I stated in a response to xator5 in Chapter 38 that Chapters 37-45 were my most anticipated. That's not to say that I'm not excited for the rest of the story but considering where we were back then and where we find ourselves after this chapter… wow, it's making me grin just thinking about it! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did.
I own nothing other than potential OC's. Everyone and everything else are the property of George R R Martin or HBO.
The silence inside the Sept of Baelor was unbearable for Tommen. Once more under his rule a high-profile murder had occurred and the red, teary eyes of his wife left the King feeling utterly helpless. They were the only two in the large circular room with the body both dressed all in mourners black, and Tommen wished he knew what to say but every time he looked at the love of his life he found words difficult to come by.
Lord Tyrell had been dressed in a sharp green and gold outfit as befitting his House colours, and the stones placed on his eyes as tradition dictated were painted a dazzling blue. His face still had a tint of purple to it which made the King shudder in his boots a little, a movement that his Queen noticed.
"You know who did this." Margaery stated bluntly. "It was your Mother."
Tommen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew that, everybody silently knew that. Cersei had been extremely unthorough in covering her tracks. The problem though was that she was his Mother. "The investigation is ongoing…" He parroted his Great Uncle's words that had been stated ever since the murder had taken place.
"Hang the investigation!" Margaery exclaimed, her outburst echoing within the building. "I was the one to bring up her marriage once again and she fought back by trying to murder me, your Queen!" Tommen winced at the accusations. "It is no coincidence, Tommen. Your Mother tried to kill me, and in doing so she killed my Father."
Tommen knew she was right, but he didn't know what to do. "I can't kill her…"
Margaery rolled her eyes. "No, you cannot." She agreed, though she was speaking to him like a septa would a child. "But you can get rid of her in other ways. Send her to Casterly Rock, send her anywhere. But I will not have her around me when I know what she tried to do."
Tommen gulped. "Margaery… she is my Mother."
"She is a murderer!" Margaery exclaimed again. "She killed my Father, she could have killed your Uncle, perhaps she killed your Grandfather too and blamed somebody else once again."
Tommen shook his head at that. "No, she didn't."
Margaery closed the gap between them and took both of his hands in her own. "We don't know what she is capable of, but she needs to be punished."
"I don't know what to do." Tommen whispered.
Margaery then shook her head disappointedly. "Be a King. When we stood in this room and became husband and wife you vowed to protect me from all harm. Your Mother is now the main threat to my safety, Tommen. Be a King and make the tough call, because otherwise the next funeral you are standing at could be mine, or worse." She pulled his hands to her stomach. "It could be our child's."
Tommen gasped, as his hands pressed against her belly. "Are we going to be parents?" He asked.
Margaery smiled, but it was a bittersweet smile on her lips. "I'm not sure yet, but I think that's why I was unwell yesterday." She explained. "That is what was at risk if that poison was for me, and I know you don't want to harm our baby. She will try again."
Tommen nodded firmly not wanting any harm to come to his Queen. "I will speak to her, I will get to the bottom of this, and I will send her away." He told her with kingly authority.
Margaery smiled once again and kissed Tommen on the cheek, making him feel the blush forming on his cheeks. "Thank you, my love." She said kindly, and she interlocked her fingers with his as the royal couple continued their mourning of the Warden of the South.
After years of handling Longclaw Jon found the clumsiness of the wooden training blade somewhat endearing. He was grinning as he danced around Rickon, parrying the 10-year-old's wild swings with relative ease. There was a crowd gathered too, as the men in the Manderly army enjoyed watching their liege lord learn, shouting encouragements to the young Lord Stark. Jon kept parrying until he saw Rickon's left arm drop, and the Bastard of Winterfell rapped the flat side of his own wooden blade against the top of Rickon's arm, causing the younger man to cry out, dropping the shield.
"Well done." Jon said encouragingly. "You did well."
"You still hit me." Rickon scowled.
Jon moved closed and put one knee in the snow, ruffling Rickon's hair. "You lasted a while before I saw an opening and your hits are powerful. You are young yet, as you get older you'll avoid getting hit more easily." He smirked at his next statement though. "But you need to keep your shield up at all times, Rickon. If you don't, then next time I'll ring your head like a bell."
