid being set upon by the lord of the lands they¡¯re in. Border conflicts between Dorne and the Marcher Lords go back centuries. Much blood has been shed on both sides. Now, our lords fear reigniting a war should they cross into the Stormlands in the pursuit of the outlaws.¡±


    Much grumbling went around the room, with Pycelle citing historical trivia on the Vulture Kings and Mace Tyrell boasting of how all of this would¡¯ve already been taken care of were it to have happened in the Reach. Tywin, on the other hand, just watched it all in stony silence. He was smart enough to know when he¡¯d been done in. I¡¯d told him this was coming, but he seemed fond of underestimating me.


    I raised a hand, and the room fell silent. ¡°The King¡¯s Peace must be kept,¡± I said. ¡°No matter what. If the local lords are unable to deal with it, then the Iron Throne shall.¡± I turned to my grandfather, a cornered lion. ¡°Lord Tywin, I want you to send the Mountain and his men to take care of these bandits. They did their fair share of burning and pillaging in the Riverlands. They know best how men such as these think. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll make quick work of them.¡±


    A faint pursing of his lips was the only sign of emotion he showed. ¡°As you say, Your Grace.¡±


    I nodded. That¡¯s my Mountain delivery I promised worked out. ¡°Then we¡¯re all done for the day, my lords. And Lord Varys?¡± He was already looking at me. ¡°Stay behind, if you will.¡±


    When everyone but the two of us left, Varys asked, ¡°Was my performance good enough, Your Grace?¡±


    I laughed. ¡°Your years as a traveling mummer have come in handy, my lord.¡±


    ¡°I told that story in confidence, Your Grace,¡± he tittered. ¡°It¡¯s shameful of you to use it against me now.¡±


    ¡°Then I beg your forgiveness.¡± I smiled and reached for my drink. ¡°Now, as to why I bid you stay. I heard some rumors, my lord, from some of my men who drink by the docks. The wails of drunken sailors, perhaps, but there is talk of dead people rising beyond the Wall, and of the Red Woman in Dragonstone, sacrificing people to her Gods in a burning pire. Some even say she gives that power to Stannis, and that he now carries a burning sword.¡±


    Varys wringed his powdered hands. It seemed he was still not comfortable with talk of magic. ¡°That is, indeed, troubling, Your Grace. That sort of thing¡­ it¡¯d be best if magic was gone from the world.¡±


    ¡°I agree with you wholeheartedly. That is why we need to be prepared,¡± I said. ¡°I understand Dragonstone might be harder, but I want to have eyes and ears at the Wall. Something is happening there, something dark. I want to know what.¡±


    Varys nodded. ¡°Then it shall be done, Your Grace.¡±


    I dismissed him after that, and watched him leave with narrowed eyes.

 Chapter 24

    ¡°I hope you have not taken what I said at Chataya¡¯s as an insult, my lady,¡± I said earnestly, moving a hand over my chest to where my heart was. I had taken a flair for the dramatic since I became a king.


    It was a few hours after our last Small Council meeting, and the sun had only just set over the city. I had come to say my farewells to the Dornish Prince before they left early on the morrow, and Oberyn roped me up into a balcony dinner with him and Ellaria. We were sitting in a half-ring around a small table that faced King¡¯s Landing, drinking spiced wine and snacking on several courses of appetizers that added up to more than a full meal.


    Behind us in their guest rooms, servants wearing the burnt orange color of House Martell loaded whole wardrobes into thick oak chests, while a few men-at-arms had Oberyn¡¯s many spears bundled up together and wrapped in thick leather ready for transport.


    The Prince and his retinue had come inland on their journey to King¡¯s Landing, up the Boneway and through the Stormlands and the Kingswood. But with the rush to be back home in time for the Mountain¡¯s arrival, they¡¯d be taking ship to Wyl, where Oberyn would rendevouz with his brother¡¯s forces waiting for him there.


    ¡°Bastards are quite used to harsh words, Your Grace,¡± Ellaria said, arms crossed under her chest. ¡°Even in Dorne.¡± She¡¯d been just short of unpleasant with me throughout the night. I think she was prodding me, hoping I¡¯d explode on her face and act the spoiled boy-king she still thought I was.


    It amused me more than anything. In the grand scheme of things, with Oberyn surviving his trip to King¡¯s Landing, she was an irrelevant piece on the board.


    ¡°I believe bastardry rests in one¡¯s heart, not in one¡¯s name. The circumstances of one¡¯s birth have no bearing in the desire to avenge our loved ones. It¡¯s a rather natural feeling.¡± I fixed her in the eyes then. ¡°One that I myself would be hard-pressed not to give into should something similar happen to me.¡± The veil of my threat was paper thin.


    I pointed across the table from us, beyond the gilded iron railing of the balcony. ¡°Look outside, my lady.¡± Down below in the muddy streets of King¡¯s Landing, you could only see shadows walking this way and that, all nameless and faceless like tiny ants. ¡°Tell me, do you think they care?¡±


    Ellaria frowned. ¡°Care about what?¡±


    ¡°Whose arse sits on the throne,¡± I said. Admittedly, I might¡¯ve had a bit to drink. ¡°Or whose father had thicker king¡¯s blood, or whose mother had a nobler cun¡ª¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re starting to sound like Varys,¡± Oberyn said, his voice muffled. He had his head between a whore¡¯s tits. They¡¯d apparently taken a liking to the girl and were taking her home to Dorne. He came up for a breath and turned to me. ¡°Now, enough about peasants. And please Your Grace, there¡¯s no need for these little threats. Myrcella will be well taken care of. I give you my word.¡±


    ¡°What can I say.¡± I shrugged. ¡°A brother worries.¡±


    ¡°Yes yes, but we¡¯ve no cause for further conflict,¡± he said, ¡°at least not with your side of the family.¡±


    I wished I could trust him wholeheartedly, but life was a harsh mistress when it comes to teaching lessons. And this was already my second.


    I still smiled pleasantly. ¡°And I¡¯m glad for it.¡± I lifted my goblet of wine in salute. The breeze blew gently around us, thankfully coming from the sea. Nothing ruins a meal like the smell of shit. ¡°We will miss you out in the tourney¡¯s field, my prince. Many a man would pay good gold to see the Red Viper ride.¡±


    ¡°Oh I¡¯ll be riding, Your Grace,¡± he said. His tone dripped with a dangerous sort of hunger. ¡°On a hunt I¡¯ve dreamed of for nearly twenty years. I have you to thank for that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m more for fulfilling a woman''s dream, Prince Oberyn. I do hope you¡¯re not getting any ideas.¡±


    Oberyn barked a laugh. ¡°So I¡¯ve heard, Your Grace.¡± It seemed Margaery had been talking, most likely in hopes of marking her territory. I would have to disabuse her of that idea. ¡°Maybe I should bring my daughters the next time I visit King¡¯s Landing. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll get on famously.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I¡¯d be concerned for my safety,¡± I said. Oberyn shot me a smile that confirmed my fears and started devouring his whore again.


    I looked behind me into the sea of orange-clad servants, found the ones dressed in Baratheon livery and gestured with a hand. They both left for a minute, before returning with a large chest carried between the two of them.


    I cleared my throat ¡°I have also brought some gifts, for you and your family. I¡¯d not want you to go back thinking me a poor host.¡±


    Oberyn chortled into the whore¡¯s neck. ¡°There wasn¡¯t a day I wasn¡¯t entertained in this city, Your Grace,¡± he said, face poking out from behind the woman. Even Ellaria had perked up at the mention of gifts. ¡°I¡¯ve even grown used to the stink.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an acquired taste, is it not?¡± I joked. The servants put down the chest next to us and pulled the top open. I reached inside and drew out two objects, one small the size of a bottle, and the other round and larger than a plate, both hidden within a leather casing. ¡°This is for your brother and for Prince Trystane. A remedy for the Prince¡¯s gout, made by my own personal Maester, and a bronze shield the color of your house for my brother-in-law.¡±


    Oberyn tapped the whore on the leg who¡ªwell-trained as she was, left his lap and made herself scarce inside. He made a show of looking at both gifts before bowing my way. ¡°Princely gifts, King Tommen. You have my thanks.¡±


    ¡°This one is for the Lady Ellaria.¡± I picked out a small velvet case and passed it to her. ¡°Think of it as an apology, my lady.¡±


    She handled it slowly, as if afraid a tiny viper might just pop out of it. When she finally opened it, she just stared at it in awe. It was a beautiful pearl necklace. One of Cersei¡¯s actually. The one she wore the night I killed her. One could only hope it was cursed now. ¡°Your Grace¡­¡± she trailed off, voice weak. Oberyn gave me a thankful nod.


    ¡°There¡¯s something for your daughters as well,¡± I continued, ¡°All eight of them.¡±


    The servants began pulling out the gifts. Ornate daggers and whips, old tomes from the times of the Targaryen kings, bolts of silk and satin from the free cities, even a new spear Qyburn had made in his free time that folds into three different pieces.


    Aside from the spear, most were offerings Robert had received during twenty years as King that¡¯d been gathering dust in the Keep¡¯s vaults. Cheap gifts that meant nothing to me, but could perhaps solidify my hold in an entire kingdom even more securely than with just Myrcella¡¯s marriage.


    ¡°I hope that encompasses the whole spectrum of their tastes,¡± I said.


    He looked surprised at all the items for a moment before he turned to me. ¡°You have my gratitude. Truly¡± Then he smiled mischievously. ¡°But you should know you¡¯ve signed your sentence with this, my friend. They¡¯ll jump your bones when they see you.¡±


    I smiled back. ¡°There are worse ways to die.¡±


    Finally the servants brought out the last gift. It was another chest, which by their grunt of effort, made up most of the weight that¡¯d been inside the larger chest. They heaved it up out of its resting place and put it down on top of the table. Its wooden legs groaned in complaint.


    ¡°This is yours, Oberyn. But you should open it when you¡¯re back in Sunspear, after your mission.¡±


    ¡°Oh, is that so?¡± He looked at it from side to side, trying to suss out what was hidden underneath.


    ¡°It¡¯s a display case,¡± I told him. It was made out of a thick piece of marble a foot in length and width, with a green-tinted glass covering it like a dome. ¡°I¡¯d say it¡¯s about the size of a large man¡¯s head.¡±


    Oberyn¡¯s eyes widened and he soon fell into laughter. He rose up from his chair and swaggered up to me, then clasped me on both shoulders. ¡°When you come visit your sister in Sunspear in the future, I will feast you underneath this display case for a fortnight, my friend.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be my pleasure,¡± I said. I stood after a moment and signaled him to follow. We stopped by the railing, away from prying ears. ¡°I¡¯m no great fighter, Prince Oberyn, but I will give you a piece of advice when you see dear Gregor.¡±


    ¡°And what would that be?¡± Oberyn looked amused.


    ¡°Finish him quickly,¡± I said. ¡°Some Lannister men tell tales of him at the Keep. I overheard one such story, of how the Mountain went on fighting with a spear on his gut and five arrows sticking out of his chest.¡±


    His good humor melted and he simply nodded slowly. ¡°I¡¯ll take that to heart, Your Grace.¡±


    He moved to turn away, but I put a hand on his arm stopping him. ¡°Another thing.¡± I nodded my head to Ser Osmund Kettleblack who had been waiting for me all the way at the door of their rooms. ¡°I¡¯ll be sending one of my Kingsguard with you, to represent the Iron Throne in the destruction of these outlaws.¡± I looked at him levelly, eyes full of meaning. ¡°I hope I can count on you to¡­ take good care of him while he¡¯s down there.¡±


    ¡°Truly?¡± Oberyn asked. He seemed more surprised at my request than adverse to it, and so I nodded. ¡°What about the other one who¡¯s down there with Myrcella? Ser Arys Oakheart, I believe his name was.¡±


    I hadn¡¯t forgotten about Ser Arys. He was said to be a good man, keen with spear and sword, if a little inexperienced. ¡°You gave me your word on her safety, so I¡¯ll expect him on a boat back to King¡¯s Landing.¡±


    Oberyn nodded. ¡°It¡¯ll be as you say, Your Grace.¡±


    I smiled. Wasn¡¯t it always.

 Chapter 25

    Davos I


    ¡°What about this one here, Princess?¡± Davos pointed to the last word at the bottom of the book¡¯s first page. It seemed more like a jumbled clump of letters than any real word he¡¯d ever seen. ¡°Re¡ª¡± he tried ¡°Rejrat¡ª¡± but the sounds of each letter twisted his tongue worse than a bowline knot.


    Shireen shuffled around the table in her nightwear and stopped beside him. Her sharp hazel eyes followed his finger to the last word. ¡°Regretful,¡± she read easily. ¡°Regretful. It means feeling sorry for something you did; something wrong that eats at your heart.¡±


    He flipped the book over and looked at the depiction set in relief on the leather cover. It had a man slumped over on his knees as if the weight of the world had settled on his back. The small lines that made up his face showed him bone-weary and sad. ¡°I thought this was a book on knights and kings and princes,¡± he said.


    ¡°Well it is,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s about a prince who fought his family for power, and then goes on a journey to find forgiveness and peace of heart.¡±


    ¡°That seems like a heavy subject for a little Princess like you,¡± Davos said, smiling.


    Shireen¡¯s scarred face pinched into frown. ¡°I¡¯m hardly little,¡± she said. ¡°I was old enough to know what the word meant when you didn¡¯t, wasn''t I?¡±


    Davos chuckled. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t compare yourself to me. I''m just a smuggler, Princess.¡±


    ¡°Well you¡¯re one of my father¡¯s knights. And the Hand of the King again now.¡± She opened her arms wide as if to show how important he was, before bringing them both over the book and flipping it back open. ¡°That¡¯s why we are teaching you how to read, no?¡±


    ¡°I suppose so,¡± he said. ¡°Your father and I have you to thank for the letter to the Iron Bank, after all. Mayhap he should make you his Mistress of Coin?¡±


    Shireen folded her arms together. ¡°But I thought I was just a silly little Prince, Ser Davos Seaworth. Now back to reading.¡± She rapped a finger on the book. ¡°I¡¯ll let you go when you can read a full page uninterrupted.¡±


    Davos grumbled under his breath, but followed her order anyway.


    Heavy footsteps outside in the tower¡¯s hall put an end to their silent reading. Before long there was a sharp knock and the door opened. The candles danced eerily as the incoming wind blew on the flames.


    ¡°Onion Knight.¡± It was one of the Queen¡¯s men. He could tell because of the sneer on his face and the flaming heart sewn over his breast. They all called him the Onion Knight as if to shame him, as if to point out his lowborn origins. Davos hovered a hand over the pouch of finger bones he carried about his neck. They didn¡¯t know it was his greatest honor. ¡°King Stannis awaits you at the table room.¡±


    Davos nodded and shot Shireen a victorious look. ¡°Well, you heard the man. Duty calls. I will just have to finish this later.¡± He put the book down at the short table and rose.


    ¡°You¡¯re just using this as an excuse,¡± she said, pouting. He laughed and kissed her on the forehead, just where the crackled gray skin afflicted by greyscale met healthy pale white.


    Before he left, Davos stopped by the door and looked back at Shireen, sitting alone with her letters and books as her only friends. Sweet and bright as she was, her place should be beneath the open sky and the clouds with the wind on her hair; somewhere the smell of flowers and wet earth clung in the air. Not in this dready tower her mother confined her like a prisoner.


    Davos forced the sad smile off his face and said, ¡°I¡¯ll come back soon, Princess. Then we can finish the whole book, okay?¡±


    Her smile was the sun itself.


    xxxx


    The red woman was already at the king¡¯s side when Davos arrived at the chamber of the painted table. The moonless night sky provided little light from the half of the chamber that was opened to the cliff face, and torches had been set all around the room. While Stannis Baratheon looked pale and haggard, with dark circles under his eyes, Melisandre seemed to glow with life, and the torches behind her threw her shadow all the way across the room.


    He bowed. ¡°Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°This came for me today,¡± Stannis Baratheon said. He held a scroll between two fingers. ¡°From one of the last remaining loyal houses in the Stormlands. It seems the little king is hosting a tourney for the year¡¯s passing.¡±Stolen story; please report.


    Davos tried for humor. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m a poor hand at jousting, Your Grace.¡± Stannis remained impassive, so he cleared his throat. ¡°What does that do for you cause, my liege?¡±


    ¡°A better question,¡± the king said. ¡°And what it is, is an opportunity.¡±


    ¡°Opportunity?¡±


    Melisandre of Asshai stepped forward. ¡°To topple another king,¡± she said. She let a hand wander over a torch as she walked past a sconce, and the flames seemed to kiss her like an old lover. ¡°Just as Storm¡¯s End has old magic from the Age of Heroes ingrained into its every stone, the Red Keep also carries whatever Valyrian sorcery the early Targaryen¡¯s manage to conjure. My shadows would only work were I already inside the castle.¡±


    Davos felt something crawl up his spine as he looked into her flaming red eyes. ¡°Is that the reason I took you to that other cave? The one after Renly?¡±


    Melisandre smiled. ¡°Yes, Ser Davos. Ser Cortnay Penrose was behind Storm¡¯s End¡¯s walls, and the cave happened to be inside the bowels of the castle.¡±


    Davos shivered. He¡¯d taken her to a passage on the rockface deep beneath the castle where the sea met the white cliffs of Durran¡¯s Point. They¡¯d crossed an old forgotten postern gate to a gully that might have once served as anchorage, and there she birthed another demon, like the one she¡¯d used to kill Renly Baratheon. Was he as guilty as her? Had he murdered Storm¡¯s End¡¯s Castellan by taking the witch there?


    The king must have seen his plight. ¡°Ser Cortnay was a traitor,¡± he said, as if there was no other truth in the world. Davos wondered if Stannis was trying to convince himself more than anything. ¡°He refused to yield the castle to my cause; the rightful cause.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Your Grace.¡± Davos swallowed down his doubts and tried to focus on the matter at hand. ¡°I take it she wishes to use the tourney to... assassinate the boy?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen him in the flames,¡± Melisandre said. ¡°Twisted and wrong, a stain in the Lord¡¯s great tapestry. He spends almost all his time inside the Red Keep, and with the Spider making use of the secret tunnels it would be too risky to sneak in. The tourney is the perfect time. We will know for certain he¡¯s outside the walls of the castle.¡±


    Davos got a twisted feeling deep in his gut. He turned to the king. ¡°He¡¯s just a child, Your Grace, no older than Devan. Surely¡ª¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a false king,¡± Stannis cut in sharply. ¡°Does your son¡ªmy own squire¡ªproclaim himself King of the Seven Kingdoms? No?¡± He slapped both hands down on the painted table. ¡°There can only be one king in this country, Ser Davos. One king. All the others are fakes, and they shall be destroyed.¡±


    Reluctantly, Davos nodded. He had already been arrested once, for freeing Gendry when it became clear Melisandre would sacrifice the lad to her cruel God. He didn¡¯t think Stannis Baratheon had it in his soul to forgive him twice. He was not that kind of man. He was a stickler for fairness and justice above everything else.


    He was, wasn¡¯t he? Yes, Stannis was still the same man who¡¯d taken Davos¡¯ fingers for a life of smuggling, while also raising him up higher than a simple lad from Flea Bottom had ever thought possible. He¡¯d given him a castle and called him a lord, had pinned the symbol of the highest office in the land on his chest despite the grumblings of lords of older, far more respectable families. Only he¡¯d been poisoned by the soft whispers of this red woman, a red woman with a black heart.


    ¡°What will you have of me, Your Grace?¡± Davos finally said.


    ¡°You will sail down the Blackwater with Melisandre and take her where she needs to go.¡±


    No, he thought wearily. Not again. He fumbled for a reason. ¡°But¡­ but we¡¯re set to leave for the North in just a few days. The red woman said it herself, death marches on the wall¡ªgreat victories await you in the snows. She saw it.¡±


    ¡°That will still come to pass, as the Lord of Light showed me. I simply need not be there for that to happen, the witch said.


    ¡°Please, Your Grace¡­¡± He looked straight at Stannis, eyes begging. ¡°Any other service, my liege. Any but that.¡±


    In a moment, Melisandre was standing in front of him. The smell of ash and sex clung to her porcelain skin. ¡°You¡¯d disobey the Lord¡¯s chosen again, Ser Davos?¡±


    ¡°Leave us,¡± Stannis suddenly told her.


    Melisandre turned to Stannis, surprised. ¡°My king¡­¡±


    ¡°I said leave us, woman.¡± Davos thought he could hear the grinding of the king¡¯s teeth.


    The red woman stood silent for a second until she nodded. ¡°As you will, my king.¡± Before she left, she stopped beside Davos, her breath tickling in his ear. ¡°Look to your sins, Ser Davos. For the night is dark and full of terrors.¡±


    Despite the torches in the room, Davos felt a wave of cold wash over his bones. King and Hand stood silent for a long moment, listening to seawind blowing against the stones.


    ¡°You¡¯ll come north with me,¡± Stannis finally said. ¡°Some other poor soul will take Melisandre.¡±


    Davos sighed. ¡°Thank you, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°But don¡¯t ever disobey me again, ser. Heed my words here.¡±


    Davos'' only answer was to bow. He had already turned to leave when the king spoke again.


    ¡°I¡¯ve dreamt of it, Ser Davos. The night of Renly¡¯s death.¡± When Davos looked back, Stannis was slumped against the table, both hands barely able to support him as if a great weight had settled over his shoulders.


    ¡°Your Grace?


    ¡°I dreamt of flying through the night; the wind billowing the tent¡¯s flaps; a woman¡¯s scream.¡± The king shook his head, as if by doing so he would be rid of whatever afflicted him. For the first time in the near twenty years Davos had known him, Stannis Baratheon looked¡­ regretful. ¡°He was a traitor, aye. But he was my brother. My little brother.¡±

 Chapter 26

    It was cold and wet inside the ample cellars of the Red Keep. Ser Balon and I were following Qyburn through the catacombs, squeezing our shoulders through narrow passages hewn into the stone. I knew there were easier ways of getting there, but Qyburn had assured me the path we took would be free of prying little birds.


    I had another ten men with me, five in the back and five in the front, just in case Qyburn went sick in the head and decided to get funny with me down here where a crown matters little. They were Tywin¡¯s men-at-arms, some of his best guards straight from Casterly Rock. He¡¯d told me the family of some of these men had longer lineages as Lannister men than many noble houses in the Westerlands.


    I usually made it my priority to keep my cards close to my chest, even when it came to Tywin, but this seemed like a good place to collaborate. The future fight with giant dragons that could shadow whole towns with their wings seemed like a good enough concern to share with my Hand of the King.


    We walked ever downward, left and right and left and right again, like a slowly descending spiral. The air grew thicker and more stale every minute, and my coat sleeves grew sodden as I constantly brushed against the damp stone walls. The lamps some of the men-at-arms carried had been our only light since we first stepped inside the castle¡¯s depths, until the tunnel suddenly opened up suddenly into a cavern-like cellar lit by dozens of torches. The room was larger than two warehouses put together, and the ceiling went so high the columns that rose from the ground like stony fingers disappeared into the lightless dark above.


    I looked around the room in appreciation. ¡°You prepared the chamber for us and everything, Qyburn. How nice of you.¡±


    Qyburn was a soft-spoken man, thin and gangly and pallid as bone. He seemed to be made for this, for dark and damp and secrecy. ¡°Despite the informality of the journey, Your Grace,¡± he said in that half-whisper voice of his, ¡°this is still a royal visit, is it not?¡±


    ¡°I suppose it is, good man.¡± I gave a simple nod of the head to Ser Balon and he immediately started giving out orders to the other guards, spreading them out across the vast expanse of the cellar. Not only to keep any nasty surprises away from me, but so that at least part of our conversation reamined private. When the soldiers had spaced themselves out along the walls, I turned back to Qyburn. ¡°So, you told me you had made sure our conversation would stay private. Does that mean you¡¯re making progress with our little friends?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not, Your Grace. At least as of now, your Master of Whispers has a tight control over his network inside the Red Keep.¡± He brought a hand out from under the long sleeves of his black robes and started pointing in several directions. ¡°What I did was much more primitive. There¡¯s nine different access routes into this cellar, and I simply temporarily blocked eight of them.¡±


    I nodded. That wasn¡¯t unexpected. Say what you will about Varys, he¡¯s good at what he does. The best, even. It was the sole reason he still breathed. Without his network, I¡¯d be effectively blind and deaf to the happenings of the world.


    But I was working on it.


    ¡°What about in the city and beyond? Have you made any progress?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Yes, Your Grace. That has been much easier. Between my other works, I¡¯ve managed to set up contact points in several establishments inside the city, and also in villages and towns surrounding King¡¯s Landing.¡± Qyburn shuffled under his robes. I doubted he was a people person, so all this social management must be annoying. Still, he¡¯d done it for Cersei, so he better do it for me too. ¡°They¡¯re mostly individuals, barmaids and whores and groundskeepers and sailors and everything in between. The men you¡¯ve made available to me as runners have been essential, Your Grace.¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Good,¡± I told him. ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± I had put good gold into his hands to get it done. I couldn¡¯t expect overnight returns in a world of horses and ravens, but I refused to be made a fool of. In this regard, however, Qyburn was above reproach. He was a man who lived for his work, and according to him, I was about to see the result of one such project.


    Speaking of the project, I¡¯d noticed the shadow of the gargantuan skull of Balerion the Black Dread sticking out on the corner of my eyes the moment I walked into the cellar, with a not-so-mysterious object covered by canvas standing prominently some fifty paces away from it.


    Sharp as he was, Qyburn noticed and smiled. ¡°As for the reason you are here, Your Grace. Come just this way.¡±


    He took me over to the canvas and unveiled the beast, a man-sized ballistae that would help me sleep better at night when monsters roamed the skyes of the Seven Kingdoms again. He unhooked the fasteners that kept the arms of the ballistae tucked in together and showed me where everything went.


    When it was finally set up, Qyburn spent a few moments aiming at the skull¡¯s head before pulling on the lever. The shot went just as I recalled, with a loud crack of displaced air, and then the bolt piercing the skull of Balerion.


    Despite the supposed success of the weapon, I knew I couldn¡¯t depend on it. Euron taking down that dragon was the mother of all flukes; I wouldn¡¯t bet my kingdom and my life that one of my men would hit the same shot, not even one in a thousand times.


    Still, credit where it was due. ¡°You¡¯ve done well, Qyburn. Very well.¡±


    He bowed his head. ¡°Thank you, Your Grace.¡±


    I looked over to my shadow. ¡°Ser Balon. You¡¯re an expert bowman. Tell me, what do you think of this¡­ scorpion?¡±


    ¡°An impressive weapon, Your Grace,¡± he said, but I didn¡¯t miss the tightening at the corner of his mouth. I¡¯d yet to break him out of his silent bodyguard style, but when you¡¯re pretty much living with someone every day of your life, you start noticing little things like these.


    ¡°But¡­¡± I raised an eyebrow.


    Ser Balon shrugged under his armor. ¡°This was an easy shot, taken under no pressure or time constraint, against a stationary target a handful of paces away. A target who was not breathing fire. If that thing was flying too¡­¡± he trailed off for a moment, thinking. ¡°Unless we manage to trap or ambush the beast, it¡¯s more of a showpiece than anything,¡± he finally said.


    I smiled. I knew I kept him for some reason. ¡°Well?¡± I turned to Qyburn ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s right, Your Grace.¡± Qyburn sighed. ¡°As much as I wish he wasn¡¯t.¡±


    I placed a hand on his arm. ¡°Don¡¯t fret, my friend. This is still a great achievement. Dorne took a dragon down from the skys with but a lucky arrow. Your contraption massively increases our chances of success.¡±


    I let go of the chainless maester and walked up to Balerion¡¯s skull. The bolt hadn¡¯t pierced the bone cleanly like I¡¯d previously thought, more like it¡¯d broken through it with the impact. It acted more like a hammer than a knife. Even putting all the points Ser Balon raised aside, this test also didn¡¯t account for something else, something I¡¯d avoided thinking given how little I could control it. I picked up a piece of the bone that¡¯d broken away and went back to the two of them.


    ¡°I have another task for you, Qyburn. One that might even take precedence over everything else. You might even find it intriguing,¡± I told him.


    I could see his thin eyebrows raising. Some men are born curious, with noses in the air sniffing for knowledge like bloodhounds. Qyburn was one such man. I just had to point him in the right trail.


    ¡°Magic, Qyburn, magic.¡± I gestured for his hand, and when he presented it to me, I put the bone piece square in the middle of his palm. ¡°A dragon is magic incarnate; it exists because of it, it flies because of it, it breathes fire because of it.¡±


    I reached for Hopebringer and slid it partially out of its scabbard. ¡°This sword I hold in my hands right now, that I carry with me everyday, was made with it. Yet I have no idea what that word even means.¡± I looked at the thin pale man, who¡¯d cocked his head in expectation. ¡°I need to know what magic is, Qyburn, how it comes to be, how to defend myself against it. And perhaps most importantly, how to wield it. The maesters insist it has died out, that it¡¯s long gone from this world, yet dragons fly in the east, shadow-demons kill kings, and there¡¯s talk of dead men rising on the wall. I thought you¡¯d be the perfect person to disprove the Citadel wrong, eh?¡±


    In the firelight of the torches, I saw the former maester smile hungrily.

 Chapter 27

    I found them on an airy terrace squeezed between the godswood and one of the smaller inner gardens of the Red Keep. The sun had remained hidden behind a slow-moving wave of clouds all morning, but now it blazed high up in the open blue sky like a beacon. The giant elms and alders of the godswood sheltered the terrace from the heat like silent guardians.


    I was down to a simple shirt and a light golden coat that seemed to shimmer under the sunlight, but I was glad to enter the shade of the terrace. ¡°Uncle, Bronn,¡± I greeted them with a beaming smile. ¡°Just who I wanted to see. Who would¡¯ve thought I¡¯d find you tucked away here like two forbidden lovers?¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Tyrion sighed. ¡°My dear nephew.¡± He dropped the feathered quill he¡¯d been holding and rubbed his eyes. He looked as sleep deprived as he was during his captivity, sitting slumped over a small desk littered with papers and notes and scrolls. ¡°What brings you here? Have you come with another grand idea you intend to throw down my lap and expect me to fix it as if I had a magic wand?¡±


    Bronn grumbled from where he sat in the corner, ¡°I think we¡¯re the only idiots in this shit of a kingdom who actually work for a living.¡± He was picking under his nails with a pocket knife and flicking the dirt over to the table. I think that man went to sleep with knives as if they were his lovers.


    I tutted with my tongue and pretended I didn¡¯t hear them. ¡°You were hard men to find, I¡¯ll say.¡± I walked up to Tyrion¡¯s table and picked up the wine jug. I swore I saw him snarl when I started pouring myself a cup. ¡°It couldn¡¯t be you were avoiding the king, could it?¡±


    ¡°Depends,¡± Tyrion grunted, still eyeing the wine. I¡¯d be selfish with my alcohol too if all I had to drink in that prison he¡¯d stayed was dirty water and my own piss. He¡¯d confessed that to me in a drunken stupor a few days after his trial, and I had yet to use it against him. ¡°If you execute me for hiding, does it mean I don¡¯t have to work on this tourney of yours anymore?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s something you¡¯ll have to take to the grave, I¡¯m afraid.¡± I sipped at the drink, tasting the sweetness of it. Arbor gold, old and expensive¡ªa typical Lannister drink. ¡°The lords of the land have been arriving in droves. Dornish, Reachmen, Westerlanders¡­ even some from the Stormlands and the Riverlands. I¡¯ve been in audiences and family reunions and greeting duty for the past week.¡±


    ¡°You mean all these powerful, important men kissing your feet and all the beautiful women fawning over you?¡± Tyrion asked. To the side, Bronn rolled his eyes. ¡°Yes, how dreadful your days must have been, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Oh you have no idea,¡± I said, dead serious. I sank into the chair opposite him and closed my eyes. Who ever said being the centre of attention was easy has never had a whole Kingdom¡¯s spotlight aimed right at them. Everything I did was cause for gossip and stories, be they good or bad.


    The Freys had arrived yesterday¡ªin astonishing number despite the ongoing siege the family had been holding around Riverrun, and this morning there were already rumors circulating the Keep of a supposed orgy I hosted with Gatehouse Ami and three different Waldas.


    I¡¯m half-sure they were the ones who spread it themselves, to besmirch my image or maybe even to get my attention. I thought of punishing them somehow, maybe publicly calling the truth out, but when I¡¯d met Margaery earlier on the way here, she just laughed it off saying she¡¯d take care of it. Now I almost felt bad for the Frey girls.


    ¡°So, is everything ready, uncle?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, you don¡¯t have to worry,¡± Tyrion said. I¡¯d yet to open my eyes back up, but I could almost see the exasperation set in on the lines of his face. ¡°The Crown will even make some money off all this.¡±


    I hid a smile. He was setting himself up for more work this way. ¡°Oh, how did you manage that?¡±


    He started picking off papers and listing, ¡°Higher taxes in brothels and inns and blacksmiths for this next moon, vendors now have to pay a small tithe to sell their wares on the tourney grounds, and the entry fees for each competition were increased by five percent. Not a lot for participants to notice, but it¡¯ll stack up our way.¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    I smiled. ¡°Congratulations, Tyrion Lannister.¡± Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a golden dragon and flicked it his way. ¡°You¡¯ve just been promoted to future Master of Coin. It will be even more of a thankless job than this, but at least you¡¯ll have your own lackeys to do the grunt work and all that. Oh, and you can¡¯t tell anyone about it. We don¡¯t want the mockingbird to get spooked.¡±


    ¡°Oh Gods be damned.¡± I looked up to watch Tyrion fumble with the coin, his face ashen with the news. ¡°I¡­ had a different job in mind, nephew. Ended with ¡®the King¡¯ and started with ¡®Hand¡¯. I think you¡¯re familiar with it.¡±


    ¡°Come, uncle.¡± I chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ve pushed Tywin Lannister far these past weeks, but he¡¯d have me murdered in my sleep if I named you his replacement right after you had a trial for killing the past king.¡±


    ¡°A trial in which I was acquitted, I feel I must point out,¡± Tyrion said.


    I raised both hands up in a pacifying gesture. ¡°I know, I know. But we can¡¯t go too big too quickly. The small council and the other lords of the realm do not respect you right now. Being Master of Coin will give you the chance to show your prowess. The Crown was in huge debt not two months ago, and I¡¯ve been working to fix it ever since I sat the throne. You¡¯ll continue that job, uncle. In time, I¡¯ll pin you that ugly brooch and you¡¯ll rule the Kingdoms while I enjoy the rest of my life as a king should; maybe I¡¯ll start fishing or something.¡±


    Tyrion breathed out a sigh. ¡°I understand,¡± he said. ¡°And who will take Lord Tywin¡¯s place, then?¡±


    ¡°Your uncle Kevan will be Hand when grandfather leaves. He¡¯s about just as competent as his older brother but not as¡­ opinionated. I fear grandfather and I would start another Targaryen civil war on each other if we keep ruling together like we are now.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°He¡¯s a humorless bore, to be sure, but you¡¯ll be hard-pressed to find someone as capable as him. The King shits and the Hand wipes, so it is said, and Kevan Lannister has been wiping the richest arse in the Seven Kingdoms for the last thirty years.¡±


    I laughed, and looked over at the sellsword. ¡°And you, Bronn? Enjoying your little vacation?¡±


    ¡°I have a feeling I won¡¯t be for long,¡± he muttered, sitting up. ¡°How¡¯s the old fucker, by the way?¡±


    ¡°Oh, the High Sparrow?¡± I glanced down at my hands. Some of my knuckles were still sore from the conversation I had with his high holiness. It was a good method of decompressing after a stressful day of kinging. In the end, the man hadn¡¯t anything of much interest to say. I mostly interrogated him to make sure he had no backing from any outside party. I¡¯d give it to him though, he kept up praising his Gods until the Stranger came for him. ¡°He¡¯s flown away, I¡¯m afraid. Perhaps he¡¯s with the Gods he loves so much, now.¡±


    ¡°That type of man?¡± Bronn snorted. ¡°I doubt it.¡±


    ¡°Well, speaking of our dear departed. I assume you¡¯ve seen his little sparrows still roaming around the capital, no? Preaching and proselytizing and scorning whores and just overall being nuisances.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± he said, ¡°some of my boys told me about it. Let me guess, you want rid of the bastards?¡±


    I grinned a foxy grin. ¡°Not quite. I wouldn¡¯t want you to think I¡¯m that predictable, would I?¡± I put a hand into the same pocket I took Tyrion¡¯s coin, only this time I came out with a full pouch clinking with silver. ¡°Here.¡± I flipped it Bronn¡¯s way and he caught it out of the air with deft hands. ¡°You¡¯ll need it, to pay the men and for the robes.¡±


    Bronn stopped fingering the coins inside to look at me. ¡°Robes?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my friend. You and your men will dress up like the Sparrows and cause some havoc in the city¡ªbeat up some whores, smash some taverns, spill some ale.¡± I waved a dismissive hand. ¡°You know what I mean. Be annoying in general terms.¡±


    ¡°And if we run into the gold-cloaks?¡± he asked.


    ¡°One of Tywin¡¯s men has taken command of the Watch,¡± I told him. ¡°They don¡¯t know why, but they¡¯ll turn a blind eye to everything you and your men do, worry not.¡±


    Bronn nodded. ¡°You want us to make it seem it¡¯s the Sparrows¡¯ work, then?¡±


    ¡°Oh no, no,¡± I said. ¡°The Sparrows are pests, to be sure, but that¡¯s the extension of their power. When you go out into the city, you¡¯ll make sure everyone knows you¡¯re doing it in the name of the High Septon.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± This was Tyrion. He had a calculating look in his eyes. ¡°You¡­ you want to make it seem as if the Faith has been the ones sponsoring the Sparrows all along?¡± He tilted his head to the side. ¡°Why? What do you get out of it?¡±


    A lot, I wanted to say. Instead, I just shrugged. ¡°Does it matter? The king commanded, and so it shall be done.¡±


    Tyrion knew what I was doing, so he just sighed once again and went back to his papers. Bronn didn¡¯t even blink an eye and nodded. What did it matter to him if I wanted this or that religious group blamed for something? To a sellsword, gold is gold.

 Chapter 28

    Balon I


    The wind was blowing gently from the east, as if following the light of the morning sun. He pulled on the bowstring as he had thousands of times before, welcoming the strain in the muscles on his back and shoulders. The roar of the crowd faded into the background; his vision narrowed to the target a hundred paces away, his breathing evened, and all Ser Balon Swann felt was the beating of his heart, the shaft of the arrow between his two fingers, and the certainty of a bulls-eye shot.


    He counted two heartbeats, exhaled, and let it go, feeling the arrow-feather burning his cheek like a woman¡¯s kiss. He let air flood his chest again only when he heard the distinct thunk of the arrow sinking into the distant wooden target, dead center.


    Then the outcry began, with the cheers and howls from the popular section drowning the polite applause and few drunken hoots coming from the noble stands that were turned to the range. His two final competitors, one Reachman and one Westerlander, came up to pat him on the back, muttering congratulations under their breaths.


    Balon acknowledged them with a nod as he picked up his sword from where it lay on the ground and fastened it to the belt at the waist. On the way out, he handed the bow to the first squire he came across. The boy flushed and bowed repeatedly, promising to return it back at the Keep. Again Balon only nodded and left the squire to his own business.


    For the archery, the king had told him only the first place had a winner¡¯s purse, so the other two men left him when he came away from the range and turned into the field facing the largest stands that was already being prepared for the following melee competition.


    He ignored all the calls as he walked. They all didn¡¯t matter to him. His leave to participate in the first competition was done, so it was time to present himself back to his king. He stopped only when he spotted Lord Tywin in the stands, with an even grander empty chair next to him.


    He didn¡¯t have to wait long before he saw King Tommen striding up the bleachers from the direction of the range, with a black and gold half-cape streaming behind him and the Kingslayer and Ser Boros Blount following his footsteps. Ser Balon¡¯s back stiffened, and his hand tightened around the pommel of his sword. Those were two men who had no business being named in the white book. Seeing them being the only protection for the king set his teeth grinding.


    The king stopped to exchange a quick word and shake a few hands on his way up to the royal stands, paying closer attention to the greater lords of the realm. Balon scanned the crowd again, just to make sure the faces matched what he knew of the nobles that had been in and out of the Red Keep the past week. And when the king was finally standing next to his grandfather, Ser Balon knelt.


    He saw King Tommen lift a hand up for silence, and the people fell into a hush. ¡°My lords, my ladies; people of King¡¯s Landing,¡± the kings started. ¡°My fellow countrymen, one and all. I present to you, as the winner of this tourney¡¯s archery competition, Ser Balon Swann of the Kingsguard.¡±


    The people thundered behind him, and he saw the Stormlands contingent in the stands fall into cheers. It was always impressive the way his liege could work a crowd with nothing but simple words and gestures and expressions. Balon had heard stories of King Robert during the Rebellion, getting the lords and the people on his side with his battle prowess and charisma. He looked forward to following Tommen Baratheon into war.


    The king raised his arm again. ¡°Ask of me a boon, Ser Balon, and I shall do my utmost to grant it.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    A frown came to his face unbidden. ¡°Your Grace¡­¡±


    ¡°Go on, ser. You have honored me today. Let me repay that honor.¡±


    Ser Balon let out a silent sigh and bowed his head. He thought back on a boyhood spent on the sparring yard, daydreaming of one day standing beside the likes of Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy, of fighting for king and country. When would the king understand it?


    ¡°I need no other honor, Your Grace.¡± He brushed a finger across the white-cloak that draped over his bent knee. ¡°I wear mine on my shoulders.¡±


    Up at the stands, Tommen Baratheon kept silent for a moment. ¡°I see,¡± he finally said, then lower, ¡°I see it now, ser.¡± The king cleared his throat. ¡°Will you fight in the melee as well, Ser Balon?¡±


    ¡°If you permit it, Your Grace,¡± he said, and the crowd cheered behind him once more.


    xxx


    The hornblower gave the signal, and Ser Balon counted two heartbeats before he put his heels to his destrier. The ecstatic cheer of the public was soon drowned out by war cries and the thundering of hooves as the competitors charged down the field.


    Men closed down on all sides, and Balon just barely hung on to his mount with both his knees when a Riverlander knight almost ran him over. His horse whinnied and reared up, almost throwing him off; but the beast was well-bred, trained for battle and war, and it swung back down with its rider still on.


    He saw a sword flashing down on him from the side, once and twice and three times, but he held his shield firmly up; then the knight that was there was gone in the mess of bodies, and another had replaced him. This one held a long axe with both hands, and had the sigil of a smaller Reacher house engraved on his breastplate. The knight shouted incoherently and whirled the axe his way, trying to hook the axe over his shield and wrench it off.


    Balon let him, then he smashed the knight¡¯s outstretched arms with his heavy morningstar. The man screamed and dropped the axe, but Balon had already turned looking for another adversary. That one was out for good, he knew.


    As swivelled around, a horse neighed close to him, and he suddenly had to reel back from a steel-shod hoof that almost caught him in the face. He swung around to retaliate, but the offending horse and its knight were already down for the count. Before he could catch his breath, two riders were already bearing down on him, both wearing the twin towers of Frey. The first one came straight at him, looking bulky and unwieldy ahorse, while the other wheeled around to hit him from the side.


    He didn¡¯t want to give them the chance to flank him; he kneed his destrier on one side and galloped to meet the second Frey. The knight stopped his maneuver abruptly when he saw him, and turned on one side to ride away. But by then Balon was already bashing shields against him.


    The man wasn¡¯t as big as his kinsmen and buckled under the strike. He tried to disengage, desperately thrusting with his sword. ¡°Ya bastard!¡± he snarled, hacking and slashing. ¡°Bastard, bastard!¡±


    But Balon had full plate armor on, and at that range, it was like poking a castle wall with a stick. He waited until the next thrust and shoved his morningstar forward, hooked it behind the sword¡¯s crossguard and yanked it away. The Frey man yelped at the loss of his weapon, and Balon used the distraction to strike him on the side of the head with the edge of his shield. The knight gurgled under his helm then dropped limply from the saddle, sliding down to the mud. The horse panicked without its rider and took off in a gallop, dragging the Frey knight along by his foot which was still strapped to the stirrup.


    Ser Balon turned again, expecting to meet the other Frey, but the bulky man was already engaged with a Brax knight, barely holding on atop the horse. He took the opportunity to pace himself, breathing in and out evenly, just like in archery. Panic here was the enemy; rushing into a five-way battle like he saw many young knights doing around the field would only get him an early yield. He would stick to the sides, picking out his battles, defeating knight after knight, duel after duel.


    His master-at-arms had once told him that battles were like dances, with their own set of steps and choreographies. Just as in a ballroom, everyone had a part to play in the battlefield, and it was up to you to make sure you were the one leading the flow of the dance.


    And unless they had the crown of the Seven Kingdoms on their brow, Ser Balon Swann of the Kingsguard wasn¡¯t going to be led by anyone.

 Chapter 29

    Ser Balon fought until he was sweltering in his plate armor, and all he could smell was leather and sweat. He lost his mount somewhere in the half-hour mark, by a pair of unmarked knights who wrestled him down to the ground. He¡¯d made sure to break a few of their bones for it. After that, the world had narrowed down to the man opposite him. Until the next one and the one after that came.


    The latest one, a knight wearing the three thunderbolts of Leygood, was quick and skillful with sword and shield, but green as summer grass. He fell for a trap any man who¡¯s ever fought for his life would¡¯ve seen through, and got his feet kicked out from under him.


    He watched as the knight was taken away, grumbling about luck. The midday sun was high in the sky by now, and sweat was running down his face, tickling at his eyes. He opened up his visor for a moment to wipe it off. Scanning around the field, he spied Ser Loras still ahorse, twirling his sword through the air like a knight of legend, downing men twice his size with blows to the head, all white and shining in his silver armor. He watched as a giant of a man on foot faced down a mounted knight, his two-handed great sword bashing down onto the other man until he was off his horse with a broken shield, yielding from the ground.


    Without a horse, Balon knew he had to keep away from the muck and mud of the center of the field. He slid down the visor back into place and set off. He stayed on the sides, skirting the larger groups of knights clumped together like a pack of starving dogs waiting for weak prey, until he spotted a worthy foe skulking by the fences and stepped up to meet him.


    The knight turned on the balls of his feet and lifted his longsword in salute as he approached. Good, Balon thought, finally a fight between proper knights. The man was of height with him, only less broad on the shoulders, and jet black hair peeked out from under his helm. He wore only ringed mail over boiled leather, and displayed no sigil from any house Ser Balon knew, only a shield with black and white stripes. It was likely he was a hedge knight, but Balon knew honor and valor could not be bought with gold.


    ¡°May I have your name, ser?¡± Ser Balon asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m no ser, my friend,¡± the man said with humor in his voice. ¡°But I feel they might just make me one if I beat a knight of the kingsguard, no?¡±


    Ser Balon felt a small smile coming to his face. ¡°Come try your luck, then.¡±


    xxxxx


    Loras was the first of my men to go down. He had been the people¡¯s favorite so far, with his fancy footwork and overexaggerated sword techniques, but when you come up against a man like the Ser Lyle Crakehall, all you get with moves like that is a mouthful of mud and a bruised ego. It didn¡¯t matter much. He had a good showing, coming up to the last five, and I knew jousting was really where he most stood out.


    ¡°What do you know of Ser Lyle, uncle?¡± I asked.


    ¡°The Strongboar?¡± Jaime stepped up next to where I sat, his golden hand gleaming from where it rested on his sword. ¡°I squired at Crakehall when I was younger than you. With his uncle, Lord Sumner. They breed them tough there, and Ser Lyle is one of the toughest I met. All you¡¯d want in a knight.¡± People don¡¯t give enough credit to Jaime, but he can be sharp sometimes. He already knew why I was asking. ¡°Strong, loyal, brave. Terrible sense of humor, though,¡± he finished with that grin of his.


    I hummed, considering. To the side, Lord Tywin was looking at me, and he nodded as well. He clearly approved where this was going. ¡°Thank you, Ser Jaime.¡± He grunted and moved back to stand behind me.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I turned to the field again, searching for Ser Balon, and found him already locked in battle on the far side of the grounds. I didn¡¯t recognize who the other knight was, but I knew just from watching him move that it would be a close fight. Every time my knight pressed on, the man weaved out of the way and tried for quick slashes against joints, or swipes of the sword against Balon¡¯s head.


    They were completely different warriors with clashing fighting philosophies. My kingsguard stood centered and solid as if he were made of marble, betting on an impenetrable defense and striking hard and fast in counters. This other man made fighting an art; he was nimble and deadly like a tiger. He didn¡¯t prance and played like Loras did, yet there was a beauty in his every move. He seemed to glide around Ser Balon, dodging and side stepping and parrying every strike of his great morningstar.


    In the end, their duel turned into a battle of attrition. But between a heavily-armored man with stamina like Ser Balon had, and a man with mail as his only protection, my knight needed only one strike to land. And he did, a blow against the man¡¯s longsword which he couldn¡¯t redirect quite well unbalanced him, and then Ser Baelon had piled on, bashing him with his shield until the man went down.


