A throbbing sensation spread throughout the prince's head like a disease. Blurs of color and light danced undisturbed until his vision cleared to see his servants standing over him, hair as bright as the sun and eyes like his mother. He released a groan when they spoke, bringing a hand up to his forehead to massage it. "Must you speak so loud?" Tomas asked and the servants were quick to apologize although they were making little noise to begin with. The large quantity of wine he drank the other night had returned full force and Lannister servants would have to deal with the aftermath. They helped him out of bed and drew up a bath for him to soak the hangover away before dressing him. When they reached out for the golden tunic with black stags on it Tomas spoke up, "No. The blue one." Right next to it was a beautifully sown blue tunic with tiny spots of silver glistening in the sunlight from the window. The blue of the tunic made his green eyes look bluer from a distance, but upon closer examination one could see the emeralds as clear as day. Combined with his black hair dye it was the closest he would ever come to looking like his father. Eyes as blue as sapphire and hair black as night, was that so much to ask?

They changed his bandages and he was half dressed when Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard entered his bedchambers. Boros was bald for the most part, the only hair remaining being on the back of his head and gray like that of an old man. The only thing shorter than his hair was his temper and he was ugly as sin. Both of these men were loyal to his mother before the crown and it didn't take much guess work to figure out why they were here even before Ser Meryn spoke, "The queen wishes to see you." The boy looked at them with all the courage he could muster, knowing that neither one would risk harm to him in fear of retribution from his father.

"Shouldn't you be guarding Lord Father?" questioned Tomas. "As is your duty."

The two men only looked to each other, a scowl present on Boros's face as he let Meryn do the talking. "Our duty is to the entire royal family, my prince."

"And what, pray tell, does my darling mother want?"

"She did not say," replied Ser Meryn.

"I had planned to join Sandor Clegane in his pavilion for breakfast. Please inform my lady mother that if she can't be bothered to tell me what she wants then she can wait until after the Tourney of the Hand to speak with me."

Meryn and Boros looked shocked, the servant boys carrying on uncomfortable by the new found tension in the room as they finished dressing their prince and relative. Tomas headed for the door, but Meryn and Boros remained blocking his path. "I'm afraid the queen insists you join her in the royal chambers," Meryn told him.

Tomas could see the seriousness in their eyes and knew there was no escaping if they dragged him kicking and screaming to his mother. The prince could only assume one of Mother's spies had caught him coming out of the Tower of the Hand and now was her chance to find out why. Tomas swallowed sharply and pierced the two men of the White Cloak with a glance uncanny to his mother. "Very well," began Tomas, "take me to her."

Meryn nodded and with Boros escorted the prince to the royal chambers where Queen Cersei already had breakfast prepared for them. Baked bread and left over fish from the night previously rested on clean plates and a goblet filled with ice water was by the prince's dish as she drank wine for herself. Normally Tomas would have protested this, but after all he had to drink last night he didn't want to so much as look at the red beast that filled Mother's golden goblet. A blood red dress covered the queen's body and her hair was tied up behind her back. Their gaze met and for a while it was like looking into a mirror until he noticed the way her eyes looked at his black hair and how his tunic changed his own eyes. Though there was nothing on her face to say otherwise, Tomas knew she was slighted: tension so thick you could cut it with Valyrian steel.

"Leave us," ordered Cersei, Meryn and Boros only bowing to the queen before leaving them alone. Tomas was hesitant to get any closer to where his mother stood, but found his courage and pulled out the chair sitting across from her, and kept it pulled out in case he needed to make a quick dash for the door. "Are you afraid I'm going to bite you?" the queen asked. Tomas only kept his silence. Helping himself to a slice of bread as he waited for Mother to get to the point. It was a long wait, the wave of silence and the tension building with each bite they took. There was a time where Tomas used to enjoy these alone times with his mother, that was long before he was introduced to her true nature. A nature that came out little by little the more he tried to be like Father in appearance. There was an obvious grudge between man and wife and Tomas had difficulty telling how deep it went. "Isn't this nice?" spoke Mother once more. "Just the two of us."

"If you have a point to this torture please get on with it," said Tomas.

"It's torture to spend time with your mother now?"

"You know damn well what I mean."

"Hold your tongue," she scolded. "I get enough of that filth from your father."

Tomas grabbed his cup and brought it to his lips, the ice in the water was so cold he would have thought it came from the north itself. Mother watched him closely, for what reason he did not know, it made him all the more uneasy by the time he put his cup down. "A time is coming when your father will part this world. When that time comes you'll be king. Have you given any thought to what you'd do then?"