Rickon snorted at the overly familiar words, but he had a smile on his face as he shoved Jon away lightly. "Again!" He called, bringing his shield up once more and holding his wooden sword towards Jon. The cheers and whistles from the gathered crowds were deafening as Jon got back to his feet, though they fell silent from a certain area and the crowd began to open up a gap, as Ser Marlon Manderly walked through the soldiers towards Jon.
"Apologies, My Lord." The Manderly knight bowed to Rickon before he walked closer to Jon, whispering in his ear. "Snow, we have had reports of movement in the North."
This is what they had been waiting for. Nodding, Jon turned to his brother. "I have to go, but Osha will finish your lesson, right?" His eyes found the Wildling protector.
"Aye, I can teach the little Lord some." Osha shrugged, and Jon silently thanked her, handing the wooden sword to the woman before he followed the Manderly Commander to the command tent, inside of which he immediately noticed Asher Forrester sat down with a bowl of stew.
"Lord Forrester." Jon greeted.
Asher put his bowl down and stood up. "Snow." He nodded in greeting. "Ser Marlon."
The Manderly rolled out a map of the North and put some figures down to indicate Bolton and Manderly forces. "What news do you have for us?" He asked gruffly.
Asher nodded and picked up a glove figure. "Lord Glover has joined with Lady Mormont and the Mountain Clans." He explained, placing the carving to the North of Long Lake. "Before I left they were awaiting Umber and Karstark men, and when they were all together they will meet us at the arranged camp." He put the Umber and Karstark figures alongside the Glover one. "3,000 men in total."
Jon had hoped for more, but the wars beforehand had been tough on the North. "This is good news." He stated. "The Bolton's can have no hope with all of its major vassals in arms against them."
"They still have the Dustin's and the Ryswell's boy." Marlon cautioned. "Both were largely untouched by the betrayal at the Twins."
Jon grimaced. They had still suffered losses but the Manderly knight was right, not enough to pull them away from Roose's grip.
"Aye." Asher nodded, also in agreement. "And it's only a matter of time before Bolton hears about our movements, we're not far from his territory here."
Jon leant on the table and his mind began to race with possible ideas. "First thing is to get to the camp and get the defences up. So long as we are there first we can set it so that Roose Bolton can't come at us without days of warning. We need to move quicker."
Marlon nodded. "Aye, I'll organise another march for today. It will be brutal, but during daylight we need to keep moving."
Asher groaned and Jon supposed the man had travelled a long way recently, but the Forrester nodded as well. "Very well."
"Good." Jon stated. "Soon enough we can rest, but first we must take the North back. Without the North in Stark hands, we are all doomed."
Being Warden of the North suited Roose Bolton, the man thought. Whilst it was supposedly a temporary position whilst the Lannisters forced an heir out of the Stark girl, they hadn't bothered him at all since the death of Robb Stark, so Roose had had the chance to mould the North as he saw fit. He had coupled his own plans with the necessary aiding of the Night's Watch and forcing the Wildlings back of course to show that he wasn't going to take the responsibility lightly, but the Bolton Lord definitely saw himself being the first in a long line of Bolton Wardens, and perhaps even breaking away from the shackles of the South entirely in the future and regaining the title of Red King.
Or at least, that had been his plans over the past 5 years of Bolton leadership. Now however, he was faced with a problem he didn't expect quite so soon in an uprising of Stark loyalists. Roose clenched his teeth as he read the raven letter bringing him the news before he scrunched the parchment up and slammed it into the table. His timid, fat wife flinched at the movement in the far corner of the Winterfell room, before the Frey woman returned to nursing their young daughter, Marissa Bolton. Deciding to leave the girls be, Roose left the room so that he could think up a plan.
As he left the Main Keep of Winterfell and arrived in the courtyard he noticed his bastard training against one of his men at arms. It was rare to see the bastard within the walls of Winterfell these days, as during the pregnancy Roose had kept him occupied by travelling over the North and dealing out his justice. The refusal of the King to legitimise Ramsay had initially frustrated the Bolton Lord, but now he saw it as a bit of a blessing. Ramsay could continue to be his mad dog whilst there was never a threat that the Lords would see him as the heir, Roose had made that quite clear to everybody other than Ramsay of course.