    By the time it was over, Ser Lyle Crakehall had defeated and stood waiting for the victor.


    I quickly turned to Tywin before the final two could engage. ¡°I want to talk to that lad, Lord Hand.¡± I pointed to Ser Balon¡¯s opponent being helped out of the field by a few squires.


    ¡°The hedge knight?¡± Lord Tywin frowned. ¡°You¡¯re not thinking¡­¡±


    ¡°Not as of yet,¡± I told him. ¡°You can hardly judge a man solely by his sword-waving skills. But it pays to have good fighters around, no?¡±


    He grunted. ¡°As you say, Your Grace.¡± He called out one of his red-cloak captains and whispered a few orders.


    Depending on who the hedge knight was and where his allegiances laid, he could be a good addition to my Kingsguard. And even if he didn¡¯t fit the profile of the men I wanted, I could still have him as a household knight or a simple sellsword.


    Back on the field, I caught the first . Crakehall went on the offensive first, pressing with quick swipes of his massive sword that threatened Ser Balon¡¯s head. The kingsguard gave ground slowly, weaving out of the way where he could or getting his shield on the way when he couldn¡¯t. I could hear the thwack from all the way on the stands each time sword met wood.


    Suddenly, Ser Balon feinted left and quickly stepped into Ser Lyles¡¯s guard, then smashed the morningstar into the Westerlander¡¯s leg. A normal man would¡¯ve gone down right there despite the armor covering his thigh, but as Ser Jaime said, they breed them tough there in Crakehall, and the knight only buckled with the blow. He seized his chance and his greatsword cut down on the shaft of the morningstar, cutting it cleanly in half.


    Before the kingsguard could retreat, Ser Lyle was on him, relentlessly beating down on him with overhead strikes, then swipes and lunges and thrusts on every side. Ser Balon had unstrapped the shield from his arm and was holding the shield two-handed now, blocking left and right. The battered shield groaned with the impact of each strike, and wood chips and splinters flew out like blood spraying from a wound. Until the next blow split the shield in half.


    I thought it was done then, but the sword had caught on the wood, and Ser Balon was quick to throw all his weight back and yanked the shield to the side. Both the greatsword and the shield were thrown away with the force of Ser Balon¡¯s pull, and both warriors just stood there across each other, panting and unarmed.


    Before they could jump on each other and start wrestling on the ground, I jumped to my feet. ¡°Enough!¡± My voice cut through the quiet of the crowd, who¡¯d been watching the savage fight in stunned silence. ¡°Enough,¡± I said again.¡°I will not have two of the finest knights of the realm tangling in the mud like dogs.¡± Both of them seemed ready to protest, before they realized who had said the words. They made their way nearer the royal stands and knelt.


    ¡°I assume your approach to rewards remains unchanged, Ser Balon?¡± The knight stoically nodded. ¡°Very well. What about you, Ser Lyle? Ask me for a boon, and if I can grant it, I shall.¡±


    The Strongboar, who was already on his knees, managed to bow even lower. ¡°Then, Your Grace, I would ask for a place in your white cloaks. Been tired of lazing ¡®round since the war, might as well do the next best thing, eh?¡±


    I didn¡¯t hide my smile. Sometimes when you are king, you don¡¯t even need to scheme and plot to get what you want. People just double over and beg to let them help you. ¡°It would be an honor, ser, to have you in my Kingsguard.¡±

 Chapter 30

    Without a blond head in sight participating in the lists, Lord Tywin had quickly lost interest in the first rounds of the jousting, leaving me alone with my annoying kingsguards on the royal stands, bored and aggravated.


    From Tommen¡¯s memories and my own knowledge, I thought watching two men on horses bash each other with lances would be all the entertainment I would ever need. And it was, for the first few runs, and every time someone flew out of their horses like a sack of potatoes. But not hours upon hours of it.


    The first one to go was Boros the Belly. I sent him on some useless quest to the Red Keep, since I couldn¡¯t stand to listen to another second of him breathing through his mouth like a drooling dog. Jaime was another bother, since he apparently left his usual cutting humor which made him a decent conversation at home. He looked constipated as he watched other men play at something he¡¯d mastered, but now could hardly hold his shield aloft. And Ser Balon, well, I didn¡¯t even know if he¡¯d breathed once since he came back from getting checked out after the melee. He just stood there in the corner, ever the watchful sentry.


    Ser Lyle Crakehall, the newest member of my esteemed Kingsguard, and my last remaining hope of entertainment with his booming voice and crude humor, had left for the Great Sept of Baelor right after I elevated him and laid a white cloak over his shoulders like a giant bearded bride. There, he would stand vigil in front of the Warrior a full day and a night before starting his duties.


    Then, thinking myself a genius, I asked the Tyrells¡ªminus Mace, who¡¯d come down with a stomach infection¡ªto join me up on the royal stands and watched their golden boy Loras put some pretenders in the dirt, if nothing else than to stave off the boredom.


    I was truly starting to regret it now.


    ¡°You know, I remember Prince Rhaegar Targaryen in that tourney that started it all,¡± Olenna said. ¡°He had his night-black armor on, with a three-headed dragon made of red rubies encustred on his breastplate. His violet eyes shone under his helm; his crimson cape flew on the wind. He looked so dashing, like the Warrior come to bless us with his image.¡± I saw Margaery groning on her hand. ¡°A shame we don¡¯t have a prince like that anymore¡­ or a king.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°You¡¯ve been holding that one in since my father got the crown, haven¡¯t you, my lady?¡±


    ¡°Oh you give me too much credit, Your Grace.¡± The Queen of Thorns had a small half-moon fan on one hand, and she used it to hide a fake demure smile behind it. ¡°At my age, I can barely control my bowels anymore, much less my tongue. I would¡¯ve said it to his face, had I thought of it before.¡±


    ¡°I remember Robert reaching for his warhammer for less, my lady,¡± Ser Jaime said from the side. ¡°Especially when Targaeryens were involved.¡±


    ¡°Ah, and so the Lion of Lannister lives,¡± Olenna said. The way her eyes gleamed, I knew she was about to go all in on him. Poor Jaime.  ¡°I thought you¡¯d sulk the whole day, seeing all these knights playing with their sticks while you can¡¯t.


    ¡°Grandmother, please¡­¡± said Margaery, looking my way with sorry eyes.


    Olenna waved her away and turned back to Jaime. ¡°Think of it this way, dear. At least it was the left hand, wasn¡¯t it? What, with the celibacy vows and all, you¡¯ll need the right one to play with your stick for a little while longer.¡±


    Jaime flushed red, and in his anger his nonmetal hand lept to the pommel of his sword.


    I quickly lifted a hand. ¡°Before you start murdering the rest of my kingsguards with sharp words, Lady Olenna, I would like to talk about the reason why I invited you here.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°And here I thought it was just for the pleasure of my company.¡±


    ¡°Like a visit to the maester, perhaps.¡± I smiled sweetly. ¡°In small doses, separated by long periods of time.¡± She snorted and flapped her fan my way, as if telling me to get on with it. I think I was starting to grow on her. ¡°I was hoping you would inform me as to when I can expect House Tyrell¡¯s¡­ contribution to our new joint dynasty.¡±


    I had plans for that money, more than just hoarding it in some vault like a hand-wringing villain. I knew it would be foolish to invest in the industry and development of the land, not only because of the dragon queen and the nuclear winter that were coming, but because I had no intention of triggering some kind of proto-industrial revolution which would see me deposed before Margaery could pop out our first baby.


    But if what I had in mind panned out, it would elevate me to a status in the Kingdoms not seen since the Targaryens still rode dragons.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± Lady Olenna mocked, a hand over her chest as if in shock. ¡°You shouldn''t speak of buying the horse like that in front of it. It frightens the animal.¡±


    ¡°This prized mare is sitting right here, grandmother,¡± Margaery said. She turned to me with a honeyed smile and a perfectly arched eyebrow, and I just winked at her. ¡°And I do believe I know the answer to your question, my love, crass as it was. Father generously told me about it last night.¡±


    ¡°So you twisted his pea-sized brain until he spat it out, did you?¡± Olenna asked.


    ¡°Nothing so heinous, grandmother. He simply had a bit more than usual to drink, nothing I engineered with the servants or anything like that.¡± Olenna rolled her eyes, and I had to hold in a wince. That explained Mace¡¯s stomach problems, and reminded me to keep my kitchen staff separate from hers. ¡°He told me the carriages are set to arrive later this week, my love. With a thousand-men force to guard it.¡±


    I smiled at her, took her hand and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. Oh yes, that would come in handy later.


    xxxx


    That night, with the last matches set to happen the next day, Loras¡¯ included, the court moved further away from the city to an open field, where a great white pavilion the size of a warehouse had been set up for the feast. Tables and benches were stuffed with freshly baked bread and pastries, boiled quail eggs and snails and strawberries and pomegranates and foods even I didn¡¯t know the name of.


    I had complained of the extravagance to Tyrion, citing that, like as not, the Kingdoms were still in debt; but he¡¯d told me that while I could cutback on the winner¡¯s purse for the games, it would be political suicide to be seen filching off on the feasts.


    In the end, I relented, and spent half the night gorging myself on seven courses of fish and lamb and aurochs and seven different desserts.


    Fuck it, I was king.


    When the food stopped coming, the nobles mingled amidst the tables and on the dance floor at the foot of the dais that held the royal table. I did my duty as an honorable host and dove into the battlefield, with a glass of wine in one hand and only half a ear truly listening to the inane conversation of these gentle-birthed folk.


    I fraternized and massaged egos until I couldn¡¯t, and decided to simple call the beginning of the dance. The night had come with a chill, and I grasped my cloak closer around me as I walked up the dais again to make a short speech before the dancing began. I gestured to Ser Balon behind me, and he knocked on the wood of the royal table with his steel-plated fist.


    I smiled genially as the crowd of highborn turned to me. ¡°My lords, my ladies,¡± I said, ¡°noble knights of the realm.¡±


    Before I could truly start buttering them up, a gust of wind suddenly swept through the tables, snapping the cloth of the pavilion like firecrackers. It carried with it the salty smell of the sea, and the revolting smell of death.


    I heard gasps coming from down at the tables, then a man¡¯s horrified scream.


    When I looked to the left, I saw it, standing by the edge of the table like a spectre. The demon was black as a graveyard, with its form twisting and writhing and screaming like it was in agony. I knew what it was, where it had likely come from, but the mind takes a while to perceive the unfathomable, and I froze a second too long. With a jagged blade of solid dark shadow in one hand, it lunged, straight at my heart.


    But before I could even think of doing anything, Ser Balon moved. He shouldered me out of the way and into the table, and I crashed down on top of it on the dance floor. And from the ground, I watched as the shadow sword cut a gash on Ser Balon¡¯s side, plate and all, like it was carving through paper.

 Chapter 31

    I scrambled to stand up, kicking away half-eaten dishes and golden chalices that had plunged with me from the dais. I¡¯d only gotten both my feet under me before I fell back on my knees. Bright spots were clouding in my vision, and my back ached from the crash. I tried to breath, gulped like a dying man, but the fall had emptied me of air.


    I heard the screams behind me, the prayers and the cries and the begging, but they seemed so far away. Too far to be of any help.


    It was Jaime who came to me first. ¡°Tommen!¡± He grabbed me from behind, lifting me up by my armpits. ¡°Tommen, we need to go. Now!¡±


    I could only grunt in response, pushing my feet at the ground to try and help him.


    We had barely gone five steps when Jaime stopped; his weight supporting me from behind was suddenly gone, and I fell down back to the ground. When I looked up, all I could see was the shadow demon blowing down the dais like a whirlwind, and Ser Balon sliding to the ground, one hand clutching his side, his life¡¯s blood soaking his pristine white-cloak red.


    Everything came back into focus then, as if a switch had turned on me; air flooded my lungs, the blurs in my sight faded, and I could hear the screams of the desperate nobles on all sides. I could also hear Jaime yelling at me to run as he stepped in front of me, ready to meet the demon as it rushed us.


    But Ser Jaime was out of his plate-armor for the night¡¯s feast, and I knew crimson silk was no match for dark magic. So I lept off the ground and shoved my foot on his back. The last knight of the Kingsguard between me and Melisandre¡¯s unholy creation was sent tumbling to the side, and it was just the two of us in the middle of the dance floor.


    I knew who it was after; but I also knew the only way to kill it before it killed me.


    Hopebringer came singing out of its scabbard, black and red ripples swirling and dancing where the torchlight of the pavilion broke on the valyrian-steel blade. The demon gave out a ghastly screech as it spotted the sword, and I knew I had a chance.


    The demon charged me, single-minded aggression driving his sword in a side slash. I raised Hopebringer to meet it, half-expecting my metal blade to phase through his black shadow one and cut through me like it did Ser Balon; but the blades connected, and a thin, piercing sound filled the night.


    I didn¡¯t have time to consider the painful feeling in my ears. This thing didn¡¯t breathe, it didn¡¯t tire. It just came at me, relentlessly. I blocked and parried blow after blow, the strength behind each of them weighing on my arms. His sword left black shadows in its wake like ghosts, and each time our blades clashed I heard the keening wail of a thousand anguished voices.


    It was fighting me, actually fighting me. I felt blood running down the left side of my face¡ªfrom my ear, and swallowed the dryness in my mouth as true fear settled deep in me. I knew I had to do something or it would simply outlast me.


    I dodged the demons next thrust; but my sword met it, and Hopebringer ran the length of its blade and glanced off its shadow arm. The demon howled, deep and harrowing. The black of its form turned slightly more translucent, as if just for a moment it was made of some dark-tinted glass.


    I jumped on its distraction. Hopebringer flew in my hands faster than it ever had on the practice yard, cutting and slashing a shoulder or an arm. Ribbons of darkness seeped out of the demon¡¯s wounds like black blood, and a vile smell filled the pavilion. I felt my heart beat thundering in my head and echoing through my whole body. Fear melted with the frightful and beautiful song of our clashing, and the thrill of the fight set a fire in me. Before I noticed, a wide grin had set on my face. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    The thing¡¯s backswings came weaker and slower with each flurry of blows, and I pressed the advantage. From the corner of my eyes, I caught the nobles that were in the feast, and the soldiers that had crowded into the pavilion at the sound of screams; they simply stood there, watching the duel between king and hellspawn with awe and horror and wonder. Even Ser Jaime hadn¡¯t gotten back up to try and help me.


    It didn¡¯t matter. I had it in the next exchange. The demon twisted from side to side and charged me, black blade leaping, but its desperate slash went wide when I side-stepped it, and it was done. Hopebringer cut the air with a whistle, then split the shadow-demon from collarbone to waist. The thing didn¡¯t even have the strength to scream; a wet gurgle came out of its dark mouth, then it fell upon itself like a collapsing building made of ash, leaving nothing but a cloud of sulphur where it once stood.


    Before the silence of the shocked crowd broke, I was already sheathing back my sword on its scabbard and striding straight at my Hand of the King. I had never seen him looking like this before, eyes wide and staring, muscles clenched. Was it the fear of both his heirs dying in front of his eyes? Of his legacy crumbling to dust with him in the audience? Or was it the more primal one, the one that made the first humans fear the night and all its horrors?


    I didn¡¯t have time to consider that. I grabbed Tywin by the shirtfront and lifted him off his chair. ¡°Listen to me, Lord Hand. Listen!¡± Lord Tywin swallowed, his eyes focused back on me, and he managed a weak nod. ¡°Listen well. I need you to close down the city. No one leaves, no matter what. Take however many men you can: yours, the gold-cloaks, reachmen. I don¡¯t care. Scour every corner in the city, every inn and every warren. Seize all the ships in the docks, look for smaller boats, dinghies or canoes. Look in the caves and any rock shelter near the coast. Find the woman in red, Lord Tywin. Find her. Red hair, red clothes. Bring her to me.¡±


    Tywin¡¯s expression settled into nervous tension. ¡°It shall be done, Your Grace.¡±


    I swivelled around, looking for a particular man. ¡°Bronn,¡± I called, picking him out in the crowd. He looked pale as a ghost, and sweat ran down his face. I walked up to him and slapped him. He came into himself quick as a cat after that. ¡°Get some men and a cart. Get something to stop his bleeding, then take Ser Balon to the castle, now.¡±


    Bronn exhaled a breath and nodded. ¡°To Pycelle?¡±


    ¡°No, no. To Qyburn. Take him to Qyburn, and tell the man what happened. Tell him what you saw here and what caused Ser Balon¡¯s wounds.¡± I turned away before he could acquiesce. He would follow my orders. This night, everyone would.


    Men and women crowded around me, to speak to me, to hear my voice, to touch me and know I was real. ¡°Away!¡± I ordered. I looked at the still stunned guards standing around the room. ¡°Make room for your king, now!¡± The mixed group of city watchmen and Lannister red-cloaks rushed around me and started ushering people away.


    I wasn¡¯t even paying attention anymore. There was one more person I needed. I knew Varys was somewhere back in the Red Keep, too far away, and I couldn¡¯t trust him with this.


    Olenna Tyrell was sitting in the same place she¡¯d sat the whole night. Margaery was at her side, her eyes red and puffy and tear-stained, being cradled by a mumbling Loras Tyrell. When the curtains fell and the real demons came out to play, few could say they had looked them in the eyes and still held their head high. The Queen of Thorns was one such person.


    I strode up to her table and slapped both hands down in front of her. ¡°Somewhere out there, there¡¯s a silver-haired girl who dreams of power; she has the right name to sit the throne, and three dragons to make it a reality. And she won¡¯t be marrying your granddaughter, I can guarantee you.¡± I leaned in closer, so only herself and I could hear my next words. ¡°Use your network, Lady Olenna. Let the whole of the Seven Kingdoms know what happened here tonight. Let them know how a Targaryen shadow-demon came to slay their king, and how it was beaten back to whichever of the seven hells it came from. Tell them the Seven smiled down upon the king, and the Warrior gave him the strength to defeat the abomination. You tell them that.¡±

 Chapter 32

    Ser Balon¡¯s tormented screams echoed through the halls beneath the Red Keep. I was sitting outside Qyburn¡¯s workshop on a damp stone bench cut out from the same rock as the walls. A single torch lit the passage, and the light leapt and danced with every puff of wind from down the tunnels. On the other side of the door, the former maester who was considered as skilled in medicine as the current Archmaester responsible for Healing endeavored to save my kingsguard knight.


    When I entrusted Ser Baelon to Qyburn, I didn¡¯t mean for him to become something like the Mountain did in the show. I simply had no faith in Pycelle¡¯s ability to heal him from that cut. I¡¯d seen the gash the dark blade left on him. It was only a passing glance, then I went to Bronn and ordered him to be taken from the pavilion, but I remember it well. Something dark was spreading out in the veins around the wound, and the mouth of the gash oozed an oily black pus, which smelled of rotten death the same as the demon.


    Qyburn had been divested of his chain for experimenting with living humans, a cardinal rule in the Citadel. He¡¯d studied the living to discover the secrets of death. If someone knew how to stave off the magical rot of that wound, it was him.


    I heard Ser Balon screaming again, followed by the clanking of chains rattling against each other. It was a good thing he was still howling. It meant he was alive. That he could feel something.


    The agony in his voice washed over me, but I didn¡¯t let it affect me. I was too focused on what I was doing. I brought the small hook knife to the top of Hopebringer¡¯s leather-less handle, right where the wooden grip met the metal crossguard, and continued to carve an egg-sized furrow into the wood. The repetitive rasp of steel scraping off strips of wood calmed me. To someone who knew what they were doing, the curved blade of the knife sliced off the wood as easy as if it was an apple.


    I kept whittling away at the handle of my sword, thinking of what happened earlier tonight. The whole situation kept replaying in my mind: the sudden cold and the bitter wind, the smell of carrion and death; the feel of Hopebringer in my hands hissing as it cut through the air, keening when it bit off pieces of the shadow-demon.


    The fight against the hellspawn had electrified me. To have my life on the line again, to truly be a step away from death. That¡¯s a thrill I hadn¡¯t felt in a long time.


    After my high came down, however, and reality settled in, I had to come down here and get away from it all. My hands had been shaking when I got on a carriage back to the Red Keep. I realized that it had been close. Too close.


    So far, I had been in control every day of my life as Tommen. I knew who my enemies and potential allies were, their thoughts and feelings and motivations. I knew their sins and their weaknesses; I knew what they planned and strived to do.


    But what happened back in that pavilion¡­


    As far as I was aware, there was no way I could have predicted it. It meant my actions were the cause of it. Something I did¡ªsomething I changed from the original storyline, made Melisandre get on a fucking boat from Dragonstone and come birth a demon to kill me. What did that mean for my future? Could I rely on anything I knew from my previous life when it came to the show? How could I plan ten steps ahead in the game when the rules themselves had been changed?


    All this doubt and hesitation, all this fear plaguing my mind¡­ I knew I had to shove it back down. It was a weakness. So I had borrowed one of Qyburn¡¯s hook knives and started carving the small furrow on the wood. Whatever I would decide to do about the distant future I knew not, but I knew what I had to do now. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Footsteps pounding down the hall brought me back to my cold bench outside Qyburn¡¯s workshop. Bronn turned the corner. After transporting Ser Balon here, he¡¯d taken some men to look for Melisandre deep in the seedier parts of King¡¯s Landing. Now, his fancy silver-chased doublet, the same from the feast, was soot-stained and soaked with sweat.


    ¡°They found her,¡± he told me, still catching his breath.


    I nodded calmly, my knife cutting away. Just a little more and it¡¯d be ready. ¡°Where?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Trying to sneak out the Mud Gate,¡± Bronn said.


    ¡°But where was she hiding? Did she have men with her?¡±


    ¡°A hovel by the city walls,¡± he said. He hadn¡¯t come near me; he just stood there by the edge of the torchlight. ¡°Three men were with her. And there was also the body of a man with cuts all over. Gold-cloak I spoke to said he was gutted through like a pig, too.¡±


    I hummed. This was different. When Melisandre birthed the demon to kill Renly, she¡¯d used Stannis¡¯ seed, and the kingly power of his bloodline, to power up her spell, or whatever that was. But if the gutted man had been the bestower for it instead, if he was somehow connected to the demon of tonight, it would explain how it was able to fight me blow by blow like a man used to swordfighting.


    ¡°And now?¡± I asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re taking her and her men to the black cells, and a couple of gold-cloaks who¡¯d taken her gold.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t take her to the dungeons,¡± I said. ¡°Make sure she¡¯s unarmed, then take her to my rooms. Five men will wait with her there, swords to her neck. They¡¯ll leave when I arrive.¡±


    ¡°You want me to take the same woman who¡¯s supposed to have created that¡­ thing, to your room?¡± he asked.


    The steel scraped against the wood, the torch flickered. The knife paused in my hand, and I looked up at him. ¡°I¡¯m quite sure I haven¡¯t misspoken, Bronn.¡±


    I saw the lump of his throat bobbing. ¡°Aye, Your Grace.¡±


    xxxx


    I¡¯d just fixed the last flaw on the egg-sized furrow in Hopebringer¡¯s handle when Ser Balon roared a final time, and Qyburn came to the door to call for me.


    ¡°It¡¯s done, Your Grace,¡± the former maester said. Blood and bile covered his black robes like a shroud, and his wispy gray hair clung close to his skull, slick with sweat. The only thing missing was a scythe.


    ¡°He¡¯ll live, then?¡± I asked.


    There was a beat of silence. ¡°Yes, Your Grace,¡± he finally said. Something dripped on the floor, and I looked to see crimson hands wringing against each other. Qyburn gave me a small smile and wiped them on his robes. ¡°In a manner, yes, he will live.¡±


    I stood up and motioned inside. ¡°I will see him now.¡±


    ¡°I believe it¡¯s best you don¡¯t see him, Your Grace,¡± he said softly, though he did not move to stop me. ¡°He¡¯s still recovering.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°What is it?¡± Qyburn shuffled on his feet in a way that irked me. ¡°Out with it, man.¡±


    ¡°Your Grace, when he was brought to me, nothing I tried at first worked. The wound would not close, and the spread of the black oil on his veins could not be stopped. It was only after Ser Bronn recounted the events of the night that I got an idea, Your Grace. In fact, I had recently started studying it since our conversation in the cellars. Blood magic. I believe whatever demon came to slay you this night was created with blood magic.¡±


    The same conclusion I arrived at. ¡°And you were able to fix him how?¡±


    ¡°Blood, Your Grace. I used the blood of some of my other subjects.¡±


    Fucking hell. ¡°Has it changed him?¡± I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. I didn¡¯t want a zombie Mountain who could turn on me at any moment protecting my back.


    ¡°Not as a man, no. He¡¯s still there. He simply has... urges.¡±


    I stood in silence for a moment, barely believing what I heard. ¡°Are you saying he craves¡­ blood?¡±


    ¡°Precisely, Your Grace.¡± His robes seemed to writhe as the light caught on it. ¡°Blood sustains him, just as it sustained the demon that caused his wound.¡±


    I felt a bead of sweat run down the length of my back. Qyburn, this absolutely insane witch-scientist, had created a fucking vampire.

 Chapter 33

    It was the dead of night. Even with the noble guests coming back late to the castle, the halls were silent as a graveyard. For the first time in weeks, I walked alone. I had no guards with me, no steel-plated knights or legendary swordsmen; and I would have no guards when I met Melisandre. They would be of no use against her, too. I had no doubt she had ways to sway men to her side, to whisper sweet words in their ears and reinvent the world as they knew.


    I realized this was another unnecessary risk I was taking. This wasn¡¯t a calculated move, contrived with days in advance and future knowledge on my side. But she had tried to kill me; she had almost killed my knight.This was vengeance, plain and simple. Sometimes a man had to take a stand to show he should not be fucked with¡ªand I would break before I would bend to this demon-birthing sorceress.


    Whatever Qyburn had unleashed on us all, I would deal with later. If what he said was true, if Ser Balon had become part man part shadow-demon with a penchant for blood-sucking, it would not change what I had waiting for me tonight.


    When I arrived at my rooms, only two of the Lannister men had their swords drawn, and they were fervently praying to the Seven as if they were about to perform an exorcism. The other three men were staring into the hearth, their swords buckled and sheathed on their sides.


    ¡°I see it, my lady,¡± one of the fools said, still unaware of my presence. His eyes already shone with devotion. The others nodded around him. ¡°I see my wife¡­ and the children. Fields of amber and gold. Oh, it¡¯s beautiful, my lady.¡±


    The drawing room was dark despite the fire in the hearth, and the shadows seemed to come alive when Melisandre looked up at me. Her beauty was unsettling. She had pearl-white skin that clashed against her long auburn hair and blood-satin dress, and her red eyes came ablaze when they fixed on my own.


    I bit the inside of my cheek and stared right back. ¡°Any man who doesn''t leave my room right now, hangs at dawn,¡± I said. Her heart-shaped face didn¡¯t even twitch at my threat.


    The two men with swords drawn barely seemed to realize I was the king and simply hurried out of the room. The others, however, turned to Melisandre instead of me. ¡°My lady?¡± the same one from before asked.


    I raised an eyebrow at her, and she answered with a coy smile. ¡°Go on now, friends,¡± she said, still looking my way. ¡°Go in the light, for the night is dark and full of terrors.¡± She shooed the three out then, but not before she had them kiss her hand. A power display, I knew, as if to show me she had been in charge of the situation the whole time despite her capture.


    When the door clicked shut behind them, I moved to the other side of the room where I had a small wine cabinet I used with guests. I ignored Melisandre and sorted through until I selected a fine arbor gold vintage for her and a different one for me. I had two poisoned wine bottles here, but I knew they were of no use against the red priestess.


    ¡°So you¡¯re Stannis Baratheon¡¯s priestess, then?¡± I finally asked.


    I had my back turned to her, but I could tell the words bothered her. ¡°I¡¯m no one¡¯s priestess but my Lord¡¯s, Your Grace,¡± she said. The words rolled off her tongue accented and sultry. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand.


    I schooled my face and turned, wine jug still in hand. ¡°But you are with Stannis, no? You proclaimed him the prince that was promised, Azor Ahai come again.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°You know of the prophecies?¡± She seemed surprised, but you never knew with her. If I remembered correctly, Melisandre was over a century old at the very least. You could not bandy words with someone like her and expect to come out the winner. Still, I had to play the game.


    So I nodded, pouring her a chalice of wine. ¡°From Eldric Shadowchaser and Hyrkoon the Hero, to Neferion and Yin Tar, and the last hero of the long night. Legends from all over the known world. Does that make it the inexorable destiny of the world, or the ravings of mad men thousands of years ago who happened to spread far farther than it should have?¡± I shrugged. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, I think. Azor Ahai won¡¯t just fall into the world¡¯s lap. Someone has to go out there and become him¡ªthen the spoils will follow. All the gold and power and glory a man could ask for.¡±


    I gestured her back toward the lounge area by the hearth, where we could sit opposite each other on plush, gold-lined sofas, separated only by a knee-height centre table. I waited for her to be seated and passed her a chalice.


    She accepted the wine with a smile, letting her long fingers brush against my hand. The great ruby at her throat pulsed with light. ¡°Indeed, the prince that was promised will bathe in glory, the world will kneel at his feet¡ªat your feet, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Is it my feet now?¡± I asked, showing her an amused smile. ¡°I thought we¡¯d established I know of your allegiance to Stannis.¡± I rounded the table and relaxed back on the silks. The muscles at my back which had been aching the whole time since the feast seemed to unclench, and I sighed.


    ¡°The light of my Lord is never wrong,¡± she said fervently, hands clasped over her chalice. ¡°Yet we priests and priestesses do make mistakes. I had tried to see his grace in the flames before, and your visage was always twisted and shrouded.¡± Melisandre shook her head, a wondrous look on her face. ¡°But I saw you in the fires tonight, clear as day. My Lord must have been protecting his chosen, even from me.¡±


    ¡°And how do I know you¡¯re not just saying this to trick me? You were wrong before, no? How do I know you¡¯re not simply wrong again?¡± I sipped at my drink, finding the warmth that spread inside me comforting. ¡°And you did just attempted to murder me tonight¡­ via shadow-demon, too. Which even to me is a bit much.¡±


    ¡°I hail from Asshai, Your Grace,¡± she said. Her skin glowed with the fire of the hearth. ¡°And there I learned the art of shadowbinding. The spell I used today is one such, reworked to be used in tandem with blood magic. Shadowbinding is a¡­ necessary evil, as it represents the antithesis of the Lord of Light. They are creatures of the Great Other, birthed from the wrongness of the world. And you have survived it. A true victory against the Great Other, and I saw it with my own eyes, Your Grace. No, my prince. The prince who was promised.¡±


    ¡°My prince, huh?¡± My mind felt light at the image her words conjured. I gulped the wine down in one go and smiled at Melisandre. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound half bad.¡± I reached for the side of the centre table, opened a drawer, and brought out a couple of sticks of incense kept there by my maids. They were from somewhere in Dorne, I believed, and smelled of the sea. I lit them both up and laid them against the table. ¡°You don¡¯t mind, do you? It¡¯s been a long day, and I¡¯ve been smelling of death for hours now.¡±


    ¡°Please, my prince. If it makes you more comfortable.¡± Melisandre put her chalice down and rose, slowly, lazily. Her long pale legs unfurled from under her and surfaced from the slit of her dress like moonflowers blooming. ¡°It is my fault you went through such hardship today.¡± She moved around the table, seeming to glide over the floor, and stopped in front of me. ¡°Allow me to help you relax.¡± Close as she was, her voice came as if played from harps, soothing and lyric.


    My head spun. Words rose and melted in my tongue like sugar cubes when she knelt with both legs on either side of me. Heat radiated off of her in waves, and it washed me clean of thoughts. Her hands reached for my belt, and after unclasping it, I helped her set my sword down to the side.


    Her dress rode up as she sank down on my lap, and my hands ran up the length of her legs to her thighs, enjoying the warmth of her smooth skin. ¡°Make love to me, my prince,¡± she whispered.


    I felt hands grasping the back of my neck, warm and tingling to the touch. Then her lips were on mine, kissing me fiercely, and I lost myself to her sweet taste.

 Chapter 34

    Melisandre I


    Melisandre threw her head back in ecstasy and allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of the young king inside of her. She inhaled the salty fumes of the incense he¡¯d lit, and let the smoke build up on her lungs. It felt like being washed by the blessed flames of her lord.


    When Tommen Baratheon finished, his essence would reinvigorate her for years to come, and she would continue to work toward her red lord¡¯s ultimate victory. She could feel the power thrumming through his veins. He was a king, oh yes, a man born to rule. But he was not her prince; he was not Azor Ahai come again, no matter what she told him. Ever since she left Essos for Dragronstone, all signs pointed to Stannis. Now, her vision showed victory in his road north. He would be reborn amidst salt and smoke there, as the prophecies foretold, and R¡¯hllor would have his champion.


    However, Stannis would be staying in the north for the foreseeable future. And they would need the strength of the Seven Kingdoms to beat back the monsters of the Great Other. Perhaps young Tommen would be of more use to her and her prince alive, as a puppet to be strung and paraded about, until his usefulness came to an end.


    She smiled at the idea. Her hips quickened, moving up and down on Tommen¡¯s length. He hit a spot deep inside her, and she moaned into the king¡¯s neck, breathed in his scent. He still smelled of sulphur and blood, and the intoxicating mixture made her head spin with pleasure. His slaying of her shadow-child was unexpected, but not overly detrimental to her cause. The origins of her spell that night were one of the many lies she¡¯d told Tommen Baratheon.


    Shadow could only exist given light; she would never make use of a power that originated from the Great Other. Her Lord would strike her down the moment she did so, and if not him, then her brothers and sisters in the red temples would cut the rotting hand to save the arm, as it had been done before many times with priests who delved too deep into their studies of the Other¡¯s darkness and were in turn corrupted by it.


    Tommen Baratheon¡¯s hands roamed upwards, first to her full breasts that spilled out of her dress, then to her slim shoulders, reaching for her like a supplicant. His touch left burning trails on her skin, and Melisandre felt her climax approaching. She wanted him to finish at the same time as her, as she knew the euphoria of her orgasm and his essence¡¯s power would send her into delirium.


    Her hands grasped and tangled on the king¡¯s silky blond locks. ¡°Inside me, my prince,¡± she cooed, looking down at him.


    He looked nothing like the energetic king she spied earlier in the night through the fires. His vibrant green eyes were blood-shot and bugged out, his breathing shallow and rasping. Seeing him like this¡ªseeing the power she had on him¡ªwas like a drug.


    The slow build up of pleasure inside of her reached its crescendo, ready to snap like a coiled spring. Tommen stirred under her, as if to stand up. His hands were grasping at her shoulders and neck now, but she barely noticed. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and one of her own hands went down to where they were joined. She wanted to feel it spilling into her.


    The hand that was on her neck suddenly regained its dexterity and clinched the choker at her throat. She felt it being yanked down at the same time as the king jumped to his feet. Her vision spun with pleasure and vertigo for a moment, then she was on the ground, her back digging against the centre table.


    Melisandre looked up at the king, ready to put him in his place; but a fog had risen up in the room, and she could barely see a foot in front of her. She tried to rise again, her arms pushing her up, but the world had suddenly gone dull and lifeless, and she had no strength left in her.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    xxxxx


    (Tommen POV)


    My vision was going blank. I clawed desperately at my pocket, trying to find the tiny vial I¡¯d put there when I stopped at the wine cabinet. The surge of adrenaline I got after the poisoned wine took effect and washed away Melisandre¡¯s spell had faded away, and I fell back on the sofa.


    I was already feeling my heart-beat rocketing up on my chest. There were glass shards on my lungs, and every breath I took shredded my insides. Another minute of this and I would end it myself if the poison didn¡¯t do it. My hand brushed against glass, and I clasped the vial between numb fingers. I brought it to my mouth and uncorked it, then downed it in one go.


    The relief was instant. Air rushed through me cleanly, the numbness in my extremities evaporated, and my senses realigned to reality. No more than half a minute had passed since I¡¯d shoved Melisandre off of me, and she was still dazed on the floor. She looked like she¡¯d aged a hundred years. Her lustrous red hair had turned bone white and brittle; her glowing skin was sallow and sunk in at the cheeks and eyes.


    I frowned and quickly pulled my pants up. Even though my gamble had paid off, I had to admit some of the circumstances of my plan had not been thought through enough. Like the fact that I knew she was almost a skeleton walking and still had sex with her.


    Being free of her entrancing influence felt like turning on the lights in a dark room. For minutes there all I could think about was her, her words and her taste and her smell, and I didn¡¯t see what was right in front of me. All her lies and manipulations were clear as glass now that I could think back on them clearly.


    Still, I¡¯d gotten my prize. I felt the choker with the red ruby still safely clutched in my left hand and breathed a sigh of relief. I looked around the room to reassert myself. The fire at the hearth had dimmed, and the incense sticks at the table were almost burned out. The room was filled with the salty smell of the sea.


    I turned back to Melisandre, a satisfied smile spreading on my face. ¡°Well.¡± My voice came out raspy and ragged. I cleared my throat. ¡°Well. I certainly liked you better when you were all red. White definitely does not suit you.¡±


    She looked up at me, eyes white and dull, pale lips replacing full pink ones. The only thing that wasn¡¯t white was the inside of her mouth, as all her teeth had fallen out. ¡°You¡­¡± she trailed off,  voice grating. She didn¡¯t have the strength to continue.


    Even in her weakened state, I had no idea what kind of sorcery a priestess of R¡¯hllor who¡¯d lived in godsforsaken Asshai could pull off, so I turned away from her and reached for my sword. I remembered watching Thoros of Myr and the lightning lord, Beric Dondarrion, and I had a mind to copy them.


    Slowly, lovingly, I pulled Hopebringer out of its scabbard. No. I realized it would have to be called something different now.


    I admired its ripples in the gloomy light of the room, blood and death in shades of red and black. I brought out the Melisandre¡¯s choker and pulled the ruby off its center. I heard a moaning, ¡°Noooo,¡± from the floor, but focused on the work.


    I threw the golden choker over my back, and carefully placed the ruby gemstone into the furrow I had carved into the handle earlier tonight. When it slotted all the way in, the blade pulsed in my arms, and I smiled.


    I planted my free hand on the sharp edge of the sword, then slowly dragged it against my palm. Crimson king¡¯s blood bathed the valyrian-steel blade, running over its ripples like rivers following their courses. When the sword was done, I turned to the ruby-encrusted hilt. I positioned my closed hand over it and squeezed.


    Blood ran dark here, and the sword burst into fire the moment crimson met ruby. The flames were a beautiful black, as dark as my sins. I watched in awe as their sable light washed over the room. The black fire swirled around the blade, licking hungrily at everything around it. Dark burn scars were left in its wake, but I didn¡¯t feel their heat.


    Melisandre was watching me from the ground, wonder and horror stamped on her ancient face. Amidst my black flames and the salty smoke of the incense, I grinned down at her.


    ¡°Here¡¯s your Azor Ahai,¡± I said. Then I stabbed Lightbringer into Melisandre¡¯s heart.

 Chapter 35

    Kevan I


    It had only been a day after the first letter that the second one came. Had it been from anyone else, Kevan Lannister would have dismissed it entirely as a delusional maester¡¯s mistake, but the handwriting and the crimson signet ring at the bottom confirmed it was from Tywin.


    The first one had been beyond strange on its own. Send Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, and his freeriders to clean up bandits in Dorne, of all places. Kevan had almost laughed when he read it, and even Dorna thought he¡¯d come down with something when she caught him shaking in his solar. Tywin might as well have ordered he sent a headsman and a chopping block with them.


    Still, he signed and sent the bird to Clegane¡¯s Keep that morning, and got an answer the next day by whichever poor maester got saddled with that castle. Ser Gregor and his men had promptly gone their merry way. As a son of the Rock, Kevan believed that every Lannister had a duty towards their vassals, but he had to admit he was happy that a man like the Mountain would finally get his just end.


    The second one was a different matter entirely. He knew Tywin planned to appoint him as his successor as Hand of the King the moment he heard Jaime was coming back to Casterly Rock to assume his place as his brother¡¯s heir.


    Kevan was tired of the marching and the scheming and the wars, and of burying his son. He had no wish to leave his home, to leave Dorna and little Janei and Martyn.


    But he would do it.


    He was a knight, and a knight served his liege. But most importantly, he was a younger brother, and laws older than the Seven Kingdoms governed his life the moment he was born. Tywin would lead, and he would follow.


    And so he said his goodbyes at the Rock¡¯s gate, to his lovely Dorna and her tearful eyes, and Janei bawling in his arms for one last hug; Martyn, tall and fair for his age, shaking his hand with a strength Kevan didn¡¯t know the lad had in him, and even Gemma seemed more emotional than usual.


    It all felt like he was a man marching toward the gallows.


    xxxx


    They¡¯d been riding hard for near a week when Riverrun came into sight. It was the final hours of dusk, and the fine mist that hung about the three-sided castle caught the golden-red light of the fading sun like a net and spit it back in a thousand different shades of crimson and rose, peach and amber.


    Kevan reigned in his charger and stopped atop a hill overlooking the confluence of the Tumblestone and the Red Fork. Riverrun sat right where they met, with a man-made ditch cutting off access on the land side. Its walls rose straight out of the water, made of red sandstone and mounted by crenelated battlements; a half-dozen narrow towers stuck out from behind the walls like a crown of swords. Over the ramparts of the river-bound castle, two flags flew high and proud in the wind, as if in open defiance of what stood surrounding them. The leaping silver trout of House Tully and the running grey wolf of House Stark.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°My Lord?¡± Ser Jason rode up beside him. Kevan was no lord, only a knight in his brother¡¯s service, but he¡¯d grown tired of correcting the man every time. He knew it was out of respect more than anything.


    Ser Jason Hill was one of the fifty knights and a hundred mounted spearmen that formed his retinue for this¡­ expedition. He¡¯d sent another hundred and fifty knights and three hundred Lannister spearmen to the capital before he left, to wait for his arrival there.


    ¡°Will we stop at the siege, my lord?¡± the knight asked when he kept silent.


    Siege? Is that what this is? Kevan looked down across the rolling plains around the castle, to the hundreds and hundreds of ratty tents scattered haphazardly over the muck and mud. There were no lines set or pickets placed around the three camps, and no ditches were dug in the perimeters. Above them all, tiny banners with the twin towers of Frey hung sodden and limp in the air.


    The Blackfish must look outside his walls everyday and laugh, Kevan thought. They¡¯ll not make a man like Ser Brynden Tully dip his banners with as pitiful a showing as this.


    ¡°No,¡± he finally said. ¡°We¡¯ll skirt off the River Road here, then take it back a half-days away. If they don¡¯t have scouts spotting us here, they won¡¯t have them ten miles east either. Our own charge takes precedence. I¡¯ll inform Lord Tywin of the¡­ ill state of the siege in another opportunity.¡± He turned his horse back and rode south, away from the road. The column of Lannister men followed him, their brown, inconspicuous cloaks blowing in the breeze.


    For the next four days, Kevan and his retinue rode across the burnt out husk that was once the Riverlands. Whole villages laid pillaged and abandoned, with corpses still littering their streets. Where once were endless fields of golden grain, the soil now was grey and charred and dead. All the barns and farmhouses they came upon had been reduced to ashes. And when they reached Riverbend, they had to leave the road due to the constant stream of ragged-dressed refugees clogging the road.


    Before they fled the busy road, Kevan saw a young woman by the roadside, no older than sixteen, with a child hanging on either hip. She was all skin and bones, and what was left of her was being suckled out of her teats by her brood. He¡¯d left her a silver stag before turning his horse off into the brush.


    Duty. That was the word he repeated to himself, day and night after that. Duty. All he¡¯d done was out of duty for his brother and his family. A man cannot be ashamed of that¡ªshould not be ashamed of that.


    Yet for four days, when Kevan Lannister laid at his cot at night, his dreams were haunted by women and children wearing scrawny, charred suits of skin.


    On the fifth day, they made camp an hour¡¯s ride north of the Inn at the Crossroads. Tywin had not seen fit to inform him how he knew they would be passing this way, nor when exactly it would happen. He only told him to be there and wait until it happened. He¡¯d gotten stranger commands in his over forty years of serving his brother; this one wouldn¡¯t be any different.


    He would sit and camp and wait, until Petyr Baelish and Sansa Stark came out of wherever they were hiding and into the clutches of the lion.

 Chapter 36

    I was already sitting when my Small Council arrived. The tension was palpable in Tywin¡¯s steps; Pycelle had even forgotten his fake hobbling; and Varys could barely look in my direction. The only one who seemed oblivious to it all was Mace, who sauntered into the room with the swagger of a peacock.


    They should be nervous, too. The past days had been hell. While rewarding in the long term, the whole experience with Melisandre¡¯s entrancing spell and the poisoned wine and using my blood to light up a magic sword had put me in bed with a bone-deep exhaustion I¡¯d never felt in my life. Now, there was a deep burning I couldn¡¯t seem to dampen right behind my eyes, and I felt like blaming everyone for it, if for nothing else then to blow out some steam.


    When they were all seated, I nodded graciously to each of them and started, ¡°My lords, thank you for heeding my summons. I believe we have much to speak on, given the happenings of two nights ago.¡±


    ¡°We are your Small Council, Your Grace. We live to serve,¡± Grand Maester Pycelle said, his wizened hands folded over his stomach. He¡¯d be having his, too.


    I gave him a thin smile, then turned to the only eunuch in the room. ¡°Lord Varys, what can you tell me of the city? Do they know what happened that night?¡± I asked, as if I hadn¡¯t tasked Olenna to tell everyone and their mothers about it. ¡°Are there any rumours going around? I have been, admittedly, locked inside for two days. What do the people know, and what do they think?¡±


    While I could control the information they received, what they did about it was out of my hands. The people¡¯s reactions on this particular issue would guide my next big moves, and it always paid to have every bit of information on all factions on the board. I didn¡¯t want to be shanked on some alley street because some barely-washed peasants decided I was the second coming of the anti-Christ, when I could just simply avoid going out.


    Varys tried for a tittering, unbothered smile, failed, and settled for looking in my eyes without flinching for the first time since he walked in. He was wearing dark robes today, bulkier than his usual fare, with silver-lining at the sleeves and a great hood hanging at his back. It would be today, then, I decided.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± he started, ¡°from what I am told, many gold-cloaks were in the Pavilion the night of the¡­ attack. Inevitably, stories and hearsay have run rampant in the city.¡±


    I gestured him on. ¡°What kind, my lord? What kind?¡±


    ¡°Well, Your Grace, a growing number of peasants have begun to congregate nightly by the Keep¡¯s walls to pray for the Seven¡­ and for their king.¡±


    I nodded, completely ignoring the last part. The sharp gleam in his eyes told me he was looking for a reaction to it. ¡°The castle?¡± I said. ¡°Not the Sept, then?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s been some discontent spreading in the city toward the faith,¡± Varys said. ¡°It seems there have been some attacks by septons, mostly on brothels and taverns.¡±


    I hummed. ¡°Curious.¡± Bronn was an efficient man. ¡°Grand Maester,¡± I said suddenly, looking over his way. He swallowed when he noticed the furrow in my brow. ¡°From everything I have ever heard, the official position of maesters and the Citadel is that magic is dead and gone from this world. Now, far be it from me to gainsay our illustrious knights of knowledge, but I could swear a shadow-demon just tried to kill me not two days ago.¡± Pycelle sank on his seat like a puddle the further I spoke. When he kept quiet, I prodded, ¡°Well? Speak up, Grand Maester.¡±


    He sputtered for a moment. ¡°Your Grace, well¡­¡± I saw sweat beading on his balding forehead. ¡°It, uh, it is possible that with the resurgence of dragons in the east, some small, uh, spark of magic may have reignited and flared up the fire of the gods we know as magic from its dying embers.¡±


    My head pulsed with heat, and I considered having him killed right there. ¡°How poetic,¡± I said, gritting my teeth. Just hearing his rasping voice filled me with an inexplicable rage.


    I must have blanked out for a moment, because I came back to someone already speaking. ¡°If I may ask, Your Grace.¡± It was Pycelle again. Wonderful. ¡°Where is Ser Balon of the Kingsguard? I heard he was injured during the attack, but he never made it to my table.¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    I fixed him a look that begged to know if he was an idiot. ¡°Why, Grand Maester, I obviously sent him to someone who didn¡¯t speak of magic as if it was all children¡¯s fancies like you imbeciles in the Citadel, didn¡¯t I?¡±


    The Grand Maester nearly recoiled on his seat, and I saw Tywin frowning my way. He cleared his throat. ¡°Now that the pissing contest is done. Tell me, Your Grace, where is the red woman? She disappeared after my men took her to the dungeons.¡±


    Something rose up in me, and the fire in my head built up into an inferno. I wanted to tell him that I¡¯d fucked her then shoved a sword in her chest and watched as her skin and muscles and bones broke into dust and scattered across my drawing room.


    And he¡¯d be the next one if he kept questioning me as if he was my superior.


