1857 AC, King's Landing, Red Keep
The doorbell stopped Hedda from her determined and somewhat desperate search of something edible in Jeyne's kitchen. Said friend was still grumbling something unintelligible, clutching at her mug of black Yi Ti tea instead of coffee, because that was the only thing that Hedda had found on her quest for nourishment. Jeyne had proven to be completely useless this early in the morning and from her unintelligible mutterings, she concluded that her friend had forgotten to go shopping… for weeks if the state of her larder and fridge was any indication.
Sighing, Hedda stopped her search and made her way to the door, because Jeyne didn't look like she would move from her chair anytime soon.
"Edwin," she greeted Jeyne's assistant surprised. "Good morning, what are you doing here?"
Wordlessly he held up a brown bag and a paper cup holder with what smelled like coffee.
"I am here to appease the dragon," he said solemnly.
Hedda's lips twitched because that was an apt description of an uncaffeinated Jeyne. Already she could hear the beast in the kitchen roar for her tribute.
"I take this happens often?" Hedda asked dryly, stepping aside to let the man in.
"Only during big discoveries or projects… so every other month," Edwin said mildly. "I'm also here to drive you to the Red Keep."
"I applaud you for your courage and forethought," Hedda laughed.
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When they finally had made it back to the museum, a call from the porter informed them that Doctors Erenford and Redwyne had arrived and were asking for them.
"Just great," Hedda murmured, swallowing the last of her coffee to fortify herself against the Barbie-doll of their field.
Jocelyn Erenford was of one of the many side branches of the Erenford family of the Riverlands and came from old money. Unfortunately, old money didn't always mean genteel manners these days, and Jocelyn was such an example. She was a bleach-blonde blue-eyed bimbo with a frankly disgusting amount of plastic surgery and a grating voice that made Hedda want to claw her ears off. She also had absolutely no sense of when she was spouting nonsense. Hedda honestly had no idea how she had gotten her qualifications. One thing though she had to admire Jocelyn for, she always seemed to know what kind of projects would attract the attention of the media, and she somehow always found her way onto the front-page photo.
"Dr. Barath, Dr. Marsha!" the jovial voice of Tywin Redwyne sounded from their left.
Hedda turned around and smiled at the man – Dr. Redwyne was a bearded red-head in his late forties and was considered a bit eccentric in their field because of certain hypotheses, but the articles he published in various scientific journals were always based on proven facts and reputable sources. He also was rather fun during End of the Year celebrations; his mother was a Mormont of the Mormonts of Bear Island, and he regularly told stories and explained old traditions of the North and Beyond-the-Wall. His primary field was medieval furniture and tapestries oddly enough, with a side interest in castle architecture and medieval trade.
"Dr. Redwyne," she greeted back with a smile before she nodded and said tightly, "Dr. Erenford."
"Dr. Barath," the stupid bint simpered, "I hear you are the primary translator? However did you receive the job?"
"Probably because she is the best medieval translator this side of the Narrow Sea?" Jeyne said with a snort. "Are you coming? Hedda was just about to continue. She already translated several pages."
"Really?" Dr. Redwyne said, delighted. "Anything interesting?"
Jeyne laughed and said, "like you wouldn't believe."
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"Ha! Oh the old codgers at the Citadel won't like that. They won't like that at all," Tywin Redwyne laughed gleefully.
"Hhm?" Hedda asked half-interested. She was reading her auxiliary materials and the references her assistant had sent her.
"The sentence about the so honored Maesters of Oldtown changing history to suit a certain political faction," Redwyne explained.
"We know that, everyone knows that," Jeyne said with an eye roll.
"Yes, but now we have proof that even 1500 years ago the people knew. Seven Hells, the King knew and didn't condone it. Neutral observer of history and protector of knowledge for centuries, as if!"
"Admit it, Tywin. You are still cross with them because they didn't recognize your theory about Harrenhal."
Tywin harrumphed and pulled a grimace before muttering, "I still think that there is a possibility…"
"Look," Hedda said soothingly, "you are basing that theory on several accounts about the time around King Joffrey. If your assumptions are true, there had to be a pretty big scandal involved. With any luck we will find clues in the next few pages."
Tywin looked for a moment as if he wanted to reply before he simply closed his mouth and nodded.
At the age of ten name days, I received permission from my father to learn about navigating the sea and commanding ships under my other uncle for a few months. Lord Stannis Baratheon of Dragonstone was a dour man with no sense of humor or charisma, and while he was a lawful and dutiful man, he didn't seem to grasp the concept of mercy or moderation. But what my uncle lacked in social skills he more than made up for with his military prowess. As a son of the former Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Lord Stannis was an accomplished warrior, though his skills on the battlefield though were eclipsed by his skills as a commander and ship captain. Lord Stannis Baratheon seemed to have the uncanny ability to know what his enemy would do and how far he could push his troops to counter that. During the time I spent in his care I learned everything from the ground up, for the first two weeks I shared duties with his cabin boy to get a feel of his ship, the Fury, and to learn how to tell apart the different lines and ropes. There were no shortcuts with Stannis and I had to put more effort into my education than ever before in my life. At the time it felt like it was the hardest year of my life, but I never forgot a single lesson he taught me.