The bastard noticed him and stopped his bout, taking a swig of ale and moving over to greet him. "Father." Ramsay said, somewhat breathlessly.
"You are looking sharp." Roose noted. "Good, you will need to be." Ramsay looked confused. "Houses Manderly, Reed, Locke and Flint are rising up in rebellion. 4,000 men are marching from White Harbour."
Ramsay scoffed. "They'll need more than that to take Winterfell."
"They don't need to take Winterfell." Roose educated. "This is the defining moment of our rule. If we refuse to meet the challenge then we will be seen as weak and the Northern Lords will continue to see us as usurpers. If we meet this rebel force in battle and beat them, then we shall have no arguments about our place here."
Ramsay grinned. "So battle it is."
Roose nodded just the once. "I will call the banners. Lady Dustin and Lord Ryswell will join us and I expect Lords Umber and Karstark to remain neutral, though I shall call them anyway. You will go to Castle Cerwyn and round up as many men as you are able to. If Lord Cley gets in your way…" He didn't need to say it, his mad dog knew exactly what he meant.
"Then I will get a new cloak." Ramsay grinned.
"After that, then go to all the nearest castles and do the same." Roose explained. "Be back within the fortnight."
"As you say, Father." Ramsay nodded, bowing his head before departing for the stables. Roose initially stood there watching him go as his defensive planning kicked in. He had been Warden of the North for too short a time, he was definitely not going to let a frog eater and a fat man take his place.
Not long after Tommen had arrived back at the Red Keep he had been asked to meet with Myrcella in the dungeons. Knowing exactly where she would be, he led a pair of his Kingsguard down to the siblings old hiding spot with the dragon skulls, and Tommen smirked as he saw Ser Arys outside a door.
"Stay here, Sers. I am in no danger from my sister." Tommen explained, and he entered the room, immediately noticing the dozens of dragon skulls dotted around the room. He immediately spotted that of Meraxes, the first of the dragons to die on Westerosi soil, by the damage marks around the beasts eye. He went further into the room and soon came upon the skull of the Black Dread, and the black dressed Myrcella was stroking the snout.
"We used to hide in here from Joffrey when he was on one of his hunts." Myrcella clearly felt his presence in the room. "I remember one time I lifted you up into the eye of Balerion and we hid inside until he got bored of searching for us, and we stayed until Father came down and found us."
Tommen remembered that too. "You taught me the stories." He added.
Myrcella smiled, turning to face him. "This was always a safe space for us. No adults, no eavesdroppers."
Tommen sighed, and he sat down so his back was leaning against the side of Balerion's skull. "Margaery wants me to send Mother away. She says it was obvious who ordered Lord Tyrell's murder."
"It is obvious, you know that as well as I do." Myrcella noted. "But do you really want the entire realm to know? If we send Mother away there will be whispers, and you will be viewed as weak for not punishing a Warden's murderer."
"I can't execute her, Cella." Tommen whined. "I'm not a kinslayer."
"You don't need to execute her." Myrcella dismissed quickly. "Keep her here, under guard at all times, house arrest if needs be. But keep her under your nose at all times. We can't let her plot more, Tom, she's done enough damage with free reign."
Tommen could feel his knees starting to shake. "I can't handle this, Cella." He whispered, tears freeing themselves from his eyes. "Since I've been King too many people have died and I don't know how to stop it. Grandfather, Uncle Tyland… they would have lived if a stronger King was sitting the Iron Throne."
"Don't speak like that." Myrcella said softly, wrapping her arm around him. "While their deaths were abhorrent and wrong, they had all made enemies in life. Their deaths aren't on you, Tom but justice for those killings have been down to your rule. You are a good King, and your strength will grow as it needs to grow now. The hardest thing to do is to punish family, but even Jaehaerys the Old punished his own Mother for treason, and he is the greatest King we have ever had."
"I'm not him." Tommen sighed.
Myrcella shook her head. "No, but you don't need to be. You just need to be you, Tommen." She kissed his cheek. "Be King Tommen, and you'll always do the right thing."