    But one of my hands instinctively went to Lightbringer sitting at my waist, searching. I¡¯d wrapped the handle back in black leather, but the warmth of the hilt where the ruby sat inside was still there. When my hand found the spot, I sighed in the comfort it provided me. In a moment, the pain in my head faded to a dull ache.


    I exhaled a breath and forced a smile at Lord Tywin. ¡°Stannis lived in this city for nearly twenty years, grandfather. I didn¡¯t want to risk her being rescued. One of my men took her somewhere and¡­ disposed of her, quietly.¡±


    His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but after I stared at him back for a second, he relented with a nod.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± Mace called. ¡°Let me just say how honored we are to join our houses. Myself specifically. Being the future good-father of a king was one thing , but a demon-slayer as well.¡± He broke into guffaws then, his great belly shaking with the effort. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m quite up to the task, my king.¡±


    Lightbringer¡¯s warmth had me on a high, so I laughed with him. ¡°It is I that should be honored, Lord Mace,¡± I said. ¡°And please, express my deepest apologies to Lady Margaery for worrying her so. It has been a traumatic experience for us all, I¡¯m sure, and I needed the time to rest and recuperate in my rooms. I will come to visit her in the morrow.¡±


    ¡°And about the marriage¡ª¡±


    I waved the question away before he could form it. ¡°Do not worry about it, my lord. I intend to visit the High Septon and the Most Devout soon, and we will set a date on the marriage. As soon as your¡­ contribution to our shared dynasty is present, of course.¡±


    Mace beamed. ¡°Of course, Your Grace. Oh, that is just wonderful news. I will send riders to escort the caravan right away.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something else I must ask of you, Lord Mace.¡± He perked up like a tamed dog, ready to roll over at my command. ¡°I would like you to summon the lords Tarly and Redwyne to the capital. To celebrate the joining of our houses, of course, but also to plan an invasion of Dragonstone using forces from the Reach, the Westerlands, and the Crownlands. I will ink the letters with my signet ring, as well.¡±


    When I looked right, Tywin had blazing eyes burning a trail my way, his jaw set in anger. He didn¡¯t like being the last one in on the joke. ¡°And when were you planning on informing us on this decision, Your Grace?¡±


    ¡°Now,¡± I told him easily. ¡°This attack by the red woman was clearly a ploy by Stannis to have me removed from the Throne. We must be shown to respond with thrice the force if needs be.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s fled the island, my lords,¡± Varys said, looking at no one in particular. ¡°Heading north, as far as my little birds were able to find out. Though his destination, I know not.¡±


    I nodded. So it seems at least that went as expected. ¡°With his exhausted army, only a token force must sit at the keep. We can take Stannis¡¯ last remaining stronghold, and cut him off from any relief.¡± And start mining that sweet dragonglass, too.


    The meeting continued with other frivolous problems and concerns the different members on the council had, from a shortage of raven feed at the rookery to a lack of proper equipment for the gold-cloaks and Mace¡¯s drama over what he would have for supper. The soothing of the ruby was the only thing that allowed me to follow through with the topics without bringing down a flaming Lightbringer on them all.


    I was barely listening when it was all done and I¡¯d dismissed them, then I motioned Lord Tywin Lannister stayed behind. He looked at me for a long minute before he spoke. ¡°A rider came in the night,¡± he said. ¡°From Kevan. He¡¯s near the inn, already.¡±


    I nodded. I could see how much he wanted to ask how I knew when and where Kevan should wait, but he seemed too perturbed about everything that¡¯s happened to say the words. Or perhaps the Great Lord Tywin Lannister was afraid of the answer, that I¡¯d tell him I saw the future in the shadow-demon¡¯s eyes or some such nonsense. I would¡¯ve laughed at it if I didn¡¯t know Bran was out somewhere copulating with a fucking tree and seeing everything everyone does like a stalking creep.


    ¡°Then I await further news about it, Lord Hand.¡±


    When it comes to magic in ASOIAF, nothing is free. Power requires sacrifice. What did Tommen had to pay for his own Lightbringer, then?

 Chapter 37

    I finished the letter with a flourish of the wrist, sliding the feathered pen across the coarse parchment in a beautiful arc. I¡¯d been practicing calligraphy, of all things, a few minutes a day, so the people in this backwards world didn¡¯t think me uncultured for not being able to put an extra circle every time I wrote a capital L.


    It didn¡¯t hurt that Margaery also happened to have a deep infatuation for poetry and sonnets, and I had no shortage of examples to copy off of my last life. I¡¯d already pre-made a dozen and had them in my bedside drawer, just in case. Happy wife, happy life, as they say.


    This one wasn¡¯t for her, though. This message would be heading north, past the Crownlands and the Vale, and all the way to White Harbor. The North was about to become the focus of my efforts; it would be there the fate of my reign, and possibly the world, would be decided. I couldn¡¯t have the staging ground of the fight against the White Walkers in a three-way tug rope between the northerners in the center, Stannis in the north, and the remnants of the Ironborn in the west. I needed firm control of it. And I would rather fall on my sword right now than have the fucking Boltons on my back when the winter armageddon came.


    There was a sharp rap at the door then, and Bronn moved to open it. He had grumbled about playing my doorman for the day, but I gave him the signed document that arranged his marriage with Lollys Stokeworth for the week after mine with Margaery. Now, the next person he killed for me, he¡¯d be doing it as a lord.


    He¡¯d kept well shut after that.


    It was Qyburn who shuffled into the solar attached to my rooms, carrying a small box and the smell of death with him. He¡¯d changed his robes since I last saw him, of course, but blood and suffering had a way of lingering to a man. It was a few hours after the last council meeting, and the sun was still out in the sky. It made the pallidness of the former maester all the more evident.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± he said, bowing.


    I gestured to the chair opposite mine. ¡°I see you brought the items I asked of you.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, my king. The gifts and the notes. Here is fine?¡± He hovered the box over the desk.


    ¡°Yes, yes. There is just fine.¡± He set the box down before passing me a bundle of parchment, and I saved the tiny scrolls inside a drawer for later perusal. I had to keep up to date with my spy network after all. ¡°Now, tell me of Ser Balon. I can¡¯t help being¡­ curious about his state.¡±


    ¡°Progress has been slow, Your Grace, but not insignificant.¡± Qyburn had a habit of wringing his hands. ¡°His body is the same, yet different. It functions in ways the human mind is not used to. He is quiet¡ªthough I knew him not before his accident, so I have nothing to compare, but he is capable of speech, if that worries Your Grace.¡±


    I would hardly call being stabbed by a shadow-demon an accident, but I simply nodded. My headache had faded after a few hours, so I was in a stellar mood. ¡°What about his urges? How much does he need? How is it done? Can he pass his condition to others? Does he need anything else other than blood? Something more¡­ substantial?¡±


    ¡°He has not become a cannibal, Your Grace. He holds no desire for the flesh of men. His condition is also singular, caused specifically by his wound. The blood acts as the source of fuel, as otherwise the rot would consume him instead. I¡¯ve experimented with his blood and his saliva as well, Your Grace, and no others have become infected by it. And I have established that he needs no more than a cup-full to satiate himself for near a full day.¡±


    ¡°So no pointy teeth or any of the like?¡± Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Ehr, no, Your Grace. Nothing like that.¡±


    I nodded. I had to make sure. ¡°He needs blood much less than a regular man needs water, then,¡± I muttered. That seemed¡­ doable. Very doable. Though there¡¯d be no way of conserving the blood for long, there were also a lot of unimportant people laying around, and I did have near absolute power over my subjects, most especially the less-desirables that made the black cells their home.


    ¡°Precisely, Your Grace. His needs are easily met, and I suspect he can go longer without it. Though he does get¡­ antsy if left unchecked for long. I have yet to determine the consequences of long term suspension of blood. Another week, perhaps, and I believe he will be ready to return to duty.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± I said. Suspending a vampire from blood was not a can of worms I wanted to touch with a ten-foot long stick. ¡°Give him my regards, if you will. As soon as you believe it best, I will come down to visit him. Now, onto other matters. I need you to do something for me, Qyburn.¡± I took the letter I¡¯d been writing, tied it with a ribbon, and affixed the royal seal to it. ¡°I need this sent to Lord Manderly of White Harbor, as soon as possible. Make it a priority.¡± This was a gamble, I knew. Because if Ser Kevan failed, I would be branded a liar on top of an incestuous bastard. But time was against me, and I couldn¡¯t wait for the stars to align to move things forward.


    Qyburn nodded and grabbed the letter with gentle hands. ¡°It shall be done, Your Grace.¡±


    I lifted a finger. ¡°One other thing, before you go. Be ready to take over the birds in an hour''s time, Qyburn.¡±


    He didn¡¯t even twitch. ¡°Of course, Your Grace,¡± he said, smiling. ¡°I have been waiting.¡±


    xxxx


    Varys was the next one to come in, an hour after Qyburn left, and he immediately knew what was about to happen when he turned and noticed it was Bronn closing the door. ¡°Ah.¡± He looked between the two of us for a moment, then resignation settled on the lines of his face. ¡°I see,¡± he said.


    It worried me how aloof he was about it, though I didn¡¯t let it show. ¡°Indeed, my lord. But I hope you know I do this not out of spite for you. I greatly admire your work, in fact. It simply has to be done.¡±


    Varys nodded calmly, standing in the middle of my solar as if I didn¡¯t have a known thug with his sword out behind him and a hand-held crossbow pointed his way. It was one of the items in Qyburn¡¯s box. ¡°May I know why?¡±


    ¡°Just in general, or why now?¡± I asked.


    That got a chuckle out of him. ¡°Both, if you will.¡±


    ¡°Now, well...¡± I pointed at the dark robes he was wearing, the same one from the meeting earlier. The one with the large hood. ¡°It will be easier for Bronn there to wear those and leave without being recognized.¡±


    I cast a quick glance over to the side, purposefully. Varys caught the look and followed it, and saw the improvised fat-suit we¡¯d come up with sitting over a dresser. Qyburn¡¯s second item. ¡°To make it look as if I never was, in fact, killed. Simply left your service¡­ indefinitely.¡± He bobbed his bald head again. ¡°Quite ingenious.¡±


    ¡°I thought you would appreciate it,¡± I said. ¡°As for why I¡¯d kill you at all¡­ it is rather simple, I think. I could never trust you, Lord Varys. Even if I think we could do wonders for the Kingdoms together, I would always live with your possible defection to Daenerys Targaryen hanging over my neck. It might never happen, but then again¡­ it just might.¡±


    Varys sighed. ¡°I give you my word I have no plans of following the Dragon Queen, Your Grace. Is there no way to make you trust me on this?¡±


    ¡°Come now, my lord.¡± I let out a humourless laugh. ¡°I may not know you too well, but I know enough. Secrets upon secrets, plans underneath plans. It is a shame, really. You are an incredibly important piece in the game. Very much so. But¡­¡±


    ¡°But not irreplaceable,¡± he completed.


    I smiled. ¡°No, not irreplaceable. There can only be one irreplaceable piece in the board, after all.¡± I hefted the loaded crossbow his way, pointed right at his heart. He knew what was coming next.


    ¡°I agree, my lord,¡± he said, voice steady. Then it was his turn to smile. It was a thin and terrible thing. ¡°Long live the true king.¡± The bolt flew before the words were wholly out of his mouth, piercing through silk and flesh like it was nothing but water.


    Varys died with that same smile on his face, as if mocking me for a joke he left unsaid. A joke that I didn¡¯t know the punch line of.

 Chapter 38

    Oberyn I


    It was dusk when their ship spotted the dornish shore. The sun was half-hidden behind the Red Mountains, and the last light of the day silhouetted Castle Wyl like a golden wreath, stretching the shadow of the castle¡¯s twin towers onto the ocean like black spears thrusting at the waves.


    Wyl rested at the inlet of a river with the same name. The small town ran only on the southern shore, with the castle looming at its back from the top of a hill, looking over the Boneway on its other side


    Oberyn inhaled deeply, then sighed as he caught what he was looking for. Behind the salty spray of the sea, he thought he could already smell the distinct scent of dornish whores all the way at the waterfront. The smell of home. They¡¯d already brought the lovely Jyrelle with them¡ªwhich reminded him that Ellaria was still feasting on the girl back at his cabin. The girl had black-blue marks around her neck, where a former client had almost killed her and irrevocably crushed her voice box. But being a mute also meant she couldn¡¯t wake up the whole crew when Ellaria got in one of her insatiable moods. That is what he loved; a man like him lived for variety.


    To travel the world and savor all its tastes, that¡¯s what he¡¯d always wanted since he was a boy. That, and for the last twenty odd, years, vengeance. He¡¯d gotten a good bite of the former¡ªhe¡¯d been to all the major cities in Westeros save for White Harbor, and most of the free cities of Essos, and he intended to go even further in the future.


    But the latter¡­ all he¡¯d gotten to do was chew on his bitterness and wait for his brother¡¯s leash on his neck to loosen. Now, even Doran had agreed. It was time one of the men responsible for killing their sister got his due.


    When they reached the docks, Oberyn spotted his three oldest daughters, Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene waiting for him with a small party of Wyl men behind them. He should¡¯ve known they wouldn¡¯t want to miss this. They¡¯d gotten more than the slanted eyes from him, and a penchant for harboring rancor was one of those things.


    After disembarking with Ellaria and Jyrelle, Tyene came running down the wharf and tackled him into a hug.


    ¡°Father!¡± she screamed against his chest in that soft voice of hers.


    Obara and Nymeria sauntered behind their sister, greeting Ellaria first. He looked at them from over Tyene¡¯s golden head. ¡°I would¡¯ve thought Arianne would do everything short of murder my brother to be here with you.¡±


    Nymeria sighed, and Tyene hugged him closer still. Clearly a sore topic for them all. ¡°She¡¯s been¡­ decidedly unhappy since Uncle Doran passed her as heir for Trystane.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± he said. It seemed Doran hadn¡¯t yet told her why.


    Nymeria cleared her throat and smiled. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯ve finally arrived, father,¡± she said. She had her black hair tied into a long braid as usual, but she¡¯d traded her silk dresses for boiled leather. ¡°And with the purpose of your trip completed, too.¡±


    He arched one of his eyebrows. ¡°Did you doubt your old father?¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Never.¡± That was Obara, all mean-faced and wild hair, and proud of it. ¡°But even with all the snakes in Dorne, we all know it¡¯s that city that is the true viper¡¯s nest.¡± She had a self-pleased smile on her lips.


    Obara had his knack for the spear, but she¡¯d never had his way with words. ¡°Of course, daughter,¡± he allowed.


    ¡°So it¡¯s true, then?¡± Obara said. ¡°He¡¯s really coming here? The Mountain?¡±


    ¡°Your last raven left much in the dark,¡± Nymeria said. ¡°But the men you requested are here. We even played the mummer¡¯s farce through. It was mostly moving peasants out of a couple of villages then giving them a few silver stags for their trouble.¡±


    Oberyn nodded. He¡¯d tell them what they needed to know later. ¡°You did good work. Gregor Clegane left his hovel the same day I did King¡¯s Landing. He should take a couple more weeks to get here.¡± Then he gave them a cat-like grin, and he could already hear their annoyed grumbling before he even said anything. ¡°No less than can be expected from the Red Viper¡¯s daughters, of course. Go with Ellaria to the castle, now. We¡¯ve brought gifts from the young king to all of you. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll enjoy them.¡±


    ¡°Gifts?¡± Tyene¡¯s head popped out of his chest. Her wide blue-eyes tugged at something in him the same as when she was a child. That girl could get anything from anyone with hardly a look.


    Obara spat on the ground. ¡°Are we supposed to take gifts from some Lannister bastard now?¡±


    ¡°Watch how you speak, child,¡± he snapped. Obara seemed surprised at his tone, but she bowed her apologies quickly enough. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t underestimate the boy, were I you. The spider has ears everywhere, but from what I gathered, so has he.¡±


    ¡°But I thought¡­¡± Nymeria looked around first, then continued, lower, ¡°I thought you mentioned we had¡­ other plans. Why are we making friends with the Baratheon king?¡±


    ¡°We do,¡± Oberyn said, matching her tone. ¡°And I spoke to Lord Varys about it. He says there¡¯s a boy¡ªher boy, and that he¡¯s near ready to return. But nothing is certain. I will not get my hopes up before I look him in the face and see Elia in his eyes. And you all shall not speak about it. In the meantime, Doran has agreed that a good relationship with the Iron Throne is beneficial to us.¡±


    The girls nodded, and Obara said, ¡°As you wish, father.¡±


    ¡°And besides, I have found, daughter, that there are Lannisters, like Joffrey and Tywin and Cersei, then there¡¯s young Tommen. The boy is courteous and friendly, cunning and ruthless. You all might even come to like him.¡±


    Nymeria frowned. ¡°How does that make him any different from the Old Lion, then?¡±


    Oberyn laughed. ¡°Well, he¡¯s giving us the Mountain, no? Now, off with you. And is Ser Daemon with you as I asked? I have some words to trade with my former squire.¡±


    Nymeria pointed back toward the Wyl men. From behind them, Ser Daemon Sand stood from where he sat in a crate and made his way over to them. He was a tall man, of a height with Oberyn, with sandy brown hair and a square jaw.


    ¡°Ah, and so the Bastard of Godsgrace appears,¡± Oberyn jested.


    Daemon sighed. ¡°This is not as fun if you don¡¯t have an offensive epitaph, my prince.¡±


    He laughed and continued to prod some fun at Daemon. When the girls left with Ellaria and Jyrelle, however, Oberyn¡¯s smile faded and he gestured with his head. ¡°Walk with me, Daemon.¡± Not even taken aback by the suddenness of his tone shift, the young knight followed him a ways down the stone pier in silence, farther away from the ship they arrived in so their conversation couldn¡¯t be overheard. ¡°Do you see that man there, with the white-cloak.¡± Oberyn pointed to where Ser Osmund Kettleblack talked with a few sailors, still on the ship.


    Ser Daemon squinted. ¡°Is that a kingsguard knight?¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± he said. ¡°And during the fighting, when arrows are flying and swords are slashing, you are going to make sure Ser Osmund there has an accident and dies bravely fighting for his king.¡±


    Ser Daemon stood stone-faced and silent for a full minute, before he nodded. ¡°As you command, my prince.¡±

 Chapter 39

    We rode out of the Red keep like a full military parade. One hundred Baratheon knights, steel plated and black-coated, their warhorses in full barding; and two of my kingsguards, Ser Lyle Crakehal and Ser Jaime Lannister, their scale armor and cloaks a brilliant white.


    I rode between them, with fifty men behind and fifty in front of me. The sun was high in the centre of the sky, half-covered by snow-white clouds in a background of ocean-blue. My own cloak reflected the color of the sun, donned over my shoulders like a cloth of liquid gold, covering my night-black armor chased with silver. I left Lightbringer peeking out beneath the cloak, with a seven-colored flag tied on its scabbard. The colors of the gods.


    It was a show, for the people and the nobles and the faith; one I had spent the whole morning preparing. I had remained in my rooms yesterday, as I had for the past two previous days since the attack, but I kept up with the whispers that Qyburn brought me from his informants in the city and Alyce¡¯s castle gossip every time she brought a meal.


    The people hungered for me. I didn¡¯t think it was specifically Tommen of House Baratheon they wanted¡ªthe masses had barely seen me since Cersei died and I went daily to the sept. What they wanted was a savior, a messiah, someone who¡¯d sweep all their troubles away and whisper of the promised land of ever-flowing wine and unfailing harvests.


    Horse shit, all of it. But it just so happened that their king had killed an honest-to-gods demon in full view of nobles and peasant gold-cloaks alike. I had fallen into their lap, ripe for the picking, and the starving peasants were not going to pass up the chance to gobble it up.


    I had known I would have to go out sooner or later, but Varys'' death the night before rankled in the back of my mind, bothering me as much as the headache I got when I didn¡¯t have a hand on my ruby-hilted sword. It made me doubt everything I thought I knew of this world. ¡°Long live the true king,¡± he had said. Surely, he wouldn¡¯t say that to the king who was just about to murder him.


    But Viserys was dead and gone; Jon Snow was a secret kept behind twenty years of Ned Stark¡¯s honor; and Daenerys was the Dragon Queen. Queen. That could only mean one thing¡ªanother player, one who¡¯d been able to skirt by everyone¡¯s radar undetected. There was just one possibility left.


    Aegon Targaryen. He who could be a son of Rhaegar as much as he could be a Blackfyre pretender. It didn¡¯t really matter which he was, a dragon of red or black; so long as people believed him¡ªso long as some very important people believed him, he could toss his hat into the ring.


    That changed everything: plans, definite allies, possible futures. All gone with nothing but a word. Varys sure knew how to go out in style.


    So I had needed to do something to take my mind off my doubts. Even with the Spider gone, Qyburn¡¯s network already had a few people in place to keep myself informed. I couldn¡¯t falter and fall with every misstep.


    And a messenger coming to my rooms in the early hours of the morning from Mace Tyrell¡ªto notify me of the one million gold dragons that had just arrived for the Crown¡ªwas all the opportunity I needed.


    Without missing a beat, I sent an urgent runner to Qyburn and to my grandfather. Tell the people, the note said. Send runners and heralds to every fucking corner of the city.


    Tell them their king comes.


    xxxx


    We were surrounded the moment we crossed the gates. Throngs of people waited in the cobbled street outside, screaming and shouting and hollering. Varys wasn¡¯t lying when he said people were coming to pray for me.


    I heard my name in a hundred different voices, calling out blessings and pleas. My Kingsguard squeezed closer around me, our knees bumping against each other, and the Baratheon knights closed ranks tighter on all sides. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Make way!¡± I heard one of the lead knights boom. ¡°Make way for your king!¡±


    It was hard-work to move each step, and though the weather was chillier than usual for King¡¯s Landing, the mass of humanity crowding on all sides started baking me inside the plate armor.


    We took minutes just to make it past the large open plaza outside the castle. With the way the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms were, I had no doubt some of my knights at the front of the convoy would pull out their swords and start carving a bloody path toward the Great Sept at the slightest inconvenience. I had made sure to let them know this was as much a ride around the city as it was a trip to meet the Most Devout, the Faith¡¯s highest council.


    We slowly made our way down the main avenue that cut the city in half. The air was colder here, but fouler with shit and piss. Unlike the time I was showing myself as the devoted son of a recently deceased mother, I was someone else today. I was the Warrior and the Father come again, all jumbled up into one.


    I sat unblinking and unmoving atop my massive ghost-white stallion, eyes staring forward, a hand on the handle of my sword. The most I gave the people was a nod, and all I got in return was awe.


    When we were half-way to the Sept, with people lining the sides of the street, there was a commotion close to me. I turned to see a young woman rushing to my side. Two knights put heels on their horses and charged to intercept her, and she stopped before she could be run over. Before the knights could handle her, she revealed a bawling baby in her arms.


    I quickly raised a hand to stop the knights from getting violent. ¡°What is it, child?¡± I asked. No matter that she looked half a decade older than I. Despite the previous clamor in the street, all voices stopped to hear the king speak.


    ¡°Please, Yer Grace,¡± the mother cried, ¡°please, it¡¯s me babe. She¡¯s sick as a dog in winter. Her breathing¡¯s all rattling and weak. Please, m¡¯lord.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± I said. Time to play the Father. I smiled benevolently, making a show of it to the crowd around us, and put a gloved hand over the babe¡¯s head. ¡°It shall be fine, my dear.¡± I turned to the knight closest to her, and it was only luck I recognized him by name. ¡°Ser Myles. Escort the lady back to the Keep, and have a maester care for the child.¡±


    Ser Myles nodded beneath his helm. The woman burst into tears, thanking and praising me like I¡¯d just cured the kid myself. I motioned to the column, and we quickly rode off before all the sick of King¡¯s Landing mobbed us and I ended up getting some type of peasant plague.


    We only came to a stop at the square before the Great Sept of Baelor, where not long ago, dear Ned Stark had lost his head. A crowd bigger than the one following our column was waiting for us. Thousands of people¡ªa sea of heads young and old, male and female. Had my escort not been surrounding me three-men deep as we waded our way up the raised steps, they would¡¯ve washed over me like a wave in their ecstasy.


    I turned to address the mass. ¡°My friends!¡± I cried, one hand up, then waited for the noise to die down like a patient father. I didn¡¯t have to wait long. This was what they were here for. ¡°After what happened at the royal pavilion, I have been silent, it is true. I have been in deep reflection and communion with the Gods. But know that I have listened to your prayers; I have seen the candles lit at night; I have heard the songs. I now know that no king has ever had more faithful subjects. Yet I am a subject, too. What I did two nights ago, slaying that demon, was no more than my duty. I¡¯m a servant of the Gods; the champion of the Gods! And no amount of Valyrian sorcery will bring your rightful king to his knees! That, I vow to you, my subjects!¡±


    The cheers were deafening. I simply raised a hand again, and watched the crowd fall silent. ¡°I have also heard¡­ terrible things, my people. Things being done against you, in your own city, and by your own holy men.¡± There were shouts now, then fists and kitchen knives waved in the air, all pointing at the sept behind me. And I knew that with a few words, I could topple down a religion that lasted for thousands of years. That power was intoxicating. ¡°My heart bleeds with you¡ªwith all of you. And know that I shall not stand for it. For I know neither would the Gods. I will see this matter settled, now; and I will bring back the lost glory of the Faith and of the Crown.¡± In a single movement, I pulled out Lightbringer, pointed it in the air, and shouted, ¡°Baratheon!¡±


    They screamed with me for what seemed like hours, until the chant morphed into shouts of ¡°King Tommen! King Tommen!¡±


    I smiled and nodded to my people. I definitely liked that one better.


    I sheathed my sword back into its scabbard and gave the people a final wave, before starting back up the steps, heading toward the inner sept to meet with the Most Devout.


    Words are wind, so it was said. And I doubted even one in a hundred of these people claiming eternal devotion would put themselves between myself and a drawn sword. So it was time to step up.


    It was time I became the closest thing to a living god.

 Chapter 40

    The din of the crowd disappeared as the doors of the Great Sept closed behind me. The rest of my knights stayed back at the sept¡¯s entrance forming a cordon of plated men that disencouraged anyone to get in¡­ or out. Only Ser Jaime and Ser Lyle walked the crystal halls with me.


    Say what you will about the Targaryens and the Faith, but the sept in honor of Baelor the Blessed was a masterpiece. The floor and walls were white marble with golden veins running across the stone, and great windows lined the corridors with colored glass, forming a spectacle of lights as the sunshine broke through the panes.


    We crossed the entrance hall in silence, only stopping when we spotted the two men standing guard in front of the double doors to enter the sept proper. I didn¡¯t know if they were septons or not, but they didn¡¯t look to be armed.


    Ser Jaime stepped forward. ¡°Stand aside for your king,¡± he said from beneath his helm. Even without a hand, I wouldn¡¯t bet against the Kingslayer when swords came out.


    The septons, or whatever they were, stood unmoved. ¡°No one can enter the sept while the council is in section,¡± the one on the right said. To his credit, his voice only wavered a bit.


    Jaime¡¯s good hand moved to the hilt of his sword, and I heard Ser Lyle muttering, ¡°Finally some fucking action.¡±


    As always in this world, I was the voice of reason. I raised a conciliatory hand, and my knights stopped in their tracks. I sent the septons a patient smile and approached the one who spoke, stopping well in his personal space. He was the older of the two men, but he couldn¡¯t be more than thirty. A drop of sweat was running down his cheek.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡­ uhm, it¡¯s Clay, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Clay, uh.¡± I nodded, slowly. ¡°You will want to step aside, son,¡± I said.


    The man swallowed. ¡°Your Grace, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Good man.¡± Patting him on the shoulders, I gestured with my head to the doors. The septon was still trying to say no when Ser Lyle spread the doors open like a whore¡¯s legs and I stepped inside.


    The meeting of the Most Devout happened beneath the great crystal dome of the sept¡ªunder the light and auspice of the seven gods. A table had been set in between the seven altars from where the statues of the gods rose, so they could judge the holy as they did the laymen, and punish the corrupt in their ranks.


    They¡¯d been doing a shit job so far.


    There were seven of them sitting on the round table, three septas and four septons. They only noticed me when my steps started echoing on the marble. ¡°Please, don¡¯t stop on my account,¡± I told them, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m just here to cross the final t¡¯s and dot a few i¡¯s on some problems we¡¯ve been having.¡±


    ¡°What is this?¡± a man in rich robes said.


    One crinkled old septa rose imperiously from her seat. ¡°This meeting is off limits, even for kings,¡± she screeched.


    I kept my lazy smile on. Holy men and women liked to think they shone bright against the darkness of the world, and that the rest of us couldn¡¯t see a foot ahead of ourselves without their light.


    I¡¯d killed people like that my entire life.


    ¡°My apologies, then,¡± I said easily. ¡°I was kindly let in by one of your men, your holinesses. He said his name was Pate. You should consider a harsh penance for that. Now that I¡¯m here, however, I believe we have some topics to discuss.¡±


    Before the noisiest devouts could start whining again, one of them raised a hand. ¡°Brothers, sisters,¡± he said. He had kindness written all over the lines of his wizened face, like a grandfather you could trust your life and secrets with. Naturally, I didn¡¯t. ¡°I believe we can¡­ accommodate His Grace for now, no?¡±


    There were grumbles around the table, but deep down they must have known the hole they¡¯d dug themselves into, and it quickly settled down.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Thank you, good septon.¡± By then, Ser Lyle had come back with a chair for me to sit, and I squeezed in beside the holiest of the Faith. ¡°Now then, I¡¯m sure we are all busy men and women here, so I¡¯ll be brief. First, the good. I understand the Crown has been borrowing from the Faith for years and has, sadly, been unable to make payments. I am here to correct that.¡±


    ¡°The Crown will pay the seven hundred and fifty thousand gold it owes?¡± the lying grandfather asked.


    ¡°Of course, your holiness,¡± I said, then leaned back against the padded chair. ¡°As soon as the Faith pays for the damage it has been causing around the city, that is.¡±


    ¡°What damage?¡± a septa asked, with the worst nasal tone to her voice I¡¯d ever heard. If the gods were real, they wouldn¡¯t have made her with a voice like that. Or they just didn¡¯t love her.


    ¡°There has been no damage, Your Grace,¡± another septa said.


    ¡°I¡¯m talking of the sparrows, of course. They¡¯ve been beating people on the streets, destroying alehouses and taverns, breaking up congregations like armed thugs. Truly, a horrible thing the Faith has been doing.¡± I shook my head and sighed. ¡°This brings me no joy. But you have heard the people outside, no? They cry over this injustice, my friends. And I am their king. I will see it corrected.¡± I glanced at my kingsguard knights, men of violence and death, then turned back. ¡°Whatever the cost.¡±


    The message was as clear as it gets.


    Silence fell over the septons like a shroud. Once, they could¡¯ve wrapped themselves in a cloak of holiness and good-doing and say that any who dare strike them would be punished by the gods, even the king. That idea goes out the window really quick when the king is a known demonslayer. How could he have done that if not with the blessing of the gods? In a religion that denounced magic, they couldn¡¯t say the shadow-demon was blood magic, nor that I had a magic sword.


    It was the grandfather who broke the quiet first. ¡°Your Grace¡­ I assure you, that was no doing of ours. The Faith has absolutely no affiliation with those brutes.¡±


    ¡°I believe you, your holiness. From the bottom of my heart. But you¡¯ll be hard-pressed to convince the people of that, especially after the High Septon was dragged out of a brothel like the lowest scoundrel in the Kingdoms. The Faith reeks of corruption, and as the Defender of the Faith, if falls unto me to see it¡­ healed.¡±


    That had been the last straw. I was going to ask Bronn to do as the Sparrows did in the show and take the High Septon from Littlefinger¡¯s brothel so the masses could see him as the faithless sinner that he was; but with how hated the Faith became within the city given the fake sparrow¡¯s attacks, the people went and did it for me.


    ¡°How¡­ how do you propose we go about¡­ healing the Faith, Your Grace?¡± the septon to my right asked. He was pudgy and sweaty as a pig.


    ¡°The Faith will elect another High Septon, one who isn¡¯t as predisposed to cavort with whores as the last one, and he will publicly name me the champion of the gods. I will, in turn, denounce the Sparrows as the faithless scum they are, assuring the people of King¡¯s Landing the Faith has no connection with them.¡±


    ¡°Preposterous,¡± the nasal-voiced septa said.


    ¡°Even for Baelor the Blessed the Faith didn¡¯t go as far as to name him champion of the gods,¡± another said.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t done, septons.¡± I cleared my throat. ¡°For the damage done to the citizens of King¡¯s Landing¡ªmy subjects, the debt the Crown owes will be halved, and with the three hundred and seventy five thousand gold dragons paid, you will build¡ªin my name¡ªten new orphanages and five new establishments where food will be distributed to the poor.¡± Giving jobs for builders, food to the people, and a whole bunch of credit to my name.


    ¡°Oh, and one other thing,¡± I said. ¡°You will add another topic to your sermons from now on. And I want it heard across every sept in the Seven Kingdoms. From White Harbor to Dorne; from the burned down husks of the Riverlands to this very sept we sit.¡±


    There was anger all around the table, but it was an impotent thing. The grandfather septon sighed. ¡°What would that be, Your Grace?¡±


    I smiled at him. The helplessness on their faces was as fine to my senses as summer wine. ¡°Nothing but the truth, I assure you. You will tell the people what is happening in the east; how the mad girl Daenerys Targaryen pillages cities to the ground, how she nails people to crosses and leaves them to feed the crows, how she burns those who offend her in her dark palace, just like her insane father did. Like all Targaryens are wont to do. Not one of them is loved by the Gods.¡± I stood from the chair and turned to leave. ¡°I expect the High Septon to be elected within the week, your holinesses. I am soon to be married, and I¡¯d hate to have to officiate my own wedding.¡±


    Inside, I was dying to pull the rug out from under these fools, put a crystal crown on my head, and declare myself the new leader of this wannabe church, bringing Crown and Faith under my thumb. But if there was one cause that men¡ªmany men¡ªwere willing to fight and die for, is their faith and their gods, and I didn¡¯t need another war against rebelling houses to add on to my list of responsibilities.


    Perhaps after I was done with the pretenders and the white walkers.


    Before I took the last step out of the raised dais the table was on, I remembered something of my childhood in that other world. The first man I¡¯d killed, and why I did it.


    Stopping, I swivelled on the balls of my feet to face the Most Devout. ¡°Oh, and I want septas taking care of the children in those orphanages. Septas only, your holinesses.¡± I turned back around and kept walking away. ¡°I will be checking.¡±

 Chapter 41

    The great double doors to the throne room groaned open, and a hush spread over the throne room. My herald stepped up. ¡°Presenting His Grace, Tommen of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.¡±


    Without waiting any further, I strode down the great hall with Ser Boros, Ser Jaime, and Ser Lyle trailing me like ghosts with their white cloaks. Whispers and murmurs from the noblemen and women attending followed in my wake, their quiet voices tinged with everything from awe to envy, anger and lust, scorn and adulation.


    Every one of these people reigned as little kings and queens in their own domains, such was the feudalism in this world. They think themselves at the top of the food chain, untouchable in their little stone castles.


    That lasts until they are confronted by a power greater than their own, and the walls to their pathetic fantasy come tumbling down into reality. That¡¯s how it happened with the Targaryens when they first came upon a Westeros with seven kings. After all, what is a golden crown worth to someone who rides down from the heavens on the back of dragons like gods.


    I had no dragons of my own, nor the ethereal beauty of the Valyrians; I just happened to have the only magical sword in the room when a demon wrought of blood and shadows walked in.


    I left my three kingsguard at the foot of the throne, while the two most prominent families that swore me fealty stood to either side. The much diminished Lannister family, with the hilarious dichotomy of Tyrion and Tywin standing side by side, and the four Tyrells present in the capital.


    It felt right stepping up the stairs of the Iron Throne. I had always viewed it as a monstrosity of melted iron, shaped and worked as a power play by an insecure king. Like a fussy child showing his big toys to his friends. Now I knew Aegon had the right idea when he had it made. It was an accurate representation of power in the Seven Kingdoms. Ugly, crude, wrought with fire and blood and suffering. Only those willing to sink into the depths of hell¡ªwilling to feel the heat of a dragon¡¯s belly licking at their heart and a thousand blades feasting on their blood¡ªwere deserving of the seat.


    And no one else belonged atop it more than I.


    I turned to face the room and sat down. Unlike the last time I was on it, feeling the cold and uncomfortable metal confining me as if it were a grave, the throne welcomed me like a mother¡¯s embrace; its jutting blades no longer cut at my skin, and some long-lasting remnant of Balerion¡¯s scorching breath still lingered to warm my bones.


    It was molded perfectly to me.


    Snapping back to the present, I noticed the throne room had grown quieter still with my silence, so I cleared my throat. ¡°Ser Donnel Swann,¡± I called. ¡°Please, step forward.¡±


    The man who approached the throne had Ser Balon¡¯s build, tall and broad at the shoulders. The only thing to show for the decade he had over his brother were the faint white strands on the bronze hair slowly receding from his brow.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± he said, one knee on the floor.


    From the tone of his voice alone, I knew he expected grave news. ¡°Take heart, ser,¡± I told him. ¡°I have word from you brother. He is recovering well, and I expect him to be fit for duty soon.¡± The Swann knight seemed to sag within himself, almost falling to both knees. I turned to Pycelle who was lurking by the side of the nearest column. ¡°Grand Maester, please accompany Ser Donnel to the rookery and help him prepare a letter for his father. I am sure Lord Guilan would appreciate news of his younger son.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    And I would appreciate a better foothold in the Stormlands. When Pycelle and Balon¡¯s brother left, I leaned forward on the throne, watching my expecting subjects buzzing around each other like bugs. They seemed so much smaller from up here. I raised a hand and put on my best smile.


    ¡°Forgive me, my lords, my ladies,¡± I said. ¡°I know too well the pain of losing a brother and had no wish to make Ser Donnel wait a second longer than necessary. Now, I wish to apologize for my absence in court the past few days. I have recused myself to pray for the Seven, even visiting the Great Sept to seek their counsel in this hour of need. And, after much deliberation, I find myself obliged to inform you that I have evidence that this¡­ demon was sent by a Targaryen agent to see me killed.¡±


    The confirmation of a Targaryen vying for the crown was like dropping a rock in a calm lake, sending ripples of concern and fear through the room. It had only been hearsay so far, and if it¡¯s not staring them down with a sword in hand, most of these people wouldn¡¯t know an assassin from a rock.


    Now they knew. Sooner or later, war was coming. And each of them had a choice to make, a ringed hand to bow over and kiss, and a set of feet to lay their swords upon.


    Amidst the commotion, Lord Tywin rose from his chair. ¡°Your Grace,¡± he said. His voice echoed in the room, and people fell quiet to hear the Lord of Lannister. ¡°How is it you¡¯ve come by this evidence?¡±


    I nodded at him. ¡°I¡¯ve had one of my men searching the vaults, my lord, and a similar spell was found in an old book here at the keep, dating back to the Freehold of Valyria. It¡¯s contents were¡­ graphic, my lord, truly graphic. And one of the¡­ ingredients necessary to produce such a vile creature included royal valyrian blood, from one of the forty ruling families. As far as I know, there is only one of those left. We, naturally, had the book burned.¡±


    My words were met with horror and silence in equal parts. ¡°I see,¡± Tywin finally said, bowing and sitting back down. His part for the night was done.


    I turned back to the stunned nobles. ¡°Of course, though almost unthinkable, it should be expected of that tainted family to use such despicable methods. How the Targaryen pretender¡­ birthed that demon, I know not, and it is no matter to me. I shall fear none of their sorcery and trickery, for the gods themselves guide my path. What is a dragon when you¡¯ve killed a demon, eh?¡±


    I got some laughter for that, but I hadn¡¯t exactly set up the mood to be joyous.


    I still wore my armor from earlier in the day, and when I stood from the throne, the black plate seemed to swallow the light of the torches set around the cavernous room. ¡°On to lighter, happier things then. Ser Loras Tyrell,¡± I called.


    Loras moved to kneel before me. ¡°Your Grace,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m yours to command.¡±


    I almost raised an eyebrow. Wasn¡¯t everyone? Instead, I favored him with a gracious smile. ¡°I had put my bets on you for the tilts, ser, and I had wished to reward you for your gallantry with the laurels still in your hands. So I do apologize for stealing the show that night.¡± I heard Margaery giggling behind a gloved hand, and with her leading the way, most of the room joined. Ignoring the fake laughter, I walked down the steps of the Iron Throne until I stood before Loras. ¡°No one here can doubt your skill and your bravery. You¡¯ve saved this city with my grandfather during the Battle of the Blackwater, and for that, we are all thankful.


    ¡°Now,¡± I said, pulling Lightbringer out of its scabbard and bringing it to rest it on his shoulder. ¡°Say your vows, ser. Say it and be raised to a brotherhood of few amongst many.¡±


    Loras¡¯ eyes widened. He cast a quick glance at his family, as if searching for confirmation, before looking back at me. His shoulders settled straight, and he nodded.


    ¡°Hear my words, and judge my honor,¡± he started. ¡°I, Loras of House Tyrell, hereby vow to serve my king, to ward him from any harm and threat with all my strength; to follow his orders to the best of my abilities, and to protect his name and honor with mine own blood. I vow to keep his secrets, to counsel him when it¡¯s requested, and to keep silence when it¡¯s not. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my king¡¯s side. I pledge my life and honor to King Tommen of House Baratheon, from this day, until the end of my days.¡±


    I sheathed Lightbringer back where it belonged and nodded to my Lord Commander. From the side, Jaime unfurled a new moon-white cloak and laid it over Loras¡¯ shoulders. I was pretty sure Jaime hated his guts, but he could be professional when called upon.


    ¡°Then rise,¡± Jaime said, ¡°Ser Loras of the Kingsguard.¡±

 Chapter 42

    Short chapter


    It wasn¡¯t a true noble gathering without rich foods and plenty of wine. After pointing an almost crying Ser Loras to the small sept inside the Red Keep where he would keep his vigil, attendants wearing Baratheon black and gold swarmed the throne room with a feast-worth of refreshments and bite-sized meals, all served in circular standing tables where the lords and ladies could gather around to mingle.


    I made sure to pay the most attention to the Crownlords who stayed loyal to me. They would be my first line of defense should the need arise, or the closest by to stab me in the back. I drank with the Lord of Edgerton and the young and hale heir of House Buckwell of Antlers¡ªwho talked incessantly of women and hunting. I was half sure he mistook me for my supposed father.


    Lord Rollingford bored me with his extensive knowledge of the different moths he collected, but I listened rapturously to Ser Elwood Harte¡¯s war stories, from the Greyjoy Rebellion to the Battle of the Blackwater. I made sure to remember his name. He seemed a solid man to have by my side.


    Lord Gyles Rosby spoke at length to me, though I couldn¡¯t make out half of it through his coughing. He would be dying any day now, I was sure, and the matter of his disputed inheritance would fall unto me.


    I met with Ser Balman Byrch and his wife the Lady Falyse Stokeworth, as well. The man was quiet and reserved, or rather, boring and unremarkable. Falyse, however... her every word dripped with venom, but it was a sting that spoke of empty pride and impotent anger. I¡¯d meddled with her family¡¯s inheritance to make Lollys, her sister, the heir to Stokeworth, so that Bronn had a pair of legs to squeeze a child into. By the looks she was giving me, I¡¯d either have to kill her or fuck her into compliance. And, to be quite honest, I didn¡¯t know which would be worse.


    Falyse took a swig of her spiced wine, her fifth cup of the night, and put a hand up to her neck. ¡°I do hope you have better luck in your wedding than your brother, Your Grace¡­ or your father.¡±


    With all the show I put up after Cersei¡¯s death, it was no wonder people thought I loved her more than life. It was also highly amusing hearing them speak ill of her as if that would somehow bother me.


    Margaery, who was hanging on my arm, was the one to reply, ¡°We will make sure to invite you, Lady Falyse. Although, it will be a morning wedding, so you will forgive us for not serving alcohol so early in the day. I do still hope you make it through until the reception without any of your favorite¡­ entertainment.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    I cleared my throat before the woman could answer. ¡°Ser Balman, Lady Falyse,¡± I said. ¡°It has been remarkable talking with you tonight, though I am afraid I must speak with Lord Tyrell before I retire for the evening. Do know that I will remember our conversation fondly, my lady¡­ word for word.¡±


    I¡¯d taken all her barbs with a quiet smile and a polite nod, which she must have taken for weakness. When I led Margaery toward her grandmother and father, Falyse Stokeworth had gone white as a sheet. Seemed I was starting to build a reputation.


    Margaery was holding back her laughter when we approached the Tyrell table. I gave them a small bow. ¡°My Lord Tyrell, Lady Olenna. I had hoped to speak with you tonight. I talked with the Most Devout today. As soon as they elect a new High Septon, we can go through with the wedding.¡±


    ¡°About time,¡± Olenna murmured.


    ¡°Grand news, Your Grace.¡± Mace gave me a wet smile from beneath his whiskers. ¡°I have to admit, Your Grace. The whole night, I have been holding back tears. To have a daughter married to the king, and a son in the Kingsguard.¡± His cheeks had turned ruddy just speaking about it. ¡°Could a father be more proud?¡±


    ¡°I envy you your children, my lord,¡± I told him. ¡°Though I am sure Margaery and I will try our best to outshine you in that department.¡±


    Olenna snorted. ¡°Well you best get on with your practice, then, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Lord Mace groaned, ¡°Mother, please.¡±


    ¡°Grandmother!¡± Margaery chided. She tugged me by the arm. ¡°Come, my king. Should we walk the gardens? I hear the primroses are in bloom.¡±


    I held back a bark of laughter. I envied Mace his mother, more than his children. If Cersei was half as entertaining, I might not have even killed her. I smiled and nodded to the two Tyrells. ¡°Of course. My lord, my lady. Until the morrow.¡± When we were far enough away from anyone else, I leaned over and whispered, ¡°Is walking on the gardens some kind of code for us to fuck in public, Margaery?¡±


    Margaery clicked her tongue. ¡°Don¡¯t be so scandalous,¡± she said. She stopped just by the side door behind the throne, and turned me so we could look out the great hall, half hiding behind a column and the iron monstrosity I sat upon. ¡°Just watch and wait for it.¡±


    I gazed from end to end at the hall. ¡°What am I looking for here exactly?¡±


    ¡°Hush now. Just be patient, Tommen. Believe me, you will not miss it when it happens.¡±


    I didn¡¯t have to wait long before the shrill scream of a woman filled the room, followed closely by another less girly one. A commotion had formed near where the Riverlanders who came to the capital were gathering; and then I saw it. Gatehouse Ami and the oldest Walda, the ones who had created the orgy rumors about me; their dresses were falling apart, as if the fabric had given out and chunks of silk and velvet started slipping to the ground.


    I stared open-mouthed at the Frey girls, wearing only their smallclothes and running out of the hall like cheap whores without pay.


    Margaery shot me an innocent smile and pulled me away. ¡°Come, my love. Time we see about those flowers.¡±

 Chapter 43

    She came to my rooms that night, when the moon was well past the center of the night sky and the castle had fallen asleep. We had strolled across Myrcella¡¯s garden for an hour before we went our separate ways. I still had memories of when Tommen was younger, of him and his sister caring for the flowerbeds and how they had to do everything short of murder to keep Joffrey away from the garden. The little shit had a hard-on for destroying anything we loved.


    I pointed out all the special places Tommen was fond of, the raised terrace where he¡¯d watch his cats laze around in the sun, the long smoothstone bench him and his sister would lay down to watch the stars after sneaking out at night, and the small grove of lemon trees they would sit beneath and listen to old Barristan Selmy¡¯s adventures.


    When the topic shifted to the upcoming wedding, Margaery would go on and on about what she wanted with her dress and the arch of flowers we¡¯d say our vows under and the gold and green streamers she wanted decorating the sept.


    Despite her acuity in the game of thrones, there was still a part of her who dreamed of a fantasy wedding with a white knight in shining armor who¡¯d come to carry her away. I had plenty of silver armors, polished enough to gleam and sparkle against the sun, but there was nothing bright in my heart. That boat had sailed away years ago.


    I was brought back to reality when the door to my apartments creaked open. Jaime peeked his head in first, to check that I was alright inside. After a cursory glance around the drawing room, he gave me an exasperated look and shook his head, before standing aside to let Margaery in. The cheek on the guy. He was the last person in the world who could call me up for a discreet bit of pre-wedding depravity.


    My fianc¨¦ walked in all cloaked and covered, and had I not known Jaime would have checked her identity, I would¡¯ve thought her an assassin. That was until she reached up to her shoulders, took a hold of the cloak, spread the collar, and let it slip past her slim arms. Like a piece of art being unveiled, the thick woolen cloak dropped and pooled at her feet, exposing the fairy beneath.


    Margaery wore only a thin slip of silver silk, hugging her body¡¯s every curve, hinting at her pert breasts and narrow waist; the fabric shone as it caught a shaft of moonlight. The breeches I had on tightened as I watched her step out of the silk ring around her dainty feet, one tiny step at a time.


