If he was not Cersei's son, Tywin might have strangled him. He might anyway. 7/7
At the age of fourteen, Steffon Baratheon had cut the head off a man when his father had fallen in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. When Tywin had at last fallen from his horse, his desperate charge through the field had led him to Steffon. Together, they had cut through men and horse alike, had tried to protect each other, but had mostly tried to survive. After the battle, Steffon had lifted his father's body from the field and seen it back to Storm's End. He had married his betrothed and abandoned the life of a knight to rule the Stormlands.
Knighted at twenty and one, Robert Baratheon had waged war against his king. While Rhaegar Targaryen was a tourney knight, Robert had squired for Jon Arryn; at the Battle of the Trident he had knocked the prince from his horse and scattered the rubies from his breastplate into the river. He had forbidden anyone to bury the dead prince, or so much as lift his body from the river. After taking the throne for his own, he had pardoned Kingsguard and Counselmen, great lords and small alike, and spared the realm further turmoil.
With nothing more than a handsome face and a lord's title, Renly Baratheon had raised the Stormlands against his nephew, their rightful king, simply because he had felt that he would make a better ruler. Renly's loyalty had belonged to Joffrey, his brother's son, or to Stannis, if he believed his brother's lies of incest. Instead, he had forged an alliance with the Tyrells, he led armies across the realm with no more experience than a tourney knight. He might have overrun King's Landing if he had not been assassinated by his own brother, and that was not from lack of diplomacy on his part.
Joffrey had none of his family's bravery or political sense.
Martyn was only a year older than Joffrey, but already he held a sword like he had been born to it. He held his training sword steady and crouched behind his shield while the young king circled him. They had been doing so for several minutes, and Tywin was beginning to lose patience. Finally, with a shout, Joffrey charged forward and brought his sword down squarly on Martyn's shield. He made to dart backward, out of reach of his cousin's sword, but Martyn had not been still during the attack. The older boy slapped the wooden sword into Joffrey's side before he could scuttle out of reach.
Had Martyn been training with any other squire, they would have separated to acknowledge the strike and then clashed again, only stopping the mock fight if the injury had been serious. His squired was used to this, and he lowered his shield and stepped to the side, away from Joffrey, only to be struck with his opponent's sword. The blow caught him across his left collarbone, knocking him backward and to the ground. A second blow was caught on his shield as Martyn raised it above his head.
"Enough!" Ser Lyle blocked a third blow by catching the king's sword with his gloved hand. Joffrey pulled back angrily, but by then Tywin had crossed the yard to them and stood above his squire. Ignoring the king and knight bickering, he studied the pain on the boy's face.
"Are you injured?"
"It feels bad, but I don't think it is," Tywin reached down to help him up. The boys had not worn armor because they fought with wooden swords, but there was no blood. A hard strike directly on a bone would hurt, though.
"Go to Maester Pycelle and have him examine you," Martyn had the makings of a promising knight, and he would not have his training delayed because an injury went untreated, "we are done training for the day."
While Martyn handed his shield off to a friend and went toward the keep, Tywin turned to Joffrey. Ser Lyle had pulled the wooden sword from his grip and was now being screeched at, while Ser Osmund stood behind the king, failing to look fierce. Only now did Tywin register the words the young king was speaking, "-because it was a fight. I was only doing as my grandfathered ordered." He looked at Tywin as though he was the cause of the problems of the realm, rather than being the only one holding it together at present.
"If you been held swords of steel that blow would have into your stomach and left you bleeding on the ground. You were meant to step back, not continue failing about."
"If this were a battle-"
"You would be dead."
"This is stupid," Joffrey began removing the straps that tied his shield to his arm, "why do I need to learn how to fight a squire?"
"Because the next time some lord rises up to take your throne, you will be expected to lead the army to defeat them."
"I have men for that," Joffrey sneered up at him, "you said you were going to teach me how to rule, but it seems I know more than you."
If Tywin ordered Joffrey arrested all of two men in the courtyard would have defended him. He threw his shield at Ser Lyle's feet and glowered at the man, seemingly unaware of Ser Balon's increasing nervousness. Perhaps he had been wrong to go about this as he had. Tywin had hoped the swordplay would tire Joffrey out and let him think about the more mundane problems. Instead, he might try teaching the boy to use his brain. Let him realize for himself why he needed to carry a sword.
"Very well, I shall teach you to rule," he turned toward the keep, leaving Ser Balon and Ser Lyle to trail behind the angry king. Joffrey trotted at his heels, still whinging about the ill-fated fight and Martyn's lack of intelligence. Tywin did not have the patience to explain the difference between a training session and a true battle. Again.
On their walk to the Tower of the Hand, Joffrey stopped twice. Once as they passed the entrance to the Red Keep, to demand Tywin tell him where they were going. The two Kingsguard stopped behind him, the Lannister guards parting to walk around them, and although Tywin did not bother to stop, but he briefly considered having the boy dragged to the tower. The second was on the steps. This time it was to complain to Ser Balon that there were far too many steps, and he did not want to walk up them. Once again, he continued on before Tywin could have him carried.