Dorne was hot. Loren Lannister already hated it even with Winter officially here as the white Raven stated in Nightsong. The Lord of Casterly Rock had met up with Loras Tyrell at Ashford and had marched down with the Tyrell forces to form defences on the border of the Marches and the Princes Pass. They had been there barely a day under the reluctant eye of Lord Bryce Caron when the call for a meeting had come from the Princes Pass. Loren and Loras had ridden in with Ser Vylarr and the heir to Oldtown towards a hilltop where the meeting was to take place.
As the horses neared the Dornish party in the distance, Loren looked around to see the foundations of a dismantled tower, and there were stones on top of the hill indicating eight graves. Loren, Loras, Ser Vylarr and Ser Baelor Hightower all dismounted early and walked over to meet with the four Dornish, the only one of whom Loren recognised was Trystane Martell.
There was an uncomfortable silence in the air as the wind blew around them all on the hilltop. Loren took the opportunity to look around in more detail at the gravesite, an action which got noticed by the Martell.
"This is the resting place of Ser Arthur Dayne." He explained. "Ned Stark tore down a castle which he had no claim to in order to put the dead to rest." He noticed the Hightower sigil on Baelor's surcoat. "Your kinsman lies here too, somewhere."
"A curious meeting place." Loras Tyrell called over the wind. "You brought us to a graveyard."
"Less curious, for you will soon be joining these men if you do not stand down." A silver haired young man in a purple surcoat called back. Loren noticed the sigil of House Dayne on his chest.
"We cannot." Loren called. "It is you who have broken the King's peace, Sers. It is you who must stand down now before it is too late. There will be no further punishments, we can all move on from this peacefully."
Trystane snarled and took one step forwards. "Move on? It is already too late, Lannister. Your family have killed enough of mine with no retribution for there to not be blood spilled."
"Then what is the goal?" Loren asked exasperatedly. "What are you fighting for?"
"Vengeance!" A man in Manwoody colours Loren didn't know called out, and the final man, a Qorgyle, nodded his agreement.
"So you kill me." Loren interrupted. "You kill the King, you kill any and every person that hails from House Lannister. What then? Do Dorne sit the Iron Throne? Do you regain independence?"
Trystane scoffed. "Not all of you will die, Lannister. Once we are done with you Myrcella will sit the Iron Throne with me at her side, and Dorne shall never again be disrespected by you or your ilk."
Loren allowed the other three Dornish to cheer and jeer at the statement before he countered. "Do you really think Myrcella will be happy with this? That you are willing to kill her family to put her on the Iron Throne? Because she will not. She will resent you for as long as you live."
"I do not care what you think, Lannister." Trystane snarled. "You, your Father, your Grandfather. You all looked down on us, spat at us, murdered us! No longer! We shall fight, and you shall be the first to die."
Loren just sighed and knew that there would be no diplomatic way to change his mind before the first engagement. "Very well, but remember I gave you this chance to end this petty insurrection before your people suffered." The Lannister shook his head and turned away, mounting his horse once more. "Until tomorrow." And with that last statement, Loren kicked his horse into a gallop and left the gravesite, mentally preparing for what was to come.
Jon could see the heavy snowfall through the small gaps in the tent. He tried to ignore it, but even he could feel the chill in the air as he started to think up some initial plans on how to retake Winterfell. He had just started to place figures down for each House when the tent flaps were forced open, and a number of men entered. Jon recognised most of them, as usual Ser Marlon and Asher Forrester were there, and they had been joined by Robett Glover, Harald Karstark and a young boy and girl that Jon assumed was Ned Umber and Lyanna Mormont.
"Snow, the rest of our men are here." Marlon explained.
Jon nodded, clearing his throat. "Welcome, My Lords. My Lady." He bowed at the newcomers. "Your aid is greatly appreciated."
"Those cunts have sat in Winterfell for far too long." Harald Karstark spat. "It's about time we took the fight to them."
"We've never had cause or numbers enough to unite before." Robett Glover said firmly, looking at Jon and shaking his hand. "Now we do. What have we got?"
Jon took the initiative and pointed down at the map. "With your men here we number 7,000. I will ride out tonight and meet with the Free Folk and add them to our ranks."