    She seemed to change her mind midway past the room and her seductive amble changed into a run. She jumped right into my arms, and I had to take a step back as her weight crashed against me. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and her sweet mouth met mine in a tangle of hot words and wine-stained lips.


    ¡°I was so worried for you that night,¡± she breathed between kisses.


    My hands slithered past the short skirt of her nightwear to her bare ass, and I carried her like that to my bedroom. Her breasts were pressed against my naked chest, and she groaned as her nipples rubbed against the fabric of her nightie up and down with my every stride. When my legs finally hit the bed, I let myself fall down on top of her. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°No waiting,¡± Margaery whispered against my neck. She reached down between us and released me from my breeches. ¡°Inside¡­ please, my king.¡±


    My own hand wandered to where our bodies met and brushed against her wet core. Margaery hissed a breath, and I made sure to keep pressure on her pleasure spot as I entered her. We groaned together, her nails raking bloody trenches on my back, and I started to move.


    We fucked like animals like that for what felt like hours, until I pulled out and flipped her to her knees, then speared her again before she could complain. I set a fast pace from the start and she eagerly met my thrusts, swinging back her ass against my hips. I slapped her shapely cheeks with an open palm after every buck; her pale skin turned bright red and she whined like a whore, but she loved it. If I stopped, she¡¯d cried out into the night, asking for more.


    When she finally came, her legs gave out beneath her, and she fell face forward onto the bed. I went down with her, my body flush against hers, keeping up shallow thrusts to prolong her orgasm. Her sweaty skin was like the softest velvet beneath me, and her moans a melody of woman and sin.


    It wasn¡¯t long before I felt myself on the edge. In my blissful mind, her silky caramel hair turned bright red, and when I leaned down to breath in its sweetness, I came with the smell of fire and ash and hot iron tickling at my nose.


    My high faded after a moment, and I shook the image off my head. I rolled off of Margaery and laid on my back on the bed, trying to understand what had happened. But the image that had been so clear in my mind¡¯s eye faded away like smoke through my fingers, quicker than any memory had a right to disappear, and I gave in to the urge of letting it go.


    Margaery curled up beside me, and we cuddled in the bed like new lovers, her head resting against my chest. Her hair smelled of lilies on a summer¡¯s day. Soon, she started kissing at the side of my neck, her hands wandered back to my groin, and I knew she was ready to go again.


    xxxx


    I leaned over on the bed. ¡°How did you manage to get that done?¡± I asked, still panting.


    Margaery finished drinking the moon tea I had ready by the bedside, then she brought the sheets back over her neck. ¡°The last bit with my legs over my head?


    I snorted. ¡°No, you idiot. With the Frey girls and their dresses.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that.¡± She shrugged beneath the blankets.  ¡°Nothing special. I recommended this great seamstress here in King¡¯s Landing to them. Then I paid the woman to create a fault in the weave of their dresses, giving her enough gold to relocate with her daughter to Highgarden. She really is good. When the dresses were done, just one pull at the right place and it¡¯d all come undone. One of my family¡¯s knights was more than happy to¡­ accidentally do it.¡±


    My eyes went wide as saucers and I flopped back down on the bed. ¡°Wow¡­ you¡¯re an evil witch, Lady Tyrell,¡± I said, laughing. Margaery joined me chuckling, before we settled in for the night.


    There was a long stretch of silence, until I heard a soft, ¡°Tommen.¡±


    I had almost fallen asleep. ¡°What?¡± I groaned.


    She turned on her side to look at me. ¡°Not by the gardens, I know, but perhaps we could do it by the stables one day.¡±


    Needless to say, I went to sleep with my belly aching of laughter.

 Chapter 44

    Sansa I


    It took them more than a week to clear the Mountains of the Moon. The maester back at the Eyrie had told her the high road could be traversed in three days riding hard, but Petyr insisted they take the carriage. For her comfort, he would say. Yet when they stopped at night to camp, high up in the snaking paths through the mountains, and the men would huddle around the fires, drawing damp cloaks tight around sore bodies from riding all day, Petyr would step outside for only a minute before he could bear the cold no longer and he would return inside.


    But Sansa enjoyed leaving the carriage. She loved the taste of the biting wind on her face and the feel of the first flurries of snow whipping at her hair. It was a familiar freedom she hadn¡¯t had for what seemed like a lifetime ago.


    When they went back to the road the next morning, the wind would still find its way inside the carriage, whistling past the gaps in the wood, and Sansa listened to it as she would a bard¡¯s melody. It sang of gray days playing in the courtyards of Winterfell with her brothers and sister, building castles of snow and bathing in the hot springs, before her world became one of princes and ladies and dresses. But those happy days were a distant memory now, too far to reach no matter how hard she tried grasping at them.


    Sansa knew they had left the high road when the axles of the carriage stopped rattling with every rotation. The shuttered windows were covered with silvery silk curtains, and when she opened the shutters to look outside, she saw a world painted in tones of gray, as if a fine layer of ash had covered the land in the night. The rocky heights of the Vale of Arryn, with its wild shrubbery and thick dark forests, slowly turned to green woodlands and gently rolling hills of lush grass. But from her perch behind the curtains, they were a dull lifeless gray.


    After another day¡¯s riding, half their escort of thirty men turned back around to return to the Eyrie.It was for her safety, Littlefinger told her, lest they draw unwanted attention from Lannisters agents on the road. A year ago, she might have believed him, and thought of him as a chivalrous knight worthy of songs.


    A year ago she was a fool.


    She still played her part, smiling and nodding at his words, but it was a strained thing. Everything she did was forced, as of late. She felt like a giant doll being passed around from hand to hand, dancing to the tune of her masters.


    The weather warmed as they rode deeper into the Riverlands. Once, she had wished nothing more than to visit the Tullys at Riverrun. Her mother used to tell stories of her childhood in her father¡¯s castle, of running through a bright godswood of tall redwoods and elms, skipping rocks over gentle streams of clear springwater, the air filled with the aroma of a dozen different flowers. It seemed like a different world from the gloomy Winterfell.


    But meeting her Aunt Lysa had soured the idea of family for her. The only family she truly had was gone, and she was partly to blame for it. She was better off letting go of stupid, childish fancies.


    They finally stopped when they reached the Inn at the Crossroads, a stone throw¡¯s away from the Ruby Ford. The place brought back dark memories for her, and she had to shake her head to stop the tears that threatened to fall. She didn¡¯t want to think of all those she betrayed that day.


    The inn was three stories tall, with a thatched roof and white riverstones as its foundation. Petyr opened the door of the carriage for her and guided her on his arm with ten of their knights, while the rest of the Arryn men led the horses to the stables. Inside, the common room ran the entire length of the ground floor, and most tables were already full despite the early hour. The air smelled of stale beer and sweat, but it was better than staying inside the carriage.


    They got a table at the back, near the kitchen¡ªa larger booth Petyr paid for a few travellers to vacate, while the knights leisurely stood guard around. Sansa had a trench of fresh baked bread, and a spread of bacon and eggs with fried onions and fire peppers.


    When she was done, she set her cutlery down by the side of her empty plate. ¡°We¡¯re out of the Vale,¡± she said, looking up at Littlefinger. ¡°Will you tell me what we are going to do in the North, now?¡±If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Petyr finished chewing on his honey-glazed ham and took a draught of wine before answering, ¡°What did I tell you before we left King¡¯s Landing, about keeping your foes from knowing what you¡¯re after?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think we were enemies, my lord,¡± she demurred.


    Baelish laughed. ¡°We¡¯re not, my dear. But it¡¯s friends that can betray you, no? Even should you do it without meaning, it¡¯d be my head on a spike adorning the walls of the Red Keep.¡± He reached across the table and clasped one of her hands, smiling gently at her. As always, his smile didn¡¯t reach his flinty green eyes. ¡°I¡¯m taking you home, Sansa¡ªNorth, to safety. To Winterfell.¡±


    Sansa frowned. ¡°But¡­ but the Boltons hold Winterfell.¡±


    His eyes seemed to gleam under a beam of sunlight. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry over the Boltons. I have a plan to deal with them. You will rule the North, Sansa. I¡¯ll make sure of it.¡±


    She bit her lip. Sansa trusted Littlefinger as much as she trusted a Lannister, but she would be better off in the North, no? At home? Where the winds blew cold and white and the name Stark still meant something. At the very least, she knew nothing could be worse than being Joffrey¡¯s plaything back in King¡¯s Landing. If she could survive that, then she could survive anything.


    ¡°And I don¡¯t suppose you will tell me?¡± she tried.


    Before Littlefinger could weave another lie, a blond giant of a woman came to their table. It took a moment for her to figure out they had already met at Joffrey¡¯s wedding, and a moment further for Sansa to contain her shock when Brienne knelt beside her and recited a knight¡¯s vow of fealty. She had no idea what to answer, and Petyr used her stunned silence to fill her up on Brienne¡¯s past exploits, from Renly Baratheon¡¯s Kingsguard to supposedly swearing her sword to her mother.


    Instantly, her resolve hardened. The last year had made her weary of vows of loyalty and empty promises. Words were wind, she knew now better than ever. Littlefinger was a lying bastard, but he was a liar she knew. A known quantity. Who knew what this woman was truly afte, with her friendship to the Kingslayer and her Lannister-gold sword?


    Brienne had her jaw set tight after hearing Petyr¡¯s mocking words. ¡°Lady Sansa, please, if we could have a word alone?¡± she asked.


    Sansa stared back at her, undaunted. ¡°You should leave.¡±


    Baelish smiled. It was so slimy Sansa wondered how it didn¡¯t just slide right off his face. ¡°We don¡¯t want our new friend wandering the countryside alone, the roads in these parts aren¡¯t safe.¡± He glanced at the knights that surrounded their table. ¡°Why don¡¯t you stay?¡±


    Brienne didn¡¯t take her eyes off of her. Sansa saw only steel behind them, and for a second she wondered if she hadn¡¯t made the wrong choice. Then it was taken out of her hands, as the tall woman turned to leave.


    Petyr¡¯s men tried to stop her, but she elbowed one in the face and took off toward the door. The knights made to go after her, but it all turned to chaos when the inn¡¯s double doors suddenly burst open. Brienne was sent stumbling to the ground, and men wearing brown cloaks flooded the common room.


    The people inside the inn broke into screams and cries when the brown-cloaked men pulled out crossbows, and Sansa felt herself being yanked off her seat and thrown over someone¡¯s back. Bolts hissed through the air, too close to be aimed anywhere else but Baelish¡¯s men; but even upside down as she was, she noticed the man carrying her had not been targeted. Two of their ten fell before they made it into the kitchen, then out the back to the stables.


    Fighting was already ringing outside, the harsh clang of metal on metal, the rusty smell of blood rich in the air. The cries of injured men echoed across the inn grounds. In his hurry, the knight hauling her had no gentleness, and her stomach bruised where it jostled against his plate armor. Before she knew, she had been thrown on the back of a horse like a sack of potatoes.


    ¡°Quickly now, we ride south then cut back north again.¡± Petyr¡¯s voice sounded as out of control as she¡¯d ever heard. The horse whinnied beneath her, and she saw the knight that sat on her horse put his heel to the beasts flank. The charger took off straight into a gallop, and it was all she could do to keep herself from falling, hanging on to the back of the saddle and the horse¡¯s tail hairs with both hands.


    They hadn¡¯t gone far when the lead knight shouted into the morning air, and when she leaned forward she saw a line of horsemen blocking their path, as if they¡¯d been waiting for them. Her rider pulled on the reins hard and swivelled to the side. The sharp turn made the horse buck wildly, and she flew off the back of the animal, crashing against the muck. Her lungs emptied with a painful grunt, and when she tried to breath in, only grass and mud made it into her mouth.


    She rolled to her side, numb and breathless. Her head was spinning, and her limbs refused to cooperate when she tried to get up. She could taste blood mixing with the wet earth on her tongue. She forced herself to look around, but a rolling fog had invaded the edges of her vision, turning the world around her into darkness, and Sansa Stark felt herself falling into a pit of black.

 Chapter 45

    Boros I


    The day had only just started and Boros¡¯ head was already swimming. He¡¯d indulged a bit too much after the king left the great hall, but it was hardly his fault if the servants kept coming back with tray-fulls of wine and ale. What was a man to do but drink?


    He rolled off his bed, the wooden frame groaning and popping under him. That had gotten worse as of late, probably a loose nail somewhere. He would have to call someone to check on it. His room in the White Sword Tower was a tiny thing, but it had a basin and pitcher set over a dresser in the corner so he could wash his face, and he stumbled that way. He hadn¡¯t taken a shower in almost a week, but with Meryn¡¯s death, his schedule had been crazy recently.


    Boros hoped that with the Strongboar and the girly-knight-he-had-forgotten-the-name-of added to the roster, perhaps he¡¯d have some down time. How long had it been since he could just kick back and have some drinks?


    After taking care of the essentials, Boros dressed and armored himself. It took him no more than an hour. Ser Jaime was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, his face stormy. That was a man he wouldn¡¯t forget the name of soon enough. He couldn¡¯t believe a knight as infamous and dishonorable as Jaime Lannister was still allowed to serve as a kingsguard. If it were him, he¡¯d have resigned from the shame of it alone, or maybe fall onto his sword. Some knight the Kingslayer was.


    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± the Kingslayer said by way of greeting.


    Boros sighed. ¡°Yes, Ser Jaime.¡±


    The blond man shook his head. ¡°Whatever. You¡¯ll relieve Ser Lyle now. Just roll your way to the Tower of the Hand. The king is breaking his fast with Lord Tywin.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Um, you mean... as a training exercise?¡± How would he go about rolling up the stairs of a tower?


    The Kingslayer looked at him strangely. Ser Jaime was an oft-confused man when speaking with him. ¡°Just¡­ just go,¡± he said, shaking his head.


    Boros saluted the Lord Commander and turned to leave. What else could he say? Sometimes, Boros felt as if his sworn brothers didn¡¯t much care for him. But then again, he didn¡¯t like them either. He didn¡¯t even like being a Kingsguard. He hadn¡¯t asked for the white cloak, and despite it being as pale as a maiden''s bridecloak, it sometimes felt as confining as a black one.


    But what was he supposed to do? He was chosen by the Queen herself, even if he had won no glory at tourneys nor made a name for himself in war. He couldn¡¯t say no to her, especially when she batted those eyelashes at him, her smile a promise of sin.


    He¡¯d cried himself to sleep the day she was found dead. He had been saving himself for her for all those years.


    Still, that just proved something to him. They were wrong, all wrong. He was the fifth son of a minor house in the Crownlands; from his very birth, he was destined for either the sword or the maester¡¯s chain, or worse, the white robes of a septon. He¡¯d chosen the sword, as at the very least he could still share a woman¡¯s bed being a knight. And everyone knew the ladies¡¯ loved a man in plate armor.


    His family had laughed at him. They called him talentless and driverless, and had all but thrown him out their lands. He had made his way to the capital, and there he¡¯d made his fortune. A Kingsguard, the highest honor in the Seven Kingdoms. His family had come begging to take them back.


    He¡¯d done it, of course. Turned out being a kingsguard didn¡¯t pay at all, and the small incomes his father gave went a long way when Boros needed some ale.


    He reached the Tower of the Hand after ambling around the gardens for a few minutes. He liked to stop and smell the flowers. It was the small things in life, for him. A few Lannister men pointed him the right way¡ªup¡ªand he finally stopped when he saw the Strongboar standing guard outside a door.


    The big man seemed to be in a foul mood today, and he just shouldered past him on his way out after letting the king know they¡¯d be changing. Rude. Boros almost called out to him, to tell him to stop by the gardens and enjoy the aroma of the primroses in bloom. He would bet all the coin he¡¯d made as a Kingsguard that Ser Lyle wouldn¡¯t be so testy if he would just do that.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Boros settled himself against the cold stone, readying himself for long hours of guard duty. Say one thing about being a kingsguard, say it was a damn easy job. It usually consisted of napping twice a day, with a down shift of eight hours where you could just sleep in your own bed. So long as you got the hang of sleeping while standing, you were golden. Boros was sure that was Ser Barristan¡¯s secret to being such a legendary kingsguard knight.


    He had dazed off at some point, and woke up hearing his name. The voice certainly had an imperious, Lannister-quality to it. Was it Cersei? Here to pick up where they left off?


    ¡°Ser Boros!¡± the voice called again, and his dream shattered when he realized it was Lord Tywin.


    Boros groaned and went inside the room. If it were up to him, this room was the last place he¡¯d ever willingly go to. He didn¡¯t like the king and the hand at all. He missed the days where he¡¯d have to guard Joffrey. Now, that was a king. Strong, fierce, commanding. This new one¡­ Timothy, was just plain scary and creepy.


    Men called him cowardly behind his back, he knew. But who could truly say they weren¡¯t cowards, deep down? Just because he dressed in white he suddenly had to give his life for some scary kid with a toy crown on his head? Where was the logic in that?


    He found Lord Tywin and the creepy king sitting across the room on a couple of plush chairs with trays of half-eaten food on side tables and a lit hearth in between them. Boros went over to stand facing them, and only just caught himself before he reached for a jam-stuffed tart.


    ¡°Uhm, how can I help you, Your Grace?¡± He asked Tywin. He heard someone groaning behind him.


    The Lord of Casterly Rock stared at him. ¡°Are you an idiot, Ser Boros?¡±


    ¡°No, Your Grace,¡± Boros quickly answered. He¡¯d learned to always say no to questions like that.


    Tywin clicked his tongue. ¡°Very well. It seems you were correct in your assessment.¡±


    Boros got the feeling that wasn¡¯t meant for him, but he shrugged it off. ¡°That¡¯s often the case, Your Grace.¡±


    Lord Tywin grunted. ¡°I have a task for you, Blount. Suitable for your¡­ competence.¡± He produced a parcel from inside his coat and handed it to him. ¡°I need this delivered to Duskendale as soon as possible


    He sighed. ¡°Must I?¡±


    ¡°See!¡± a voice said from behind him. Boros almost jumped. ¡°That¡¯s what I have to deal with.¡±


    Boros slowly turned. He¡¯d forgotten the creepy king was there for a moment. When he looked down at the king, he swore his eyes pulsed with a brightness that did not belong there, and Boros just wanted to run¡ªrun as far away as possible. Suddenly, the idea of going on a boat ride to Duskendale seemed a wonderful idea.


    He bowed profusely to the king. ¡°I¡¯ll go right away, my lord. Right away.¡±


    King Timothy waved him away. ¡°Yes, yes. Do you know the small quay at the bottom of the Keep?¡± Boros nodded. He¡¯d gone there to throw stones at birds when he needed to think. ¡°Yes? Good, then just be there tomorrow morning sharp at dawn. Don¡¯t take your white cloak, but wear your armor. We don¡¯t want anyone to know you¡¯re a kingsguard. You¡¯re dismissed, ser.¡±


    Didn¡¯t have to tell him twice. Boros went running out. The next day, he¡¯d gone to the quay at midday like the king told him to. The boatman was properly angry for some reason, but he just ignored him. Some people just never stopped in life to smell the flowers.


    As he settled on the bow of the small dinghy, he thought he noticed something familiar about the man. He had black hair that went down to his shoulders, a stubble of a beard, and steely dark eyes that hadn¡¯t stopped staring at him. He also wore several knives about his waist.


    All in all, he didn¡¯t seem much like a boatman, but Boros wasn¡¯t in the business of judging people by their threatening appearance.


    The man had rowed for almost an hour before he stopped and couched the oars on the boat¡¯s side. ¡°This seems far enough,¡± he said.


    Boros shrugged. They were in the middle of nowhere, the shore a distant thing in the horizon, and it sure didn¡¯t look like Duskendale. But then again he wasn¡¯t a boatsman, and the day was a beautiful blue with nary a cloud on the sky. He didn¡¯t mind staying there for a while.


    The boat swayed under him, footsteps tip-tapped on the wood, and suddenly he felt a push against his back, and he was off and diving into the ocean. When he fell in, the water was very wet. Wet and cold. The weight of his armor pulled him downward, and Boros just decided to swim deeper still. He did always want to know how deep the sea went.


    Then it was turning dark, his limbs had stopped answering his commands, and Boros suddenly felt like taking a nap.


    Very much a lighthearted chapter. Because¡­ you know what happens in the next few. I was just going to kill Boros off screen, but I made so much fun of him in my own head that I needed to add a nice send off for him. This is basically how I imagined Ser Boros Blount saw the world. He was a very¡­ special man.

 Chapter 46

    Tywin took an uncharacteristically long gulp of his wine. ¡°I would have dealt with this earlier had I known of his¡­ inadequacy.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°I think inadequacy doesn¡¯t quite cover it,¡± I said. Even I had not known how bad things were. I was quite sure today was the first time I had seen him string more than two words together. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. He won¡¯t be a bother for longer. Him or Kettleblack.¡±


    The mention of the dornish plot had him almost bearing his teeth. Tywin wasn¡¯t over having his attack dog put down quite yet. ¡°So it seems,¡± he grunted. ¡°Have you any thoughts on who to fill the spots with?¡±


    I hummed. ¡°How about Ser Arthur Dayne, or Aemon the Dragonknight. Maybe Ryam Redwyne.¡±


    ¡°Then I wish you good luck with that,¡± Tywin said.


    I raised an eyebrow. He was clearly baiting the topic. ¡°Why, Lord Hand, have you a suggestion to make?¡±


    Tywin nodded. At least he didn¡¯t beat around the bush. ¡°It¡¯s one of the reasons I invited you here today,¡± he said. ¡°I have found the knight you asked me to. The one from the tourney, with the black and white striped shield.¡±


    I focused on the first part of his speech. ¡°One of?¡± I repeated. Of course, Tywin never did things with only one goal in mind. I should have known he had ulterior motives, and he was using the promise of a potentially competent kingsguard as a reward. This man was really out here treating the king like a dog. ¡°And I suppose you wish to speak on other topics before introducing our guest?¡±


    ¡°Quite so,¡± he said. He put down his wine and leaned forward on his chair. ¡°I wish to speak on Sansa Stark.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ her.¡± He wasn¡¯t going to let the little bird fly away from the lion¡¯s claws that easily, then. ¡°Have you had word of Ser Kevan, then?¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± he said. ¡°But my brother has my full confidence in this, as he will have as Hand of the King.¡±


    Big praise for Kevan coming from him, but it only made me all the more weary. Everything that happened in the capital would be reported back to Casterly Rock. If I didn¡¯t already know that, now I had confirmation.


    ¡°Very well. What about Sansa Stark?¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Tywin made a sound in the back of his throat. ¡°Don¡¯t play coy with me, Your Grace. Time and time again you have gone off and done your own thing without word to your council, or your hand, and it has become quite vexing.¡± I felt my eyebrows raising. I had noticed that even Tywin had been more respectful toward me after the incident with the shadow-demon, and this was the first I had seen him truly speaking his mind. ¡°I want to know what your plans are for her. Let me remind you that she¡¯s wed Tyrion. She¡¯s a Lannister by marriage.¡±


    ¡°A marriage that was never consummated,¡± I pointed. ¡°To a son you just about had killed.¡±


    Tywin didn¡¯t bite. It seemed he had reigned in his temper after the mention of Dorne and the Mountain. ¡°And the Stark girl?¡±


    I sighed. What did he want me to say? That I was going to take her out of Lannister hands and marry her off to the Tyrells? It seemed obvious enough to me, but Tywin had a black hole in his brain where all negative, Lannister-related things went to die. Tyrion could never hold the North, nor could Jaime, who actually fought and killed northmen in the War of the Five Kings.


    If I wanted to use Sansa to return the largest kingdom in my realm back into the fold, she could not do it as a Lannister.


    ¡°If you must know, I intend to use her to retake control of the North. I trust the Boltons as far as I can throw them, and I have word of Stannis¡¯ ship being sighted sailing north past the coast of White Harbor. With Daenerys Targaeryen¡¯s coming looming from the east, I want to start trimming down on potential turncloaks.¡±


    Tywin looked at me. ¡°We made a promise to the Boltons, Your Grace. A Lannister always pays his debts.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m a Baratheon, Lord Hand.¡± I stared right back. ¡°Best you remember that.¡± I reached for my wine and drank the cup in one go. I¡¯d forgotten Lightbringer back at my rooms, and trading barbs with Tywin Lannister takes its toll on a man. I was becoming jittery. ¡°Enough of this. It¡¯s not a war you¡¯ll have to fight, grandfather, I assure you. No Lannister levies will step foot north of the Neck. Perhaps we¡¯ll even convince the Blackfish to join the expedition and leave Riverrun for your good-brother and Lady Genna.¡±


    He leaned back on his chair. ¡°He¡¯s as likely to give up on his family¡¯s castle as Stannis is on the war. Stubborn as a bull, that man is.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve met him?¡± I asked.


    ¡°We fought together on the Stepstones against Maelys, his merchant princes, and the Golden Company. And it¡¯s said he¡¯s only gotten worse with age.¡± At least, that could not be said about Lord Tywin Lannister. He had already come out of his mother¡¯s womb as worse as it gets. He wasn¡¯t even twenty when he quelled the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion by drowning a castle¡¯s worth of people. ¡°Another thing, Your Grace. I meant to have words with Varys yesterday, but he wasn¡¯t in his rooms. Some men said he took to ship days ago. What am I to make of this?¡±


    Well, he was long dead and quartered by now, resting somewhere at the bottom of the Blackwater, or wherever Bronn had a mind to stash bodies. But I think he meant the polite answer to the question. ¡°Varys left at my behest. I sent him somewhere he can make better use of his talents.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Where the king commanded him, Lord Tywin.¡± Sometimes you had to spell the hierarchy out for him.


    Tywin was taut as a bowstring for a second, before he breathed out and settled for a scowl. ¡°It seems I won¡¯t be getting any straight answer from you today.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°As if you are any better, grandfather.¡±


    He ignored my jibe and reached for a thin cord that hung from the ceiling. He pulled it twice in succession and somewhere deep in the tower, a bell rang. Soon, one of his sergeants stepped into the room. ¡°Bring in the hedge knight,¡± Tywin ordered.


    The man snapped a salute and retreated. We waited in silence until he returned, with the young man with the striped shield in tow, only this time he wore only a simple shirt and breeches and not ringmail. The sergeant and two other Lannister men stopped at the door, and the hedge knight sauntered into the room, walking up as if to meet old friends at an alehouse and not the king and his hand.


    I had a feeling Tywin wasn¡¯t going to be a fan of him.

 Chapter 47

    Up close, I could make out more of his features. He had a mess of collar-length sandy brown hair, suntanned skin, dark eyes, and a small white scar over his left eyebrow. He stopped near our chairs and bowed. ¡°King Tommen Baratheon, Lord Tywin Lannister,¡± he said. Even his voice sounded young and cocky.


    I gave him a gracious smile. ¡°I have been looking forward to meeting you, ser. You had an impressive showing in the tourney. Would you do us the honor of introducing yourself?¡±


    His lazy smile turned into a self-assured grin. ¡°My name is Addam, Your Grace. Addam of Flea Bottom, or so the songs claim. Though I am no knight yet.¡±


    ¡°You have a mind to become one?¡± I asked.


    ¡°The mind and the brawn for it, Your Grace, just not the arms and armor for it. I swear, I would have had your knight eating dirt had I been wearing plate. He¡¯s good, to be sure. Got a wicked morningstar, too. But I¡¯m better, Your Grace, I know it in my heart.¡±


    I laughed. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure you have a chance to claim your vengeance, my friend. It looked like a hard fought victory from the stands, but Ser Balon had even better things to say about your skill-at-arms from up close too.¡± He didn¡¯t, but men were much like children and dogs in some regards¡ªthey loved being patted over their heads and called good boys.


    ¡°Aye, a good fight. The crowd was on my side too, as well they should. I was one of them not too long ago.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re from the capital, then?¡± I pointed to the empty chair sitting by the wall, and gestured for him to sit with us. ¡°You did mention an epitaph that would suggest so.¡±


    ¡°I am from Flea Bottom as much as the stench is,¡± Addam said as he carried the chair over and plopped it down in front of ours. ¡°Do you mind if I have some of the wine, Your Grace? I haven¡¯t had some good wine in a long time.¡±


    Tywin looked beyond unamused, but I had to laugh again at the guy¡¯s audacity. ¡°I would think your drinks were being paid at every tavern in the city, given there are already songs in your name.¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    He shrugged. ¡°So would I, but it seems my fellow kingslanders got stingier than a pimped out whore since I left for Essos.¡±


    I got up to serve him myself from the small table behind his chair. It told me something of a man how he reacts to a king handling his wine. ¡°Is that where you learned to fight?¡± I asked. ¡°I doubt you had many chances to practice the sword in the streets of Flea Bottom.¡±


    Addam laughed and lounged back on his chair. He seemed pointedly at ease in the company of the rich and powerful. ¡°Aye, Your Grace. Not much to learn here, but there¡¯s plenty of warring going around Essos.¡±


    ¡°You served in a company in the east, then?¡± Tywin asked with a curl to his lips. Sellsword companies had a reputation for being unreliable and cutthroat, though given the Brave Companion¡¯s reign of terror in the Riverlands during the war, he certainly wasn¡¯t above making use of them.


    ¡°Aye, my lord.¡± Addam puffed up his chest. ¡°In the Golden Company.¡±


    I almost spilled the wine I was serving, but I covered it up with an appreciative hum. A week ago I wouldn¡¯t have even batted an eyelash at that comment. In fact, I would have taken it as a badge of honor and skill. The Golden Company was the only sellsword company who had never broken a contract. Their words were as good as gold, after all. Ten thousand men, with fully armored knights and bowmen and even elephants in the mix. Born in the Seven Kingdoms, forged in Essosi war. Why wouldn¡¯t I want a man like that to guard my back?


    But their other words, their war cry, ¡°Beneath the gold, the bitter steel,¡± told me all I need to know about Addam and the company he kept. The words alluded to Ser Aegor River, more commonly known as Bittersteel, the founder of the company, and also the biggest Blackfyre supporter of his time. And I just so happened to learn of a potential Blackfyre lurking in the east.


    I couldn¡¯t take the chance. I set his full cup down and hefted the pitcher up with both hands. It had a good weight to it.


    ¡°Tell me, Addam, have you ever heard of the Spider?¡±


    I saw him stiffen up on his chair, but by then I was already swinging. The metal pitcher hit the back of Addam¡¯s head with a wet crunch, and quick as that the sellsword was down for the count, slumping forward to land on the carpet. A pool of blood slowly formed around his head.


    I looked at the pitcher still in my hands. There was a large dent on one side. ¡°Is this lead?¡± I asked no one in particular. ¡°Because if it is, we have to see about changing it¡­ urgently, if possible.¡±


    The room had the quiet of death for a moment. ¡°It¡¯s pewter,¡± Tywin said finally. I turned to see him staring at me. ¡°Would you like to tell me why I have a dying man in my solar, Your Grace?¡±


    A fair enough question, given the circumstances. ¡°He¡¯s hardly dying,¡± I said. ¡°But it seems it¡¯s time we spoke about where Varys went, after all.¡±

 Chapter 48

    ¡°Well?¡±


    I looked at Tywin. ¡°I sent him to the Stranger¡¯s hall, grandfather.¡±


    He contained his expression as much as he could, but I could see he was surprised. Maybe he thought I was getting too murder-happy at this point. ¡°And the men who saw him leaving the city unmolested? Did you have him murdered the same way Ser Boros will meet his end tomorrow?¡±


    I waved a hand his way. ¡°That would be terribly unimaginative on my part. No, I killed him with a crossbow to the heart. I¡¯m sure Joffrey would have appreciated it, mad as he was.¡± Addam the sellsword was still sprawled on the carpeted floor, bleeding from his head wound. It would definitely stain. ¡°And can you get some of your men to carry him off? Take him to Qyburn, if you will.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Not Pycelle?¡±


    ¡°I trust Pycelle as much as I trust a rat¡¯s flea, and he¡¯s just as fickle, too. No. Qyburn will do for the hedge knight. He¡¯s good at ferreting a man¡¯s secrets, no matter how deep he¡¯s buried them.¡±


    ¡°And what secrets would a nameless sellsword possess?¡± Tywin¡¯s face darkened. ¡°A secret big enough to have our seven-damned master of whisperers murdered.¡±


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t play the justice knight with me, Lord Tywin.¡± I was starting to get annoyed with his game. ¡°How many men have you sent to the headsman for a whiff of treason? I¡¯m just following family tradition, clearly.¡±


    Tywin gazed at me for a moment longer then shook his head. ¡°And here I thought you were a Baratheon, not a Lannister,¡± he said mockingly. He reached for the bell again, and the same men who¡¯d come to escort Addam showed up at the door. They seemed completely nonplussed with the bloodied hedge knight on the floor.


    I wasn¡¯t sure what that said about them, or about Tywin.


    ¡°Take him to the cellars,¡± he said to them. ¡°To that chainless maester who worked on my son¡¯s golden hand. Tell him to make him talk.¡±


    The guards nodded and scooped Addam off the floor with the gentleness of a raging dragon. Tywin sipped the rest of his wine, got up, and took the one that I¡¯d served for the hedge knight. It seemed the day¡¯s events had gotten even to him. ¡°So it was treason, then?¡± he asked.


    I scoffed. ¡°Of course there¡¯s treason. This is King¡¯s Landing and he¡¯s the fucking master of whisperers.¡±


    My mind was racing, and I started pacing the room. If Addam had made it as far as a room with the King and the Hand, which looking back was a ridiculous oversight on my part, did it mean that there¡¯s others out there, in the Red Keep and in the city, waiting and plotting for the dragon¡¯s¡ªred or black¡ªreturn?


    ¡°Tell me, grandfather. When they brought you the corpses of the children wrapped in those crimson cloaks, what did the boy look like?¡±


    ¡°What children?¡±


    ¡°What other children? Elia¡¯s get, with that fool Rhaegar. I want to know about Aegon. What did he look like? Was it truly him? Did you make sure of it?¡± I was near asking him for the forensics of it before I realized my mouth was running before me.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    I didn¡¯t get an answer right away. When I turned to look at him, Tywin was looking off to the side, a far away look on his face. At that moment I realized that he¡¯d done it, and he¡¯d do it a thousand times again to guarantee his Lannister dynasty, but even Tywin thought it distasteful to speak of those dead children. ¡°The boy was unrecognizable,¡± he finally said, sitting back down. ¡°His head was caved in, but there were chunks of silver hair there. It was him.¡±


    ¡°And did you check to see if it was dyed?¡± I pressed him. ¡°What about the rest of the body? Any birthmarks or spots that marked him the fucking heir to the Iron Throne?¡±


    His lips were pursed thin in annoyance. ¡°What are you saying, Tommen?¡±


    He really wanted me to spell it out for him. ¡°I¡¯m saying Varys supposedly smuggled the real Aegon Targaryen out of King¡¯s Landing and left a decoy in his place. Or that¡¯s all a lie, and the kid leading the Golden Company in the east is a Blackfyre pretender. Only it makes no matter. So long as he has the looks, he has the claim.¡±


    Tywin had gone still as a statue, only the muscles on his cheek clenched and unclenched as he worked things out in his mind. ¡°And if Dorne believes him, he has their spears.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and we have a dagger on our back. That and every Targaryen loyalist in the Seven Kingdoms, or any house who¡¯s even slightly unsatisfied with my rule.¡±


    My stunt against the shadow-demon would go a long way in stamping out loyalists, but not nearly long enough.


    Tywin¡¯s mouth twisted in anger. He wasn¡¯t a fan of being uninformed on matters such as these. ¡°And how do we know what Varys said is true, and not just something said out of spite in his last breath? We can¡¯t change all our plans based on something as brittle as that.¡±


    ¡°The same way I knew of Littlefinger¡¯s involvement in Joffrey¡¯s muder,¡± I lied. ¡°Varys only confirmed it to me, though I believe he had no idea I would have an inkling of his plan. The boy was supposedly raised to be a king, with the finest education gold can buy. He has one of the richest pentoshi magisters on his back as well as the Golden Company. And Jon Connington rides with him. He was Rhaegar¡¯s best friend. If he vouches for the pretender¡­¡±


    From across the room, I could hear Tywin¡¯s teeth grinding. ¡°We will need the Tyrells,¡± he said, though it seemed a hard thing to admit. ¡°Now more than ever. You must wed as soon as possible.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll leave that with you. Lady Olenna is taking care of the specifics. Speak with her and sort it out. The sooner we get married, the steadier will be our alliance.¡±


    ¡°A child, Your Grace. You need to put a child in that girl.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t wrong. ¡°Yes. And until then, no one can know of this other possible Targaryen. We don¡¯t want Mace Tyrell getting ideas of silver-haired grandchildren.¡±


    Tywin grunted his agreement. ¡°The fool has always been enamored with the idea of tying his line to the Targeryens.¡±


    I walked back to the chairs and sank back down on my seat. ¡°Stannis in the North; the Dornish and the Golden Company in the South; the Targaryen girl and her dragons in the east. How do we win this, Lord Hand? We can¡¯t beat them on the field, not with our hold on most kingdoms still weak and our forces dispersed. We shall have to work on that. Taking back control of the Stormlands, pouring money into the Riverlands, securing the North. We must also speak with the Vale lords. They are a fresh force, forty thousand strong.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Tywin said. He had a small smile on his face. ¡°How many battles did the Young Wolf take from me? How many men died at his sword? How many songs were sung of his bravery?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Battles are won in the field, Your Grace, yes. But wars¡­ wars are won right here, with the swish of a pen, or with a blade in the night, a drop of poison in the right cup.¡±


    I glanced at him. ¡°Or with a massacre in a wedding.¡±


    He hummed and swirled the wine on his cup. ¡°Do you think me wrong for orchestrating it? Or for how I ended the line of the red lions?¡±


    A laughable idea. ¡°No,¡± I said. Turning to the hearth, I stared into the lit fire, watching the flames whirl and lick at the stones surrounding it. ¡°I¡¯ll devise a thousand Rains of Castamere if it means victory, my lord.¡±


    Tywin nodded. ¡°Then I look forward to hearing what they¡¯ll sing of you, Your Grace.¡±

 Chapter 49

    Daenerys I


    ¡°One time,¡± Ser Barristan recounted, ¡°after getting some coin from his singing on a street corner, we got horribly drunk.¡±


    Dany couldn''t help the laughter that escaped her. She was sure Viserys would have gotten angry hearing it, calling it unladylike and unbecoming of a Targaryen princess, but that just made it all the more enjoyable to let herself go. To think that her brother, the fearsome Rhaegar Targaryen, liked to sing to the people of King¡¯s Landing and drink with them in secret.


    Perhaps she had at least one brother to look up to. As that¡¯s all she wanted to be as a queen. A leader for the people, someone they could look to in their times of strife, someone who put their needs first, and not the trivialities of this or that house.


    Behind her, the scrape of boots and the clink of mail heralded Daario¡¯s approach. It wasn¡¯t hard figuring out who it was. Only Daario Naharis could make even the sounds of his stride presumptuous. ¡°Your Grace,¡± he said. ¡°Hizdahr is here, waiting in the audience chamber.¡±


    Dany hid a sigh. ¡°How many others are there?¡±


    ¡°Fifty, a hundred.¡± Daario shrugged. ¡°Too many.¡±


    She nodded. Boring as it was, it was still her duty. ¡°Will you be joining us, Ser Barristan?¡±


    The sellsword cut in, ¡°I think I can protect you from Hizdahr zo Loraq well enough.¡±


    ¡°I think I could protect me from Hizdahr zo Loraq.¡± She smiled at the aging queensguard. ¡°Go, Ser Barristan. Sing a song for me.¡±


    xxxx


    ¡°Without these traditions, former slaves and former masters have nothing in common but centuries of mistrust and resentment. I can¡¯t promise this is the answer to all our problems, but it is a start.¡±


    As Hizdahr droned on, Dany wondered if by the time she finally sailed off to Westeros, him begging for the reinstatement of the fighting pits would be more of a Meereenese tradition than the games themselves.


    She just couldn¡¯t see how formerly enslaved men blooding themselves for sport could ever bring the city back together. How could they watch their brothers dying at the point of each other¡¯s swords and call it a victory? She would have shrugged it off as a noble plot to repress the people and renew their own views of Meereenese culture if Daario hadn¡¯t advocated for the restarting of the games himself, and former slave warriors had sung praises of the glory to be found in the pits.


    Perhaps she could give it a chance¡ªone chance, and see it allowing the games worked to heal the divide in the city.


    Then the great double doors of the cavernous audience chamber groaned open and a pair of Unsullied in their spiked caps dashed into the room, allowing her to turn away from Hizdahr and his incessant arguments. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°My queen,¡± one of the Unsullied said in broken common. ¡°Found a man in the city, interesting to see.¡±


    She quickly nodded. The Unsullied weren¡¯t in the habit of creating a disturbance if it wasn¡¯t important. ¡°Bring him in,¡± she ordered, then addressed the Meereneese noble still standing on the dais, ¡°forgive this interruption, Hizdahr zo Loraq. It will only be a minute.¡±


    Hizdahr bowed low and stepped aside. At least he knows his place, Dany thought.


    The lead Unsullied cried out in High Valyrian with the growl of Astapor, and a squad of five eunuch warriors stepped into the room. In between them, with his hands tied behind his back, walked a tall man with blond-white hair, a graying beard, and the remnants of what was once a bear sewn on his ragged doublet. A man who just the sight of caused bile to rise in her throat and the dragon to wake inside of her.


    ¡°No,¡± she instantly said, her voice cold and distant. ¡°Take him away. Out of my sight. Out of this city.¡±


    The Unsullied took hold of him. ¡°No, wait.¡± Ser Jorah struggled and pushed against his captors. ¡°Please, my queen. I have word of the Seven Kingdoms¡ªword you will wish to hear. Please.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± The words were out of her mouth before she could swallow them.


    While she had come to love Meereen and its people, she still hungered for home. Once, it was a house with a red door with a lemon tree by the window. Now, home was the Seven Kingdoms¡ªall of them. Her home was her birthright, and even with the bitter anger and heartache she felt toward Ser Jorah, she wished to know what passed there. Even a scrap of information would do.


    Dany¡¯s nails dug trenches in her hands as she stopped herself from sending away. ¡°Very well,¡± she bit off. ¡°Then speak and make it count, Ser Jorah Mormont.¡±


    ¡°The king is dead, Your Grace,¡± he said quickly. ¡°Poisoned at his own wedding. And Cersei Lannister as well. Some say she hung herself, others that she was murdered. The truth of it I know not. A boy is king now. A young boy, Tommen. There¡¯s more, my queen. Please¡­¡±


    That¡¯s what stood between her and her throne, now? A boy king? Cersei Lannister was no one to her, but any Lannister death was worthy of a celebration, in her mind. Perhaps this was the chance she had been waiting for, to take back what was her family¡¯s; but she couldn¡¯t make the decision alone, no. A queen might rule absolutely, but it was a foolish one who didn¡¯t listen to her advisors.


    ¡°Yellow Leech,¡± Daenerys called. She still found it horrible to call them by the names the masters gave to the Unsullied, but she could hardly call herself the breaker of chains and force the decision on them. ¡°Call for Ser Barristan, he¡¯s just left my presence. You might still catch him on his way out. And have Grey Worm pulled from his rounds. I have need of him in the council chambers. You¡ª¡± she pointed at Jorah Mormont ¡°¡ªwill better prove useful, ser.¡±


    The exiled knight swallowed and nodded. The hurt and yearning in his blue eyes were knives in Daenerys¡¯ heart, and she had to look away. To his side, Yellow Leech saluted and left the room through a side door. The Unsullied had mapped the entire pyramid when they moved in, lest assassins slinked in through secret passages. Ser Barristan had told her many times of the expansive network of tunnels beneath the Red Keep. It was something to keep in mind should they ever need a way inside her family¡¯s castle in King¡¯s Landing.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± Hizdarh zo Loraq said from the side.


    She turned to him. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°The fighting pits, Your Grace¡­¡±


    Daenerys bit the inside of her mouth. If it could quench the flames of rebellion in her city, what other choice did she have? ¡°They shall reopen,¡± she said, and she could hear Hizdarh sighing in relief. ¡°For now.¡±


    Did I make a whole chapter just to save Ser Barristan Selmy? Yes, that¡¯s exactly what I did. It¡¯s Ser Barristan the fucking Bold. I¡¯m not going to have him die in some back alley by some nameless essosi with a fucking knife or something. Expect future badassery from him. Dany won¡¯t be sailing to Westeros straight away, btw. I¡¯ll revisit her POV in a while and that will clear things up. Btw, Jorah doesn¡¯t have the updated version of events, obviously. Info can¡¯t travel that fast all the way across the world. So she doesn¡¯t yet know of the shadow-demon being blamed on Targaryens etc etc.

 Chapter 50

    Wyman I


    Grease dripped down Wyman¡¯s chins from the turkey leg he was eating, and he wiped it off with his doublet¡¯s sleeve. ¡°Read it to me again, Theomore,¡± the Lord of White Harbor said between mouthfuls, eyes on his prize. ¡°I can¡¯t say I had my full attention on it just now.¡±


    The yellow-haired maester smiled thinly. ¡°Of course, my lord.¡± He coughed into a fisted hand and started over, ¡°To Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor, Warden of the White Knife, Shield of the Faith, Defender of the Dispossessed, Lord Marshal of the Mander, and Knight of the Order of the Green Hand. Twenty years ago, Eddard Stark and Robbert Baratheon joined forces and took down a three-hundred year old dynasty. Since then, the Crown and the North have been staunch allies¡ªas close as my father and Lord Eddard were¡ªuntil the follies we have witnessed in the past years.


    The realm burned, and many¡ªsmallfolk and noble alike¡ªlost their homes and their families in the war. And, unfortunately, some lost them in wholly dishonorable manners. You were wronged during the Red Wedding, my lord, you and the entire north.


    But I am not a man to do this, nor would I ever. My word may mean little to you, but to me, it is my bond. My father is dead; my mother is dead; my brother is dead. I can only look to the future, and to heal a realm that has been torn asunder by those that came before me.


    ¡°And I have recently found that two of the men who have contributed to the ruination of the peace, Roose Bolton and Petyr Baelish, conspired to have the Lady Sansa Stark forcibly married to his bastard son, Ramsay Bolton. I even hold in my hands Bolton¡¯s request to legitimize Ramsay, and I have no intention to have it signed, my lord.


    From this day forward, though I cannot make it known to all yet, I will treat House Bolton as an enemy of the Crown, and at the first opportunity, shall strip Roose Bolton of his lands, titles, and incomes.


    Sansa Stark was recovered by my men on her way North, healthy and hale, and she rides to King¡¯s Landing at this very moment. I know the northerners are fond to say that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and should I have my way, then it shall be so. But I cannot do so alone. The North holds to its own. Help me reinstall a Stark as the rightful Lady Paramount of the North, and I will even have her marriage to Tyrion Lannister¡ªa marriage which was never consummated¡ªdissolved.


    I understand the past cannot be forgotten, my lord, nor forgiven. I have been to Winterfell, and I have heard the words. The north remembers. I only ask that you do so now. Remember what the Crown and the North achieved together. Remember Eddard and Robert.


    As a token of goodwill, I am having your son and heir, Wylis, released from captivity in Harrenhal and sent home. By the time this letter arrives in your hands, Wylis will have boarded a ship in Maidenpool, coursing north. Furthermore, I believe that few men in the Seven Kingdoms know of the sea as well as a Manderly, and so I shall be glad to name your lordship as Master of Ships, should you take my offer.


    Come to King¡¯s Landing to meet with myself and Lady Sansa, or send an envoy you trust. Promise me your fealty, my lord, rejoin the King¡¯s peace, and I shall work to right the wrongs of my predecessors.


    Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name.¡±


    Wyman nodded slowly as if to himself. He had wished to hear the words again, to listen to their cadence and rhythm, to gauge if there was any truth in it or if it was just Lord Lannister¡¯s voice through the boy king¡¯s hand. Though it was hard to distinguish it coming from Theomore. Honesty wasn¡¯t a subject he¡¯d forged a link on back in the Citadel.


    Putting down the well-cleaned leg-bone, Wyman looked up to the maester. ¡°And?¡± he prompted. ¡°What say you, good maester?¡±


    Theomore laid the letter back on the desk and clasped his hands in front of himself. ¡°This is a good opportunity, my lord,¡± he said. ¡°The Boltons are to be blamed as much as the Freys for the death of Lord Wendel. King Tommen was a boy when the war began. The son cannot be judged by the sins of the father¡­ or the mother, the brother, and the grandfather. And the North shall rejoice at having a Stark back in Winterfell.¡±


    King Tommen, Wyman wondered. Already his king despite it all¡­ It was to be expected from a man born a Lannister of Lannisport. Blood sang in every man, and old loyalties were hard to extinguish when they ran that deep, chain or no chain about their necks.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Wyman swiped a finger over his thick moustache, considering. ¡°A northman on the small council. And Wyna and Wylla will so be happy to hear their father is returning, too¡­¡± he trailed off, a smile blooming underneath his swollen face. After a moment, he relented, ¡°I shall give this some thought, Theomore. I will call on you once I have decided.¡±


    The maester bowed and scurried out of the room, and the smile curdled in Wyman¡¯s lips. He spat out a piece of turkey that had stuck to his teeth. A mummer in his own castle, he had to be, lest he be accused of disloyalty to this lord or that lord, Boltons and Lannister and Freys and two different Baratheons.