In his solar, he selected one of the letters he had set aside, one that could not ruin the kingdom if handled incorrectly, and settled at his desk while Joffrey attempted to look important by strutting about the room. There were only Kingsguard and Lannister men in the room, none of whom he was impressing. Tywin waited until the boy had sat in the chair across from his desk, to look up.
"Word has come that Lord Nestor Royce will soon require a new squire. To insure the lasting alliance between the Vale and the Crown, I have suggested sending someone close to your family."
"Send Tommen. Might as well make some use of him."
"Your brother will be Lord of the Stormlands, and he is already squiring for Jaime."
"Then who is there?" Joffrey sighed and leaned forward, "why can't he find his own squire? Aren't their boys in the Vale who want to be knights?"
"Many. However, none loyal to the Crown. This is a chance to place a loyalist in the Vale. I propose the youngest son of Tybolt Crakehall. The boy is near seven. He can be fostered for two years, serve as a page, and be made a squire upon his fourteenth nameday."
"Fine. Why do I need to make these decisions?"
"You said you wanted me to teach you to rule. I am doing so."
"I need to name squires? Isn't there anything more important I can do?"
"Insuring the loyalty of your kingdom is important, your Grace."
"My kingdom is loyal!" Joffrey protested. The boy looked baffled, "My mother is a Lannister and my father a Baratheon, and I married a Tyrell of the Reach. Myrcella is marrying a Dornishman, Uncle Jaime married a Stark, and Petyr Baelish has secured the Vale. Where is the danger? You see treasons that are not there."
"Yes, Robert was a Baratheon. So were Stannis and Renly, yet they still overran the city," it may be best to have Joffrey be a poor king, who sent men to do his own work, but he could not be both a terrible warrior and a terrible ruler. Not if he wanted to keep his crown.
"And now they are dead."
"Because I killed them."
"They're still dead? There is no rebellion," Tywin was starting to understand why Tyrion was perpetually drunk in the Keep.
"Petyr Baelish only has control over the Vale until Robert Arryn comes of age. Afterward he will return to Harrenhal and the only control we will have over the Vale is the loyalty of a Great Lord to his king."
"Is that not enough?"
"What if Robb Stark married his other sister to the young lord and rebelled again?"
"We would kill Sansa Stark," Joffrey sounded more pleased at the prospect than Tywin would like. Was this the king in love with the wife of the Lord of Casterly Rock, or the burning of Rickard Stark? If Robert was Aegon the Unworthy, was Joffrey Mad Aerys? Two generations of Baratheon kings and the realm remembered the Targaryens fondly. "Here, grandfather, if you are worried, we should marry Myrcella to Robert Arryn. That would secure his loyalty."
"Myrcella is betrothed to a son of Doran Martell."
"I am the king, I can break the betrothal and have her brought back to King's Landing."
Tywin took a deep breath. At least the boy was attempting to help, "that would be an insult to the Martells. The goal is to avoid another war. We would secure the Vale and raise Dorne instead."
"Then find someone to marry the boy," Joffrey sighed heavily, "grandfather, is this not the work of the Hand of the King?"
Cersei had only been gone for a week and already Tywin considered following her. Let Mace Tyrell rule the realm while Joffrey frightened the lords. In the war that followed Tywin could hide under Casterly Rock, "what do you propose to do when I can no longer serve as Hand?"
"Mace Tyrell can serve as Hand. Perhaps his son, or uncle Jaime. My father never made all these minor decisions. Jon Arryn did that, while my father held court and summoned whores to his bed," Joffrey stood from his chair. He was either the only person in the room who did not notice the tension, or he thought his position protected him. If he was not Cersei's son Tywin would have him cut down where he stood.
"Your father was fierce in battle and merciful on the throne," he did not like praising Robert Baratheon, but he doubted Cersei had encouraged her son to like his father, "he was a drunkard and a whoremonger, yes, but he held court and sat in the Small Council. Jon Arryn might have made the minor decisions, but your father knew them all and knew when to reject a change. Under his rule, the realm had peace."
"It is not my fault that Stannis Baratheon lied about my mother," Joffrey seemed to think he was threatening. If Tywin had been a man given to laughter he would have found it funny, but as it was he watched mildly as Joffrey blustered, "she is a good woman. She was loyal to my father while he had every whore in King's Landing. She did not deserve to be treated as she was, and it was you who sold her and never helped her."
"Cersei knew what it meant to be wife to a king."
Joffrey straightened, sneering, "and you should know what it means to be Hand to one."
Tywin let him go.
He had not made Joanna's daughter a queen to put another Mad King on the throne. Yet if he abandoned him now House Lannister's influence would be greatly diminished. The Tyrells were eager to fill King's Landing with their vassals, and although the Northmen would never forget Eddard Stark's death, Dorne might consider allying with Robert's son to crush the man who killed their princess.
He would not leave.