"My people are uneasy about your dealings with the fucking Wildlings." Harald Karstark said cautiously. "We can't trust them."
"We can." Jon countered. "With everything they went through fighting us a couple of years back, they want Roose Bolton dead as much as any of us here." Nobody could argue with that. All the adults in the room had seen the remnants of Roose's justice as the flayed bodies of the Wildling leaders were displayed North of the Wall.
"9,000 warriors." Lyanna Mormont piped up, looking at the map. "So what is the plan?"
Ser Marlon took point. "Roose Bolton knows that the eyes of the North will be on him. He will have to do battle, but he still has the advantage of Winterfell behind him. The key to victory will be forcing him out of the castle."
"He will send out the bastard to do his dirty work for him." Asher Forrester said with distain. He's the one that murdered my brother, that murdered Lord Cerwyn and the others. He'll be the first charge to try and unsettle us."
"Aye." Robett Glover nodded. "We must be ruthless. They will try and unnerve us with flayed prisoners, they will have tricks and schemes unbefitting of the North. We must stand resolute in the face of these and push on."
Jon nodded. "Let them try their tricks, we have the men and we have the right."
"They know Lord Manderly is against them." Ned Umber said firmly, surprising Jon given his small size. "They sent out this not long before I left Last Hearth." He handed Jon a letter.
"Calling the North to arms against the treason of Wyman Manderly." Jon surmised. "They don't suspect you?"
Ned shrugged. "He will when he sees us formed up with you."
Robett Glover laughed loudly and pat Ned Umber on the back. Jon looked down at the map instead and a plan was forming. "Give Manderly the vanguard. They're expecting that. Lord Glover, if you take a flank with Lady Mormont and the Mountain Clans on the other, we can keep the stronger forces of Umber and Karstark hidden until it's too late." He pointed to a spot by the Wolfswood. "This is the shortest stretch of land between the tree line and Winterfell. We can hide in there and a large second wave can strike."
"I want Bolton's head myself." Harald Karstark snarled. "My Father and brothers died at his hands…"
"We all lost people to Bolton, Karstark." Lyanna Mormont bit back. "And we will all get a piece of him when this is over. But for that to happen we must win!" She turned to Jon. "House Mormont follows House Stark. You may be a bastard, but you are Ned Stark's bastard. You know Winterfell better than any of us here, if this is the way to go, then we will follow."
"Aye, and House Umber." Ned nodded.
"And House Manderly." Ser Marlon growled. "They will pay for all the murder."
Jon grinned. "Rest up and train up. I ride for the Free Folk immediately, and we will leave for Winterfell as soon as I am back."
A chorus of 'ayes' met Jon's ears, and once he had moved the relevant figures into place he left the tent to saddle his garron, only to be met with the Red Woman who had already completed the task. "Jon Snow." She greeted.
"I should have realised you'd be following." Jon said bluntly, but he appreciated the work and immediately saddled his horse. "You best keep up." And he kicked his garron into a gallop, riding Northwards to meet with the Free Folk once again.
The moment Tommen had been dreading was here, and he was sat on the Iron Throne without any of his Kingsguard there once again, having explained to them all that this was a private moment between the King and his Mother. The steel forged seat was uncomfortable and Tommen kept shifting in his seat, trying to find the right mix of comfort and authority. The doors opened before he could find that mix and in the distance Tommen could see his Mother, dressed in a dark crimson gown walking towards him, a slight argument going on behind her between her sworn sword and the Kingsguard stationed outside.
Cersei walked up towards him, stopping before the steps up to the Iron Throne and threading her arms through her sleeves, similar to how Varys always stood. She looked up at him and smiled. "You called for me, my love." She said sweetly.
"I did." Tommen nodded. "I need to know something, between me and you. Did you kill Lord Tyrell?"
He knew the answer already. Everybody did, but his decision on his Mother's future was going to be decided based on the answer that Tommen received. He observed Cersei looking hurt at the accusation before her eyes steeled over and her lips pursed tightly. "I did not, I don't know what you have been led to think of me by your sister, Tommen, but I would not do that to you. I know how much you care for your wife and her family."