    Now, what should a man do in his position? His true king was dead, slaughtered at the Twins with his son and half the nobility of the North. Brandon and Rickon Stark were burned alive by the Greyjoy Turncloak, and Arya Stark was as good as dead. Sansa might have been the last hope of a Stark in Winterfell again, until they married her off to the imp.


    But if what this Tommen boy promised was true, if he annulled her marriage to the imp... The possible scenarios ran through Wyman¡¯s head, and most were too grim to wholly disregard the Crown¡¯s offer. Bolton could not remain Warden of the North, that he decided.


    Could he ever trust a Lannister to keep his words? No, definitely not. But something had to be done. He and the other loyal lords had been sitting idle for too long, and their only other option had been Stannis.


    A broken man, come to lick his wounds here.


    A calm washed over him, the calm of decisiveness, and he had his answer. Wyman had letters to write. He dare not trust their content to Theomore, but he had his ways. Glover, Mormont, Reed, Forrester, Locke. Perhaps it was time Roose Bolton learned the price of treachery in the North.


    xxxxxxx


    Petyr I


    Petyr screamed into the improvised gag he had around his mouth as the quarrel came tearing away at muscle and sinew on his back.


    ¡°Just a bit more, m¡¯lord,¡± the man holding him said, and Petyr took note of the bastard¡¯s name. He would be the first to die, then the other bastard who was doing the pulling of the quarrel.


    The night was pitch dark, moonless and starless, and Petyr could barely see the other side of the clearing. They were in a small open glade surrounded by thick brush, somewhere south of the Trident, resting the horses. They¡¯d ridden all day and all night to escape whatever pursuit the Lannisters had put up, and he had only called them to stop when he could no longer bear the bumping of the horse jostling the thick wooden shaft on the back of his shoulder.


    His surviving men had crafted a dozen theories as to who attacked them, from Robb Stark¡¯s army¡¯s leftovers, to the infamous Brotherhood without Banners, and even Rhaegar Targaryen¡¯s ghost come to hunt the Ruby Ford. But Petyr knew the truth well enough. A brown-cloak could only hide so much when you draped it over the back of a hundred lions.


    The bastard pulled at the bolt again, and Petyr cursed¡ªat his men and the Lannisters and Sansa Stark and this godsforsaken clearing where he would have to sleep on the cold hard ground. What good was being lord of the biggest castle in the Seven Kingdoms? He dared not go to Harrenhal. If Tywin had grown so bold against him as to arrange an ambush at the inn at the crossroads, then his own lands were sure to be teeming with yellow-haired, inbred bastards waiting for him.


    He couldn''t just hole up between thick castle walls with an army of vassals to protect him. He wasn¡¯t a great lord with a name that¡¯d carry the day for him. He had to do as he always did. He had to fuck them up the arse.


    ¡°Brune,¡± he rasped into the night air. The free rider turned from where he stood leaning against a tree and ambled his way. He was a small man, with grey hair, a wide nose, and a square jaw. Had he not seen his skill with a blade, Petyr would have risked calling him unassuming. Lothor Brune was the finest killer he had in his pocket, and it was time he made good the gold he was being paid. ¡°Take five of the men here and go to King¡¯s Landing. Pick some of our men when you get there, no more than thirty, and the gold you know of to pay for more, then go into the Kingswood and be a fucking bandit. Take some merchant¡¯s wagons, kill some peasants, burn some fields. I care not. Just be a nuisance outside of the city.¡±


    Brune didn¡¯t even blink, just nodded. ¡°And you?¡±


    ¡°Something else, something that doesn¡¯t concern you. When you¡¯re done, take ship and meet me in Pentos.¡±


    Oh, Petyr would be going, too. But for other reasons. Gold first, always gold. He kept several safehouses in the capital, separate from his brothels. A good part of his coin was stashed there, and he meant to have it back.


    But he also had a hunger for something else¡ªvengeance. Tywin Lannister and this new king had just taken what he¡¯d worked to get for twenty years in one fell swoop. His dear Sansa, the only piece left of his beloved Cat, and most likely all his formal support as well. He would bet ravens had already flown all over Westeros to warn against him, the Vale including. It would be just the excuse Royce needed to take his head.


    Petyr grinned through the pain of the bolt finally coming out. He would make sure to take something from them too.


    Back to Tommen next chapter.


    And no, TGNC does not come into play into the story. In the books, Robb legitimizes Jon Snow before his death. That didn¡¯t happen here, just like in the show. I would¡¯ve had to add a lot of more things back in the beginning, and it would also take too much of the story, losing focus on the MC. That doesn¡¯t mean that there are no lords in the North that hate the Boltons/Frey and want the Starks back. They still very much do. This is a mix of GOT/ASOIAF, so don¡¯t expect things to be exactly one way or another. Consider it an AU.

 Chapter 51

    I looked back at the great double doors of the sept from the podium, watching as Margaery walked down the aisle. Mace escorted her in his arm, looking as pompous as always, nose pointing as high as could go. Until he snagged his feet at the carpeted step and fell, almost taking Margaery with him.


    ¡°Oh for fuck¡¯s sakes,¡± I muttered under my breath. Mace guffawed at his misshapen, shook himself off, and took my abashed bride back to the doors. ¡°How many times can a man stumble on the same step before he learns.¡± It was good I had Lightbringer with me, otherwise I would be going into this marriage minus a father-in-law.


    ¡°One more time, my lords,¡± Margaery¡¯s septa said from where she stood a few steps higher than me, watching us all like a warhawk. She was a large woman, broad at the shoulders and with finger¡¯s thick as sausages that seemed to love pointing out mistakes. Apparently, she was the one in charge of the wedding, from the food and decorations for the celebrations later in the night, to coordinating the religious ceremony with the Faith. The High Septon hadn¡¯t been chosen yet, so she was taking his role during this rehearsal.


    ¡°This has lasted well over four hours, my lady¡­ Surely I could¡ª¡±


    ¡°And marriage will last for the rest of your lives.¡± The septa had both hands fisted at her sides, her homely face scowling. ¡°Surely, His Grace could spend a few hours of his day to make your wedding day perfect for your lovely bride.¡±


    Well fuck me, she¡¯s got balls. I smiled pleasantly. ¡°Of course, lady septa. But I only have three parts to play in this wedding. I cloak her, I kiss her, then, later that night, I¡¯ll bed her. Neither of those, I believe, will cause me to make a fool of myself.¡±


    ¡°I certainly hope not,¡± A mocking voice said from the side, and I turned. Lady Olenna was standing by the back entrance of the Great Sept, hand-in-hand with Tywin. ¡°I expect to see a royal great-grandchild before the Stranger has his way with me.¡±


    I could have kissed her right then, though I didn¡¯t want making out with eldery people to become a habit. ¡°Lady Olenna, Lord Tywin. I¡¯ll be just a moment,¡± I called down to them, before turning and grinning at the septa. ¡°Alas, king business calls, my lady. But don¡¯t let that stop you from rehearsing.¡±


    I swivelled about, whiffing the air for prey. ¡°You there!¡± I pointed at a teenage boy with the brown robes of an apprentice-septon standing by the front pews; he held a jar filled with the holy oils that would be used to anoint Margaery and I man and wife in both hands. He yelped when he saw I had meant him, almost dropping the jar. His hair was shorn short, though chunks of it still showed here and there in his scalp, as if someone had taken a dull blade to it. ¡°Come up here, good man, if you please.¡±


    The apprentice-septon hurriedly put down the jar on one of the pews, before scrambling up the podium, all clumsy with his steps. He walked like a child who¡¯d just taken a whopping from his parents. ¡°Y¡ªYour Grace.¡± He stopped just below me, then made to kneel.


    I stopped him with a hand. ¡°None of that now,¡± I said, clapping him in the shoulder. ¡°Tell me, what¡¯s your name?¡±


    He flushed. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s Pate, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Ah, Pate.¡± I paused. Wait¡­ oh. Looking at him closer this time, I could peek at the bandages beneath his robes going around his back. He¡¯d probably taken a good round of lashes for that stunt I pulled in the Most Devout meeting. ¡°Well, Pate, good man. Why don¡¯t you help me here, eh? It¡¯s every man¡¯s dreams to be king once, and you just earned that right. Pretend to be the groom for a few hours, won¡¯t you?¡± Leaning closer to him, I whispered, ¡°Just say the words and nod Pate, that¡¯s all you need to know about married life. And here, for the trouble.¡± I slipped a couple of gold dragons into the folds of his robe.


    Turning back to the septa, I opened my arms. ¡°There you go, lady septa. A groom for the bride. She¡¯ll hardly see the difference, I¡¯m sure. Until later, then.¡±


    I felt her burning stare on my back as I sauntered down the podium, but she knew enough to avoid actually trying to stop the king from doing what he wished.


    ¡°Have more lords arrived that I don¡¯t know of?¡± I asked when I reached the two great powers of Westeros, moving to stand on Olenna¡¯s other side. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°No, not as of yet,¡± she said, turning back the way they¡¯d come. ¡°Though Lord Ashford has been seen a few day¡¯s ride from the city, as were the Fossoways.¡±


    ¡°Which ones?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Both, red and green.¡±


    ¡°Should I expect to meet my good-brother soon, then?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes. Garlan is coming with his wife¡¯s family.¡±


    ¡°I expect they bring their forces with them?¡± Tywin¡¯s voice echoed in the sept¡¯s halls.


    ¡°All the lords are traveling with a substantial retinue with them,¡± she said, ¡°no less than three hundred men each. Though I¡¯m told Randyll Tarly left Horn Hill with four-hundred hundred knights and near a thousand and a half men-at-arms.¡±


    Tywin looked surprised, but I shrugged. ¡°I did call him for war,¡± I said. ¡°He¡¯ll be given command of the forces taking Dragonstone.¡±


    Olenna sniffed. ¡°Boys and their obsession with their sticks.¡±


    We crossed wide open doors and came upon an open veranda that looked out at one of the sept¡¯s many gardens. Our guards had lagged behind during the stroll, spreading themselves out to cover as many points of entrance and exit as possible. Tywin wasn¡¯t kidding around with mine or his own safety since the demon incident.


    I rested my hands on the white-stone railing. ¡°And your own kinsman, Lady Olenna? Does he come with the ships I asked?¡±


    ¡°One hundred and fifty,¡± she said. ¡°Give or take. Mostly carracks and cogs, with some forty warships holding the center. The rest of the Redwyne fleet shall stay in the Reach, as commanded by the king.¡±


    I nodded, and Tywin cleared his throat. He didn¡¯t like being left out of the conversation. ¡°We have also started rebuilding the royal fleet, Your Grace.¡± He grit his teeth for a moment, then said, ¡°Tyrion has been doing an¡­ apt job at finding the coin to do so.¡±


    More like I did. Aside from the three-million owed to House Lannister, the Crown was debt free for the first time in over a decade. The Iron Bank had been paid with Tywin¡¯s coin¡ªand I only lost a one-handed Kingsguard for it, and Margaery¡¯s dowry had more than paid for what the Faith was due.


    The Tyrells gave me a million golden dragons to spice up the wedding, something they had actually been owed before war broke out and they chose to side with Renly, and I still pocketed half of the seven-hundred-and-fifty thousand of the Faith¡¯s debt.


    I smiled. ¡°I¡¯m sure he has, my lord.¡±


    ¡°All of this watercrafting because you fear those feckless Greyjoys?¡± Olenna asked, giving me a look that seemed to doubt my intelligence.


    ¡°It¡¯s their sanity I fear, my lady. Or the lack thereof.¡± I turned to face her fully. ¡°The enemy you can¡¯t predict is the most dangerous type of foe. They could have raided the Westerlands during the War of the Five Kings, as rich and fat a kingdom in gold as your own is in grain, right next to those dull islands of theirs, ripe for the picking; but instead they chose to turn North and capture a stretch of land with nothing other than rocks and fish as its wealth.¡± Tywin¡¯s face had pinched just by the idea of another Ironborn sortie in Lannister lands. ¡°I won¡¯t be another Robb Stark and underestimate the stupidity of the Kraken,¡± I told her.


    Olenna hummed as if to herself, and for once looked serious when she nodded my way. ¡°Well, let me allay your fears when it comes to our godless, aquatic neighbors. The lords of the Shield Islands will remain in their castles, and Willas has arranged for nearby troops to reinforce them in case of an attack.¡±


    I gave her a thankful smile, but I was anything other than unworried. With the knowledge of Aegon Targaryen/Blackfyre¡¯s existence, a whole world of new and disturbing possibilities had made themselves available for me. And one of them seriously complicated the whole Greyjoy situation. I didn¡¯t know if the Iron Throne had what it took to defeat the monster that Euron was in the books. Hell, I didn¡¯t know if anyone in the world had what it took.


    Tywin¡¯s voice broke through my thoughts. ¡°You have been busy in the Reach, it seems.¡±


    Olenna snorted. ¡°I have been eating lemon cakes and peaches by that sunny terrace in the Red Keep I like. It¡¯s Garlan and Willas who¡¯ve been doing all the work. They¡¯ve taken Brightwater Keep and Grassfield Keep from the Florents and the Meadows, for their continuous support of Stannis.¡±


    ¡°Shall I call Garlan my lord instead of ser when I see him, then?¡±


    She raised her near-hairless eyebrows at me. ¡°That decision falls solely in your shoulders, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Lord Garlan does suit him,¡± I said. ¡°Think of it as a wedding gift for my bride¡¯s family.¡± I also didn¡¯t want a civil war in the territory of one of my biggest supporters. Had I left the matter unsolved, a dozen different houses would press their claim on the castle. ¡°Is Lord Willas coming for the wedding as well?¡±


    ¡°He is,¡± Olenna said.


    That was good. I had gone through all the trouble of kidnapping his bride for him.


    ¡°And what of Grassfield Keep, Your Grace?¡±


    Now she was just being greedy. ¡°War looms, my lady,¡± I told her. ¡°That means many brave second sons and glory-hungry landed knights for a king to bestow a rich reward on, no?¡± I could swear I saw a pout come to her lips. ¡°Now, I best leave before that septa pulls me back by the ears. Until later, my lord, my lady.¡±


    I gave them a shallow bow and turned, waving at Ser Lyle and a few Baratheon men to follow me.

 Chapter 52

    We handed the horses to the stable-boys at the first inner yard after the barbican, dismounting in a jump. Horsemanship was never something I¡¯d tried before becoming Tommen, but life as a medieval king had a way of teaching you one way or another. Nobody would ever award me a winner¡¯s laurel in a tourney joust, but I had been practicing mounted fighting as much as with my two feet beneath me.


    Unless they¡¯d been taken down, you won¡¯t see a nobleman fighting on foot with the rest of the smallfolk. Not only is it unseemly, it¡¯s also fucking dangerous.


    It was still the early hours of the afternoon, Margaery having dragged me to the sept at an ungodly hour to start the rehearsal. The redstones that gave my castle its name shimmered in the heat, and unless you were an armored guard or a king trying to maintain a larger than life image, a simple shirt and breeches were the way to go for the men toiling under the sun. The cold breath of winter had yet to arrive in King¡¯s Landing.


    Ser Lyle Crakehall stayed by my side while the other Baratheon men-at-arms that had gone out with me went back to their regular duties in the Keep. He was sweating heavily under his scale armor and white-cloak, and a scowl marred his weather-worn face.


    He was a war veteran, so I knew the heat was the least of his reasons. ¡°I take this wasn¡¯t everything you¡¯d hoped for, Ser Lyle?¡± I asked.


    The Strongboar didn¡¯t even bother looking abashed. ¡°Aye, Your Grace, if you don¡¯t mind me saying. It¡¯s a whole lot of walking around and bloody standing still as a statue.¡±


    I laughed. What did he expect? This was the secret service, not the navy seals. Still, I saw his point. I was missing some action myself. ¡°Perhaps you¡¯ve spent too long listening to stories of Aemon the Dragonknight, ser. If it makes you feel any better, you¡¯ll be the first one I call if I ever end up in a hanging cage surrounded by vipers in Dorne.¡±


    He blanched, a strange expression in the usually boisterous man. ¡°Uhr, I¡¯d rather not, Your Grace. The bloody things terrify me. Too much slithering about for me.¡±


    ¡°Well, in any event, it¡¯s a shame you missed the shadow-demon attack. There was plenty of steel-bearing that night.¡±


    ¡°Oh, but I¡¯ve heard the stories alright, Your Grace,¡± he said. ¡°You can still catch it going around the watchfires in the Keep at night. The men revere you, like a hero in the songs. They say it was a grander duel then Ser Gwayne Corbray and Daemon Blackfyre¡¯s valyrian steel clash, or Ser Barristan and Maelys the Monstrous in the War of the Ninepenny Kings.¡±


    I was pretty sure any of those men would butcher me as easy as they would a toddler with a stick at this point, but no one needed to know that ¡°My brother had a statue made of him standing over the Stark direwolf, and he never even saw a man in mail and furs, much less traded blows with him. Perhaps it¡¯s time a have one of my own, The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    The Strongboar boomed in laughter. ¡°I¡¯d give it an hour before the men and women of the Keep started praying to it.¡±


    I paused mid-step. That¡­ wasn¡¯t a bad idea at all. A cult of personality had to start somewhere, no? But first, I had to secure my position as the only possible king. And it just so happened that I¡¯d overheard that a ship from Oldtown had made port here the day before.


    Ser Lyle had stopped with me. ¡°Where to now, Your Grace?¡±


    Oh, he wasn¡¯t going to like this. I turned and started walking the opposite way from the main castle, passing by the stables into another courtyard. ¡°I have to see about some reading, ser.¡±


    Ser Lyle groaned, but followed me either way. Such was the life of a white-cloak.


    xxxxx


    I left the rookery as soon as I had the parcel in hand. Grand Maester Pycelle tried to make conversation thrice about this or that matter¡ªand I did make sure to be less of dick to him this time¡ªbut his rumbling grand-fatherly voice still tickled me the wrong way. As soon as Tywin was gone I¡¯d see him permanently removed.


    Twenty years ago the Grand Maester was already an old man. No one would look in askance if he slipped and fell headfirst into a grave. One Lannister spy in my small council was more than enough, and I was sure Kevan would do the job to perfection.


    Besides, his usefulness had more than expired now that I had the book. I carried it casually with me through the castle halls, nodding and exchanging quick words with any one, noble or servant, who stopped to bow my way. There was no reason to act shifty and get the attention of others to it.


    When we finally reached my rooms, and Ser Lyle stayed outside to guard my door, I locked myself inside my solar and opened the parcel. The book inside showed its age; the white vellum of the pages had turned yellow at the fringes, and cracks ran through the black leather that bound them all together.


    I leafed through it carefully, inching toward the final pages¡­ and there it was.


    Spring 283


    Prince Rhaegar came to me as the final days of winter thawed into spring. It was foolishness, I knew, on his part and on the Stark girl¡¯s. And on mine, as well, for going through with it. But the Prince commanded it. What choice did I have, in the end? First, I issued the annulment of his marriage to the Princess Elia of Dorne. When they found the Northerners were looking for her, we fled south, deeper into the Reach, then further into Dorne. I married them in front of an accursed Heart trees, as per the girl¡¯s wishes, in a secret ceremony where only I and the Kingsguards, Ser Osmund Whent and Ser Arthur Dayne, stood to witness.


    I set the diary back down on the table and leaned back, considering. I¡¯d always intended to simply toss the book into my lit hearth and watch it take to flames. The threat of another Targaryen princeling dying in fire was poetic, in my mind.


    But Jon had been suddenly bumped down my list of priorities with Varys¡¯ revelation, and on the line of succession as well. As far as I knew, even with their marriage annulled, Elia¡¯s male child still stood first to inherit the Iron Throne. But many lords in the Reach and the Stormlands¡ªeven the ones who still held Targaryen sympathies¡ªhated the Dornish more than they loved the Dragonlords.


    Perhaps the diary, and the succession-crisis-in-the-making within, could see a better use than simply turning to kindling. I flipped the book closed and put it together with my collection of diaries and journals, from maesters to hands and princes of the realm.


    It would sit there, as just another of the many I kept in the small library by my desk. Waiting for the dragon¡¯s coming.

 Chapter 53

    The singers never sang of the monumental amount of letters and writs I had to go over and sign in a normal day as king. I could even see how a man like Robert Baratheon would become the fat whoremonger he was in his final days living a life like this. That man should¡¯ve thrown that crown they put in his head as far away as he could and taken ship to the Free Cities to join one of the companies. A life of the sword suited him more than the king¡¯s pen.


    After putting away the High Septon¡¯s diary, I sat down on my desk to go through stacks of paper, rubbing my temple at the incoming headache that would come with it. Sometimes a man just wants to swing a sword at another man and be done for the day. At least I was lucky enough I had an efficient Hand who sorted everything out in order of importance to me.


    I started at the top. The Reach wasn¡¯t the only Kingdom where castles and rewards had to be divvied up. We were carving the Riverlands up, handing this and that castle to the highest and noblest bidders. For the big ones, Darry would go to Lancel after he married Amerei Frey, the lady who¡¯d been recently humiliated by Margaery. Lancel didn¡¯t have the time to fully convert to sparrowhood this time, though I¡¯d seen him roaming around the halls of the Keep wearing simpler clothes than his usual garish fare. Apparently, he became a pious man after Cersei¡¯s death.


    Harrenhal had been booned to Littlefinger for his services in bringing House Tyrell back into the fold, but with a flick of my pen, I stripped him of all his lands and titles and incomes, and then denounced and attained him, so he wouldn¡¯t even be considered a noble anymore. Letters would be flying all over the kingdoms as early as tomorrow.


    Next was Maidenpool, a town that had been burned thrice during the war, and Saltpans, which the Brave Companions had sacked and pillaged. We had Lord Mooton of Maidenpool a prisoner in his own castle, and the Knight of Saltpans, Ser Quincy Cox, had closed his gates while his smallfolk were butchered and violated like cattle.


    I had been of a mind to strip them and their families of their lands just to save me the headache, but now I meant to have them for myself. The Crownlands were a puny stretch of land that suited me not, and I wanted to expand the houses sworn directly to the throne. That included Maidenpool and the Saltpans. All I needed was to have them swear me fealty, instead of their rivermen overlords, which would now be the Freys. I would cut the Riverlands in half, everything from the God¡¯s Eye River, up to Harrenhal then Darry, would become part of the Crownlands.


    However, I knew that my grab for more power would not go well with any of the lords, even Tywin, who would see this as a violation that could set a precedence to be used against House Lannister. And old Walder would froth in the mouth and stab me in the back if he even heard a whiff of my plan.


    For now, I would wait until my power was at its zenith and none could contest me. Tywin and Walder would not live forever, after all. The Twins would come down to a small civil war when the old fart passed away, and Jaime was as easy to manipulate as a kitten.


    I was interrupted when a knock sounded at the door; when I called back, Ser Lyle escorted Qyburn in.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± the former maester said, bowing. The strongboar nodded to confirm I wanted to be left alone with my guest and stepped back outside.


    ¡°Qyburn.¡± I pushed the papers aside. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    He shuffled closer and produced a stack of tiny scrolls from the folds of his robes, together with a single sheet of white vellum paper. ¡°I have this week¡¯s report, my lord, and its sources.¡±


    I took them from his hands, holding in a sigh. I didn¡¯t want him to know how much I would dread reading through for a few minutes what must have been days of work for him. ¡°Anything I should concentrate on?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Not particularly, Your Grace, no. Some court drama, whose wife is sleeping with whose knight, which lordling speaks against you in their cups.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    He made to go on, but I waved him off.  ¡°I think I understand the picture. I¡¯ll be sure to go over them and remember the names. But we have more important matters to speak of, my friend.¡± Gesturing to the chair opposite my own, I waited for Qyburn to settle down before I started again. ¡°Though I fear dumping more and more work on you has become a habit of mine, what I have to ask of you is too important to dawdle upon. Before his death, Varys let slip something he must have thought I wouldn¡¯t catch on, but smart men love to think they have the only brains in the room.


    ¡°I need you to start looking at the Golden Company, Qyburn. Last I heard, they were stationed near Volantis on contract, but I fear they will move at any time¡ªand they will do so aiming at us.¡±


    The lines on Qyburn¡¯s face deepened. ¡°Your Grace¡­ do you mean to say someone has taken, or will take, a contract with the Golden Company against the Iron Throne?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I answered flatly. ¡°I know it for a fact. And we must be ready for it.¡±


    ¡°It will be hard, Your Grace, to infiltrate a company like this one. I believe they even have their own spymaster.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t expect immediate results, but attempts must be made.¡± I looked him in the eyes. Omitting Aegon¡¯s identity was a two-fold test for Qyburn, of his competence, and his trustworthiness. I wanted to see how long it would take for him to come to me with news of this new king, or if he wouldn¡¯t come at all. ¡°If you wish to start somewhere, then look to Pentos, and a Magister named Illyrio Mopatis. He was an old friend of Varys I have reason to believe has some connection with this Golden Company contract.¡±


    He nodded. ¡°As you will, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t use Varys¡¯ leftover birds for that. Illyrio was his supplier of mute children,¡± I told him. ¡°And I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not done troubling you. There¡¯s two more persons of interest I need eyes upon. One person and one Kingdom, actually.¡±


    Qyburn kept his silence and waited for me to go on. ¡°Dorne,¡± I said. ¡°Though I¡¯ve tried planting certainties and friendships, now I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll be sowing a field of doubts and treachery. I need eyes on them, as many and as fast as possible.¡±


    The chainless maester graced me with a thin smile. ¡°Our sources in Dorne are¡­ well placed, my liege.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Of course,¡± I said. I¡¯d forgotten about the girl, truth be told. ¡°Still, I want to know about Doran¡¯s position with his bannermen. Would Yronwood betray him for the title of Prince of Dorne? Will the lords of the Torrentine wage war against the throne if called upon, or can I hold them off in their valley with promises of gold and grain?¡±


    ¡°It shall be done.¡± Qyburn¡¯s hands rubbed against each other. I think he didn¡¯t like being out and about half as much as he liked lurking in his torch-lit dungeons. ¡°And the person?¡±


    I swallowed the dryness that came to my mouth. ¡°Euron Greyjoy,¡± I whispered, as if the words were blasphemy given name and form. ¡°I expected him to show up in the Iron Islands to make a bid for kingship soon enough, but now¡­ I don¡¯t know where he is, or what he¡¯ll do, Qyburn, but he¡¯s a dangerous man. See to it that whoever you send after him is expandable.¡±


    His sunken eyes widened in their sockets. My uneasiness seemed to have taken him aback. ¡°I¡­ I will see what I can do, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Good, good,¡± I said. ¡°And thank you, Qyburn. Let me know if there¡¯s anything else you need for your work.¡±


    He bowed low and scuttled away. I turned back to my desk, going straight for his summed up report in the sheet of paper. My eyes were swimming as I read through the contents. It wasn¡¯t exhaustion or nausea, it was straight boredom. Until I stopped at one the last ones, which reported homesteads and farms burned in the kingswood, and several grain wagons and merchant trains lost to banditry.


    A hot flush of energy spread through me. ¡°Ser Lyle,¡± I called loudly.


    The knight was inside in a second, hand to his sword. ¡°Your Grace?¡± His eyes roamed the solar, looking for any threats. For all his booming and bluster, he was a competent man.


    ¡°We have a bandit problem in the kingsroad. In the kingswood, south of the roseroad.¡± I took to my feet. ¡°Summon the white swords, ser, and prepare a proper escort. It seems you¡¯ll be getting that action you so looked for, after all.¡±


    His face broke into a wide grin. ¡°Hah!¡± he laughed. ¡°Just wait until Ser Jaime hears this. One hand or not, I know he¡¯s been itching to get out there. He¡¯ll love it.¡±


    In the books, Dickon (Hah!) Tarly marries Eleanor Mooton, after his father Randyll occupies Maidenpool during the tailend of the War of the Five Kings. Here, that didn¡¯t happen. Also, in the books, Petyr Baelish is made Lord Paramount of the Trident. I followed the show for this, and it¡¯s Lord Walder Frey who became the Riverlands¡¯ overlord.

 Chapter 54

    ¡°I don¡¯t like this, Your Grace,¡± Jaime said. ¡°I don¡¯t like this at all.¡±


    ¡°Oh by all the Gods, stop being such a baby.¡± I gave a tug to my charger¡¯s flanks and he took off at a trot, leaving my uncle-father behind. He¡¯d been going on about this for a while now.


    I was riding in the middle of a column of fifty men, a mixture of Baratheon and Lannisters, knights one and all, with all three of my available Kingsguard crowding around me. Jaime, Loras, and the Strongboar looked resplendent in their suits of white enamelled scaled and stark-white cloaks, the sunlight breaking into rainbows where it gleamed off their armor. I wore my own suit of black plate, with a great antlered helmet sitting on one side of my saddle and an ironwood heater shield on the other.


    The kingsroad south of King¡¯s Landing was one of the most well-traveled lanes in the Seven Kingdoms, and we¡¯d met several travellers on their road north to the city. Most of them were coming from the Reach, with cart-fulls of grain and wagons loaded with wine and ale. They pulled to the side of the road as we rode by, bowing and kneeling when they saw my banner snapping in the wind.


    As soon as we passed the intersection of the roseroad with the kingsroad, however, the traffic of travellers and merchants became a trickle; then it turned nonexistent when we came underneath the shadow of the densely wooded forest that was the kingswood.


    I couldn¡¯t help a frown from forming on my face. It seemed the banditry problem was worse than reported. Which could only mean not enough people survived their encounter with the outlaws to tell the tale.


    Looking around the men I had on hand, I wondered if they would be enough. I would usually bring more guards with me, especially for something like this, but I had assigned many of my own knights and men-at-arms to patrol the streets of King¡¯s Landing, as the coming wedding had caused an upsurge of people flocking to the city, and Tywin had been purging the gold-cloaks of their corrupt members.


    My first instinct was to turn around and ride home before coming back with reinforcements, but something stopped me. I could feel Lightbringer¡¯s hunger in the back of my mind, like a pulse of heat that spread through my body and ushered me onward. It asked to be fed. It craved to bathe in the blood of my enemies.


    I thought of turning back just to be contrary, as the idea of following the wishes of a piece of fucking metal, no matter how magical it was, seemed stupid even to me; but I had my own reasons to lust after battle.


    As we rode deeper into the kingswood, soldier pines and cedars and sentinel trees loomed on our flanks, boxing us on the road. The sun struggled to break through the great canopies that interlaced above us like a great blanket, dappling the ground with narrow fingers of light where it managed to find gaps in through the leaves. The air smelled of damp earth and rotten wood here, mixed with the smell of horseflesh and polished steel. In the distance, I could hear the sounds of animals skittering through the underbrush and the chirping calls of a thousand birds.


    Jaime followed, coming to ride knee-to-knee with me. ¡°Look, Tommen. I understand you want to have more experience, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°But nothing. I¡¯m the king, Jaime, and kings war,¡± I told him. I got where he was coming from, but having never even had normal ones, the last thing I wanted in this life was an overprotective parent. ¡°Soon, we¡¯ll go to Dragonstone and take the castle, and I¡¯ve done nothing more than sparr in a courtyard with you lot, and that other¡­ esoteric experience. I know nothing of the chaos of battle, of fighting side by side with someone, covering their flanks, with arrows flying overhead and men dying at my feet, soiling their britches.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Jaime groaned. ¡°Yes,¡± he said, ¡°and it¡¯s exactly because you¡¯re the king that you don¡¯t need to do any of that. Have someone else do it. There¡¯s no reason why you couldn¡¯t just send some lordling or another to clean up this poor excuse for bandits.¡±


    ¡°The king must lead for others to follow,¡± I told him.


    On my other side, the Strongboar chortled. ¡°He¡¯s just saying this because he wants to be the only one with a Kingswood outlaw story to tell. Isn¡¯t that right, Jaime? My uncle told us many times how you saved his life against the Brotherhood when you were barely old enough to have hair on your balls.¡±


    At the mention of the Brotherhood, Ser Loras rode up closer to us. He¡¯d been looking bored the whole afternoon, but the fighting against the Kingswood Brotherhood by Aerys¡¯ men, led by Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, was the stuff of legends in the Seven Kingdoms. Every boy grew up hearing of it.


    Sighing, Jaime took off his helm and wiped the sweat from his face. ¡°Aye, it¡¯s true. I was still a squire when Big Belly Ben almost caved Lord Sumner¡¯s head in.¡±


    ¡°Did you kill him?¡± asked Ser Loras.


    Jaime laughed, a humorless thing. ¡°No, he escaped me soon after. He was quick for a man of his size.¡± He looked off to the side, a wistful look to his face. ¡°I tried my luck against the Smiling Knight, after that, with all the cocksure arrogance of a youth whose piss was still green as grass. He was one of the most infamous of the Kingswood Brotherhood, a man with a knight¡¯s honor but a murderer¡¯s heart. I held my own, for a time, but it was Ser Arthur that did him in.¡±


    ¡°Did you see the fight, ser?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Aye,¡± he said. ¡°And what a duel it was. Dayne swung the greatsword Dawn as easy and gracefully a water dancer fences. By the end of it, the Smiling Knight''s sword had so many chinks on the steel that Ser Arthur stopped to let him fetch a new one. ¡°It¡¯s that white sword of yours I want,¡± the outlaw said when they resumed, though he was bleeding heavily by that point. ¡°Then you shall have it, ser,¡± the Sword of the Morning said, before putting the madman down.¡±


    The rest of us listened rapturously, as if standing on the edge of our seat; but Jaime kept silent after that, riding with his head down. The wind picked up, blowing on our cloaks, and only the plodding of the horses¡¯ hooves against the beaten earth could be heard. I didn¡¯t know if we¡¯d simply broken him or if he was thinking of something else. Then he put heels to his horse and rode up ahead of us.


    Ser Lyle made to follow him, but I cut him off and gestured to him to stay back. I wasn¡¯t the best at all this emotional stuff, but I could tell something he¡¯d said or remembered had affected him. He¡¯d gone off into the brush, following the column by the side of the road.


    I chased after him. ¡°Ser Jaime.¡±


    He turned his head, then slowed down as he saw me. ¡°Your Grace.¡±


    We rode beside each other for a few minutes, neither saying a thing. I¡¯d seen the maps of this area before, and I knew that we were soon coming up to a village, not a ten minute ride away. We¡¯d know more about these outlaws once we got there.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, ser,¡± I finally said. ¡°Coming here is stupid and impulsive, but if I had to stay in that castle one more day there¡¯d be two kingslayers in the family, and I¡¯m not talking about killing Stannis.¡±


    Jaime glanced at me from the side, then let out a grim laugh. ¡°Aye, I know the feeling.¡± He brought his golden hand up and waved it about; it looked dull and scraped now that it didn¡¯t catch the sun. ¡°But perhaps I deserved this. I grew up wanting to be Ser Arthur, but at some point I became the Smiling Knight instead.¡± He sighed, then aimed his horse back at the column. ¡°You are young yet, Tommen. Make sure you don¡¯t regret the person you are now, later on.¡±


    I started to follow him, intent on ending with the last word; but before I could say anything else, a loud thwang echoed in the air. Then a black-shafted arrow sprouted from the throat of our lead knight; blood gushed from his mouth when he opened it to scream.


    All around us, the forest came alive with shouting men, swords and axes in hand, violence and death in mind.


    Jaime¡¯s part here is present in the books, though not in the show. Which was such a disservice to his character. Besides, it is one of my favorite moments from his POV there as well.

 Chapter 55

    ¡°Ambush!¡± Jaime yelled, his good-hand pulling at his sword. ¡°To the king! Protect the king!¡±


    His cry was answered with another flight of arrows, and men along with mounts fell all throughout the column. Horses bucked and whinnied, and steel scraping on leather sounded in the air as swords flew out. Lightbringer came instinctively into my hand, already warm at the hilt, vibrating with hunger.


    Suddenly, I heard the pounding of hoofbeats on earth and turned to look. Further up the road, from the bend we¡¯d just been through, a group of horsemen appeared galloping four abreast, at least ten of them. They smashed into our rear, scattering the knights who¡¯d fallen out of formation when the arrows hit.


    That seemed to be the others¡¯ cue. Bandits hiding in the forest burst through the brush on the other side of the road, running at the broken column, shouting indistinct war cries.


    Jaime and I were separated from our men, well away from the treeline. I pulled at the reins and aimed my horse at the incoming bandits, intending to charge them, but by then the outlaws on our side of the road were upon us.


    The first three revealed themselves when they sprung from behind a tree, wearing black cloaks and chainmail beneath it. Jaime reacted first, snapping his reins and taking off to meet the first one, white cloak trailing behind him.


    I didn¡¯t have time to pay attention. Displaced air wooshed nearby, and I turned on the saddle to parry the axe blow that promised to bite my head off. The rough-looking man snarled, arms cocking up to swing again, but I was faster. Lightbringer sliced through his mailed arms like they were made of silk.


    His tortured scream didn¡¯t distract me from the other bandit sneaking up from the other side. He jumped up and thrusted with a longsword, trying to find a chink on my armor. So I leaned into the strike, his blade raking off my breastplate.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± he cursed, though he used the opportunity to rip my shield from my saddle so it went flying underfoot.


    When Lightbringer cut the air his way, he proved smarter than his companion and ducked. He danced around the horse, always keeping to the other side of my sword arm. In my periphery, I saw that Jaime had managed to finish off the first bandit, but he was now holding off two others, swinging his golden hand around like a shield.


    I needed to finish it fast.


    Digging both knees to its flanks, my horse burst forward. I feinted right with Lightbringer, the blade leaping to cut the outlaw in half, and just as I thought, he side-stepped left. Snagging my antlered helm off my saddle, I lurched to the side as I passed by him and swung the helm like a club with my left hand.


    The bandit wore no helmet of his own, and the great rack brained him in three places as the bone spikes caught the side of his head. Blood and brain matter spattered across my black armor, and I pulled the helmet to me before the falling body of the bandit took it with him.


    My breathing had quickened, and blood was pounding in my ears from all the rush. In both lives, I¡¯d always been a serial planner, carefully setting the board to my liking before I sat down to play.


    But when I did, make no mistake. I was all action.


    I was already moving before the bandit¡¯s body hit the ground, urging my mount to swivel and ride to my birth-father¡¯s help.


    Jaime was clearly struggling against two men, his left-handed swordplay clumsy and inexperienced. But I couldn¡¯t forget that before his disfigurement, Ser Jaime Lannister was one of the finest knights of the realm, and I watched as he skillfully maneuvered his horse around the outlaws, using his advantage of sitting higher up to deflect any of their blows.


    He might not be able to finish them off, but he was good enough on a warhorse to stave off his own demise until someone came to help him.


    And I did. Galloping by, I killed the one closest to me, Lightbringer hacking his head off on my first pass. The other yelped and turned to flee, but then Jaime made quick work of him with two swipes of his sword to the man¡¯s back.


    Fool, I thought. You don¡¯t just outrun a horse like that. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    I immediately turned to look around. Fighting rang all across the line, the clang of steel on steel loud in the air. At a quick glance, I counted no less than fifty bandits still fighting against some forty of ours. To the back, I saw the Strongboar and Ser Loras rallying the knights, trying to organize the soldiers into a semblance of formation.


    More than once they tried to break out and come my way, but the bandits there had spears and halberds with them, and seemed to be skilled enough to keep the knights at bay.


    Sellswords, I decided, unlike the rabble I killed here. Still, as soon as morale broke for them, they would scatter.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± Jaime said, panting. ¡°We need to leave, now!¡±


    ¡°Clearly, you were right before, ser. But you¡¯re not now. It is not the time to leave my men behind.¡± Who would respect a king that fled in his first battle? A battle against bandits, at that. I buckled my antlered helmet up and stood on my stirrups.


    ¡°To me!¡± I yelled over the noise. When I breathed in, all I could smell was blood and sweat inside the helm. ¡°To your king!¡±


    Barely anyone seemed to have heard it, but some four knights from the front of the column did and rode my way. I barely waited for them to get closer. Pointing with my sword deeper into the brush, I said, ¡°We¡¯ll wheel around this side and smash their backs at the center. Ride right through, then loop around again, and hit the back of the column. Don¡¯t stop for anything!¡±


    ¡°Aye, Your Grace,¡± one of them said. The rest of the men nodded and arranged themselves in formation.


    Before I could fall in with them, Jaime pulled me back by the arm. ¡°One bad idea a day,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve seen you riding to know you¡¯re not ready to be point yet.¡±


    He had me there. Grumbling, I allowed Jaime and the four knights to form up in front of me like an arrow, with two on each side and one taking point. My Kingsguard stood as the last in one of the flanks, supposedly where he could still look after me.


    Being watched over like a child rankled me something fierce, but it was better than fucking up and dying to some outlaws.


    In a cavalry charge, you¡¯d usually start with a trot, then slowly build up to a canter before going into full on galloping, so the line could maintain its cohesion. Here, we had neither the numbers nor the time for all of that.


    We took off at a canter right away, going deeper into the brush. Even this close to the kingsroad, the forest was densely packed with thick bushes and tangling branches that reached like dark fingers, but our destriers broke through them easily. They were trained for war as much as any knight was.


    The point knight looped around when we were some thirty yards out from the road, looking straight at the center of the column. He called the charge and we took off, swords out and pointing.


    We hadn¡¯t gone two steps when an arrow suddenly struck my horse on the shoulder. The animal immediately bucked up, rearing wildly on his hind legs. I held on to the reins for all I was worth as my world turned sideways, but a second one followed, this time hitting it on the throat.


    The horse folded, its muscles clenching for a second before it gave a last whinnie and let go of its hold on life. Pulling my feet out of the stirrups, I jumped off as it fell to the ground, hitting the undergrowth with my back, one hand tight around Lightbringer¡¯s handle. Air was suddenly an expensive commodity I didn¡¯t have access to, and a jutting root almost took my arm off its socket as I rolled over it. But I held on to the sword.


    My head swam for a moment as I lay there, black and white spots filling my sight.


    Get up! I told myself, grunting until I could gulp in a breath. Get up now!


    Several hurried steps crunching underfoot were enough motivation that I sprang to my feet, so fast the spots turned to blurs fogging in my eyes.


    ¡°Seven fucks,¡± a man said. ¡°It¡¯s really the bloody king we¡¯s got.¡±


    I could barely see straight, but from the sound of it there were at least three of them.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter, all the more reason to kill him,¡± someone said, his voice so flat he might as well be talking about killing a rat.


    It was likely just reality reasserting itself after a hard fall, but I like to think it was the red anger brought up by that toneless voice that righted myself up.


    Half of kingship is keeping your pride in check, lest you go around chopping off the heads of everyone who even minutely annoys you; but I was sure as hell going to make an exception for him.


    A cruel smile showed on my lips as I settled my shoulders straight and considered the men before me. The one standing at the back had an empty quiver at his side and two long hunting knives in hand. The other two had longswords, good castle-forged steel, but only one caught my attention.


    He was a smaller man, with grey hair and a square jaw, looking at me through dispassionate, half-lidded pale eyes.


    That man knew how to kill, I thought.


    In the distance, I could see that the knights had made it to the column, though a lone man in a white cloak had stopped just by the edge of the trees, looking around frantically before he spotted us all the way back here.


    It seemed I had to soften them up before daddy dearest came to the rescue.


    With my left hand, I took hold of my injured shoulder and pulled. Red hot agony lanced through me, but even that was eaten by Lightbringer, and a warm calm flooded my mind.


    Blowing out air through gritted teeth, I smiled. ¡°Let us see your worth, then, sers.¡± I raised and pointed my sword at them. ¡°Come and kill your king!¡±

 Chapter 56

    On a foggy summer¡¯s morning, down on that smoothstone terrace beneath the Red Keep, Ser Balon taught me that you must always make the first move when you¡¯re fighting outnumbered. If you wait for them to surround you, he told me, you have as good as given up.


    So when the two bandits holding longswords took to the sides to circle me, I waited until they were as far apart as possible before pulling the trigger. I was slower than any of them, weighted down by a set of plate armor that left only my joints unprotected and a suit of mail beneath it, but predators are often surprised when prey has something to say about their hunting.


    The man with the two knives had one of those moments of shocked indecision as I rushed him. Someone cursed behind me when I took off, dead leaves crackling beneath them. If I let them get to me before I was done with the first, they¡¯d have me, armor or not.


    My reach was longer, and when we stood close enough, I faked high, swinging Lightbringer up as if going for his neck. The bandit brought his knives to bare, crossing them to catch the blade. With a twist of the wrist my sword turned down on its sweeping arc, and valyrian steel parted flesh and bone right where leg meets groin.


    Metal clanged off the side of my helmet, twisting it out of place and unbalancing me for a moment. No doubt he¡¯d taken a retaliatory strike on that split second before the pain from the loss of a limb registered in the brain.


    He might as well have saved me, as I stumbled to the side only to feel a sword whistling right past where my neck was. I caught myself with two steps and turned, bloodied blade already blocking the next swing. The two swords met an inch away from the back of my knee; my stance was awkward and unstable, but I managed to put enough weight behind the sword to push the other off, gaining some much needed space.


    I fixed the helmet on my head and looked. It was the pale-eyed man, his stance a picture of perfection. He didn¡¯t come at me for a moment, watching. Behind him, the knife-bandit finally started to scream as he fell to the ground. His cries came like a crescendo of realization, first the painful grunts, then the horrified scream over the fact he hadn¡¯t a leg anymore, to finally the whimpering of knowing he¡¯d bleed out and die in the next minute.


    The third bandit hadn¡¯t come after me. He scrambled to kneel beside the knife-bandit, one hand going to his stump of a leg where blood gushed out in torrents. ¡°Marion,¡± he called, voice trembling. ¡°Oh seven bloody fucks, Marion.¡±


    Marion the one-legged bandit stopped whimpering long enough to say, ¡°Jos¡­ Jos, I don¡¯t want to die, brother, I don¡¯t want to die,¡± before going right back to it. Now that I thought of it, they did bear a striking resemblance, though peasant faces often tend to look like each other.


    ¡°That¡¯s oh so very touching,¡± I mocked, loud enough so the brothers could hear me. From the corner of my eyes, I had seen Jaime wheeling his horse around to ride our way. I needed only to stall long enough so he arrived, then we could do a simple one on one fight, and I wouldn¡¯t go down being known as the king that was done in by a pair of smallfolk bandits. ¡°And though I¡¯d usually say the penalty for striking the king is death, it seems he has that well in hand.¡±


    Jos¡¯ head snapped my way; fury and tears burned in his eyes. ¡°Kill him, Brune,¡± he hissed. Marion had gone silent in his arms. He glanced down at his brother only to see he was either dead or unconscious and started to cry. ¡°Kill him or I will.¡±


    ¡°Oh ho,¡± I said, laughing. I pointed at Brune with Lightbringer. ¡°It seems you¡¯re no simple bandit, then, eh? House Brune, was it? From Crackclaw Point? Perhaps I¡¯ll visit your family¡¯s home when I¡¯m done with you? Maybe¡ª¡±


    I ducked as a dagger flew over me. Over Jos¡¯ crying, I let out a cackle of laughter that sounded crazy even to me. ¡°There¡¯s two other kings in Westeros still, my Brune friend. Perhaps you were aiming for Stannis instead of me with that knife? I¡¯m afraid he¡¯s all the way beyond the Wall at this point.¡±


    My taunting didn¡¯t seem to work. Still looking at me flatly, Brune approached me; his steps were measured and silent, undisturbing of the brush beneath him. Despite his smaller stature, he looked like a great cat on a hunt.


    I breathed out and stepped up to meet him. The suffocating warmth inside my armor caused my sweat to feel like it was boiling, yet somehow the heat was fuel to me. The mix of sensations made my skin crawl and my heart race in exhilaration. This is what I was waiting for. In the distance, the battle still rang on, and Jaime had already ridden halfway to us. I trusted him to take care of the beleaguered Jos who still cried over his brother¡¯s body. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    It would just be me and the Brune fellow.


    His last two steps were taken quickly as a viper. The moment he was in range, his sword lept thrice in quick succession, high and low then slicing at my hip. His speed was such a surprise that I struggled to keep up, barely deflecting each of the blows.


    He danced around me, gliding from thrust to slice to thrust again, always aiming at the chinks in my armor. When I tried to use that defense to my advantage and bullrush him, he would weave aside as easily as leaves in the wind, and I would have to block a hack to the back of a knee or jump over a tripping foot.


    We disengaged for just a moment before Brune was on me again, his sword flashing in a thrust to my neck. This time, I managed a good parry, swiftly twisting into a riposte aimed at his armpit that was sure to take the fight out of him. His side step came before I even started the movement¡ªa trap, and I had to use my vambrace to block the sideway swipe of his blade.