There were still letters to be written. The Lords Penrose and Estermont had returned his letters, and Tommen's betrothal was not a decision he wanted Joffrey to make. Both lords had young daughters who might draw the Stormlands back under Tommen's rule. Neither had unmarried sons, who Shireen Baratheon might marry to secure their loyalty to her.
There was also the matter of the Riverlands. Edmure Tully was more intelligent in peace than in wartime, and had graciously offered his sister's son the surname of Whent, rather than taking it for his second son, as the boy would already have Harrenhal. It was a good plan if he wished to tempt Baelish's loyalties. Although Tywin had offered Kevan's oldest son to marry the female heir of House Darry, Edmure had refused, citing an established betrothal. Soon thereafter, the daughter of Mariya Darry had married Lewys Piper, a squire. Both had taken the name of Darry and her mother had been named his regent. Lancel had been forced to settle for Tarbeck Hall.
Tywin never made decisions when he was angry. Instead, he focused on the more minor details of the kingdoms, things he had intended Joffrey to do, and worked his way back up. When he was finished with all of these, he might reconsider remaining in King's Landing, but that should wait until he could look at Joffrey without considering having him removed for insanity.
He was still considering his reply to the Stormlords when a heavy glove knocked at the door, "Lord Tywin, the queen to see you." Tywin tucked the papers out of sight before admitting her. While he doubted she would tell Joffrey of his plans, she would tell her family. He did not need more Tyrells in King's Landing.
Queen Margaery's stomach was just beginning to swell. She wore a gown of baby blue embroidered with gold, the Tyrell green belt raised to give her babe room to grow. When the door opened, she was speaking softly to her brother, and Loras waited outside as she entered. Her neckline was higher than it normally was, but she still wore the light styles of the Reach.
"Queen Margaery, I trust you are well?"
The little queen smiled timidly, "I am tired and hungry, always, but that is only the babe. He's started moving, only a few days ago. I believe he likes the harp."
"The prince's safety is our utmost concern," and it was. That he had to guard the babe from it's father rather than rebel forces notwithstanding, "is there anything you need?"
She sat in the chair Joffrey had occupied only hours before. "I have been given everything I asked for, and even some things I did not. My mother sent me the most wonderful doeskin slippers, I only wish they were white," she mused, "my son, though, he has need of you," Margaery lowered her voice and leaned forward slightly, one hand pressing over her belly, "Joffrey, it seems, does not."
Tywin was quiet for a moment, not long enough to notice unless one was looking for it, but the little queen was. He had not thought the boy so great a fool as to insult him openly, "what has happened?"
"He interrupted my lunch to join me and ask if my father might come to King's Landing."
"What was your answer?"
"Only the truth, my lord," Margaery looked for all the world an innocent young girl, "that my father must attend Willas' wedding as is proper, but he would come willingly afterward."
"He will marry at the end of the year," Cerenna was soon to leave for Highgarden, at Jaime's insistence. It was claimed that Cerenna needed time to meet her betrothed, but Tywin suspected that her mother made Jaime's wife nervous rather than any concern for his cousin, "how does this concern your son?"
Margaery's voice was low now, to ensure the guards outside could not hear, "my father is a good man, Lord Tywin. He is loyal to the throne, but he is not what the realm needs. My lord husband would overrun him with demands and he would obey them all. It would be war."
"Against half the kingdoms," Tywin agreed. The girl told him nothing he did not know. That was why he could not leave. He had worked his entire life to put Cersei's sons on the throne, and he could not let that go now.
"Only half? If he casts you out, will you do nothing? If the North rises, you might follow, with Lady Sansa married to your son. I have come to suggest we make common cause."
"Against Joffrey."
"For my babe. If Joffrey is killed, he will be too. You want a Lannister on the throne, and I want a Tyrell. Let us work together to see it done."
Margaery Tyrell was the picture of a queen. Her thick brown hair was pulled up, hanging down her back in the style of the Reach. Her hands were folded in her lap innocently, her fair face touched by a sweet smile, and even her gown was cut to present a devout image. It was her eyes he was drawn too, as hard as steel. Tywin had seen Kingsguard with less determination than this girl of seven and ten.
"You cannot be seen coming to the Tower," Joffrey would not suspect his queen was plotting against him, but the rest of King's Landing would.
"Who can I send? Not my ladies, and every man knows my brother's squire."
"I will send a girl to you. Shae. She was handmaiden to Lollys Stokeworth, and will carry any messages you see fit."
"Any message? Can I trust her?"
"She was well-paid; she is quick and quiet; and she cannot read."
"And few would suspect her of carrying messages if she is seen," Margaery agreed. There were many other questions, but she asked none of them. His whore or his maid, she was clever enough to not want to know, "very well. Send her to me on the morrow, I will have her keep my rooms."
She stood, brushing her skirts down gently and made for the door. As she stepped through, she turned back, "I do thank you for your generosity, Lord Tywin. Please, have the doeskin delivered to my rooms," with that the door closed behind her, and Tywin was left alone with new problems.
Varys could bring the whore to him again, but where was he going to find white doeskin?