There it was then, a lie. Tommen closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in disbelief. "Very well." He resigned himself. "Once this war is over and Lord Loras returns to King's Landing, I will speak with him about your wedding."
Cersei's eyes widened in surprise for a split second. "I thought I made myself clear. I will not…"
"You WILL!" Tommen shouted, his emotions fully overwhelming him. "You will because I am your King and I have commanded it!"
Cersei took a deep breath, and she cocked her head slightly as she stared at her son. "Any man who has to say to his subjects that he is the King, is no true King." Her voice was calm, but it was laced subtly with the venom of 1000 snakes.
There she is, Tommen thought to himself. There is the woman that everyone was scared of; the woman that everybody thought was capable of so many heinous crimes. "Mother…" He said softly.
"We will not discuss this further." Cersei said with authority, and Tommen was taken aback. "I did have some thoughts on the Martell issue though that I would like to share with you. Myrcella reminding me of the House of Black and White gave me an idea."
"I am not assassinating anybody!" Tommen cried. "How could you think that?"
"I am thinking of that to keep you safe." Cersei countered. "The Dornish are not above using poisons and assassins, we shouldn't be either." A feminine scoff came from over by the gallery and both blonde heads swivelled to see Myrcella leaning on the gallery balcony. Cersei turned back to Tommen with a distasteful look in her eyes. "I see, you were planning to gang up on me. My own children."
"No…" Tommen insisted. "I didn't know she was there…"
Myrcella's footsteps echoed around the room as she joined them on the ground. "I had to be here for Tommen, because I know you, Mother. You will twist his words and his mind and make it out that you are an innocent in all this, when we know you aren't."
"I do whatever I can to keep my family safe." Cersei insisted bitterly. "And like it or not, my sweet, you are my family."
Myrcella scoffed. "Please, we only ever mattered to you once Joffrey was killed. Before that you ignored us at best and enabled him at your worst." She then turned to Tommen. "You can't send assassins, Tom, that will make things worse with Trystane and they will never drop their spears peacefully. We need a diplomatic solution."
"We need strong moves." Cersei countered. "Your way will have your former beloved rise up again in a few years, or perhaps his children will murder Tommen's children in spite. That is the way of the Dornish."
"You would add to that spite!" Myrcella cried exasperatedly. "You would murder innocents!"
"I would do whatever it takes to keep my son and my daughter safe."
Myrcella threw her hands up in disbelief. "You don't care about me or Tommen!" She cried. "You never have done, or you wouldn't have tried to kill him!"
Tommen was taken aback by that statement. "What?" He asked his sister, bewildered.
"Myrcella." Cersei warned, but the younger woman wasn't able to be cowed any longer. Myrcella rushed up the stairs and knelt before Tommen, grabbing his hands in hers.
"The night of the Blackwater, when Joffrey killed Uncle Stannis." Myrcella explained to her kingly brother. "Do you remember it?" Tommen shook his head, it was all such a blur. "Mother sat you on her knee in this very chair, and she told you a story…"
"The lion cub." Tommen suddenly remembered.
Myrcella smiled sadly. "I made her break a vial. She was going to force you to drink poison, Tom."
"To protect him!" Cersei cried, but that in Tommen's eyes was a confession.
He felt a tear fall as he remembered Myrcella's horror from that night just before his Grandfather and the loyalists had arrived. "No…" He whispered.
"You tried to murder your own son!" Myrcella accused Cersei. "You are evil, Mother! Evil!"
"ENOUGH!" Tommen screamed, ripping his hands away from Myrcella. He stood up roughly and pushed past his sister, running out of the Throne Room in a teary mess and bolting for his chambers. He didn't give the Kingsguard a chance to follow him, he only wanted the comfort of his love at that moment.
He arrived at his chambers to see Lady Olenna's guards Left and Right stood outside the door. He thought that odd at first, but then he heard the muffled voices of Margaery and Lady Olenna through the wood.
"It will happen, child." The elder of the two was saying.
"I thought it was now, I thought I was pregnant and that perhaps there was a happy ending in the future despite Father's murder…" Margaery was crying softly. Tommen wanted to go to her, to hug her and comfort her, but his feet were rooted to the spot.