Tomas raised an eyebrow at his mother, this was the last piece of discussion he expected to have when he heard of her summons. Surely she didn't bring him all the way just to talk about what kind of a ruler he'd be? Nevertheless, he had several answers he did not mind sharing with her. "As a matter of fact I have."

"Enlighten me."

Tomas made a point to finish his bread and have a piece of his fish just in case he was chased out soon. "I'd have Ser Barristan back in his proper seat on the small council instead of when it suited me, and I'd name Uncle Tyrion my new Hand." He watched her, a glimmer of amusement could be seen in her eyes when he named Tyrion his Hand, as if she thought it a joke. But Tomas was serious. If he had a chance to choose his hand it'd be Tyrion, Stannis, or Renly. While he no doubt Eddard was doing the best he could in the position, it was clear on the man's face he did not want to be in the south. Tomas would have no trouble granting him his wish and sending him back to Winterfell where he belonged.

"You'd exchange Lord Stark for an Imp?" she said, amused.

"I'd exchange Lord Stark for family," Tomas countered.

Cersei tilted her head and looked at him curiously. "Since when has family mean anything to you?"

"Family means everything to me. I'd not disown it because of a few bad seeds." Mother's stare persisted and Tomas chose to keep speaking to give her something to really stare about. "After naming Uncle Tyrion my Hand I would strip Ser Gregor of all his titles and land and have him answer for the countless atrocities he committed against his family. I'd relieve your pawns from the Kingsguard and ship Jaime back to Casterly Rock!"

The strike came faster than Tomas could have reacted, knocking the ice cold water onto the floor and spilling out to the carpet leaving a dark stain in the middle. A red hand print now marked the cheek of Prince Tomas as he looked towards his mother in shock, his hand coming up to where she struck him, feeling the burn on his cheek from the slap. Cersei's eyes narrowed over him darkly and she stood up from her seat to tower over the prince. "You have a lot to learn about being a king."

"And you; about being a mother."

Cersei moved to the side of the table and Tomas tried to stand, only rising halfway from his seat before being pushed back down in his chair, Mother's hands on his shoulders and the pain in his injured arm returning from her grip as she glared darts into him. Once she knew he wasn't going anywhere she removed her hands from him and stood to his right. "I raised you, and your siblings, while your father whored and sired bastards throughout the Seven Kingdoms. I gave you the milk from my breast. I sheltered you, loved you like a good mother should. I protected you from all those who would have seen you harm, and this is how you repay me?" Cersei ran a hand through his darkened hair and raised his chin to force him to look her in the eyes. "By casting illusions on yourself to be something you're not? By betraying your family to conspire with the Starks?"

"I didn't conspire with anyone," argued Tomas. "You're the one with your spies and your intrigue. Who told you I talked to Ned? Was it Varys? Pycelle?"

"It doesn't matter now. The Starks will be gone soon."

"What are you talking about?"

"Lord Stark will return to the north and take his bannermen with him." The way she spoke was so confident, like she knew this for a fact.

"Father will never stand for it," Tomas pointed out.

"Your father won't be standing for anything," replied Cersei.

"What?"

"I wish not to, but you left me no choice. Plotting with the Starks. I had to act."

Tomas stood up to his feet. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"I didn't do anything." Cersei sneered. "Your father was the one who insisted he fight in the melee."

Tomas's eyes widened when he realized what Mother was saying. That whole display in front of his court at dinner, it was all to egg his father on to fight so he could be killed. He turned around and headed for the door. "I won't let you get away with this. I'm telling Father!" Tomas opened the door only to find a Lannister guard waiting for him. The guard grabbed him and held his hand over his mouth so he couldn't scream for help. Cersei approached and stared at him with a disappointing glare.

"I had hoped you'd come around. That you'd forget this little rebellious stage and come to appreciate the counsel Jaime and I have to offer you. Instead you choose to lie with wolves."

The hatred in Tomas's eyes increased tenfold as he would have lunged at his mother and draw his knife on her had it not been for the Lannister guard restraining him.

"My son is sick," Cersei said to no one in particular. "Bad trout. See him back to his room and make sure no one disturbs him."

"Yes, my lady," replied the guard.