    Hot agony flared in my forearm, and a grunt escaped my mouth unbidden. I retreated back two steps in a rush, throwing out a wild swing to keep Brune at bay. He was stronger than he looked, I realized, and quicker than me. Better than me. I gulped in air again, as if that would somehow stave off the pain. It didn¡¯t. When I brought both hands to Lightbringer¡¯s hilt, my left hand felt numb and weak at the grip.


    In my periphery, I saw Jos finally letting go of Marion¡¯s corpse and charging at me in a rage, only for Jaime to jump out from his horse and tackle him to the ground. But I couldn¡¯t focus on that.


    It was all I could do to match Brune¡¯s pace, our blades meeting repeatedly in a clash of magic steel against castle-forged iron that rattled my injured arm. There were already notches in his blade wherever it met the valyrian steel squarely, and I knew I needed only to hang on until his blade gave out or Jaime finished pummeling Jos into the ground.


    I opened my mouth to speak, only for Brune to close the distance. His sword was a whirlwind targeting my neck and visor and armpits, keeping my own blade stuck in a high guard; that¡¯s why his sweeping kick to the back of my left leg coming at the same time his sword sliced at my right armpit easily brought me to one knee.


    Then I was seeing stars as the flat of his blade crashed against the side of my helmet, and Lightbringer flew out of my hands. Black washed over my vision and blood flooded my mouth where my tongue caught on teeth. Even dazed, however, I knew I had to move, so I jumped and tucked into a roll to the side.


    I went down awkwardly with the antler rack on my head scraping on the earth, and I ended up sprawled on my back. Before I could move, a weight settled over my chest, driving all the air out of me, and something pulled on the bottom lip of my helmet. The gap of the visor went up, blocking my vision, but my hands flashed up on instinct and were just fast enough to catch the dagger destined to pierce my throat.


    The blade cut into my hands instantly, my tight grip around it only making it easier. The blood coming out turned my hands slippery, but I kept desperately pushing up with all my strength, struggling to keep it away from me.


    I cursed at him, cursed his mother and his father and three generations back, spat until I realized I was only spitting on myself, thrashed and tried to kick him with my legs. But Brune was an unmoving rock against a rushing river, and he had his whole bulk behind him. The dagger lowered, slowly, tortuously, until the cold metal bit into the soft skin at my neck.


    Then I heard a desperate ¡°No!¡± followed by running footsteps, and suddenly Brune was gone, taking the dagger with him. I drew in a desperate breath, trying to get my bearings, and the near-death shock was gone as soon as it came. My hands felt raw, the cuts reaching bone, but I didn¡¯t allow myself to stay down. Through the searing agony, I grabbed the rack on top of my helmet and threw it away.


    My eyes could see again, and what I saw when I turned to the side was Jaime struggling with Brune on the ground, rolling around like kids at play. The sun hadn¡¯t gone down yet, as I doubted even three minutes had passed since the ambush had been sprung, but deep into the brush as we were, I couldn¡¯t find the glint of the dagger in the middle of their tousling.


    I wanted to keep laying down there more than anything I¡¯ve ever wanted, but I knew I couldn¡¯t afford to do so. I pushed myself up as fast as I could, reached behind my back, and took out my own dagger.


    Brune had ended up on top in their struggle, but he had his back to me, and both his hands were somewhere between him and Jaime. Without a second of hesitation, I lunged and drove my blade straight into the back of his neck and out the front. I knew he had died as his body instantly went slack, and I had to handily throw his bulk to the side.


    Taking a relieved breath, I smiled down at Jaime, a cheeky quip ready to make light of the fucked up situation my impulsiveness had landed us on.


    That¡¯s when I saw the blood, and the dagger sticking out of his chest. And the words died on my tongue.

 Chapter 57

    ¡°No, no.¡± I fell to my knees on Jaime¡¯s side, one hand going to his chest. The dagger had gone beneath two scales in his armor and punched through the mail beneath. I frowned down at it. The handle was wrapped in tanned leather, but I could see a hint of a dark hilt beneath. It must have been jostled around in their struggle, as instead of a clean wound, his life¡¯s blood gushed from around the blade. ¡°Fuck. You can¡¯t die, Jaime.¡±


    His good hand grasped my own with a strength that surprised me. ¡°No, don¡¯t. Let it.¡± His words were slurred and groggy, and his rib cage rattled every time he breathed in. There was blood in his lungs. ¡°Tommen¡­ I¡­ I¡¯m proud of you.¡±


    ¡°No, Jai¡ªfather. Listen. You have to listen.¡± I wanted to keep him awake, to keep him fighting. And he needed a reason to do so. ¡°Myrcella. She¡­ she has written about you,¡± I lied. ¡°She knows the truth, too, and she¡¯s happier for it. You must live, father. For her¡­ and for me.¡±


    And that was true, too. I realized that I didn¡¯t want him to die. Not only because Tywin would probably self-implode and take me with him, but because I knew that deep down, Jaime was a good guy¡ªattempted child-murder and incest aside.


    I needed men like that at my side to ground me. And, though I hated to admit it, he¡¯d become a friend. Someone I could trust to have my back.


    Jaime looked at me through glassy eyes. ¡°I used to think of you as no more than a squirt of seed in your mother.¡± He tried to laugh, only to cough out a wad of phlegm and blood. His face had turned pale as a ghost. ¡°But¡­ now I know that I¡¯d take this knife for you, or for Myrcella, a hundred times over if needs be.¡±


    ¡°Damn it, Jaime. Then fucking live long enough to take ninety-nine others,¡± I said, then shook my head. Sitting there like a character in a play going through dramatic lines wouldn¡¯t help either of us. I needed to do something.


    I glanced down at Jaime. He had his head thrown back, teeth clamped shut, and his hand still clenched into a tight fist around my own. As someone who¡¯d died slowly before, I knew exactly the type of agony he was going through. But if he¡¯d lived this long, then he could still make it. The dagger clearly had missed his heart.


    And there was that village, I remembered, not that far away. Surely there was a healer there, a woodswitch or something of the like. It was no Qyburn, but they would do.


    ¡°Listen, Jaime, we¡¯ll get you¡ª¡± Horses. Several of them. I looked up. My first instinct was to reach for Lightbringer and start chopping heads off out of anger and frustration alone, then I realized bandits didn¡¯t wear white-enameled scale armor.


    ¡°Your Grace!¡± Ser Lyle Crakehall called with that booming voice of his, riding at the front of ten Baratheon knights. Ser Loras was at his side, holding his left arm close to his body. The Strongboar opened his mouth to speak again, then blanched as he saw Jaime laid out on the ground.


    ¡°No time for this, ser,¡± I said when they were close enough. ¡°There¡¯s a village a few minutes away. We¡¯ll take Ser Jaime there. Might be someone there can help us.¡±


    Ser Lyle grimaced. ¡°Your Grace¡­ if the bandits are here, then it¡¯s likely that the village has suffered their presence as well.¡±


    That stopped me. Fuck. I wanted to slap myself. I clearly wasn¡¯t thinking straight. Of course they¡¯d already raided the village. Still, I had to try. And if not¡­ there were other ways. Worse ways, yes, but they existed in this world.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°We go forward, sers. There might be survivors who can help. He won¡¯t make it back to King¡¯s Landing in time. You took prisoners, I take it?¡± I didn¡¯t even bother looking behind them. If they were here and not rushing me to safety, then the rest of the bandits were surely taken care of. ¡°We¡¯ll bring them, and our least injured men.¡±


    ¡°As you say, Your Grace.¡± The Strongboar jumped down from his charger and flagged another three knights. ¡°Come help me with Ser Jaime. We¡¯ll ride knee to knee and lay him down across the horses¡¯ backs.¡±


    The other seven Baratheon men went back the way they came to organize the prisoners. I stepped aside to let them get to work, grabbed Lightbringer and my helmet off the ground, and looked to Loras. ¡°Are you alright, ser?¡±


    He nodded grimly. ¡°Yes, Your Grace. Just a scratch.¡±


    Jaime was my priority here, as he was worth a thousand knights by the virtue of his birth alone, but I couldn''t be seen to be heartless. They were still my knights, after all. ¡°Do we have any injured men?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Some eight, Your Grace,¡± Loras said, ¡°and four dead.¡±


    This time, I gazed back to the road. Bodies littered the ground there, men and horses. A group of knights had a clump of bandits at swordpoint, and another two were going around tying hands behind backs. ¡°How did it happen?¡± I asked. ¡°For a moment there they had us surrounded.¡±


    ¡°They were still bandits,¡± he said, a sneer coming to his face at the very word. ¡°No discipline and steel behind the veneer of strength. In the end, we had the better armor. Our men were surprised and scattered at first, but four knights charging the outlaw¡¯s backs broke them.¡± Loras seemed to look at me with some new found respect, more than what I knew he had before. Like it or not, even the people closest to me still saw me as a green boy of fifteen who¡¯s never seen a battlefield in his life. ¡°I¡¯m told you commanded them to do so, Your Grace. That was well done.¡±


    I simply nodded. Exhaustion had stolen much of my fire from the start of the fighting, and it was pure worry and anger that kept me on my feet. Anger at myself, mostly. I had known there were bandits in the area. And ten or a hundred of the fuckers, there was no reason to come unprepared.


    To the side, the Strongboar and the knights were hauling Jaime up. My father must have whispered something to him, as Ser Lyle barked with laughter, almost slapping Jaime on the shoulder before he stopped himself. Below that levity though, I could see his face screwing up each time he looked down at Jaime¡¯s wound.


    He was alive still, but he didn¡¯t have long.


    By the time they had finished laying Jaime down on the horses, someone had brought me a new mount. Pushing through the fatigue in my legs, I climbed up and flagged Ser Loras. ¡°I need you to take the injured and the dead back to King¡¯s Landing.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Your Grace that¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°An order, ser,¡± I cut him, ¡°from your liege. Some of these men can still survive, and I won¡¯t gamble their life away for a chance to save Ser Jaime. Take another five hale men with you, to help with the dead. They deserve a proper burial back in the city.¡±


    Reluctantly, Ser Loras nodded and took off on his mount. He might be a spoiled brat sometimes, but he had his honor, and that honor was sworn to me. I saw him picking a few knights as he passed them, and they started gathering up the wounded.


    I turned back to the Strongboar. ¡°Ready, ser?¡±


    Ser Lyle looked comically out of place, squeezed in between two other mounted knights. His face was anything other than humorous, though. ¡°Ready, Your Grace,¡± he said, much quieter than usual. They¡¯d wrapped some straps of leather around jaimes legs and hips to keep him in place, but it would be a bumpy and painful ride for him.


    I nodded to him, and we made for the road, picking up the rest of the men who were going with us¡ªsome thirty something knights. They had a long line of prisoners with them, near twenty at a quick glance. I didn¡¯t bother looking too closely at them. Not yet. There might still be hope to save Jaime normally.


    The smell of blood and shit from men soiling themselves at their death was heavy in the air, but I blocked all of that out. I looked back at the knights.  ¡°We¡¯ll ride fast,¡± I said, loudly enough everyone there would be able to hear me. ¡°If one of the prisoners can¡¯t keep up, cut them down.¡± That wasn¡¯t the done thing in these parts, but none of the bandits seemed to be nobles beside that Brune fellow, and I got grim nods all across the column. ¡°Then we ride!¡±

 Chapter 58

    My bad guys. Copied the wrong chapter for this.


    xxxx


    We rode as quick as the three horses carrying Jaime could handle, since I was pretty sure we would just finish Brune¡¯s job if he fell to the ground in his condition. I was leading the way with three other knights as my escorts, with Ser Lyle carrying Jaime riding behind us and the rest of the men further back.


    Two bandits died before they realized I meant what I¡¯d said, and soon they were keeping up with the cantering column of knights, even the ones who spent the entire way whining about exhaustion. It¡¯s amazing what the body can endure when your life is on the line.


    The dense gloom of the woods surrounding us slowly gave out the closer we rode, though the sun never came out from behind a blanket of clouds that had formed in the sky. I held on to the hope of survivors up until we turned the last bend on the road. Then we came upon the village, or the place where it had once stood. Nothing remained but charred stones and the empty shells of burned down hovels. Thin fingers of smoke still rose here and there, dissipating only when they climbed far enough into the air.


    As for the villagers¡­ Corpses lay strewn all along the main thoroughfare and surrounding alleys, some burned and cut open, guts spilling to the ground; the bodies of every woman we passed had their clothes torn and their legs spread, mouths open in silent screams, throats slashed. The whole place smelled of ash and misery and death.


    The column slowed as we rode in, the man adopting solemn faces, many turning ugly stares at the bandits who seemed to shrink on themselves. I didn¡¯t even have the heart to hurry them on. Where would we be rushing to, in any case? If there were any survivors of this butchery, they would be long gone.


    As we came to a stop at the center square, I noticed that there were some three buildings still standing in the south side of the village that were previously hidden by a grove of trees, but there wasn¡¯t a single sign of life there.


    Before I could begin issuing orders, Ser Lyle called out behind me, ¡°Your Grace, I think¡­ I think he¡¯s gone. I can¡¯t find his breathing.¡±


    My mouth set in a hard line. I knew he would die the moment we stepped into this hellish village. ¡°I see,¡± I said, not even bothering to look at him. ¡°Please, put him in one of those houses there. I will pray over him later.¡±  He gave me a soft ¡®Aye, Your Grace,¡¯ and went about it. I watched him pass me by with the other two knights. Ser Lyle had covered Jaime with his own white cloak, and his body looked like a ghost astride the horses.


    If the mood of the men had wilted at the sight of the village, then it died with Jaime. The knights and bandits waited behind me, each and every one of them silent. A light breeze swept through the column, and the horses whinnied nervously at the strong smell the wind carried. The deathly stillness in the village seemed charged to burst, like a fire pit filled with kindling, waiting for the tiniest of flames to set it ablaze.


    And I meant to be the spark.


    When I glimpsed Ser Lyle entering the house with Jaime¡¯s corpse, I turned to the men. At their front rode one of the Baratheon serjeants, the leader of the squad I ordered to charge at the bandits. He was an older man in his middle years, with short hair more white than black and an ugly scar that ran the whole length of his right cheek. He¡¯d served Robert ever since the first battle of the Rebellion all the way to his final days; it was the reason he stayed loyal to us, instead of going to Stannis or Renly.


    ¡°When do you reckon this happened, Ser Godric?¡± I asked softly.


    He hawked up a gob of phlegm and spat it down on the ground. ¡°At night, Your Grace,¡± he said in a gruff, no-nonsense voice. ¡°Makes the smoke harder to see, and the glow of the fire won¡¯t make it through the woods surrounding it for anyone else to notice. The brush¡¯s too thick ¡®round these parts.¡± He turned about his saddle and pointed at some of the burned down houses surrounding the square. ¡°They must¡¯ve done it just before it rained, too, else some of those wooden houses there would still be alight.¡± And indeed, many were still littered with wooden slabs and beams that had survived the blaze.


    ¡°It rained at night, some two days previous,¡± I said.


    ¡°That¡¯s when, then.¡± He bowed his head. ¡°Your Grace.¡±


    I looked at the line up men behind him, then pointed at the bandits. They had been not-so-gently sat down in a tight circle where they could be watched, but they wouldn¡¯t be idle for long. ¡°Set these animals to work,¡± I commanded. ¡°These people deserve a peaceful rest, so the Gods may welcome them in the heavens. Gather the bodies here, and when we arrive in King¡¯s Landing, I¡¯ll send back the men to bury them, and a septon to give them a proper farewell.¡±


    xxxx


    Day had faded into twilight by the time the work was done. The sky turned a rich purple that faded into red as it approached the western horizon. Some of the men had set torches around the square, as night was close approaching and the clouded sky was sure to hide the moon.


    The last of the bodies was of a slip of a girl, no more than a toddler, in reality. It was hard watching the corpses being brought out, even to me. And the men took it worse. The knights overseeing the bandits became crueler as the parade of bodies went on, quicker to beatings and lashings at any sign of disobedience or slacking off.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    That was good. I wanted them riled up.


    The Strongboar had returned from the house soon after I gave the order to work the bandits, and he stood dutifully at my side now, his face a mask of somberness. We¡¯d put the horses to drinking at a nearby stream, as even the well in the village had a dead person within.


    ¡°Round up the outlaws then kneel them by the bodies,¡± I said to Ser Godric, who I¡¯d put in charge of the work. Then I addressed all the knights, ¡°I ask that you all join me in silent prayer for the people. We¡¯ll make sure the scum who did it sit there and watch it.¡±


    Ser Godric was an efficient man, and soon the bandits were knelt by the fifty something bodies arrayed in the center square of the village. We were lined up behind them, aach man had their heads bowed, offering their own piece of grace to the dead. But I had something else in mind even as I mouthed and whispered nonsense words, which to anyone looking seemed like prayers. The dead would not hear them, anyway.


    I signaled Ser Lyle, and he cleared his throat as a sign to stop the praying. Sparing a nod as I walked past him, I started going down the line, looking at every one of the men in the eyes.


    I needed to be careful with how things went down now. Too much and they¡¯d likely kill the outlaws before the time was right, and in a manner that did not benefit me. Too little and they¡¯d frown at my actions here, and negative stories have a way of hurting monarchs more than swords at times.


    ¡°Look at what these animals did, sers. These were our men, our women, our children. Innocent folk, going about their life. They could be anyone of your fathers and brothers, butchered like cattle; your wives and mothers, beaten and violated; your children... tortured and murdered.¡± I shook my head. ¡°No. I misspoke earlier. These are not men, nor even animals. Make no mistake, sers. They are no different than the demon I slayed that night.¡± Angry muttering began, the men spitting at the outlaws, some easing swords out of scabbards. The bandits had clearly grown antsy with the situation, some shaking as they knelt there. ¡°None of them deserve an easy death. A quick death. So I command you to take them, put them in one of the standing houses, and bar them within. For they shall burn! Burn like they did this village! Burn like they will in the seven hells!¡±


    Swords came fully out then, and the men cheered and howled like a mob hungry for blood. A few of the bandits made to run after my words, but they¡¯d all been re-tied together in a line, and they were soon brought down. The men were quick to corral the bandits toward the last of the houses, kicking and screaming as they were. I noticed that it was made entirely out of wood, and had likely survived the fire out of pure luck.


    Only luck wouldn¡¯t do it this time.


    I didn¡¯t have to wait long until the bandits were locked and tied inside, and the torches came out. The screams started soon after, with pleas and repentances as prevalent as curses. They would have died by the smoke rather than the fire like I wished, so I had told the knights to let all the windows of the two-storey house open.


    I stayed until the final voices died out inside the burning house, before telling the men justice had been served, and that I¡¯d go pray over my uncle alone before we left.


    xxx


    When I got to the house, I went straight to Jaime¡¯s body. He¡¯d been laid out on a wooden table in the main room, the slab of wood short enough that his feet stuck out in the air. His skin had already turned a bluish hue, and his lips were as purple as the twilight sky; but his body was still warm to the touch.


    My hand wrapped around the handle of the dagger, and when I slid it out, I saw the truth of it. The blade was valyrian steel, sharp like a razor. Mind racing, I tore at the leather wrapping until I could see the hilt clearly beneath it. Dragonbone. As black as night and hard as steel.


    I only knew of one such dagger in Westeros, and it did not bode well that it was here. The implications were not that hard to grasp, but I still had the dead son of Tywin Lannister on the table to sort out.


    Like with Lightbringer, I had no idea what I was doing here. And if it didn¡¯t work, I¡¯d have to deal with an enraged Tywin and an uncertain future for my most loyal kingdom. But I had to try.


    I remembered Melisandre and Thoros praying over Jon and Beric¡¯s bodies in the show, and read of the last kiss being performed in the books. I knew not how to do either, but I could improvise. It seemed to be working for me so far.


    I unsheathed Lightbringer, then ran my already injured hand over the sharp blade. The cold bite sent agony lancing through me, but I pushed through it. When I poured my blood over the ruby in the hilt, the sword erupted in black fire. The dark light cast shadows in the room that seemed to writhe and twist around me.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I murmured. ¡°That was some twenty lives for you out there. Do your thing now. I¡¯m your Azor Ahai, and it just so happens I need this man alive, R¡¯hllor.¡±


    As soon as I said the fire god¡¯s name, it was as if someone else moved my body, guiding me. I grabbed Lightbringer with both hands, one over the ruby and the other over the blade. Like the last time in my drawing room, the fire didn¡¯t hurt me as I touched it. And I could swear the wounds in my hands started healing. Pushing that thought to the back of  my mind, I brought the blazing sword near my mouth and took a deep gulp of the flames.


    I almost despaired for a moment, but something held me firm. My whole mouth flooded with the taste of smoke and ash, choking me until my eyes felt like bursting out of their sockets. When I was so full of hot air inside me I thought I was going to explode, I took one trembling hand off the sword, opened Jaime¡¯s purple lips, and breathed black fire straight into his mouth.


    Instantly, Lightbringer grew hot as the sun in my grip, and the whole room shone with red light from the ruby. I let the sword burn me, or at least it felt like it, until the bright light blinded me and the searing in my hand brought me to the ground. Pain bloomed deep within my chest as something seemed to slither out of my soul, its oily tentacles giving out their grip on me.


    Then it was all gone. The pain, and the light, and even the bone-deep cuts in my hands. But my lungs still burned, and I coughed and spat until grimy black goo fell from my mouth. The taste of it was an indescribable putrid that made me gag.


    When I could finally right myself, I looked up from the floor. Jaime was already sitting on the table, staring at me. His eyes were red as blood, and his lips were curled into a wily smile.


    ¡°Hello again, my prince.¡±

 Chapter 59

    ¡°Oh fuck me,¡± I cursed. ¡°Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.¡±


    Jaime¡ªno, she gave me an airy laugh. ¡°I believe we have already been through that, my prince.¡±


    I scuttled away on the dusty ground, my mouth screwing up in distaste. ¡°Don¡¯t say that. Don¡¯t fucking say that.¡± I picked Lightbringer from where I¡¯d dropped it and kept the sword between me and her.


    Immediately, Jaime¡¯s eyes lit up like red stars with awe and reverence. His right hand, the one who I was sure was made of gilded steel not a minute ago, reached tentatively, but I took another step back. ¡°My apologies,¡± she said easily. It was Jaime¡¯s voice alright, but it came out¡­ smoother, more polished, with a drawl to it that told the truth of the matter. ¡°It is just¡­ it is truly it¡ªthe Red Sword of Heroes.¡±


    I found myself growling. ¡°Enough about the stupid sword. How are you here? I put a sword through your heart. I saw you turn to dust and ash. How¡­¡±


    Her smile returned, all suggestions and no certainty. ¡°You seemed well acquainted with the Lord¡¯s Ruby when you were inside me, my prince.¡±


    I winced. ¡°Stop! Stop saying that when you¡¯re in this body,¡± I said, trying to find the composure I must have lost when I started swallowing fire like an idiot. I stood up straighter. ¡°Now tell me, if I¡¯m truly your prince. How are you alive? Just¡­ how?¡±


    ¡°It is as I said. The ruby is powerful, my prince, a priceless relic of age¡¯s past. As far as I know, only three were made¡ªforged with fire and blood in the bowels of the first red temple. If one knows how, it can be used to achieve great feats of power and magic. I have used it, as have many of my order before me. But to put it on your sword without being a priest of the Lord... I didn¡¯t think anyone could be so bold, though I suppose ignorance often makes up for that.¡±


    I grimaced. Perhaps that hadn¡¯t been my brightest idea. ¡°I didn¡¯t think it was a bloody horcrux,¡± I muttered, and though I hated to admit it, it did sound a terrible lot like whining.


    One blond eyebrow rose. ¡°A what?¡±


    I shook my head. Focus, damn it. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. So your¡­ consciousness, or soul or spirit or whatever¡ªit was within the ruby. That is what gave it power? Why the sword took to flames when I fed blood to it?¡±


    Another easy laugh escaped her. ¡°Oh, my soul was the least powerful aspect of my Lord¡¯s Ruby, my prince. Its great power was the reason I could attach the core of my being to it, like an anchor keeping me from moving past the world of the living.¡± She looked at the sword again, her eyes focused on the ruby, and suddenly it was as if a flood of wonder washed over her. Jaime¡¯s whole body shivered, and his face was lit up with emotion.


    ¡°But it doesn¡¯t matter,¡± she trilled. ¡°The ruby does only what R¡¯hllor allows and wishes. It could have twisted your mind as it wished, or broken you until you were left a puppet with its strings cut, drool leaking out of your mouth. Only¡­ only it didn¡¯t.¡± At once, Jaime slid out of the table and fell to his knees. ¡°You truly are the prince who was promised, Tommen Baratheon. Azor Ahai come again. The Lord¡¯s Chosen.¡±


    There was a patch of silence in the room, and I swallowed the dryness in my mouth. The Azor Ahai part seemed simple enough, as I had gone to great pains to butt my way into the prophecies. But for all I knew from the books and show, Melisandre¡¯s ruby was a focus to her power, or a simple gem holding the magic that kept her youthful body charm up in place. And souls¡­ I¡¯d never heard of souls being mentioned as anything more than religious allegory in this world. To think that it was a real thing, that it held real power...Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°You talked of souls, just now,¡± I said, clearing my throat. This had suddenly sparked a question in my mind¡ªa question about myself. ¡°What is it? Does it have any use? Explain it to me.¡±


    ¡°What do you think powered the spell to anchor my soul to this new body?¡± she asked rhetorically. ¡°There¡¯s no power in the flesh and bones of men, my prince. The outlaws you offered to the flames tonight, it was their souls my lord took as payment.¡±


    ¡°And could a soul be placed in a body, like I did yours with Jaime¡¯s?¡±


    Jaime found his feet again, and Melisandre seemed to consider the question for a moment. ¡°Those are not unasked questions, my prince, but they are unanswered,¡± she said after a while. ¡°However, it is believed the soul can only be changed or manipulated with the true God¡¯s influence¡­ it is not something men alone can deal with.¡±


    I frowned, feeling Lightbringer weighing down my already exhausted arms. That only raised more questions in my mind. Did it mean a god had brought me to this world? And which one? Was it the Red God specifically? He was the one giving me power, apparently, so it would make sense. But for what purpose? Thinking about it brought a bitter taste to my mouth. R¡¯hllor was supposedly in an eternal conflict with the Great Other, which meant I would be stuck in a tug of war between entities beyond my comprehension.


    This feeling of impotent anger was like a punch to the gut, and I had to take a breath to calm myself. I had no wish to be the plaything of gods, and a thousand questions for the witch sprang to mind. But they could wait. For now, I had the favored heir of my Hand to inquire about.


    ¡°I see,¡± I said, putting the sword away. I didn¡¯t wish to antagonize her before getting all my answers. ¡°Tell me, Lady Melisandre. Is he¡­ is Jaime still there?¡±


    Before I could get a word out of her, Jaime slumped back on the table, his muscles completely relaxing. My hand went to the pommel of the sword I¡¯d just sheathed. As soon as he was gone though, he was back. Jaime jumped to his feet, gulping air like a dying man. His hands flew up and started desperately touching his hair and nose and mouth.


    ¡°Jaime?¡± I tried.


    When he looked at me, his eyes were green as jade stones. ¡°It really happened,¡± he breathed out, seeming to calm down. He held both hands in front of him, clenching and unclenching fingers.


    I watched him carefully. ¡°So it did,¡± I said. Qyburn had already created a vampire with his crazy experiments, I didn¡¯t want to add on with some kind of fire-bending zombie. I kept one hand close to Lightbringer.


    On the table, Jaime¡¯s mind seemed to be a thousand miles away before he suddenly asked, ¡°What¡¯s this about you fucking her?¡± He looked at me as if I was crazy. ¡°Do you even know how old she is? The bitch is ancient.¡±


    I snorted. That was the first thing he asked me after coming back from the dead? ¡°And you fucked your own sister,¡± I said. ¡°So I think we¡¯re quite even. Besides, there was a purpose for it, too. How do you think I was able to pull this off?¡±


    ¡°Pure luck, I¡¯d guess, given the conversation you just had,¡± said Jaime, lips twitching up into a cat-like smirk.


    That was a Lannister smirk if I¡¯d ever seen one. I doubted even someone like Melisandre could pick up his mannerisms this quickly. ¡°You can listen in on her?¡± I asked. If he could, then so could she.


    Jaime made a pained expression. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ strange. We share the body, and the mind as well. I can listen to her thoughts, jumbled as they are in my end. And she can hear mine too.¡±


    That was good. Jaime wouldn¡¯t betray me, and he would¡¯ve known if Melisandre was lying when she called me her prince. ¡°Can you talk with her right now?¡±


    ¡°I¡ª¡± he paused for a moment, scowling. ¡°Yes, it seems I can.¡±


    I nodded. That could come to be useful. ¡°Well¡­ It¡¯s good to have you back, ser. I¡¯m just glad I won¡¯t have to face Tywin Lannister without his precious baby boy.¡±


    Jaime laughed humorlessly. ¡°Aye, he might¡¯ve just become the second Lannister kingslayer.¡±


    We shared another hollow laugh at the stupid joke, and the room soon turned quiet again. Jaime just sat there, looking down at the ground. And I didn¡¯t blame him. Death took a toll on a man.


    Outside, I heard a horse¡¯s clip-clop hoofbeats pass near the window. Night was fully upon us by now, and I had a city to go back to. And that meant...


    ¡°Perhaps we can start making use of Lady Melisandre¡¯s vast experience, dear father,¡± I said, and Jaime perked up. ¡°Because we will soon have to figure out how to explain your return to life to some thirty men who just watched you die.¡±

 Chapter 60

    Jaime rubbed at his temples. ¡°Why can¡¯t I just walk out and say ¡®I¡¯m back¡¯ and be done with it?¡±


    I stopped pacing the room and turned his way, looking at him as I would a cockroach. ¡°I¡¯m honestly surprised no one found out about you and mother if that¡¯s the kind of planning that went on in your escapades.¡± It had been a quarter of an hour of muttering ideas to myself and trying to bounce them off of him, and he still didn¡¯t seem to get it. ¡°Everyone saw your dead body. Gods, Ser Lyle carried you here himself. You were dead, Jaime. Cold to the touch and turning blue. Forgive me if I don¡¯t feel like being denounced as a necromancer and burned at the stake for this.¡±


    I sighed and leant back against the wall. Soon, Ser Lyle would be knocking on the door, even if only to make sure I was okay inside. Sometimes the Kingsguard had to protect the king even from himself, I would imagine. And although he was sworn to keep my secrets, this seemed like too big a¡¯one to just spring up on him on his first week in the job.


    ¡°Well?¡± I prompted. ¡°If you don¡¯t have anything to say, then ask her again. She¡¯s been quiet for a while now.¡±


    Jaime sighed. ¡°She had told me she¡¯s adjusting to the change.¡± He stopped, then shook his head. ¡°Gods, but she¡¯s obsessed with fire,¡± he said, scrunching up his nose. ¡°She said I should just burn down the house and escape into the night. Dye my hair, grow a beard. Become someone else. A wandering red priest, she says, like Thoros of Myr.¡±


    I clicked my tongue. For a centuries-old sorceress she had very little in the way of creativity. While the thought of Jaime getting as fat and drunk like Thoros was droll enough to almost make me laugh, the idea was still stupid beyond belief. He would still be a dead man, by all accounts. What use was a dead Jaime Lannister to me?


    Then my eyes widened as a crazy thought popped into my head. Thoros... yes, that was it.


    Chaos is a ladder, I thought to myself. And I was recently considering building myself a cult, no?


    ¡°You¡¯ve spent so long staring at the fires of your god, my lady, that your mind can¡¯t imagine anything beyond the edges of its light,¡± I said, addressing the witch directly. ¡°There¡¯s opportunity in every crisis. You need only be daring enough to grasp for it. Jaime doesn¡¯t need to flee or hide his identity. What we need to do is very simple,¡± I said, grinning as if the answer was obvious for all to see. ¡°I¡¯ll need her help with a few tricks, and then¡­ then we legitimately bring Jaime Lannister back to life.¡±


    xxxxxx


    Lyle I


    Ser Lyle ordered the man to start preparing when the screams stopped and the square had turned silent. He had initially struggled with the king¡¯s decision to burn the bandits. In his mind, it was the noose or the headsman for outlaws, or the Wall to the brave ones; but it only took him a second look at the line of bodies to push that thought to the back of his mind.


    Perhaps King Tommen had the right of it. Men who would do something like that to women and children didn¡¯t deserve the privilege of a quick death.


    The night had grown cold by the time the men were ready to go, and for the first time Ser Lyle missed his cloak. It was a bothersome piece of cloth by all accounts, but the white cloak did more than warm his bones on a chilly night. He had noticed that men squared their shoulders as they passed by him, and a nod on his part saw them lift their chins up with pride. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The Kingsguard was the pinnacle of knighthood in the kingdoms, an extension of the king and his right to rule. Every boy grew up dreaming of wearing one, thinking of them as death-defying when it came to protecting the king. And yet how many of their brotherhood were left now? Ser Jaime was dead, Ser Balon had yet to return to his duties, Ser Osmund and Ser Arys had yet to come back from Dorne, and Boros the Belly had been lost at sea in a mission for the king.


    Lyle sniffed into the night air. Good riddance, that. That man was not suited to stand guard over a flea bottom brothel, much less the King of the Seven Kingdoms.


    It was only him and the kid for now. And even if Ser Loras had acquitted himself well that night,  a band of outlaws meant nothing against what was to come. The Tyrell flower would wilt like a rose in a desert in the face of Lord Tywin¡¯s colossal rage.


    He was not excited by the prospect of facing Tywin Lannister with his dead son and heir on his horse. If it were up to him, he¡¯d scuttle back to his room, close and lock the door, and watch the Lord of Casterly Rock bring about a level of decimation to the world that would make an Other proud. Except he¡¯d donned the cloak and said the words, and this day the white swords just might have to save the king from his own grandfather.


    Ser Godric rode up to him and broke through his thoughts. ¡°The men are ready to go, Ser Lyle,¡± he said, two horses ready at his side. His and the king¡¯s.


    And indeed, the knights had all gathered astride their horses on the square. Even a litter to carry Ser Jaime had been prepared while he had his mind elsewhere. Lyle cleared his throat. ¡°I will inform the king then. He¡¯ll wish to have you back with your families as soon as possible.¡±


    ¡°We shall wait the whole week if the king commands, ser,¡± Ser Godric said, and the knights within hearing distance grunted their assertions.


    Ser Lyle nodded back at them. He could respect that kind of devotion. A man didn¡¯t need a white cloak on his shoulders to prove himself loyal. He swiped a hand through his long black beard and made for the house.


    ¡°Father!¡± The king boomed from inside the house, stopping Lyle where he stood. ¡°I pray you grant this man the honor of your justice, so he may rest or rise according to your wishes. Mother! I ask that you give him the mercy of your love, for it knows no bound, heavens or earth. Warrior! I pray you welcome this man into your halls, as a knight most honorable who died in defence of his king.¡±


    Suddenly, white light flooded the house whole, spilling beneath the doors and past the gaps in the shuttered window like liquid silver. Ser Lyle hissed, hurriedly covered his eyes with an armored arm. Pained grunts sounded all around him. It felt like the sun itself had risen inside the house.


    As a kingsguard, he knew he should rush through the door and stand by his king whatever may come. But could a mere knight interfere in the work of Gods? For surely, that was the only explanation he could think of.


    ¡°Smith!¡± Tommen Baratheon¡¯s voice came again. It rang loudly all across the village square, as if coming down from the heavens above. ¡°I ask you to heal this man of the ills of mankind, to mend him with your hammer of righteousness. Maiden! I ask that your benevolent gaze fall upon him, and that you embrace him in your loving arms. Crone! I pray you guide him on his way, guide him to where you, in your infinite wisdom, needs him most. And Stranger! I light this white candle for you! Lead him to his death¡ªor to his life. As is the Seven¡¯s will, so it shall be.¡±


    The blinding light blinked away as soon as the king finished his prayer. For a stunned moment, Ser Lyle simply stood there, black spots dancing in his vision. Whatever happened had been so surreal that he wondered if it hadn¡¯t all been a dream. But when he could open his eyes long enough to squint around him, he saw that every knight in that courtyard had been affected the same.


    Before he could think of moving, the door to the house creaked open, and Lyle Crakehall would never in his life forget what he witnessed.


    Ser Jaime Lannister was kneeling in front of King Tommen Baratheon, like a warrior swearing fealty to his liege. A sword of pure light was laid across his knees, white and pleasing to the eyes.


    He felt himself drifting towards the ground. And all across the square, following his own actions, men dismounted and fell to their knees.

 Chapter 61

    The kingsroad was sparsely lit by a bright moon and a carpet of stars like snowflakes in the sky as I rode with Jaime at the head of the column. The wood around us was still loud with life despite the hours. An owl hooted here, a hare scampered on the underbrush there. It would be eerily similar to how we were ambushed, only this time I had the obvious foresight to send scouts ahead and around us, who¡¯d signal their presence every once in a while.


    We had left as soon as my little show was done. The men were just awestruck enough that when I left the house with Jaime and gave the order to mount up and ride, they simply followed us like lost ducklings.


    I had to come to terms that the more I built up my religious persona, the farthest I would seem to the everyday man. You don¡¯t chat or shake hands with divinity. Sometimes, men respected lords that sat around a campfire late at night during campaign to trade war stories with them more than they feared gods.


    That would be something I would have to carefully balance. People may love and look up to the divine, but gods were too good for mundane things such as respect and empathy, and it so happened that I carried the human burden of being fallible. Gods were only gods because every one of their shortcomings could be hand waved aside with a cryptic passage in an old dusty book.


    The first time I failed, at a field battle or a city defense, I could as easily be crucified as an idol as I was now being deemed a savior.


    We were a good fifteen feet ahead of the men, with Ser Lyle being the closest behind us, as was his due as a kingsguard. I had no idea what he was thinking, but back at the village he had looked at me with a confused mixture of wariness and devotion before moving to follow my order. He didn¡¯t strike me as much of a religious adherent, but seeing your king bring a man back to life will do the strangest things to even the most cynical of knights.


    I glanced at the man riding to my side. ¡°Still getting used to the new hand?¡± I asked. He kept bringing it up to his face and turning it about, clasping it with his left hand, touching his horse and saddle. Like a kid with a new toy.


    Good for him. He needed to help himself now that Cersei was dead, and going left-handed was a pain no men deserved.


    Jaime startled out of his reverie. ¡°Oh. Yes, I suppose so, Your Grace..¡± He shot me a strange look that bordered on melancholy. ¡°It¡­ I had just started to come to terms with losing it. Seemed fitting, a good punishment for my crimes. It feels¡­ cheapened now.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°You got a crazed sorceress in the bargain, ser. I assume having her twisted thoughts squeezed into your own must be a good substitute for a lost hand.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Aye, perhaps. She does go off on tangents. It¡¯s confusing and mind-opening at the same time.¡±


    ¡°Yes, the world is a bigger place than we all think it is, Ser Jaime. There is more between heaven and earth than the maesters and their narrow quasi-science would have us believe,¡± I said. ¡°Best get used to it.¡± I had an earth¡¯s worth of useful quotes I could steal, and I would even be called wise for it.


    His horse whinnied beneath him, but Jaime only nodded, looking down as if in deep thought again. We rode in silence for a few minutes, the wind whistling through the branches and the horses trotting on the dirt road the only sounds to be heard. It painted a peaceful image, but it just reminded me of the sad state of my kingdom. Were I at peace, I would be able to do something about it. Paved and cobbled roads, expanding industry, new businesses and investment opportunities. Yet when I poked my head up over the wall of the now, all I saw was war on the horizon. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    The realm had been at relative peace for twenty years after the fall of the Targaryens, with Greyjoy''s ill-fated rebellion being the only blot in an otherwise good time to be alive. Imagine the lords that heavily invested in their holdings in the Riverlands during that time, counting on the continuous peace of Robert¡¯s rule. It was all ashes now, and the Starks and the Lannisters didn¡¯t even need dragons to burn it all to the ground.


    Daenerys had three, and that was just one of the three pretenders for my throne still at large. Dirt roads would have to do for now.


    ¡°Tommen,¡± Jaime said, and I realized he must have been calling me for a while now.


    I cleared my throat. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°How¡­ how did you know how to bring me back?¡± he asked, looking uncomfortably at both sides as he did so. ¡°I saw her memory. You barely knew what you were doing, true, but there was purpose there, knowledge.¡±


    I nodded. There was no use hiding it. ¡°There are a great many things I know, father, and an even greater many things that people don¡¯t know about me. Things I have no intention of divulging.¡±


    Jaime only stared at me for a moment, then a smirk found its way to his lips. ¡°Oh, how mysterious, Your Grace. Very enticing. Does that work on the Tyrell girl?¡±


    Raising an eyebrow, I asked, ¡°You doubt me?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°I trust you, Tommen. You did bring me back to life after all. But when did you learn all these things? When did you become the man you are now? I watched you grow up, and there wasn¡¯t much there, with all due respect. You were either running from Joffrey or hiding behind Cersei¡¯s skirts¡ªand believe me, there isn¡¯t much to be found there.¡±


    This time, I barked with laughter. ¡°Bold of you to say such things to me, father. But I¡¯m afraid I would like to keep that to myself. A king needs his secrets, and that and many others shall die with me.¡± Jaime snorted, but nodded all the same. My horse wandered out of the path of a pothole before I steered it back to his side. ¡°I have a question of my own, Ser Jaime. And I expect the answer to be from a kingsguard to his liege.¡±


    His face turned serious. ¡°Anything.¡±


    I almost shook my head. I didn¡¯t think he would be saying that when I spoke the words, but I needed the story from his lips to excuse my knowledge. I¡¯d been wanting to restore the image of the Lannister family, and I¡¯d start with the Kingslayer. ¡°Then tell me the true reason why you killed the mad king, ser.¡±


    Had he been afoot, Jaime would¡¯ve stumbled. He opened his mouth to say something only to choke on the words. It was obvious he didn¡¯t want to speak of that again, as he did with Brienne, but he was still sworn of honor and life to me until he left with Tywin.


    And so he told me.


    xxxxx


    Jaime told his story with more detail and less emotional mumbling this time, and the picture he painted was even worse than I remembered. The vivid retellings of what Queen Rhaella went through nightly with her husband, the burnings at the great hall, the secret killings all over the city.


    Those were grim times, and I could see it started to take a toll on Jaime, so I steered the topic back to safe waters, to his time as a young squire where he¡¯d won a tourney melee at the age of thirteen.


    Our conversation had turned cheery again when we arrived at a hill overlooking the southern shore of the Blackwater Rush, and further on, the city. Stunned, I reined my horse harshly. For a moment, I just stayed there over the hill, barely believing what I saw.


    King¡¯s Landing was afire. The northern part of the city was pocketed with red and orange flames as if an artist had carelessly slashed his dripping brush against the canvas. A great cloud of smoke hung over my capital like a shroud, and even from all the way at the hill I thought I could hear the screams of my people.

 Chapter 62

    Balon II


    Balon was out strolling through the gardens in Maegor¡¯s Holdfast when he tasted blood in the night.


    He had stopped to sit on a low stone bench near a swaying bed of primroses, so he could finally feel the wind on his skin and smell something other than the mix of dampness and anguish of Qyburn¡¯s workshop.


    Above him, the evening sky was dark and cloudless and full of stars, like black silk studded with silver moonstones. It looked soft and inviting to his touch, and he almost found himself reaching up with black-veined fingers before he caught himself.


    Would he really want to stain something so beautiful with his corruption? Qyburn had already ruled out the possibility of contamination¡ªhence Balon being allowed to walk the gardens for the night¡ªbut the idea of touching anything with his tainted hand, even something as distant and immeasurable as the very sky, sent bile rushing up his throat.


    Feeling heartsick, Balon snatched his hand back to his side. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the world in black and white as it happens when the thirst gets to him, could still savor the blood he¡¯d drank earlier in the day, and all the days prior for weeks now.


    No matter how long he¡¯d spent trying to wash it down, the taste was still there, foul and rotten to his mind, but sweet as honey to his tongue.


    Just remembering it sent a pleasant thrill through his body, which was always followed by a shiver of disgust that sent maggots crawling down his spine. Was that what he had become? A blood-drinking monster like the stories of Alys Rivers from Harrenhal, who bathed in maiden¡¯s blood to keep her youth.


    For the first time in many years, Balon wanted to bring his knees up to his chest and just bawl for his long dead mother, as he did when he was a young boy scared of the shadows around every corner of his father¡¯s castle.


    Instead, he took that despair, crushed it until it could fit between two blackened fingers, then buried it in the deepest of pits in the recesses of his mind and plugged the hole with the only thing he still had. Duty. He knew couldn¡®t feel sorry for himself like a child anymore. He was a knight of the Kingsguard, by the grace of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name.


    Only children and old done men should weep feeling sorry for themselves, he thought, and I am neither.


    Reaching down, Balon plucked a primrose off the ground. Ser Boros was a fool most undeserving of his white cloak, but he had the right of it when he badgered them about stopping once in a while to smell the flowers. He could already smell the flowers'' sweet fragrance from where he sat, but Balon had weeks worth of dungeon stench to cleanse out of his system, so he brought the flower close to his face and inhaled.


    The petals tickled the bridge of his nose, and he enjoyed the simplicity of its sweetness. But there was something else far away too, as if lingering at the edges of his senses. Pausing for a moment, Balon breathed in again, deeper, and he sensed it clearly now, stronger than the sweet primrose an inch away from his nose.


    The rusty taste of blood was suddenly rich in the air, fresh and hot and still pumping, and all the other smells in the world suddenly dulled. And it wasn¡¯t just the smells that narrowed in focus. An icy cold wave washed through Balon, like the black oil spreading through his veins. His vision turned black and white, and he felt like there was a crouched shadow-cat inside of him, hind legs taut as a bowstring, ready to snap at a moment¡¯s notice.


    The smell of blood had set off the predator within him. A sense of urgency had taken Balon, a need to move and to act on his instincts. So he took off from the gardens, following the smell of blood as a hound trailing its prey. He wore only a black and white doublet and black breeches, and he cursed himself for a fool for not even taking a sword before leaving Qyburn¡¯s dungeon.


    The castle was dark and quiet this late at night, and slipping unnoticed came easier than he remembered. He avoided any guards or servants he came across; he could smell a person¡¯s sweat from three corridors down, hear the blood drumming in their veins, and keeping to the shadows along the halls was as natural as swinging a sword. His steps made nary a noise against the marble floor as he approached a set of stairs, his breathing no louder than the flutter of a moth¡¯s wings.


    Taking the steps two at a time, Balon arrived at the west wing of the castle. The smell of blood thickened here, and he noticed he was nearing the Tyrell apartments. The halls had been eerily quiet the closer he approached the smell of blood, so the first scream caught him off guard; it was a weak and distant thing that came and went as if carried in a gust of wind through gaps in thick doors and strong walls, but nothing seemed to escape his ears now.


    Balon damned discretion and took off in a dead run, only stoppind when he saw the first dead guards after turning three corners. There were two of them, sprawled over expanding pools of blood, swords half-way out of scabbards. The sight sent a pang of hunger through him, his nose sniffing the air as if the sweetest perfume had just been sprayed near his face. Saliva pooled inside Balon¡¯s mouth. He wanted nothing more than to stop what he was doing, drop to his knees, and lap at the hot blood staining the floor.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    I¡¯m no dog! he screamed to himself, though his knees trembled beneath him. I am a knight! A knight of the Kingsguard!


    Tearing his eyes away from the blood, Balon realized he¡¯d been there before, escorting the king. The door at the end of the hallway was the Lady Margaery¡¯s apartments. He could hear muffled screams and urgent whispers coming from within.


    Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the primal feeling of thirst that threatened to consume him and let it invigorate him instead. He allowed the thirst to set his muscles tight, his mind racing and hungering.


    He let the monster within him loose. Then he ran straight at the door, shoulder couched.


    Margaery Tyrell had not yet joined the royal family, but he knew the king would unequivocally care for her safety, and Balon had no intention of letting the king down. The impact came like a dozen stinging bees all over him. Instead of crashing open the door with his bulk as he expected, the wood exploded into splinters around him, cutting at his arms and face.


    Balon had a half-second to take in the room¡ªa young girl dead on the ground and four men carrying another three girls kicking and screaming to a fend in the stonework at the far wall of the room¡ªbefore there was a sword swinging his way. A black-dressed man had been watching at the door when he broke in, and it didn¡¯t take long for him to react.


    But Balon wasn¡¯t a mere man anymore. He slipped around the sword as gracefully as a waterdancer, one gliding step to take him out of the blade¡¯s reach, followed by another quick one to close the distance before the man could come up with a backswing.


    Then his fist shot forward like a whip, aiming at the swordsman¡¯s unguarded throat.


    Blood and gore suddenly sprayed him, and Balon felt bone snapping against his closed fist as easy as if it were a writing pen. When he looked, it was blank eyes that gazed back, and the only thing keeping the man¡¯s body standing was his own arm half-way into the neck. Ballon pulled back in a daze, letting the body drop in a heap of crimson as he stared at his blood-stained black hands.