"You are young, there is plenty of time." Olenna added.
"There isn't." Margaery scoffed. "Cersei claws at Tommen, so does his sister. He listened to me more when he believed I was with child. If I actually were with baby then perhaps he could listen more, perhaps Cersei will be gone and the Princess too."
Tommen's eyes were widened. More betrayals, more lies. "He will listen to you. Our most powerful weapons are our tears and what men want between our legs. Rest after your moonblood dear, then invite him back and whisper some more."
That was enough for Tommen. He couldn't listen any longer. His Mother tried to kill him, his love with Margaery had been a lie… everything was crashing down on the young King all at once. He ran away once more, back in the direction of the Throne Room this time, tears uncontrollably falling down his cheeks. He entered the room through the gallery this time to avoid the Kingsguard if any were still stationed outside the larger doors and he looked around the big, empty room. His face turned to a scowl as he remembered the moment he was told that Joffrey was dead and that he was now the King, Tommen had never wanted that, but he did as he was told all the same. He pounded his right arm on the balcony of the gallery, noticing a sharp pain in his forearm. He looked down and noticed that he had cut his doublet and blood was dripping out, no doubt from the Iron Throne when he broke free of Myrcella.
Sighing, he looked over at the Iron Throne and sure enough there was a speck of blood on the right arm rest. In his emotional haze the boy King walked slowly down to the Iron Throne, thoughts whirling around in his head. His Grandfather had thought him weak, as did his Uncle Tyland. He knew that and he had tried to be better for them, but it was never enough. Those that he did think cared for him had proven themselves to be liars. His Mother tried to kill him, Myrcella using him to score points against their Mother in whatever fight they were locked in, and Margaery… the woman he loved above all else wanting to use him to get him to do her bidding.
"I hate it." Tommen whispered as he walked up the steps of the Iron Throne. "I hate being King, I hate being used." He sniffed and wiped his face of tears, standing up tall to turn and sit on the Iron Throne. "No longer." He said, another sob threatening to escape his throat. Tommen turned to see the dangerous barbs in the Iron Throne and ran his finger gently over one. "I am King Tommen of the House Baratheon." He whispered, hearing the bells welcoming in the new year to King's Landing. "And I choose. No more." He slammed his wrist down on the jagged sword point and muffled his painful cry with his other arm as he dragged his impaled arm closer to his body, allowing his choice to come to its inevitable conclusion as his blood seeped out over the arm of the Iron Throne.
And so comes to pass the death of King Tommen, the First of his Name. Everything just got too much for the young man and as his world came crashing down with his family arguing and the overheard Margaery conversation, the Iron Throne 'rejecting' him as the stories go was the final straw.
Marissa Bolton is named after one of Walda's sisters.
There is no Karstark/Umber betrayal here. The massacre at the twins was even more brutal and devastating to the North and not even the Wildlings can make them betray the Starks in this scenario.
Finally with Loren, I don't know how secret the location of the Tower of Joy is but given 8 bodies are buried there with the stones of the former tower, I believe it wouldn't be a true secret. The other people in the meeting are Edric Dayne, Lord Dagos Manwoody and Ser Gulian Qorgyle.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was a really fun one to write despite the sad ending.
Next Time: The Red Keep reacts to the death of their King, while in the North Jon Snow comes face to face with Roose Bolton…
Reviews:
RohanVos: Margaery would never do the deed herself…
Silver crow: Not happening I'm afraid!
Guest (vengeance): You will see Arya soon…
roggerlopez99: It's certainly going to be interesting going forwards considering everything that's coming…
sniperbro1998: I agree!
Jason Kreuger Myers: These last 10 chapters or so is definitely the part I meant yes, though that sense of crumbling is only going to grow in the next few chapters… Myrcella was thinking about her love as a young teenager, I can't blame her for that even if things would have been easier with Trystane as a hostage. Everyone thinks that Tyrion is at Storm's End. Remember the true loyalties of the Spymaster…
PlaythegameOrDie: She's not trying to be a hypocrite, but the Dornish 'vengeance' extends beyond the actual culprits and that's not ok with her, especially when that's her family.