295 AC, King's Landing, Red Keep
"You will have to take on new guards soon, my prince," Clegane said out of the blue after weapons practice. "Your household is currently fifty strong and that without additional servants for transportation. To have only eight knights and fourteen sergeant-class guards is dangerous business, especially for a prince. At least add an additional twelve yeomen with long-range weapons to your retinue, perferably men well-versed in the crossbow."
Joffrey looked up, still breathing hard from all the running he had done today.
"I know… it is just that I can't be certain of the men in King's Landing. You have seen how quickly people here take bribes."
"Then get guards someplace else," Clegane grunted.
Joffrey looked at him dryly. "And how? I can't just ride in the next big city and hire some sellswords."
"Maybe not, but you are the prince. There should be enough second and third sons that would give an arm to be close to you."
Joffrey lifted his head at this, thoughtful. "I have never seen anything other than the crownlands. For a noble I am too young for a Lord's progress like uncle Renly did but… I'm the crown prince. There should be reason enough to tour the seven kingdoms."
"Maybe not Dorne," Clegane grunted.
Joffrey snorted. "Definitely not. If I'm lucky I'd survive maybe three days past their borders and then die in an unfortunate accident. No, but if I visit the northern parts of Westeros and in a few years tour the South… hmm. I have to contemplate this."
It wasn't a bad idea. It would also give Joffrey a chance to visit the Starks without Lord Jon dying. He was rather curious about the family by now. Not only because of the books but also because of all the stories Robert had told him about Ned and the Vale knights.
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Two weeks after this conversation Lord Stannis arrived at King's Landing. Joffrey hadn't seen his other uncle for years, often missing him because of his travel or because Stannis had the habit of not lingering in the capital for longer than he had to.
He encountered his uncle on the way to the Small Council chamber. Lord Jon had agreed to Joffrey sitting in on them every few months to get a feeling for the political game played there.
"Lord Stannis… uncle," Joffrey greeted after a moment of surprise. "Good day to you. I wasn't aware that you were able to attend this meeting."
Stannis' dour look wandered to Joffrey and he nodded curtly back. "Nephew," he said, and added as explanation, "there has been word of Westerosi being forced into slavery along the coastline."
Joffrey's pleasant smile vanished at that news, even though he appreciated Stannis' straight to the point approach. "Which? East or West?"
"Both," Stannis bit out, clearly insulted at the mere idea of that happening in his domain.
Joffrey just nodded and kept silent, not versed with the patrol routes and actions the royal navy took in such cases – he had nothing to add to the conversation. Another deficiency, now that he thought of it. Joffrey sent a covert glance at Stannis while they made their way to the Small Council chamber, as far he was aware there was no man more proficient in matters of sea-faring war than the Master of Ships, there had to be a way to learn from Stannis.
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Convincing Robert to let him learn under Stannis for a few months had been hard. Harder than Joffrey had expected, after all Stannis was Robert's brother even with their clearly incompatible characters. Later on it occurred Joffrey that it wasn't so much a slight against Stannis as his preferred mode of transportation. Robert had watched his own parents drown just in sight of Storm's End years ago and ever since preferred travel by land. It would not be inconceivable that he was worried about losing Joffrey to the same fate, especially now he was finally building a relationship with his oldest son and they were spending more time together. But the same newfound affection was likely what made Robert consent, in the end.
Stannis, when informed, had agreed to the fostering on one condition. Joffrey had to leave most of his household at King's Landing. So, the only people that ended up accompanying him were Clegane and Maege. Joffrey had contemplated about taking Massey with him instead, but the 18-year-old had grown into her leader position and would be able to keep his reduced household in line. Joffrey, as soon as he had received permission, had decided to dissolve most of his household and let the servants rejoin his parents' retinues. There was little sense in keeping on servants when he had no use for them, and it also provided Joffrey an excuse to replace servants he wasn't quite sure of without much suspicion.
So with Joffrey out of the capital he sent Massey, Mab and his twenty-two personal guards to Oak Valley Hall. Ser Edmure could use the additional help, especially with about a dozen of Stranger's progenies soon to be born and the warhorse himself on the stud.
By now he was quite sure of the men who were protecting him, but Joffrey was not so careless to give Varys or Littlefinger the chance of subverting somebody in his retinue while he was out of reach. He gave Massey the task to start looking for additional people around Oak Valley Hall to fill the positions that would be open once he returned. Only to look though, in most cases. He gave her leave to select the positions of the common servants, footmen and washer women, which would only begin their employment once he had returned.
For the more specialized and prestigious roles in his household he sought the advice of the one man who outwitted the rest of Joffrey's family with ease.
Beta'd by Lyova