    He heard the running footsteps as clearly as he would a marching drum, but he was too startled to consciously move, and it was only the monster¡¯s instinct within him that made him dodge the next sword.


    His body folded in half until he was looking up at the gold-lined ceiling, his back almost parallel to the floor. A sharp blade cut empty air only inches above him, and Balon was grabbing his attacker by the wrist and throwing him against the wall before he even knew he was doing it.


    The man hit the stone wall with a dull thud before falling lifelessly to the ground. And for a moment, the room fell into stunned silence.


    Then, ¡°Ser Balon! Hel¡ª¡± the words were out before the kidnapper could clamp a hand down on Margaery¡¯s mouth. He had her from the back near the passage in the wall, one arm going over her neck. The other two girls were in similar situations to her side. She looked at him desperately for a second, then she bit down on the fingers over her mouth until it looked as if she was feeding on the blood gushing out. The man yelped and let go, and Margaery dashed away across the room.


    At the same time, Mira Forrester swung a backward heel at her kidnappers crotch. The man let her go with an umph of exhaled breath, almost dropping him to his knees. She fished for something on the leggings of her half-torn nightdress, then came up stabbing him in the stomach, once, twice, three times, before he found his strength and pushed her away.


    That seemed to break the last kidnapper¡¯s spirit. ¡°Fuck this,¡± he said, then he threw Margaery¡¯s cousin to the ground and took off toward the open passage.


    The other two seemed to come to the same conclusion and fled after him, one with a bleeding hand and the other hanging limping with half his bowels out for view.


    Balon didn¡¯t mean for them to escape. Picking up the sword from the ground, he rushed after them, ignoring the northern girl as she slipped past him and went to the door, most likely to call for help.


    He moved as if in a dream, his steps more leaps than anything, and the first kidnapper went down at the threshold of the tunnel, with one less arm and his throat slashed clean through. That had been the one with the three stab wounds, and the other two were already running deeper into the pitch-black passage.


    He could hear their labored breathing as they ran; he could smell their fear. The light from the room reached no more than five yards inside the passage, but when Balon crossed into the darkness, his eyes could see as clear as if the moon was shining down on him.


    That shadow cat inside of him growled with hunger and glee. Then he went hunting.


    xxxx


    When Baelon came back to the open passage, blood dripped from all his limbs, and he could barely resist the urge to lick his lips. He was so thirsty.


    ¡°Are you alright, ser?¡± He heard someone ask in a soft voice. In the distance, shouts and pounding footsteps approached.


    Without saying a word, Balon reached for the stone slab with his black-veined hand and pulled it shut, locking himself inside before the girl on the other side could open her mouth again. When the last finger of light died, Balon felt himself slipping to the ground, the darkness of the tunnel swallowing him whole.


    He grabbed the first thing on the floor he could find, an arm, he thought numbly, and brought it to his mouth, sucking the life¡¯s blood still gushing out. The taste was as sweet and foul as he remembered, filling him with a black energy.


    Energy for what? He wondered. To hunt men down some more?


    Numb, he sucked on the arm again. Hot blood ran down his cheeks, or was it tears? Balon didn¡¯t know. He just kept drinking.

 Chapter 63

    The King¡¯s Gate loomed as we closed in on the city. Ramshackle houses dotted the outside of King¡¯s Landing¡¯s walls, along with shops and merchant stalls and seedy taverns. Our column passed through the shanty town in a storm of horses and dust, and as I slowed my horse until it''s galloping turned into a trot, I caught the eyes peeking out of shuttered windows and half-opened doors.


    The great iron-strapped gate stood open on one side, and only a trickle of people were leaving with whatever they could carry. Given the view I had from the hill, I had expected it to be much worse.


    A small clump of gold-cloaks came to the gates as we approached¡ªno more than four of them¡ªlooking at us warily.


    I glanced back at the file of knights behind me. They looked haggard and bone-weary, with blood staining their black and yellow tabards. It was no surprise the watchmen didn¡¯t recognize us. After I took off from the hill at a gallop, I hadn¡¯t once bothered to check over my shoulders to see if my knights were chasing me. At this point, I knew these men would follow me into hell itself without batting an eye.


    ¡°Raise my banner, Ser Godric,¡± I ordered.


    He snapped a salute, then unfurled the crowned stag into the air. Ser Godric had the cloth tied to a make-shift wooden pole, as he¡¯d broken his lance in the throat of one of the bandits.


    As soon as the guards caught sight of the king¡¯s banner, they waved us through the gates.


    I looked around the fleeing citizens and gold-cloaks until I caught who I was looking for. It was one of my household men I¡¯d ordered to help with patrolling the city. He was not one of my knights, just a man-at-arms in service of House Baratheon, but I¡¯d rather get answers to my questions from him than from the regular watchmen.


    I jumped out of my horse in a single move, trusting that Jaime or Lyle would see to it, and approach him. ¡°You there!¡± At first, he didn¡¯t seem to hear me. So I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.


    His hand was already flying to the pommel of his sword before he realized who I was. ¡°Your Grace,¡± he choked out.


    ¡°What is going on, ser?¡± I asked before he could start apologizing. ¡°Where is the fire?¡± I couldn¡¯t see a single burning building this side of the city.


    It took a second for him to center himself. ¡°It¡¯s Flea Bottom, Your Grace,¡± he said. ¡°Folk who come from there say it started on the street of silk, then ran up the packed hovels in the warrens.¡±


    The brothels? Why there? Pushing that thought aside, I asked, ¡°What¡¯s being done to contain the flames?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Your Grace. We¡¯re short on man here. The commander sent us all to the Old, Iron, and Dragon gate, near the fire. But I¡¯ve heard there¡¯s crews already out to block it off by tearing down the houses around.¡±


    I noticed my teeth were suddenly grinding against each other. Half my city was afire, and if I didn¡¯t do something, the rest might be lost as well. Truth was, I didn¡¯t even know if there was still wildfire in caches under the streets. One barrel of the green substance in the wrong place and there would be no way to stop it.


    ¡°I see. Keep up the good work, ser.¡±


    The man turned to leave just as Jaime rode up to me, bringing my charger with him. He did have good timing. ¡°We should ride to the Keep, Your Grace,¡± he said. ¡°They will know the situation better than a guardsman.¡±


    ¡°No. We ride to the fire.¡± Jaime looked taken aback, but my voice brooked no arguments. ¡°And forgive me if you can, ser, but I won¡¯t be needing you for the rest of the night. Rouse the fire priestess, if you will. It¡¯s time she makes herself useful to her promised prince again.¡±


    I looked away before his grimace turned into a scowl and hefted myself up my mount. The horse was clearly tired beneath me, but it would make do. When I looked back at Jaime, his eyes already shone red, so I signaled the men and we took off at once.


    ¡°My prince,¡± the red woman said over the hooves clip-clopping on the cobbled streets. ¡°How can I help you?¡±


    ¡°You said the ruby has power,¡± I started, ¡°power beyond your own. How can I use it?¡±


    ¡°Prayer,¡± she said, her tone carrying more conviction than I¡¯d ever heard. ¡°Only the lord can grant this power.¡±


    I frowned. I would pray if I had to but¡­ ¡°Does it matter if I mean the words?¡± I asked.


    Jaime¡¯s brow pinched in confusion, and I waved her away before she could open her mouth. It made sense that she wouldn¡¯t know; she was probably already a fanatic when she got the ruby from the red priests. She meant every prayer she¡¯d ever prayed to her lord.


    ¡°Never you mind it,¡± I told her. ¡°I¡¯ll try something.¡±


    We rode deeper into the city, skirting the foot of Viseny¡¯s hill where the Sept of Baelor resided atop. The air became fouler with the smell of burnt wood and black smoke the closer we got Flea Bottom, and I had to let Ser Godric ride ahead of me with my banner to open a path through the thickening throngs of people that fled the otheway with whatever they could carry in their hands.


    Turning the final shop-lined corner, we came upon the fires. The blaze was devouring whole blocks worth of buildings, seeming alive and menacing and reaching as high as towers. The flames shone against the plume of black smoke that hung over the city, casting the whole night in shades of red and yellow, bright enough that it looked as if dawn had already broken. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Soot-stained men worked on a ring around it with hammers and shovels, tearing down wooden houses and pot stalls. Screams and pounding hammers rang loud in the air.


    Hot air and smoke blew on my eyes, and I blinked the acrid moisture away.


    ¡°My powers are not as great without the ruby, but I will work to contain the flames,¡± Melisandre said from the side, and I noticed Jaime¡¯s voice didn¡¯t even crack with the smoke coming his way. It paid to have a fire priestess¡¯ soul in you, apparently.


    Jaime¡¯s eyes glinted red with Melisandre on the driving wheel, but this close to the fire, it seemed no more than a trick of light. Turning away, I focused on the ruby on Lightbringer¡¯s handle, one hand going over it. It was supposed to be tens of times more powerful than any fire priest, so I had to believe I could scrounge up something out of it.


    The hilt started to steam under the leather wrapping. The crackling fires sang in my ear, calling to the ruby as if it was an old friend. Sweat was pooling on the small of my back, running down the sides of my face; salt and soot dripped on my lips. Come one! Feeling a well of power surging in the ruby, rising with the temperature, I reached for it, a finger testing the waters of a pool, only to be denied with a harsh pull.


    The whiplash of the mental touch had me reeling, and even the horse beneath me shuffled on its hooves.


    Something blocked me like towering walls on the path of an army, and I couldn¡¯t see a single way around it.


    On the back of my mind, I knew that no tricks I could contrive would be of use here.


    I grimaced, face pinching. Had the Lord of Light himself denied me? Did he expect me to bow down and pray for him as a supplicant? If it¡¯s devotion he wants, he¡¯ll be sorely disappointed.


    Some men had stopped their work, gaping at the king seeming to have become paralyzed atop his horse. Even my knights stood around awkwardly. Putting on a brave face, I turned to the gathering. ¡°Take off your plates lest you want to broil inside,¡± I ordered, dismounting. ¡°Then let¡¯s get to work.¡±


    Grabbing a two-handed hammer from a passing worker, I squared my shoulders and approached the next building of many that was meant to be put down. I might as well make a show of it.


    xxxxx


    My shoulders were screaming when someone finally stopped me. I felt like a plough ox after a day on the fields, my whole back screaming at me with the effort of pounding down walls and carrying out the debris. We¡¯d taken occasional breaks, myself and the knights, taking turns with a crew of dockworkers that picked our hammers and shovels up while we sat out.


    After what must have been like hours working together, a few of them had yet to realize I was the king. It meant four less guys to spread a good word on me, but it made for good banter.


    I must¡¯ve looked as terrible as I felt, since the Lannister soldier who¡¯d just called me ¡®Your Grace¡¯ almost fell on his ass when I turned to him. ¡°I already said I¡¯d pass on the water, ser,¡± I said, tapping the wineskin hanging at my waist. It tasted like hot piss at this point, but I¡¯d rather taxe an axe through the belly than drink water from whatever shithole they were getting it from.


    ¡°Apologies, Your Grace,¡± the man said, dusting himself off. ¡°I came with word from the Red Keep. Your grandfather sent for you as soon as he learned you were in the city. There was an attack in the Tyrell apartments¡ªon Lady Margaery.¡±


    I was stunned into silence for a moment. ¡°Is she safe?¡± I found myself asking, though I barely heard his positive answer through my own swirling thoughts. My mind kept trying to process how everything could turn into chaos all at once. First the bandits and the fire, and now an attack inside Maegor¡¯s Holdfast on my bride?


    Chaos, I thought again. And just like that, all the little pieces fell effortlessly into place like a puzzle. A man named Brune should¡¯ve clued me in on Baelish¡¯s game, but an ambush didn¡¯t exactly promote deep, rational thought. And the fires starting in the brothels seemed almost poetic, coming from him.


    Kevan must have failed at the inn, I realized, and I was paying the price for his incompetence. Shoving the blame on someone else was deeply satisfying, even if untrue. His incompetence didn¡¯t erase my negligence, but it sure made me feel better about myself.


    And that¡¯s what counted, in my book.


    Letting the hammer fall from my hands, I addressed the Lannister soldier, ¡°Take me to her.¡±


    xxxxx


    When I arrived at my rooms after cleaning the soot and grime off with a wet towel, it was Loras who greeted me at the door. He stood unarmored despite being at his post, with a bandage around an arm and a somber cast to his usually bright eyes. ¡°She won¡¯t let anyone one inside, Your Grace,¡± he told me, voice cracking. ¡°And she refuses to leave, too.¡± He sounded as young as he looked right then. Just a boy wanting to help his sister.


    I nodded. ¡°I will speak with her, Loras,¡± I said, giving him a sympathetic smile. I was never the best at it, but people tended to buy it. ¡°My condolences on your cousin.¡±


    Loras bowed. ¡°Thank you, Your Grace.¡±


    Brushing past him, I entered my apartments to darkness and silence. I expected to hear shouts and condemnations, maybe have something thrown at me. It was what Cersei would¡¯ve done; but the truth was, I didn¡¯t really know what an upset, grief-stricken Margaery sounded like.


    From what I heard of the attack on my way here, the experience itself would take a toll on anyone, even more so on someone as privileged and sheltered as a noble lady of the Reach.


    And what I found was a young girl curled up in my bed, sobbing and whimpering.


    I almost didn¡¯t make it through the threshold of the parlor into the bedroom. Anger would¡¯ve been a hundred times better.


    My past life had its fair share of loss and pain, but I¡¯d never had that caring shoulder people love to wax about; or perhaps it was that I never allowed myself to lean on someone for support. It always smelled of weakness to me, that sort of vulnerability. I simply hefted the grief atop the growing pile mounting up in my mind and kept on moving forward. Always forward.


    What good was crying for someone if the dead would never hear it?


    But aside from the night of Melisandre¡¯s shadow attack, which was a literal demon coming in the night, I had always seen Margaery as someone beyond that weakness, with a tight leash on her emotions and hard as bones despite her soft demeanor; and I found myself wondering if there wasn¡¯t some strange form of strength in that vulnerability¡ªa courage of heart and trust in the choice of coming to my room instead of slinking to her own bed to cry by herself.


    It was an alien idea to me, and I didn¡¯t find the answer for it before I walked inside the room. In the end, I settled for going to sleep with my arms around her that night, her weeping turning to soft snores in my embrace.

 Chapter 64

    It was well after midday when I finally left my rooms. Margaery had barely stirred when I left the bed, her eyes still puffed up from crying. I had wished to stay as well; my muscles were sore and aching, and my head still throbbed from the effort of throwing my will against the ruby.


    A failed effort, I reminded myself. That stung more than any mundane pain I was feeling. I just wanted to lay in bed for the rest of the day, but one glance outside my window set me straight. Smoke still covered half the city like a black cloud, casting the streets in darkness. It cast a shadow in my mood too, and suddenly I knew I wouldn¡¯t be able to go to sleep even if I wanted to.


    Dressing up with a simple doublet and breeches, I headed for the door. I left orders not to be disturbed by any servant, so I would need to eat before assembling my council. When I opened the door, Lyle Crakehall stood at attention to the side. He must have changed with Loras sometime in the night. ¡°Ser Lyle,¡± I said. ¡°Nice to see you well.¡±


    The Strongboar swallowed and nodded. ¡°And you, Your Grace.¡±


    I noticed he couldn¡¯t quite meet my eyes and almost laughed. There was something comical about a veritable giant being afraid of you. But he wasn¡¯t the only one there. On the other side of the hallway, the young Harte boy, Ser Elwood¡¯s son and heir, was shuffling his feet. I always had someone waiting for me outside my room to serve as a runner, and Elwood had impressed me enough that I honored him by taking his son to page.


    ¡°Royce,¡± I called. ¡°I¡¯ve got two jobs for you. First, send word to my small council and Lady Olenna. I will have need of them in one hour¡¯s time, in the old council room behind the great hall.¡± I didn¡¯t feel like walking all the way to the Tower of the Hand. Let Tywin do some of the legwork for once. ¡°Then find Alyce and tell her to bring my food there as well, as soon as possible.¡±


    The boy nodded enthusiastically and took off, and I started going the other way, Ser Lyle behind me.


    A king¡¯s work was never done.


    xxxx


    Tywin stormed into the council room just as I put my fork down for the last time. ¡°Why was I told my son died yesterday?¡± he barked. ¡°Only for you to pray over him and bring him back to life? What sort of nonsense is this?¡±


    I dabbed at the corners of my mouth with a kerchief and pushed the plate to the side. Alyce, who¡¯d been waiting beside the table, had gone pale as milk with the Lord of Lannister¡¯s entrance, then even more so as she realized what he said. I waved her away before turning back to Tywin.


    ¡°Nothing but the truth,¡± I told him, watching the girl scurry out of the room. Tywin was not the kind of man to believe in tall tales. The more I talked of the divine intervention that saw Jaime and his hand brought back, the less he would regard it as truth. His doubts would only be assuaged once he saw it with his own eyes. ¡°I assume you¡¯ve had men check to see if Jaime is still alive, at the very least?¡±


    My calm answer had put a stop to his fury, but he still looked disturbed. ¡°He¡¯s in his cell at the White Sword Tower, sleeping,¡± he grunted.


    Before I could answer, I heard people coming from beyond the doors and lifted a finger. ¡°We¡¯ll speak later, Lord Hand.¡±


    Ignoring Tywin almost imploding where he stood, I saw Mace and Olenna stride through the doors, Grand Maester Pycelle slogging behind them. They were a sad lot, my small council, but I¡¯d be making a few changes soon enough.


    They took their time taking their seats and I simply kept watching, drumming fingers on the wooden table. The pleasant face I had when speaking with Tywin had turned to a mask of frostiness.


    Olenna was the first to shoot. ¡°How is Margaery, Your Grace, now that you seem to have sole custody of her?¡± she asked. ¡°She¡¯s still locked up in your room, isn¡¯t she? Poor girl. She was very attached to Megga¡ªtreated her like a little sister.¡±


    ¡°I must remind you, Your Grace.¡± That was Mace, looking like a giant toad draped in green silk and velvet. ¡°My Margaery is still a maiden, and you¡¯ve yet to be married. It is most improper for her to be in your room unaccompanied, even if Loras guards the door.¡±


    Instead of answering either of them right away, I waited quietly for a long moment, staring off at a distant window. On the corner of my eyes, I noticed that Olenna just kept staring at me, but Mace turned a dark red at the cheeks.


    Pausing my fingers at the table, I looked back at the Tyrells. ¡°You requested, Lady Olenna, to guard the Tyrell apartments with your men only. I objected of course, but you were adamant. A matter of trust, you said, then asked me to extend that hand of friendship. And you put two guards¡­ two guards, to watch over the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms¡¯ door. And the only reason the other girls are still alive is because Mira Forrester and her other cousin look too much like Margaery to risk killing. Since you and your men have proven yourselves unequipped to protect her, you can consider that trust summarily revoked.¡±


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    Olenna¡¯s face soured. ¡°You don¡¯t have to scold me like a child at the teat,¡± she said, huffing. ¡°I can manage that myself well enough. ¡±


    I waved dismissively. ¡°See to it that your men remove themselves by tomorrow. You can have your household knights remain at the Keep, but your guardsmen will have to find lodgings in the city from now on.¡±


    Olenna nodded resignedly, but Mace looked scandalized. ¡°Your Grace, surely¡ª¡±


    ¡°End of discussion, my lord,¡± I cut in.


    ¡°Would it be possible to speak with our grand hero of the night, then?¡± Olenna asked. ¡°That kingsguard of yours, the Swann knight.¡±


    A tight smile twisted my lips. She still presumed too much, even after shutting her down by taking the Tyrell armsmen out of the castle. I had to admit, she did have balls.


    ¡°Ser Balon does not serve at your pleasure, my lady,¡± I told her. ¡°Pray remember that.¡±


    At the opposite side of the table, Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat. ¡°Forgive me, Your Grace, but just before the fires started in the city, and the attack on Lady Margaery, I tended to some of your knights who returned from your expedition to the kingswood. Is there any merit to their report of an ambush on your party?¡±


    Olenna perked up, a shark smelling blood. ¡°Loras was very tight-lipped about it, but from what I heard from him and rumors circulating the Red Keep, Jaime was near death¡¯s door before the injured party left.¡±


    Tywin scoffed. ¡°My son is alive and well, I assure you. What worries me most is the king being ambushed in his own woods.¡±


    ¡°We shall talk about it later,¡± I said curtly. Let the rumors and stories of yesterday speak for themselves. I had no need to prattle on about my miracles when half a hundred knights would gladly do it for me. ¡°We have more pressing matters. Tell me of the fires, my Lord Hand. What is the damage so far?¡±


    ¡°Some five hundred to a thousand peasants perished with the flames,¡± Tywin said matter-of-factly, as if reading from a list. Not particularly attached to smallfolk, the old lion was. ¡°Along with great swathes of the northern part of the Street of Silk and most of Flea Bottom. The eastern section of the Dragonpit collapsed, and half of the whores in the Seven Kingdoms stand homeless and workless. Thousands of peasants are camped outside the walls of the city, and we can expect more of the dispossessed to move there in the next few days.¡±


    I nodded. Not as bad as I expected, but I needed to be seen putting work into this as soon as possible.


    ¡°Grand Maester,¡± I said, turning to the old fool. ¡°You will send some of the maesters and acolytes in the city to the camps outside, with a strong escort of guardsmen to protect them. They will heal and care for the infirm. For now, we will provide them food and water as well, on the Crown¡¯s expense. I want gold cloak patrols in these camps, too. The King¡¯s peace ought to be maintained.¡± ¡°


    ¡°As you wish, Your Grace,¡± Pycelle mumbled, though he looked none too happy about it.


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll set up the men to help in the reconstruction,¡± I continued. ¡°Organize parties to the kingswood for lumber; see if there are any carpenters and stonemasons among them and put them to work. Lord Tywin, you once said Tyrion was responsible for fixing the Rock¡¯s cisterns and sewers, no?¡± He nodded tightly. ¡°Then he shall be responsible for this project as well. It¡¯s past time to revitalize Flea Bottom. We¡¯ll have sewers and good housing for the people of the city. Perhaps even the stench will lessen in its vileness.¡±


    ¡°The smallfolk were packed like rats in the warrens,¡± Tywin interjected. ¡°Even if Flea Bottom is rebuilt to better standards, we won¡¯t be able to accommodate as many people as there were before.¡±


    I sighed. Even Tywin had a hard time thinking outside the box when it came to stuff like this. ¡°Then we¡¯ll be industrious with our smallfolk, grandfather. We¡¯ll settle them in the recovered areas of the Riverlands, or send them to farm the fields of the Reach and the Westerlands. Or give them a pike and a helmet and call them soldiers. We need every man we can get in the wars to come.¡±


    ¡°And which wars would that be?¡± Olenna asked.


    I couldn¡¯t rightly tell them about Aegon, and Daenerys at this point was just a boogeymen half a world away. ¡°The war is not over while Stannis and Balon Greyjoy live,¡± I told her. ¡°There can only be one king in the Seven Kingdoms. And one Queen, no? Unless you mean to leave the likes of Selyse Baratheon to contest Margaery¡¯s claim.¡±


    Mace nearly pounded his meaty fists on the table. ¡°Never,¡± he hissed. His buttons were as easy to push as a toddler¡¯s. ¡°We shall bring these pretenders down, one and all.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Well said, Lord Tyrell. I knew I could count on a man of vision like yourself.¡± He preened like a peacock at my words.  ¡°Now then, you are all dismissed for today. Lady Olenna, see to the shipment of more grain and cattle for the capital. Grand Maester, I want the first party of maester out in the camps by the end of the day. Lord Tywin, stay behind if you will.¡±


    When the rest of my diminished council had left, I turned to my grandfather. ¡°Kevan failed,¡± I told him, not even bothering to look at him as I stood up from my chair. ¡°The men who ambushed me in the kingswood were Littlefinger¡¯s, and I would give up my crown if the kidnappers who came for Margaery weren¡¯t his hired thugs as well. No other man alive would know of the existence of the tunnels as well as him. And if the fires started on the Street of Silk, then it started on one of his brothels.¡±


    Tywin¡¯s face was stony, but his eyes glinted with anger. Whether it was aimed at myself for pointing a finger at his brother, or at Kevan for his blunder, I didn¡¯t know. ¡°If he failed,¡± Tywin said, ¡°then something happened. Kevan is a cautious man.¡±


    I wanted to snort. How difficult was it to capture someone when I basically hand-delivered them to him? But it wasn¡¯t in my best interest to poke the lion with a short stick. So I just said, ¡°We shall see, then.¡±


    ¡°And the rumors about Jaime?¡± Tywin asked, keeping his icy tone.


    ¡°Feel free to ask him yourself, my lord, he is off duty for today,¡± I said, heading for the door.


    I couldn¡¯t dally in the council room for the rest of the day. I had a vampire to find.

 Chapter 65

    The temperature grew colder as we climbed down to the dungeons. Qyburn¡¯s workshop didn¡¯t rest beneath, or within, the black cells, instead it sat in one of the many cellars that made up the lower floors of the Red Keep. The air was heavy here, smelling of old dust and damp stone. It was only my second time paying him a visit, as the gloomy feel of the place wasn¡¯t particularly inviting.


    Ser Lyle Crakehall walked before me, carrying a torch at arm''s length. I¡¯d thought of leaving him behind for this part, but he¡¯d seen me supposedly bringing a man back to life by praying too hard. What was a bit of necromancy and blood magic going to do?


    The flames on the torch writhed as a draft of air blew from down the passage, then a bloodcurdling scream followed in its wake, echoing against the cramped stone walls.


    I smiled in the dark. We were getting close.


    Ser Lyle came to a full stop in front of me. ¡°Your Grace,¡± he cautioned.


    Slipping past him, I clapped him on the shoulder. ¡°Worry not, ser. It¡¯d be worse if it was silence we were hearing. The screams mean our host is home.¡±


    In the torchlight, I could see the Strongboar¡¯s brows furrowed in apprehension. It was a strange emotion in a face so used to broad smiles and loud guffaws, but he had probably never guessed the things he¡¯d start coming across after donning the white cloak in my service.


    Best get used to it.


    Turning to face the pitch black darkness, I started back down the sloping passage, an anguished scream ringing every once in a while, growing louder by the minute. I knew we were nearly there when, from further down the tunnel, I heard the soft patter of sandalled feet on stone quickly shuffling away, and could only imagine it was one of Varys¡¯ little birds that Qyburn had repurposed.


    From what I knew of him, I had no need to fear treachery from Qyburn. But I also had my fair share of reasons to be cautious recently, so I let Ser Lyle overtake me for the final stretch.


    Soon, we came upon the stone-hewn bench I recognized, and the door was already open to welcome us.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± Qyburn said, his voice soft as a whisper. With his mild demeanor and crinkled blue eyes that radiated warmth, he could easily pass as someone¡¯s kind old grandfather. Except the sleeves of his black robes were rolled up, and I could see the barely-washed blood stains climbing up to his elbows. ¡°I would have prepared had I known of your coming.¡±


    ¡°It is no problem, my friend,¡± I said. Over the former maester¡¯s shoulders, I could see stairs leading down to his dungeons, torchlight dancing over the final steps. ¡°I came to speak with Ser Balon, if he is well. I have much to thank him for yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Ah, of course.¡± Qyburn wiped nervous hands over his robes. ¡°Ser Balon is physically sound, but his mind¡­ well¡­¡± he trailed off, then made a sound in the back of his throat. ¡°Pardon me, Your Grace, please, do come in. Ser Balon is within, too. It is rather improper for me to bar you entrance into the cellars you¡¯ve personally provided me with.¡±


    I lifted an eyebrow. His mind?


    I didn¡¯t have time to formulate the question, as Qyburn turned around and made his way down the stairs, beckoning us to follow. Ser Lyle threw a glance at me, but I just nodded. Qyburn had his oddities, but I didn¡¯t feel it was a cause for concern just yet.


    The Strongboar took the lead again, and I followed behind. The descent down the wide stone steps was short-lived; the stairs hugged the wall on one side, while the other opened up into a room large enough to be called a gallery, with tall, arching ceilings, littered with tables and stands filled with dusty books, green leaves and herbs, tiny glass vials, and medical contraptions I¡¯d never seen the likes of. Barrels lined the long wall behind the stairs, and two door-less passages that led to pitch-black corridors could be found in the back of the room.


    Ahead of us, Qyburn stopped at a small table set against a wall. ¡°Some wine, Your Grace?¡± He hovered a hand over a small selection of bottles. ¡°Or maybe some mint tea?¡±


    Trust or no trust, the horridness of his workshop didn¡¯t stimulate consumption of anything. I smiled faintly. ¡°Perhaps another time,¡± I said as I took the final step into the cellar. Ser Lyle stuck close to me. ¡°And about Ser Balon?¡± I prompted, frowning. ¡°You talked of his mind. Is he growing mad?¡±


    Qyburn sighed. ¡°Not quite that, Your Grace. I might have misphrased it. His will would have been a better answer. He¡¯s grown disheartened by his condition. He loathes what he has become.¡±


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    ¡°Ah.¡± I nodded slowly. I could see how someone who grew up in a society as attached to normalcy and codes of honor and conduct¡ªand heavily influenced by a magic-hating religion¡ªmight be horrified by turning into a proto-vampire. ¡°I shall speak to him about it, then. But for now, tell me of the man I sent to you a few days ago. Addam, he called himself.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes.¡± A small smile wormed its way to Qyburn¡¯s face. He sat himself down on a chair, gesturing to the one on the other side of the table. ¡°Quite an interesting subject, Your Grace. He had many tales that will interest you. I had thought to put it in the report, but it is all the better you are here now.¡±


    I obliged and sat, while Ser Lyle came to loom behind me. ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°His real name is Edmund,¡± he told me, ¡°a young knight who¡¯s spent almost all his life with the Golden Company. He was sent to the capital and told to await contact from your Master of Whispers, Lord Varys, though he only knew him as the Spider.¡±


    ¡°He let that slip when we met, too,¡± I said. ¡°I hope that wasn¡¯t all. I was sure you had a talent for making unwilling tongues wag.¡±


    ¡°Oh no, Your Grace. He spoke a great deal of his beloved Company, though the pain inflicted on him didn¡¯t seem to hurt as much as his perceived betrayal of his fellow sellswords.¡±


    I nodded. Having been on both sides of quite a few interrogations myself, I had found that when a true professional was at work it didn''t take long for the victim to realize that they held no greater love in their heart than their love of themselves. Father told on son, wife pointed to husband, brother blamed brother.


    Trivial things like blood and kinship stop mattering that much when pain overtakes your world.


    Qyburn continued, ¡°He had no notion of a hidden king or an Aegon, but he knew the Golden Company was not currently accepting contracts while also preparing for war. They¡¯re recruiting any men with experience as a soldier, even swelling their ranks by folding smaller companies into their own.¡±


    I clicked my tongue, and I heard Ser Lyle sucking a breath behind me. He might fit the bill for the large boisterous warrior, but he was smart enough to put two and two together and come to the right conclusion on what we were speaking on. Aegon and king could hardly go in the same sentences and not provoke this sort of reaction from Westerosi.


    Finally I had confirmation that they were coming, and sooner rather than later. I had hoped to have more time to finish up Stannis in the North, but if Aegon and Jon Connington were about to come knocking at my door, those plans had to go into the back burner.


    Stannis was not a man to be underestimated and left to his own devices, but what choice would I have if elephants came suddenly charging at King¡¯s Landing¡¯s gates?


    In the books, they had landed in the Stormlands, taking several castles and making plans to seize Storm¡¯s End itself, which was still held by a man in Stannis¡¯ employ. But this world had proven to be different from both the books and the show, and I couldn¡¯t be certain of anything.


    Dorne was another likely beachhead, or even a straight attack at King¡¯s Landing.


    Qyburn shifting in his seat broke me out of my thoughts. I glanced back up at him, smiling. ¡°You did good work,¡± I told him. ¡°Enough that it might just save my kingdom. Is there anything else I should know?¡±


    ¡°I have learned a lot about how the company works, Your Grace. How they recruit men and who are some of their agents in the free cities. I believe this will make it easier to plant spies on their camp.¡±


    ¡°Do so at once,¡± I said. ¡°We must do everything short of calling the banners to prepare for an invasion, at this point. I will speak with my council to begin making proper arrangements.¡± Standing up, I fixed the sword belt on my waist. ¡°Now, is our friend Edmund of any more use?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not, Your Grace,¡± he said, sadness tinging his voice. Like a child whose toy broke.


    ¡°Then take me to him, Qyburn. I believe you will want to see this.¡±


    xxxxx


    The naked Edmund looked like a broken wretch as he cowered on the corner of his cell. We had come down one of the tunnels from the main chamber, passing several occupied cells until we came to the final room.


    The smell here was worse than Flea Bottom when it still stood in all its glorious wretchedness. But the strangest thing was that, when Qyburn opened the barred door, I saw that Edmund still had all his fingernails and the members to boast them; legs and toes were all in place, and when he opened his mouth to moan, squinting against the bright light of the torch, his teeth looked the same as the last time I saw him.


    Wondering over Qyburn¡¯s methods of torture for only a moment, I stepped into the room. ¡°The Gods have given me many blessings,¡± I said, glancing at my two companions. ¡°What you are about to witness is just one of many.¡± Lightbringer slid out of it¡¯s scabbard with a whispering rasp. I turned to the naked man cringing on the rush-covered floor, sword in hand. ¡°Ser Edmund of the Golden Company, for the crimes of high treason and espionage, I hereby sentence you to death. Do you have any last words?¡±


    Poor Edmund tried to form words, mouth opening and closing¡ªand I could see his tongue was still in there¡ªbut only groans came out.


    Shrugging, I brought a hand against the valyrian-steel blade and ran it down the length of its sharp edge.


    ¡°Your Grace!¡± Ser Lyle almost rushed to stop me, but I lifted my bloodied hand.


    ¡°Patience, ser,¡± I told him, then let the blood soak the leather over the ruby. Soon the sword came alight with dark flames. The shadows in the room thickened with the black light.


    For the second time today, Lyle Crakehall wheezed in a breath. Behind him, Qyburn stared wide-eyed at the sword, completely enthralled, his hands wringing against each other frantically.


    After my failure to contain the fires yesterday, I thought that perhaps the Lord of Light simply wanted to eat up more souls through his ruby. It was only a guess, I knew, but it was worth the shot.


    Edmund¡¯s agitated groans grew louder as I approached him with Lightbringer, but they hardly stopped me from driving the blade into his heart.

 Chapter 66

    I found him in a small den down the other passage from Qyburn¡¯s workshop. It wasn¡¯t a cell by any measure, but it was a struggle to call it a proper room. There was a cot tucked in the farthest corner, too small for a grown man to lay down properly, with a pewter basin and pitcher to its side and a small table with two chairs set against the left wall. On the table, a single half-burnt candle lit one half of the room, while the other laid in thick shadows.


    It was in that darkness that Balon Swann rested on the cot, curled on his side like a child, his back facing the room.


    I¡¯d kept my steps silent after leaving an exhilarated Qyburn and a stunned Ser Lyle behind, but I made sure to put my weight beneath the last few until I reached the table. Even as they thumped on the ground, he didn¡¯t stir.


    ¡°I hate to announce myself,¡± I said, pulling out a flimsy chair for me to sit on. ¡°But your king has just entered the room.¡±


    In an instant, Balon jumped in a mad scramble out of the cot. ¡°Your Grace,¡± he cried as fell to his knees. ¡°Forgive me. I did not know it was you.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°Unless you¡¯re on top of a thirty feet tall iron monstrosity of a throne, speaking with someone on their knees is not all that¡¯s made up to be.¡± Gesturing to the bed with a hand, I sat back against the chair, the wood groaning with my weight. ¡°Please, ser, sit with me so we may speak.¡±


    Grudgingly, Balon rose off the floor and sat straight as a spear on the bed. Despite his impeccable posture, his face seemed to sag on itself, with his brow furrowed and lined. Dark rings surrounded his eyes, which lay half-lidded as if he was near asleep.


    ¡°I came to see how you fared, ser,¡± I told him. ¡°And I apologize for not coming sooner, too, but Qyburn thought it inadvisable.¡±


    ¡°It was for the best,¡± he agreed with a mumble.


    I nodded. ¡°Perhaps. And I shall not dishonor you by thanking you for shielding me back at the pavilion, but I would be remiss not to do so for protecting Margaery. Were it possible, I would knight you again for it.¡±


    ¡°It was my duty, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t,¡± I said. She wasn¡¯t yet a member of the royal family, which meant the Kingsguard could give two shits about her, technically speaking. ¡°But I thank you all the same. She is to be my wife¡ªyour queen. It was a brave thing you did. Take solace in that.¡±


    Balon gave me a weak nod. We just sat there in silence for a long moment, both lost in thought. I had no particular desire to play the psychologist for a man half-stuck in the dark ages who just found out he had to drink blood to live, but I owed Ser Balon the effort.


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    The weak light of the candle blinked for a second as I shifted on my uncomfortable seat. Balon sat just on the edge of the yellow glow.


    ¡°Would you like to speak on it?¡± I started again.


    Ser Balon frowned, opened his mouth for a moment, then closed again. I could see him struggling with it, jaw setting tight, eyes squinting. Was it shame or fear he felt?


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you would,¡± I said. ¡°But I shall have to insist. I will order it, if I have to. I won¡¯t have a man plagued by insecurities guarding my back.¡±


    Ser Balon swallowed audibly. ¡°I understand, Your Grace. You should not have me in your kingsguard. I¡­ I am a monster.¡± He brought both his hands close to his face, inspecting them as if they were a foreign thing. ¡°The things I did, the things I have to do just to survive¡­ the things I might do if I went too long without...¡± he trailed off.


    It was both, then. He was ashamed of what he was and afraid of what he might do. ¡°Yes,¡± I told him. ¡°In a way, you are a monster. Were anyone to find out your need for blood, they would denounce you and attaint you. The Faith would rally their sheep against you, and perhaps even threaten my rule.¡±


    Balon looked down to the floor in disgrace. If it came to it, I¡¯d throw him to the hungry mob without a moment¡¯s hesitation. It would pain me to do so, but such was the nature of pieces in the chessboard. The knight would die a thousand deaths to protect his king.


    But from what Qyburn told me of how he found Balon in the tunnels the night before, and the gored state of the rest of the kidnappers, I would be foolish to throw away such a valuable piece. Inhumanly strong and fast, the nose of a bloodhound, loyal to a fault; the bastard even had night vision.


    ¡°Of course, Your Grace,¡± he croaked. ¡°I would not burden you like this. A quick death would be more honorable than this dreadful life.¡±


    I sat back on the chair, thinking. It was always duty with him. So long as I hammered that point home, I would be able to bring him back to action. It must have seemed to him that I agreed with his conclusion, since he looked resigned with his fate.


    I almost scoffed. ¡°Unfortunately for you, I give you no such leave to die. Death is easy, Ser Balon. Duty, on the other hand¡­¡± I shook my head. ¡°I took you for a knight of the kingsguard, ser. Not a craven that hides in a tiny dark room because he has a bit of a drinking problem.¡±


    I chuckled at my own joke, and it even managed to bring a weak smile to Balon. ¡°I would hazard that my affliction is a bit worse than having some trouble keeping away from wine, Your Grace.¡±


    ¡°Is it? Have you ever been so deep in your cups that you raped a woman?¡± The question immediately cut through his smile. ¡°Held her down and forced yourself on her, while she howled and cried beneath you? Because I¡¯d wager many of the knights that proclaim me their king have. Have you been so drunk in bloodlust that you put children to the sword?¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°How many towns have you sacked, ser? How many farms have you burned?¡± What was a vampire compared to all the Lannister men who had defiled the Riverlands from end to end, or the right honorable Starks who went and did it all over again after the Lannisters were done? ¡°Every man is a monster if he allows himself to be one, ser. Continue to serve me, and at least you will only be a monster to my enemies.¡±


    Rising off the chair in a single movement, I gave him a firm nod. Balon followed me to his feet. ¡°Your Grace, I...¡±


    I waved his words away and turned to leave. ¡°Sleep for today, ser,¡± I said. ¡°You¡¯ve deserved it. But I expect you at my door tomorrow, bright and early.¡±


    When I was already past the door, I heard him call out, ¡°As you command, Your Grace.¡±

 Chapter 67

    It was late afternoon. A gentle breeze was rolling in from the south; the waning sun that had remained hidden behind a blanket of clouds throughout the day finally peeked out from the edge of the horizon, painting the smoke cloud over King¡¯s Landing a deep red as if the city was afire again.


    ¡°Well, the view is great,¡± said Tyrion, sitting across from me in one of the Keep¡¯s many balconies. ¡°And at least the smell is better.¡± He made a big show of sniffing the air. ¡°Ah! Ash instead of human shit. A great improvement in your reign, Your Grace. But as your Master of Coin, I thought I would at least meet the standards of conversing in your solar for once.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m afraid the Kingsguard has instituted a minimum size requirement to enter my solar,¡± I told him, putting my hand out to indicate a height just a bit taller than he was. ¡°Safety reasons, you understand.¡±


    ¡°A dwarf joke, how original.¡± He took a sip of his mulled wine and considered the food laid out to us on the table. A simple affair of roasted onions dipped in gravy, buttered bread, freshly-caught trout, and a side of carrots and greens and sweetgrass. ¡°Now, I appreciate being dined and wined as much as any whore would, but I doubt you called me here just to provide me with a good time.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°My preferred partner has been feeling indisposed since last night, so I thought we could speak on state matters while we ate.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to know I¡¯m your last option,¡± Tyrion snarked, ripping off a chunk of bread.


    I rolled my eyes. ¡°You were my second, actually, and you will forgive me if I enjoy Lady Margaery¡¯s company more than yours.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes. Terrible business, that. Attacked in the heart of the kingdom by thugs, only to be saved by the dashing white knight. A tale worthy of songs. I would sure love to have some personal guards of my own in these troubled times; but when I finally got to speaking with Bronn about returning to my service after he was done with your errands, he confessed to already being permanently employed.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I was simply making a better use of his talents while you were unavailable, uncle. Now, you could say I¡¯ve grown attached to him.¡±


    ¡°I thought ensuring my safety was a good use of his talents.¡± Tyrion said. ¡°The best use, in fact.¡±


    I let go of my cutlery and looked at him squarely. Apparently, Tywin had cut off most of his privileges ever since the trial. I¡¯d been too busy to countermand it before, but I could use it now to score some more points with him. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I told him. ¡°I will see to it that you are appropriately baby-sat from now on. Ten men, five per shift. A member of the king¡¯s own small council shouldn¡¯t be walking around the city, or the castle, unguarded.¡±


    ¡°The small council? Why, I had almost forgotten of my appointment as Master of Coin, seeing as I wasn¡¯t even called to today¡¯s session.¡±


    I groaned. ¡°A mistake on my part. My page is new. He didn¡¯t even know you were to be called too. But it doesn¡¯t matter. We spoke only briefly, and I¡¯m sure your father has already informed you of what you are responsible for.¡±


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    Tyrion gave a humourless laugh. ¡°Yes, dear Lord Tywin does love tormenting me with menial tasks. First the sewers in the Rock, now Flea Bottom in King¡¯s Landing. Though I suppose this one is on you. I wonder if they will name me Tyrion the Shitfixer in the future. Or perhaps the Cleaning Imp. It does have a nice ring to it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s work that needs to be done, uncle,¡± I said. ¡°No more no less. But that¡¯s not what I called you here for. It is time you know a truth only your father and I know so far.¡±


    His eyebrows popped up. ¡°Oh a secret, how juicy. Let me guess, Lady Falyse was caught fucking another¡ª¡±


    ¡°A boy proclaiming himself to be Aegon Targaryen, Rhaegar¡¯s son, will soon invade the Seven Kingdoms with the Golden Company and other free companies at his back.¡±


    Tyrion¡¯s mouth closed with a click, and he sat stunned for a long moment. ¡°Oh,¡± he finally said.


    ¡°Yes. Oh. Big oh, in fact. I had counted on Dorne as a potential ally after Prince Oberyn¡¯s visit, but not so much now. And that¡¯s without counting Stannis and Balon Greyjoy and Daenerys Targaryen.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Tyrion started, stirring his wine with one stunted hand. ¡°I was known as a prolific problem solver in my days, nephew, but now I tend to steer away from wars and battles and all that nonsense. I don¡¯t have any more noses to lose, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°It is not your battle expertise I¡¯m after.¡± Tyrion had a great head for administration, when it wasn¡¯t flooded with puppy-love for lying whores. After the trial, I had visited Shae once in the manse I¡¯d put her in. Just once. She wouldn¡¯t be betraying anyone ever again. I made sure of that. ¡°It¡¯s coin and logistics I need from you. Wars cost money. Grain and iron shipments, wood for pikes and spears and barrels filled with arrow shafts, heads of cattle, payment for the soldiers, and for the cartwrights and fletchers and smiths and cooks and whores that follow a war camp. And, of course, someone needs to organize it all.¡±


    Tyrion frowned. ¡°If you think I can rub two coppers and produce a silver like Littlefinger, you¡¯re dearly mistaken, Your Grace. I can borrow it, if you wish but¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said. Borrowing a token amount from the Iron Bank so they don¡¯t side with the other pretenders wasn¡¯t the worst idea, but we had just paid them nearly three million dragons. That would suffice for now. ¡°Don¡¯t bother. In the short-term, there¡¯s not much we can do, I know. But when you rebuild the near-quarter of King¡¯s Landing that was devastated, it shall be the Crown that controls all those buildings. It will be the Crown who owns and operates the brothels in the new Street of Silk. The shops and taverns and warehouses that spring up will pay us tribute, or perhaps we shall own them ourselves. I want new businesses there, not rat-stuffed warrens. I¡¯ll give you the freedom to do as you see fit.¡±


    Tyrion sat back on his chair, legs dangling in the air. ¡°While I¡¯m glad to be named your new quartermaster and whoremonger, along with Master of Coin, it seems like a lot to do from the discomfort of my current rooms near the kitchens,¡± he said, not at all trying to be subtle.


    I waved a hand. ¡°Yes, yes. Move back into Maegor¡¯s Holdfast. Your father will be gone soon enough after the wedding. I will speak with Pycelle, too. You¡¯ll have enough assistants to help you. But they will be your responsibility. I¡¯ve found that one in three men are spies in this castle. The other two are spies too, mind you, but they are my own. It will be on your head if our plans fall into enemy hands.¡±


    ¡°I have quite a large head, thankfully,¡± Tyiron said, chuckling.


    I laughed with him, then paused. ¡°Oh, another thing. You¡¯ve been to the Pyromancer¡¯s guild, no? Before the Blackwater?¡±


    ¡°Indeed I have.¡± He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why? Are you thinking of picking up alchemy as a hobby, Your Grace?¡±


    I chortled. ¡°Not quite. I simply mean to pay them a visit, uncle, and I would love your company. And Bronn¡¯s too,¡± I amended. ¡°Just in case.¡±

 Chapter 68

    Ser Balon was waiting for me the next morning when I opened the door of my room. We were both dressed as if for an expedition north of the Wall, with knee-high leather boots, thick woolen breeches and tunics, and heavy fur cloaks.


    Ser Balon didn¡¯t say anything as I slipped past him; he simply bowed and followed behind me.


    It was business as usual for him.


    In the soft yellow light of early dawn, traipsing the castle felt like walking in a dream. Our steps clacked louder than expected on the marble floor, the halls stretched long and unending, and the world seemed to be covered in a fine film of peacefulness.


    Reality reasserted itself quick enough when we passed through an open balcony with a view of King¡¯s Landing. I didn¡¯t stop to stare, but one glance was more than enough. There was a black scar in my city where the fires had burned, as if a giant sickle had cut a trench through buildings like stalks of grain, exposing the dark soil beneath.


    It could have been worse, I kept reminding myself as Ser Balon and I made our way to the gatehouse of the keep. Hundreds of wildfire jars had been accidentally found beneath the Great Sept before they were removed during Robert¡¯s reign. If there had been some underneath the Dragon Pit¡­


    Our horses were already waiting there in the hands of a trio of young stablehands, together with three more for our companions. I gave nods and silvers to each, receiving grateful bows and beaming smiles in return before they left.


    The morning air was brisk as we settled in to wait, and I clutched my cloak closer to me despite the many layers I was dressed with. Another minute or so and I would start sweating, but I could enjoy the warm clothes against the chilly wind for now. I wasn¡¯t particularly in a hurry to get going, but many reacher lords were supposed to arrive during the day, and I had to be there for the most respectable ones.


    And I had a feeling that visiting the ancient and mostly defunct order of the alchemists just wasn¡¯t going to cut it as an excuse to miss their arrival.


    A few minutes later, Tyrion Lannister, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, and Ser Lyle Crakehall were stalking across the courtyard, long shadows trailing behind them.