He began to make his way for the door before Cersei knelt down and pulled up Tomas's pants sleeve, revealing the knife he had tucked away and unstrapping it from his ankle. "You think I haven't noticed your hands when you're in a pinch?" she asked, holding the knife in front of him as she stood. Tomas would have replied his contempt if his lips were free. "Go." She told the guard and Tomas was dragged back to his bedchambers where the doors were slammed shut and men stood outside his door to keep him imprisoned. Tomas shrieked: knocking over his chairs and tearing his bedsheets. Red hot tears burned his eyes and his nostrils flared like that of a fire-breathing dragon before he fell to his bed, weeping. His father was going to die at his mother's doing and there was nothing he could do about it.

The prince fell to his knees, hands clapped together and eyes closed as he prayed to the gods for mercy. He prayed to the Father to make Cersei judgment swift and precise. He prayed to the Warrior so that his father may have victory. He prayed to the Smith so that his father would have the strength to achieve it. All he could do was pray, and prayed he did until nightfall. Word of the tournament reached his ears from those who walked the halls of the castle outside his chambers. They spoke of the Hound unseating Jaime and the humiliation he endured when he was unable to remove his lion helmet that had been twisted around from the impact. Ser Loras had done the impossible and defeated the Mountain, and the Mountain nearly damn well took his head off until the Hound intercepted his blade and Loras gave Sandor the championship to repay him. A commoner by the name of Anguy won the archery competition and a red priest of R'hllor, the fire god of the east, Thoros, won the melee with his flaming sword. There was no word of his father entering the melee or dying which gave the boy some much needed hope. The door to his chambers opened and a guard in the dark red armor of the Lannister's soldiers entered the room with his helmet and visor covering his face, putting down the prince's meal by his feet as he looked up and lifted up the visor to reveal who he was to the prince's surprise.

"Lord Varys?"

"My, my," began the Eunuch, "what a predicament we've gotten ourselves into."

"How?"

"I would not be in my position if I did not know how to blend in, my prince." The Eunuch smiled and Tomas could not help but do the same until he remembered the questions he posed to Mother about spies.

"Did you tell my mother I visited Ned's office?"

"No, my prince. My little birds did not sing such a melody to the queen."

"My mother has me locked away like some prisoner. She was going to–"

"Kill your father?" Varys finished. "This I know."

"And you stopped it?"

"Lord Stark stopped it," Varys corrected. "He succeeded in talking your father from competing in the melee."

"Thank the gods," said Tomas, relieved. The gods heard prayers after all.

"I would not relax yet, my prince, your father is still in danger. The queen is not one to give up so easily."

"We have to tell Father."

"Tell him what? Without proof we can do nothing."

"I am his eldest son and heir to the throne, he has to listen to me!"

"Forgive me, my prince, but your lies and hate for your mother is no secret at court, and half the debt is owe to your grandfather. Without sufficient proof all claims would fall on deaf ears, I'm afraid. Our lord Hand knew this."

"You would have me do nothing?" Tomas asked.

"I would have you reclaim your mother's trust."

Tomas laughed. "That won't happen."

"Not if you continue on your current path, no, I'd think not. But if you were to make peace with your mother, tell her what she so desperately longs to hear, then you may very well save your father yet. She loves you, perhaps more than your siblings. You were her firstborn, a bond forged that will never be duplicated. Had you not colored your hair and gone through so much trouble to displease her, relations would be much easier."

"I refuse to be some pawn that Mother moves as she sees fit."

"A pawn can become what it chooses when it reaches the end of the board, my prince. Should your father ever pass away by other circumstances, the gods forbid of course, your mother will need you far more than you need her. Even as regent, as queen, a woman can only go so far. Without you she has nothing."

"Leverage," Tomas stated.

"Yes, my prince, the best kind. But you must be convincing, if she has any reason to suspect you'll sell her out to the Starks again, well... it's back behind these walls until you learn to behave."

Tomas gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted was to side with his mother, even if it was a ruse, but if he wanted his father to keep breathing he had little choice in the matter. He had to do his best to win back his mother's favor. She may never forgive him for going behind her back with the Starks, or fully trust him, but all he had to do was act like an obedient son afraid of what would happen if he isn't and that would be all the security his mother needed. "Very well. I'll lay in bed with the lion. If my father could find the strength to do it four times over than so can I."

"Spoken like a true king," said Varys, lowering the visor and rising to his feet. He left the chambers and not a single guard knew he wasn't a soldier of the Lannisters.

After the door closed Tomas pressed up against it, cheek gently brushed against the wood as he spoke, "Guard? I know you can hear me. I wish to speak with my mother. Tell her..." The words caught in his throat, but he managed to spit them out all the same, "that I wish to atone." There was silence after his words and then footsteps echoed across the halls outside his room until they faded in the distance, and he knew right then his lady mother would not be far behind.