    ¡°You needn¡¯t have sent your paid thug to shake me awake in my chambers,¡± Tyrion grumbled as he approached us. He looked comically round and small swaddled up in winter clothing as he was, with sleep written all over the slip of face I could see behind the headscarf covering his mouth.


    I graced him with a smile. ¡°I would hardly call a member of the Kingsguard a paid thug, uncle,¡± I said, swinging myself up on the rouncey. ¡°They¡¯re not paid a penny, after all. Up and at them now; it¡¯s past time we leave.¡±


    Tyrion muttered something under his breath and made for his own mount, Ser Lyle doing the same to my other side. The Lannister dwarf had to have Bronn help him up the horse, which would be funny enough on a normal day; but with all the clothes he had on he looked like a fat cat scrambling up the side of the beast, and it was all I could do to look away and school my face.


    Tyrion was too valuable for me to alienate over something like this, and I liked to think I was beyond mere schoolyard bullying. When I didn¡¯t like a man, it was a knife in the ribs I awarded him with, not a petty laugh in his face.


    And Tyrion Lannister was another person I unwittingly found myself liking in this world.


    We left as soon as everyone was mounted and ready. The Guildhall of the Alchemists was near the Great Sept, just on the foot of Visenya¡¯s hill, so we needed only to go straight down the main thoroughfare that cut the city in half.


    I had expediency in mind, but when we made it down the hill in which the Red Keep sat upon, I took us a few streets over so we could ride along the line of demolished buildings that ringed the area most affected by the fire. Mounts of blackened stone and charred wooden beams marked where houses and shops once stood, and thin trails of gray smoke still drifted up the air from deep within the rubble. Behind that, where Flea Bottom and its labyrinth of wooden shacks had squatted, there was nothing but a black wasteland.


    Imitating my uncle, I pulled the scarf I had tucked into my tunic to cover my nose. The acrid smell of smoke didn¡¯t hold the same appeal after Melisandre¡¯s soul left Lightbringer¡¯s ruby.


    The devastation continued for several blocks. Few enough peasants were around this early in the morning to take note of our passing, and the ones that were seemed busy enough scavenging through the ruins of the houses. One man¡¯s trash is another man¡¯s gold, as they say.


    Before we turned in the direction of the Guildhall, I took note of an old smallfolk couple standing by the corner of the street, holding each other in their arms. Both old and gray-haired, they were staring down at a small pile of rubble by their feet, a look of utter loss and anguish on their weather-worn faces.


    Was it a house they toiled their entire life to build they mourned? Or a child too slow to escape the fire? Or both?


    I put heels to my mount and shook peasants out of my thoughts, lest I get too in my head about how this was all my fault. A conscience was the last thing I needed at this point in the game.


    xxx


    ¡°This is it, then?¡± I asked, looking at the square-shaped stone building in front of me. It definitely lacked the flair I expected of an alchemist¡¯s hall.


    ¡°Yes, yes, this is it,¡± Tyrion said, back to waddling afoot after we left the horses in a tavern¡¯s stable nearby. ¡°They do know we¡¯re coming, no?¡±


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    I banged a fist on the thick ironwood door, once and twice and three times, until I could hear the pounding reverberating inside the guildhall. ¡°They do now,¡± I said.


    Sooner than I expected, the small wicket in the middle of the door slid open and a pale young face which I could only think was an apprentice peeked out from the gloom. ¡°What is this?¡±


    Balon cleared his throat. ¡°King Tommen wishes to speak with Lord Hallyne, the Grandmaster.¡±


    The apprentice¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°The king?¡±


    Stepping up, I pulled my cloak aside and slid Lightbringer halfway out of it¡¯s scabbard. The apprentice went wide-eyed when he caught the sight of the rippled blade that had already become legend in King¡¯s Landing.


    ¡°Of course!¡± the apprentice said hurriedly. ¡°At once, Your Grace.¡± I heard latches and chains being undone on the other side. The heavy door slowly groaned open. It was a short slip of a man clad in shoddy black and red robes that greeted us. ¡°Forgive me, Your Grace. We were not expecting a visit. I, uhm, I shall call on Lord Hallyne at once,¡± he said, before scurrying back into a pit black passage in the wall.


    ¡°Lovely place,¡± I murmured, looking around at the bare stone room we found ourselves in. There wasn¡¯t even a place to sit and wait, and only a single candle illuminated the area. Though, in fairness, I doubted the guild had many visitors of recent.


    ¡°It hides its charms well enough,¡± said Tyirion. ¡°You¡¯ll see it if you¡¯re lucky enough to get the full tour as I did.¡±


    We didn¡¯t have to wait long before shuffling steps heralded Hallyne, or rather, Lord Hallyne, as Cersei had generously gifted him a lordship¡ªthough one with no lands or incomes to go with the title¡ªfor his contribution during the Battle of the Blackwater.


    ¡°Your Grace!¡± The old man managed a bow. In the weak light of the candle, his skin looked to be the color of chalk. ¡°Let me just say what an honor it is to have the king visit our humble order. Truly, a great honor indeed.¡±


    ¡°The honor is mine, Lord Hallyne¡± I smiled courteously. ¡°My uncle has told me of his own visit to your guildhall, but I was wondering if you could guide me as well if you are not too busy.¡±


    At that, the old wisdom lit up like a beacon. The next half hour consisted of non-stop talking by the old wisdom, while he took our merry group through all tourist spots, from the Gallery of the Iron Torches with it¡¯s black marble floors and its metallic columns, all lit up by acid-green wildfire braziers, to the lengthy storerooms where the jars were kept, and even the dark hall where we could peek into the cells where the wildfire itself was made. And while had a habit of going off on tangents, his passion for what he did was evident. That, at least, I could respect. This guild was his life¡¯s work, and his father¡¯s and grandfather¡¯s too.


    According to the wisdom, each cell represented a step in the process of making the substance, with its own spells and ingredients and precautions that had to be taken so the wildfire came out properly, and the acolytes only knew the steps for their assigned cells until they became full-fledged wisdoms.


    That had almost made me curse out loud. I had come here to have the Grand Wisdom, or whatever his title was, taken to Qyburn for thorough questioning, so we could finally learn the secrets behind wildfire and start production ourselves. But if Wildfyre is as hard to make as it seems, I might as well work with him instead of putting more on Qyburn¡¯s shoulders.


    Pulling back from looking into one of the cells, I turned to the wisdom. ¡°Tell me, my lord. The¡­ spells to produce wildfire. Have they begun to strengthen recently?¡±


    From the corner of my eyes, I saw Tyrion frowning. Bronn we had lost somewhere along the way, though I suspect he wouldn¡¯t give two fucks about what I asked, and Ser Balon and Ser Lyle had enough experience with the supernatural to be unfazed by my question.


    ¡°Oh yes, Your Grace,¡± the pallid man said. ¡°Hmmmm, yes. It started the year before last. The substance is more alive than ever now¡ª¡±


    That fit the timeline of Daenerys dragons hatching into life. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder about that. Did that mean that my own powers, or those given to me by the Lord of Light or whoever brought me here, could only be enacted so long as dragons rode the winds?


    ¡°¡ªbut us, that is, the order, oh we take care with it, Your Grace. Very much so. Every apprentice must first pass rigorous tests before he becomes an aco¡ª¡±


    ¡°Believe me, my lord. I would listen to your order¡¯s whole history well into the evening if I had the time, but I¡¯m afraid I have several appointments later today. Tell me, are there any caches of wildfire left anywhere under the city?¡±


    Hallyne shook his head. ¡°No, Your Grace. Not as far as we can tell. There is always a chance that some hidden stash from the time of King Aerys remains unacknowledged, but after the scare at the sept a few years back¡­ well, we were very thorough.¡±


    ¡°That is good to hear. Especially after the other night¡¯s happenings.¡± I glanced at Tyrion. ¡°How many were produced before Stannis¡¯ came knocking at our doors, uncle?¡±


    ¡°Ten thousand jars,¡± Tyrion provided. ¡°Courtesy of your dear departed mother.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°I want production to start back at once, then,¡± I said. Knowing of three fleets that might soon be pointing my way, I wouldn¡¯t mind having a surplus of wildfire stockpiled just in case. ¡°But I ask that all the jars be kept here, under strict safety provisions. I want the jars buried so deep, grandmaster, that not even a dragon landing in the guildhalls roof and torching the place will set a drop of wildfire alight.¡±


    Lord Hallyne smiled with yellow teeth. ¡°It would be our greatest honor to serve the throne once more, Your Grace. Hmmmm, could I assume the throne will match its contribution to the cause as it did before the battle?¡±


    It always came to money, didn¡¯t it? At least they needed very little. From what I read from the ledgers, three-hundred dragons a year would be enough to maintain the guild operating at full capacity.


    ¡°The Crown will provide¡­ given reasonable fund requests,¡± I told him, and Hallyne was quick to bow. After that, we started making our wait back upstairs, crossing the veritable maze of dark corridors that comprised the inside of the guildhall. I wasn¡¯t done milking this trip for what it was worth though¡ªwhich so far, wasn¡¯t that much at all. I caught the wisdom¡¯s attention with a waving hand. ¡°Sate a young man¡¯s curiosity, my lord, if you will.¡± He bobbed his head in clear excitement. ¡°Your order was once vaunted and famous through the land, an institution older than even the Citadel, and it was even said you knew how to transmute metals. Have any of those old magics been preserved, or perhaps returned with the strengthening of your spells?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately no, Your Grace. Most of our ancient knowledge has been lost to time and conflict. Why do you ask?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Simple curiosity, as I said. I carry a valyrian-steel sword of my own. I thought perhaps there was some form of connection between the production of this magical steel to the Alchemists¡¯ own method of changing metal.¡±


    The wisdom broke out in raspy chuckles. ¡°And one we have tried revisiting as well, Your Grace. Hmmm yes, we have dug most thoroughly in the archives we have left, but those are few and mostly pertaining to order records. Most of our Valyrian texts were taken to Dragonstone during the reign of King Maegor I, when members of his guild opened a sect at the island. We lost contact with them only a few years later, and no sign of their presence was found when we sent people looking.¡±


    I hummed, a small smile blooming on my face. ¡°Dragonstone, huh?¡± The dark stairs gave way to the eerie-green gallery with the towering columns of black metal. ¡°I just so happen to be planning a vacation there soon, dear wisdom.¡±

 Chapter 69

    Of the important lords I had to meet today, Lord Rowan arrived first.


    A small party of riders had come ahead of the host to herald their lord¡¯s approach to the city while I was away, and the castle had prepared appropriately. Now, I stood in the shadow of a large white canvas that had been set up in the main courtyard of the keep, with the members of House Tyrell already in the capital with me.


    As the king, I had no need to stand for ceremony to anyone, even important lords, but it was a courtesy that would go a long way for first impressions with them, and wasn¡¯t that much of a bother to me.


    I had changed back into my kingly clothes after the tour of the alchemist¡¯s guildhall¡ªa rich black doublet and a golden half-cape draping over one shoulder. It was a simple affair compared to the other lords and ladies, as I wasn¡¯t a big fan of my clothes being half-covered with imagery of stags or lions in gold and silver embroidery.


    However, being king meant I was a trend-setter, and I¡¯d already noticed the change in style of the richer lords and knights who could afford whole new wardrobes like that.


    As politically astute as she was, Margaery had been the first one to start changing her own attire. Her dresses turned simpler, with a cleaner cut and less gaudy filigrees and golden-chasings. It was a seemingly unimportant move on its own, but it served to establish her own place of prominence in court as the queen-to-be.


    It was a good reminder that as nobles, politics affected every aspect of our lives, doubly so for me.


    Today was different, however. The Tyrell family wore all black, mourning the death of young Megga Tyrell, Margaery¡¯s cousin and lady-in-waiting. Though I had no doubt that too was a political move, at least for Mace and Olenna. They didn¡¯t seem too bothered by the girl¡¯s death when I last spoke to them. Unlike Margaery, who blamed herself for it.


    Even as she smiled brightly here for the passing knights and servants, I could see that the smiles never reached her eyes. But she was the perfect little lady in this regard. She knew how to play her part.


    And I had mine to play, too. The men I¡¯d meet today were at the top of the political ladder in the Reach. Matthis Rowan was only the first, as Redwyne ships had been sighted passing through the Gullet early yesterday, and the Rowan heralds had told us Tarly¡¯s host was a half-day¡¯s ride behind their own.


    I was snapped out of my thoughts when I noticed Olenna moving away from her spot. There was a table with refreshments behind us, and a servant was refilling her empty drink.


    Moving her way, I greeted, ¡°My lady.¡±


    Olenna turned. ¡°Your Grace.¡± She raised her goblet as if in toast. ¡°Here for the iced milk as well? It¡¯s terribly good for the bowels.¡±


    I chuckled. I severely doubted it was, but who was I to change an old medieval woman¡¯s mind. ¡°Not at the moment, thank you. I was wondering if you could assuage a doubt of mine.¡±


    She nodded as if to nudge me on, sipping on her cold drink all the while.


    ¡°It was my understanding Lady Alerie was a Hightower by birth,¡± I said, ¡°but I¡¯ve yet to see any Oldtown banners snapping in the wind. Am I to expect the house that can field nearly three times as many men as any one of House Tyrell¡¯s other vassals not to send any men for our cause?¡±


    After the War of the Five Kings, and many armies being spent on the field, House Hightower was perhaps one of the five most powerful houses in Westeros, accounting for the whole spectrum of political influence, wealth, and military might. Not only did they have sole rule over the second largest city in Westeros, a small fleet of their own, and a close relationship with the Faith and the Citadel, they were also the house currently married to their overlord, offering them another layer of protection and back up.


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    Olenna clicked her tongue irritably. ¡°That old fool won¡¯t come down off that tower of his, not even for his granddaughter¡¯s wedding.¡± She waved a wizened hand in the air. ¡°I know his men went back to Oldtown after the Blackwater, but he¡¯s sent some three thousand men to Highgarden to serve as a reserve force with one of his sons.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. That¡¯s a shame. I had wished to speak with Lord Leyton, but perhaps next time, then,¡± I said. Not only were the Hightowers powerful, they were also deeply intertwined with the more mysterious arts, and picking Lord Hightower¡¯s brain on it, even if subtly, would have been ideal now that I found myself neck deep in magic.


    The day went on normally from there. Along with a thousand mounted lances, of which some two hundred were knights, Lord Rowan brought his wife and three daughters with him, whom Margaery was quick to sweep away into the castle after proper introductions were made.


    Lord Mathis was polite and courteous when we briefly spoke, though he was far from being an arse-licker like Mace. He even seemed wary of me at first, which given the whole shadow-demon incident, I could understand.


    A reputation and a crown only went so far with prudent lords like him. I¡¯d have a few days before and after the wedding before we left for Dragonstone to start good relations with these men.


    It was not two hours later when Lord Paxter Redwyne and his daughter Desmera disembarked at the docks from the great, three-masted Arbor Queen, at the head of a fleet of one hundred and fifty ships. They were to be added to the slowly growing Royal Fleet Tywin had been rebuilding. Our conversation when he arrived at the castle was even shorter than with Rowan, as I allowed him some time with his sons before we reconvened for the feast at night.


    Tarly came as the sun was setting. He had left his host camped in a field an hour¡¯s ride out of the city. His army was nearly two thousand strong, consisting mostly of bowmen levies and men-at-arms, but also a significant force of petty lords and knights, some four-hundred of those.


    My interaction with him confirmed what I already knew of his personality. He was curt but not impolite, and I could see he would only respect me depending on my martial prowess. No doubt he had heard of the shadow-demon story the same as Lord Rowan, but it was clear he gave no credence to it.


    xxxx


    Despite the death of young Megga and the fires in the city hanging over the feast like a cloud of black smoke, humors had been high at the king¡¯s table. I was able to keep the reacher lords well entertained as I feasted them, speaking mostly of their lands and shared histories as a way to try and connect to them. Normally, I would feast one of them a night, but since three had arrived on the same day, it would not do for me to pick one over the other.


    Tarly stewed where he sat, though he was quick to butt into conversations when it came to matters of state and war. Paxter was a sullen man too, but after a few glasses of his own wine he opened up to the point I would call him pleasant.


    The lord of the Arbor had brought and given me several caskets of the best vintages the Reach had to offer, and I didn¡¯t waste any time in breaking it out for tonight.


    He wasn¡¯t the only one either. The stout Mathis Rowan was an absolute riot after his fifth goblet, especially once the Tyrells retired.


    The night had grown late already, and people were slowly filing out of the great hall. As the laughter slowly died out from the latest of Rowan¡¯s jokes, I addressed all three of them, ¡°My lords, I hope you will agree to sit in during the meetings of my small council while you are in the city. Your wisdom would be of great use in planning out the next steps of my reign.¡±


    ¡°It would be an honor, Your Grace,¡± Mathis Rowan said, red-cheeked and grinning as if he wasn¡¯t a middle-aged man speaking with a child. On the other side of the table, Tarly and Redwyne said something on the same lines.


    Tywin nodded tightly beside me. While I knew he did not like having all these lords sworn to House Tyrell attending the council meetings, he had approved of the decision beforehand. We would be using mostly Reachmen in taking Dragonstone, and it would go a long way to at least give the impression of including them in the decision-making of the invasion. Besides, after this was done, I already planned on naming Tarly to my small council officially.


    The news came just as I called an official ending to the feast, with the last of the guest lords stumbling back to their rooms. A Lannister squire came running in from a side door and whispered something into Lord Tywin¡¯s ear. I didn¡¯t take it as anything serious, as he maintained a perfectly stoic face until we were the only ones left behind in the hall.


    ¡°A successful night, wouldn''t you agree, grandfather?¡± I asked, smiling. I had a bit of wine in me, too.


    ¡°We shall have to see,¡± Lord Tywin said. He fixed me with a sobering look. ¡°Kevan has just arrived in the keep, Your Grace. And he brings some guests.¡±

 Chapter 70

    The night was eerily quiet as Tywin and I waited for Kevan. After immediately sending for him on hearing of his return, I rushed back to my solar so we could talk in a more private place than the great hall.


    Tywin had wished to speak to his brother alone before I met him, but I cut that idea off right at the root. It was little things like this which reminded me that while Tywin was in my corner, he would never willingly relinquish his hold on power. Even if he were to tell me word by word of his conversation with Kevan, just by being the one to do so guaranteed he could control the flow of information, and therefore the narrative.


    Kevan¡¯s failure in capturing Littlefinger was a Lannister failure by association. Tywin would¡¯ve easily flipped the script on me and sold me a story which blamed someone else other than his brother, even if everything he said was rooted in the truth.


    My thoughts were interrupted as two quick raps came at the door before it creaked open. The hulking form of Ser Lyle stepped half-way into the room and bowed with his head. ¡°Your Grace, Ser Kevan Lannister is without.¡±


    ¡°Please let him in, Ser Lyle,¡± I said. Tywin stood stiffly by the bar to the other side of my desk, pretending to enjoy a glass of watered wine when in fact I could nearly see the racing thoughts jumping out of his brain.


    He would have to make a choice when I started asking the difficult questions. I wondered, would he throw his brother under the bus, or would he side with the man wearing the Lannister name?


    The Strongboar bobbed his head again, stepping further inside the room, and the next man who walked through the door wore a Lannister crimson cloak instead of kingsguard white.


    Kevan Lannister was a large man by all accounts, much different than his show counterpart. He stood as tall as Tywin in his red-enameled armor, but was much wider at the shoulders and waist. His gray-blond hair was slowly receding at the sides, and he kept his beard close-cropped to his jaw.


    ¡°Your Grace,¡± he said, bowing to me first, then to Tywin. ¡°My lord.¡±


    Tywin nodded to his brother. ¡°Kevan,¡± he drawled.


    ¡°Welcome to the capital, granduncle,¡± I said flatly. ¡°I wish it were in better circumstances, but as you saw outside¡­¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Kevan said cautiously. He was perceptive enough to feel the tension in the room. ¡°Flea Bottom is no more and a quarter of the city is gone. How did this come to happen?¡±


    ¡°How do you think it happened, ser?¡± I shot back.


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    Ser Kevan heavy brows furrowed. ¡°It seems you already know the answer to your own question. You will forgive me, Your Grace, if I¡¯m not overly fond of playing word games.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow his way. Not a complete pushover then. That was good. There¡¯s nothing worse than a yes-man. ¡°You were supposed to capture Petyr Baelish, ser,¡± I said, dropping any pretenses. ¡°As far as I was told, you only have two noble guests with you, both women.¡±


    The sudden turn brought Kevan to a stop. He glanced at Tywin for a second before fixing back at me. ¡°Are you saying that Littlefinger is responsible for what happened in the city?¡± he asked, sounding dubious. ¡°How could a pest like him cause all of this trouble?¡±


    ¡°Aye, he was responsible,¡± I snapped. ¡°That is why I went to such lengths to capture him. Sansa Stark is a consolation prize compared to taking him out the board. By the bloody gods, I told you exactly where he would be. How could he have escaped you, ser?¡±


    Kevan¡¯s jaw tightened, but for just a second his green eyes flashed to the ground before he caught himself and stared straight forward. It was a sign of weakness his brother would never allow himself to do. After a moment, Kevan cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, back to being the perfect soldier. ¡°Your Grace, when I made camp north of the inn, I knew they would be riding from the Vale, so I sent scouts up the high road to wait for them to come. When they passed my men watching the road, near half of their escort turned back around to the Eyrie. My men followed for a few hours to confirm they were truly leaving before returning to camp.¡± He shook his head. ¡°When we hit them at the inn, these men we thought to be gone smashed us in the back, almost fifteen of them. It bought Baelish enough time to escape.¡±


    Sighing, I rubbed both hands over my face, trying not to get angry and compromise my relationship with my future Hand of the King. I don¡¯t think neither he nor Tywin understood how devastating it was to miss this opportunity. ¡°So you underestimated Littlefinger,¡± I concluded, slumping back on my chair. ¡°He¡¯s made his life like this, you know. Nobody suspects a penny-pincher like him to be of any danger to those above his station, and yet here we are. Half the city burnt down and my bride almost kidnapped from my own castle.¡±


    ¡°The Lady Tyrell?¡± Kevan asked, confused.


    Tywin stepped away from the bar, grabbing my attention. ¡°Nothing that I knew of Littlefinger ever pointed to him being this capable,¡± he said. ¡°But if what you say it¡¯s true, then how much of a threat is he really?¡±


    ¡°Not as much now as he doesn¡¯t have a center of power,¡± I told him. ¡°First it was King¡¯s Landing, then the Vale. He¡¯s lost both now, but I am sure he¡¯s still one of the richest men in this country. He¡¯s been stealing from the Crown for years, juggling lenders and debtors while swiping a good portion of the pie for himself. Just know that he was the one that instigated the War of the Five Kings, and I¡¯ll eat my own shoe if he won¡¯t try to start another one.¡±


    Tywin paused. ¡°What?¡± he hissed.


    I sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll give you a full explanation one of these days if you wish, grandfather, but this night has gone on long enough, and I still have a couple of lovely ladies to meet and charm.¡± Pushing myself to my feet, I turned back to Kevan. ¡°The past is the past, granduncle. Hopefully we can get past this misstep. We can speak further tomorrow, or after the wedding in a couple of days if you wish. Lord Tywin has prepared rooms for you and your men on the Tower of the Hand. And please, send for Sansa Stark on your way out.¡±


    ¡°We rode all day today, Your Grace,¡± Kevan said. ¡°Perhaps you can meet her tomorrow as well?¡±


    ¡°Oh she is tired, is she?¡± I smiled. ¡°Good. Send her in anyway, and have Lady Brienne nearby for when I¡¯m done with Stark.¡±

 Chapter 71

    The watered-wine tasted bitter on my tongue as Ser Lyle announced Sansa entering the room.


    I wasn¡¯t at my solar anymore. The meeting with Kevan had been pure business where I¡¯d wanted to approach him from a position of power. With Sansa, I¡¯d have to go a little personal. I didn¡¯t want to have her sitting across from me, with a king¡¯s desk creating a gulf between us.


    So instead, I was sitting on a stately chair next to the plush red sofa in my drawing room. The same one I had my private meeting with Melisandre a few weeks past, though I didn¡¯t envision my conversation with Sansa going the same way.


    The Sansa Stark in King¡¯s Landing today was not the naive child who once ran to tell Cersei of her father¡¯s plan, but she hadn¡¯t turned into the jaded abuse-survivor she was after Ramsey¡¯s tender care either. And for my plans for the North and the Reach to work, I would need her cooperation. Her trust.


    That, or I would have to break her even worse than Ramsey did. But that was a tasteless solution, and it was more likely to see a knife on my back than to fulfill its function. It was the difference between honey and vinegar, as they say, and I was counting on this little fly having a sweet tooth after all the vinegar she¡¯d been handed by the people around her.


    Putting down my goblet on the center table next to the pitcher, I watched as Sansa scurried into the room like a prisoner facing death row, uncertainty on her every step. She flinched as the door closed behind her, leaving the two of us alone. That¡¯s when she noticed me. She quickly straightened her posture, her brows set into a small frown.


    With a kind smile on my face, I crossed the room to stand in front of her. She had a thick brown cloak around her shoulders that went all the way down to her ankles, but with the hood not being up, it did little to hide her beauty. With auburn hair, striking blue eyes, and the sharp cheekbones of an aristocrat, she looked like a disney princess come to life. She was taller than Margaery, and a couple of years older than this Tommen too, I knew, though she didn¡¯t particularly look like her actress.


    What stood out the most to me, however, was that despite the tough image she was trying very hard to give, there were bags underneath her eyes, a worry to her lips, and she kept nervously tugging the cloak closer to her while we stood across from each other.


    We had never spent long in the company of each other during her time in the capital, and I realized she was afraid I would be like Joffrey.


    We couldn¡¯t have that.


    Noticing the silence had gone on a moment too long, I cleared my throat. ¡°Lady Sansa forgive me, I was a bit confused,¡± I said. ¡°I almost didn¡¯t recognize you for a moment.¡±


    As if realizing her own faux-pass, she hurriedly dipped into a curtsy. ¡°Your Grace,¡± she greeted, her voice trying to stay flat and unfeeling, but she was a few years too young to mask her insecurities from me.


    Before she could curtsy herself into the ground, I led her back to the couches. ¡°Please, let us talk for a moment. Would you like something to drink?¡± I asked as she sat.


    She smoothed the skirt of her dress and her mouth opened to answer, but I¡¯d already served and placed a goblet of wine in front of her. ¡°Uhm, thank you,¡± she said, reaching for her drink.


    Taking a sip of my own, I turned to her. ¡°My lady, I know these past few days must have been horrible for you,¡± I started. ¡°And I apologize for what happened at the inn. I understand you were quite hurt after a fall?¡±


    She looked at me for a moment, as if trying to decide how to go about this, then finally stuck her chin out in defiance. ¡°I am well, Your Grace,¡± she said, blue eyes boring into mine. ¡°But I thank you for your gracious concern.¡±


    She was doubling down on that attitude, then. It was cute, but it wouldn¡¯t work out on me. I smiled again. ¡°I am just glad you are safe now,¡± I told her. ¡°After I found out what Petyr Baelish had done here in King¡¯s Landing, and was planning to do in the North with you, I had to intervene.¡±


    A scowl was quick to darken her pretty face. ¡°Safe? I was safe. Safer than I¡¯d ever been here with your brother having me beaten by his kingsguard,¡± she bit out. ¡°I am not safe here, nor will I ever be. The North is my home, my only home, and Petyr was taking me there. For all the liar that he was, he was doing what was best for me.¡±


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    I couldn¡¯t help giving her a pitiful look. I didn¡¯t even have to fake it. ¡°You are fooling yourself if you think Littlefinger had your best interests in mind, my lady, given he was the one who turned on your father in the first place,¡± I told her, and I could see the words had an immediate effect on her. The angry mask slipped right off her face to show the little girl beneath. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since we¡¯ve seen each other, and it¡¯s clear we¡¯ve both changed a lot. I like to believe you are not the same silly girl you were when you first stepped into this city, so I will treat you accordingly and tell you the truth. Littlefinger betrayed your father during his time as Hand, and he was going to betray you as well. He planned on selling you to Roose Bolton¡¯s bastard son, someone who is a known rapist and torturer, to give legitimacy to his claim to the North. You were a pawn to him, no more and no less, just as you were to my mother and to Joffrey after her.¡±


    Sansa was looking down at her lap, her hands so tight on her cloak her knuckles had turned white. ¡°And what? Now that I¡¯m here you would have me believe I will not be a pawn for you? Or for Lord Tywin?¡± She swallowed, pale throat bobbing with a sob she tried to swallow and failed. ¡°Will you tell me you saved me out of the goodness of your heart?¡±


    ¡°No, I won¡¯t tell you that,¡± I allowed, watching as Sansa struggled not to cry in front of me. It wasn¡¯t as easy to act tough when I put it all down in front of her like that. ¡°Part of the reason I decided to help you is purely selfish. I have plans for the North¡ªplans you fit into as the last living Stark.¡± Rising to my feet, I moved to stand before her. Sansa glanced up, her face wet with tears, and she flinched when I reached into my pocket. Instead of hitting her, as I suspect she expected of Joffrey¡¯s brother, I brought out a pale green handkerchief and gave it to her. ¡°But I am also not my brother, thank the gods, and my family has done enough harm to yours.¡±


    Hesitantly, she took the kerchief and dabbed the cloth against her tear-stricken face. ¡°Why should I help you with your plans?¡± she said, voice barely above a whisper. But when she looked up into my eyes again, there was a fire there. ¡°You said it yourself, all your family has ever brought to mine was grief. Why should I go along with this and help you?¡±


    With practiced ease, I swallowed the part of me that wanted to say she should do it because I¡¯d kill her slowly if she didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Because it¡¯s in your best interest,¡± I said out loud, sitting down next to her on the sofa. ¡°I am in contact with a few houses from the North, houses that are unsatisfied with Bolton rule just as I am. Houses whose sons died at the Red Wedding just as your own family did. With their help, and your name, we can install you as the Lady Paramount of the North.¡±


    She snorted wetly, eyes still downcast. ¡°To rule until Tyrion puts a son in me?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°The North would never accept a Lannister ruler, even if his better half was Stark. I will dissolve your marriage to Tyrion, even if Lord Tywin comes after my head for it.¡±


    Sansa didn¡¯t say anything, but the sideways glance she shot my way was enough to show she didn¡¯t believe me.


    I sighed. ¡°I know you don¡¯t trust me. But I understand what it feels like to be alone. I can sympathize with your situation, and if this can help both of us at the same time, I don¡¯t see why I shouldn¡¯t do it.¡±


    Glaring eyes flashed at me. ¡°You don¡¯t know what it''s like. Your family¡ª¡±


    ¡°Is dead or gone,¡± I cut her off, and her eyes widened in surprise at my voice almost breaking. I looked to the side for a moment, as if gathering my thoughts before turning back with a deep exhale. ¡°It¡¯s true, my family was not taken away quite as yours, Sansa Stark, but I am alone as well. My parents are both dead, my brother is dead, and my sister is away at Dorne. I doubt I will see her again for many years.¡±


    ¡°But you have Lord Tywin,¡± she said, and it was funny how it almost sounded like she was trying to comfort me now. ¡°And you¡¯ll soon marry Lady Margaery too. I remember she is beautiful and kind.¡±


    It was my turn to snort. ¡°If you remember her, then you will remember how court was as well. They are all hounds, Sansa, hounds sniffing for blood in the air. Lord Tywin, the Tyrells, my bannermen and knights and advisors and attendants, all of them want a piece of me. A piece of the new king, young and inexperienced and awfully alone.¡± I scratched the back of my neck. ¡°I was never meant for the throne. Never trained for it, never schooled in the finer points of governance and ruling. Father never spared a moment away from his whores to speak to us, and mother always favored Joffrey. But that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m not trying my best to see the broken remains of Seven Kingdoms I was given united and prospering again; and that includes the North, Sansa, with a Stark ruling at Winterfell.¡± I turned to look into her eyes. ¡°Will you help me?¡±


    After staring at me for nearly a full minute and taking a deep breath, Sansa nodded, and I smiled at her.


    Another few minutes of frivolous conversation and I was escorting her back the way she came. When the door to the room closed behind her, my smile dropped from my face. Despite my best efforts, and her own pitiful work to sell it to me, I knew Sansa wasn¡¯t convinced of my sincerity yet. She¡¯d been beaten down too many times for it to work as easily as this, but it was a start.


    I had time to think on this pet project later, however, as I still had one other lady to try and convince into joining me tonight. ¡°Ser Lyle,¡± I called out, loud enough he would be able to hear me from the other side of the door. ¡°Send for the Lady Brienne of Tarth.¡±

 Chapter 72

    Unlike with Sansa, when Brienne walked into the room, Ser Lyle and Ser Balon walked in with her. I quickly noticed why they felt the need to do so. Brienne had Oathkepper hanging at her waist, the golden lion¡¯s head of the pommel staring at me with ruby-red eyes that reminded me a little too much of Melisandre for comfort.


    But it was no matter. I¡¯d buckled my own sword while I was alone, which left us on equal footing in my books. That, and the two white-cloaked men flanking her, of course. I wouldn¡¯t bet on myself in a one on one against her. She had almost half a foot on me in height and looked like she outweighed me by a factor of one and a half in pure muscle too. I did notice she wasn¡¯t as old as I expected, as she couldn¡¯t be more than ten years my senior.


    I smiled at that. That was useful. It meant she was inexperienced, perhaps even gullible. She had a couple of things I needed from her, and I meant to have at least one before she left here today.


    I kept smiling as we finished the formal introductions. They managed to be more stilted than with Sansa, and my family hadn¡¯t even killed hers. Brienne had even bowed instead of curtsing, which was cute.


    I half-sat on the back of the sofa while Brienne stood awkwardly in front of me. ¡°Ser Jaime has told me of your mission of finding and taking the Stark girls to safety,¡± I told her, cutting right to the chase. ¡°A commendable, honorable effort, if I may say.¡±


    She kept a blank face, simply bowing her head. ¡°Thank you, Your Grace.¡±


    I didn¡¯t let her disinterest bother me. ¡°You must be happy now that you have accomplished it, then, even if Ser Kevan had a hand in it,¡± I said, baiting for a reaction.


    As expected, a frown creased her face. ¡°My apologies, Your Grace, but Sansa Stark is hardly safe here, as she wasn¡¯t the last time she was in the Red Keep.¡±


    ¡°Those were different times, under a different king.¡± I put a hand over my heart, always the dramatic. ¡°I have no intention of hurting her, Lady Brienne. On my honor.¡±


    ¡°No, but you will use her,¡± Brienne said, steel in her voice. ¡°As will Lord Tywin and the Tyrells and everyone who can get their hands on her until she¡¯s nothing but a sock puppet playing to someone¡¯s tune.¡± She stared right at me as she said that, and I could command her for that. She was no push over to be cowed by a title or a crown.


    ¡°I intend to name her Lady Paramount of the North,¡± I said in response. ¡°What do you intend to do with her?¡±


    ¡°Take her somewhere safe,¡± Brienne said with finality, more to herself than to me, it seemed.


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh and where is that, Lady Brienne? Please enlighten this idiotic king.¡±


    She opened her mouth to speak, just to close it a moment later. I saw the way the muscles of her jaw clenched and unclenched as she glowered at me, but she did so silently. There was no answer incoming, as I thought.


    ¡°Nothing?¡± I prompted, then nodded to myself. ¡°Understand that I don¡¯t say this out of malice, my lady.¡± She gave me a suspicious look and I shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s true, I don¡¯t. But you must realise how foolish it is to expect to be safe on the road with her, just the two of you. You say I will use her, but what will Stannis Baratheon do if his navy catches you at sea? What will Bolton do if you travel North? What will the Freys do if they catch you in the Riverlands? At least I know that I will protect her with all the power and influence at my disposal, until she can do so on her own, in Winterfell. She will stay by my side until that happens, and I will use my own kingsguard to protect her if need be.¡± Drawing myself from the sofa, I looked at her seriously. ¡°Which is why I¡¯m offering you the position as one of my white swords, one of the seven greatest knights in the realm.¡±


    Brienne went slack-jawed, and even Ser Lyle looked surprised, the scales in his armor tinkling as he shifted on his feet. On the other side of the room, Balon hadn¡¯t even blinked. He stood still as a statue, gaze as sharp as always fixed on Brienne.


    ¡°But¡­ but I¡¯m not a knight,¡± she spluttered, looking discomfited for the first time since she walked into the room.


    ¡°I shall make you one,¡± I told her, and again she went stiff at the words. ¡°If you swear your life and service to me, on your honor.¡±


    I could almost see the war raging inside her mind. Both the title and position she always dreamed of achieving were offered to her, one bend of her knees away, only not under the king of her dreams. That was, until she suddenly scowled. ¡°You are bribing me,¡± she said in realization, as if it was a shocking occurrence. ¡°You know I want to protect Lady Sansa, and you¡¯re bribing me with a knighthood and kingsguard position.¡± She said it like I¡¯m insulting both the position and her at the same time and doesn¡¯t know which is worse.


    ¡°I would hardly call it bribing,¡± I said easily. ¡°You¡¯ve proven yourself to have all the qualities of a knight. Honor, loyalty, martial prowess. I simply have no intention of knighting someone that might prove themselves to be adversaries in the future. There are many kings out there who wish for my demise; I will not knight you just so you can run over to their camp once I turn my back.¡± I let her stew in that for a second. ¡°You have a choice to make now, Lady Brienne.¡±


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    But it seemed she had already made it. Her mouth was set into a thin line. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°I will not be strong-armed into this. I will protect Lady Sansa under her service, or own my own if she doesn¡¯t need me.¡±


    I hummed, then let out a sigh. ¡°That¡¯s a shame,¡± I said. It was to be expected of her. Always the honorable knight. Perhaps I should¡¯ve known she and I would not see eye to eye. ¡°But I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t trust strangers to protect my future Lady of Winterfell.¡± I folded my hands behind my back. ¡°Your father has sat out the war for too long. I will send him a raven in the morning, informing him that his daughter is in my care, and that he shall bend the knee and provide men for his king if he wishes for her back.¡±


    Her eyes widened. ¡°You can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°But I can.¡± My voice was cold as ice I spoke, and I could see her taken aback by my change in tone. ¡°I can¡¯t treat you with velvet gloves just because I admire your character, my lady. My decisions must benefit the kingdoms as a whole, and if I can¡¯t have the support of your father for having his daughter under my service, I shall have it for having you as my hostage.¡±


    Her previous scowl returned in full force, eyes narrowed to slits. But for all her straightforwardness and bluntness, she knew she had no choice here. What would she do, have a go at the king? Instead of blowing up, she took a deep breath, and her face adopted the same blank mask she had when she first arrived. ¡°As you say, Your Grace,¡± she said, giving me a shallow bow.


    ¡°Good,¡± I said. ¡°You can leave your sword with Ser Lyle here, and Ser Balon will escort you to your rooms.¡±


    Her response was immediate. ¡°I will not part ways with Oathkeeper,¡± Brienne snapped.


    I found myself chuckling. ¡°Your sword was never yours in the first place, as it was never Jaime¡¯s to give. Ice was taken by the Crown as spoils of war, not by the Lannisters,¡± I explained. ¡°It shall be returned to the Crown today.¡±


    Brienne¡¯s right hand was suddenly grasping the handle of her sword, and my kingsguard answered in kind. Ser Lyle threw me a glance, as if to say he was ready to draw on my word, but I stayed silent. My hands were still folded behind my back, but that was just because I had eased Lightbringer out of its scabbard before she even came into the room.


    Looking at the men surrounding her warily, Brienne turned in one foot. ¡°I will be leaving, Your Grace, to the room you have assigned for me.¡± There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. ¡°With my sword.¡±


    She started to walk away on that beat of silence, but before she had lifted a foot halfway up the marble floor, Ser Balon somehow slipped past her to block her path. His sword was already showing steel by that time anyone realized what had happened.


    I had to blink at his speed, as I hadn¡¯t even noticed him moving. I guess that¡¯s what happened when you were part demon.


    ¡°You will leave here without the sword, my lady, or you won¡¯t leave at all.¡± Balon¡¯s voice came out barely above a whisper, but it set my spine straight. It was like his words carried the full weight of his conviction, and that was oh so heavy. ¡°I hope you will make the sensible choice.¡±


    For a long moment, I truly thought Brienne would make a move. I saw her fingers twitch at the pommel of her sword, a bead of sweat forming at her temple, but in the end her shoulders simply slumped. Untying the belt from her waist, she shoved the still-sheathed sword to Ser Lyle before looking back at me as if asking for my permission to leave. Even after this, she still respects authority too much.


    It almost makes me pity her. She was a good person, loyal and just and all of that. I wasn¡¯t lying when I said she embodied all the qualities of a knight. It was too bad for her that those above her weren¡¯t good persons, myself included.


    I try my best to soften my gaze when I address her. ¡°I hardly ever give second chances, but I will do so now. I ask that you rethink my proposal, my lady. You have until the day after my wedding to do so.¡± I nodded to the door. ¡°You may leave now. Ser Balon, please escort the lady to her appropriate quarters. She is not to leave her room without an escort of at least three men. Take that as a sign of my respect for your capabilities.¡±


    Balon nodded, and I watched them leave with a frown marring my face. I got only one of the two things I wanted from this meeting. I doubted she would take my second offer; and when Jaime left, my kingsguard would be back to three knights for a while¡ªfour, when Ser Arys returned from Dorne.


    I had considered his demise in the hands of the Martells for a moment, but disregarded it after some thought. They had no idea I knew about Aegon and what that would mean for my future alliance with them. In fact, I wasn¡¯t even sure that they knew of Aegon yet. And they wouldn¡¯t kill Ser Arys even if they did, as to not alert me so soon of their treachery. Doran was a cautious man, his plans built on patience and long-term rewards. He wouldn¡¯t pull the trigger until the conditions were right.


    That still left me with three positions to fill, positions I now had no idea who to bestow to. Ser Elwood Harte, the highest standing knight I took to the kingswood, was a loyal and reliable man, but he was more of a soldier than a swordsman.


    Sighing at just another big decision I would have to make, I came out of my thoughts to notice that I was the only one left in the room. Ser Lyle had left the sword on the sofa and gone back to his post outside my door.


    I picked the sword up, admiring the work that went into the pommel. Gaudy as it was, it was beautiful. Wanting to confirm its authenticity, I slid the blade out of its scabbard and nodded to myself. Gray and red ripples played along the length of steel, proving its sorcerous origin. Oathkeeper was a bigger sword than my own, more suited to strength than speed despite its lightweight.


    But to someone who had both¡­ well, it was a deadly thing. The perfect weapon to protect a king. Yes. That, at least, was one less decision I had to make.


    I took the sword with me as I retired to my bedroom. Margaery had finally gone back to her own rooms, and I appreciated the chance to sleep by myself for now. I would be getting married in two days, then I would be off to war for who knows how long. I deserved some sleep.

 Chapter 73

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    Arys Oakheart I


    The farewell feast was already dying down by the time Ser Arys Oakheart went outside. House Martell¡¯s ancient keep, the Sandship, which lay in the heart of Sunspear proper, overlooked the city that had spawned around the tiered castle from a high hill much like the Red Keep. Several balconies lined the castle¡¯s great hall like private drawing rooms open to the sky.


    To avoid the bustle of the gathered nobility, Arys chose the smallest and farthest balcony from the main doors to seclude himself in. He could still hear their voices floating over from the adjacent balconies, but a double row of tall hedges made him feel safer in his privacy.


    Passing through the arranged sofas and velvet pillows that formed a ring around an unlit pit fire, he leaned over the railing and let out a heavy sigh. Dornish nights were cool if not cold, and Arys had come to appreciate watching the starry sky above Sunspear after a day of steaming inside his armor.


    For the first time in his tenure in Dorne, he had attended the festivities as a guest instead of a kingsguard. The golden doublet he had on had gathered dust at the bottom of his trunk, as even when he was off duty he preferred to wear simple shirts due to Dorne¡¯s heat. But earlier in the day, Princess Myrcella had formally discharged him of his services, giving him leave to return to King¡¯s Land.


    That had been a long time coming, given her marriage to Prince Trystane, but it felt bittersweet leaving the little princess. Being assigned as her kingsguard had been the palate cleanser he needed after so long with King Joffrey. As loath as he was to admit to himself, he was glad Joffrey was dead.


    The things the young king did¡­ the things he made them do. The thought of it alone made his jaw tight with shame.


    Beating Sansa Stark was the great disgrace of his life as a knight. He either had to break his knightly oath of protecting all women and children, or break his oath to the king of obeying his orders. In the end, he¡¯d done as his king commanded and put his hands on that little girl.


    He¡¯d done his best not to hurt her, and to treat her kindly when the king wasn¡¯t looking, but he¡¯d done it all the same.


    Hopefully, with his impending return to King¡¯s Landing in the morning, there would be none of that with the new king. From what he remembered, Tommen Baratheon had been a sweet boy, polite and courteous as much as his sister. A definite improvement from Joffrey, at least.


    The sound of the balcony door creaking open broke through his musings, and Arys grimaced when he turned to see who it was. Nymeria and Tyene Sand were at the door, wide smiles splayed on their pretty faces.


    ¡°Ser knight!¡± Tyene sing-songed, her voice high and sweet like a child¡¯s. ¡°Oh, I''ve been looking all over for you. Are you ready for our big journey tomorrow?¡±


    Nymeria cackled beside her, looking at him smugly with her arms crossed underneath her breasts.


    Arys sighed. He¡¯d fallen for Tyene¡¯s girly act for nearly a month before he realized it was just a game, and now she loved nothing more than to tease him about it.


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    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand why you two have to go to the capital with me,¡± Arys said, shaking his head. He was not particularly close to the Sand Snakes, as the bastard daughters of Prince Oberyn called themselves, but after spending so long around them while guarding the Princess, they¡¯d developed a friendly enough relationship.


    ¡°What is there not to understand?¡± Nymeria asked as she approached him, crossing the balcony with long strides.


    For a moment, Arys had to fight with himself not to glance down at her tanned legs, and he only just managed.


    Her half-sister was a step behind her, the big smile replaced by a wicked little smirk.


    ¡°We will be representing Dorne and its Prince in the capital and at the king¡¯s own council,¡± Tyene added, circling him like a shark. ¡°Like our father did before he returned home.¡±


    Arys frowned. ¡°Forgive me, my ladies, but I doubt the king and his council would promptly invite you to join them.¡±


    Nymeria let out a tinkling laugh, and Tyene simply smiled. ¡°Oh but we can be so very persuasive,¡± said Tyene. She was near enough to touch him now, near enough he could smell the lemony scent of her perfume. On his other side, Nymeria had put one soft hand over his arm.


    Swallowing a lump on his throat, Arys murmured excuses and quickly fled the balcony, their laughter following him down the halls. Kingsguard or not, he was still a man, and there was only so much he could resist.


    He managed to avoid any more encounters until he was nearing his room. The final preparations for tomorrow¡¯s voyage were clogging his mind when he suddenly bumped into someone, throwing him out of his reverie. He was left unmoved by the collision, but the other person fell to the floor with a dull thump.


    ¡°Oh my apologies,¡± he blurted, the words coming out almost in reflex. The corridor they were in was dimly lit by a single candle on the far end, but Arys could see it was a woman he¡¯d taken down. He hid a wince and extended a hand for her. ¡°I wasn¡¯t looking where I was going, my lady. Pray forgive me.¡±


    The girl nodded shyly and smiled back at him, and only then did he notice that she was the whore that Prince Oberyn had brought back from King¡¯s Landing. He¡¯d not seen much of her, as she was staying near the prince¡¯s quarters on the Tower of the Sun, but the purple-red scars around her throat were hard to mistake, even in this light.


    When he grasped her hand to help her up, he felt a slip of coarse parchment being pressed against his palm, and before he could say anything the girl had slipped past him and ducked down the intersecting hall he¡¯d just come through.


    For a moment he stood rooted in that spot, not knowing what to do. He was a knight, not a damn spy, but he¡¯d lived in King¡¯s Landing long enough to understand what a hidden note meant. Looking around him warily one last time, Arys pocketed the note, adopted his best impression of a disinterested mask, and kept going on his way.


    He¡¯d also lived in King¡¯s Landing long enough to know that the walls have eyes and ears.


    When he got into his room, he acted as he did every night, following the routine he¡¯d learned from Ser Barristan. He only pulled the note out when he was in bed, with the covers pulled over his head.


    He¡¯d left a single candle burning on his bedside, providing just enough light so he could read the neat little script under the blankets. He felt silly as a child playing spies for doing all of that, but the thought died a quick death when his eyes scanned the parchment.


    His heart started hammering inside his chest as he processed the words, and he read the note thrice more just to be sure. The Martells were plotting treason, with the Master of Whispers no less. The message spoke further of plans to marry Princess Arianne to a boy named Aegon Targaryen, the supposed son of Rhaegar and Elia, and of Prince Oberyn soon leaving Dorne just a few days after him to meet with this pretender in Essos.


    Under the covers of his bed, Arys realized he wouldn¡¯t be traveling to the capital with dornish representatives; he would be traveling with dornish spies.