Eight reviews? I have to say, I'm very flattered at the response and in so short a time. Just for that, I'm going to post this chapter a few days ahead of schedule.
And if anyone's interested, I made some changes to the first chapter.
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A knock on the door of the royal chambers stirred Matthew out of his slumber. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes and did a few stretches before facing the new day.
"Come in." Matthew called, being sure to keep a knife close at hand. His hand unconsciously went down the chain mail he wore in his sleep. With Joffrey so universally loathed, he wasn't about to take any chances regarding his safety.
A young lady walked inside, clothes carefully folded in her arms. Upon seeing Matthew's sleepy demeanor, she stuttered. "I apologize for waking you, Your Grace."
"It's fine; needed to get up anyway." Matthew stretched a second time, looking through his wardrobe. "Thank you for delivering my clothes to me." Looking at her closely, he noticed the girl's bright red hair and freckled cheeks.
"You are… most welcome, Your Grace." She responded timidly.
"Now I don't believe I caught your name." Matthew inquired. In the week At least I think it's been a week since he arrived, he'd been so overwhelmed with adjusting to the new world, he failed to note any of his servant's names. Not that it was unusual for royalty but he considered knowing who was working for him to be essential.
"Emily, Your Grace." She bowed.
You must really hate me. Matthew didn't know whether he was directing that statement to God, fate, or some other higher power that placed him in Westeros. His maid even looked like his girlfriend, though she lacked the confident, powerful demeanor he'd grown accustomed to waking up next to. "That's a lovely name."
"Your Grace is most kind." Emily blushed, still unwilling to look at him. "I can assist you with…"
"Thank you, but that's not necessary." One thing Matthew insisted on was dressing himself. King or not, he refused to be treated like an invalid. "I trust my breakfast has been prepared."
"He will be bringing it to you shortly, Your Grace."
"In that case, I intend to prepare myself for the rest of the day. Is there anything else you have for me?"
"No, Your Grace. If there is anything else I can do to serve you…"
"Thank you for offering but no." Matthew flashed her a smile, hoping it would ease her fear. He was certain Joffrey didn't restrain his cruelties to Sansa Stark.
Emily removed herself from his chambers, Matthew pretending not to notice the relief visible on her face. "I'll have to work on that."
He took advantage of the momentary solitude to relieve himself in the chamber pot. Matthew disliked the necessity but he'd grown familiar with a lack of plumbing facilities during his fighting in Indonesia. Perhaps design a sewer system. How exactly I can do this, I don't know yet.
Once his breakfast was brought, Matthew thanked his servant and asked to be left alone. He retired to his desk and began re-reading the books he requested the first night he was transported to the hellhole commonly known as Westeros.
"Books on the Dornish War…" More than anything, Matthew wanted to know how they succeeded in resisting Aegon's conquest. They were then the weakest of the Seven Kingdoms but succeeded when all the might of the Reach and the Stormlands failed.
Not that much of this is very useful. Matthew thought. The information was often inconsistent and both sides were prone to embellishment. Some claimed Meraxes was killed by a scorpion bolt to the eye, a single shot from blind chance. Others claimed it was merely the final blow in a clever ambush that inflicted a hundred wounds.
He scribbled down a few notes on the parchment, brainstorming ideas to kill the dragons when the time came. "Perhaps I should focus on my current enemies." Matthew considered. He couldn't count on canon delivering a Lannister victory.
Satisfied that he had written down everything he could for the moment, he locked the doors and prepared himself for the Small Council meeting. "And won't they be surprised when I show up…" Matthew intended to savor the looks on their faces.
Stacking the books carefully, Matthew exited his chambers and requested for Barristan to escort him. Unlike the real Joffrey, I'm not stupid enough to remove him.
In the throne room, he witnessed Sandor Clegane staring at the Iron Throne in disgust. "Not that I blame him…" Matthew muttered. It was a 1,000 sword monstrosity, quite unlike the mere chair the television show portrayed.
He tried not to cringe when looking at Clegane's face. Little wonder he hates Gregor so much. Sandor would have towered over Matthew at his old height, let alone the smaller body of Joffrey.
"Clegane, you're just the man I wanted to see." Matthew clapped his hands together.
"Anything you need, Your Grace." Sandor growled. He didn't bother to hide his glare, something Matthew expected Joffrey would have been too oblivious to notice.
"Much as I enjoy your company, there's another job that I find suitable for your talents." Matthew informed. "A lot of people are going to die in this war and I don't intend for my siblings to be among them. Your job will be to ensure his safety."
Sandor stared at him as if unsure he had heard correctly. Not surprising, considering the way Joffrey treated his siblings. Matthew despised such cruelty. However annoying he found his sisters, he would never have treated them so poorly. "Yes, you heard me correctly, Clegane." Matthew repeated after he stayed silent for close to a minute.
"Course, Your Grace." Sandor shuffled off to carry out his orders.
"Mental note: keep him away from Sansa." The pairing might have been popular but Matthew hadn't forgotten Sandor's intent to rape her during the Battle of the Blackwater. He might not have gone through with it, but it didn't count for much with him.
Matthew was slightly out of breath walking up the stairs to the Small Council chamber, Joffrey's body not used to such labor. "I see you chose to start without me." He remarked, sitting down in the King's chair.
It took several moments for anyone to respond. "We apologize, Your Grace." Varys bowed his head. "The duties of the realm wait for no one."
"Well, things are going to change around here." Joffrey had never attended a Small Council meeting and Robert had done so perhaps half a dozen times in his reign. "I've been neglecting my duties long enough. Much as I loved my father, this is one area where I have no desire to follow in his footsteps."
"We have just received word that Ser Jamie Lannister has been captured and his host defeated." Littlefinger informed. "The Siege of Riverrun has been lifted."
"We work to get him free immediately!" Cersei called out, heartbroken at the news.
"All the more reason why we need to make sure nothing happens to Ned Stark." Matthew announced. I'll have to speak to him when I get a chance. "We won't be letting him go of course but with two members of the Stark family, we can keep my uncle from being harmed. Any luck finding Arya?"
"Most likely, her body resides in Blackwater Bay." Varys gave a falsely sympathetic sigh. "I've heard no word of her whereabouts."
"Offer a reward of twenty gold dragons to anyone who brings her to the Red Keep, alive and unharmed." Matthew ordered. "Any injuries she suffers will be repaid a hundredfold." He didn't expect it to do much good but the effort would be made.
"Once Father arrives, we can start putting this city to order." Cersei remarked. "Stannis Baratheon is already proclaiming himself King, spreading false rumors to delegitimize our family!"
"He also happens to have the tiniest army." Matthew reminded. "Uncle Stannis is not our primary concern right now. As for Grandfather, he's a little busy being humiliated by a green boy."
Matthew felt the gazes of Littlefinger and Varys burn into his skin. He knew Joffrey's changed behavior would not go unnoticed but hoped to hide his true nature for at least a little while longer.
"Your Grace, Tywin Lannister has suffered only a minor setback." Pycelle mumbled.
"Regardless, he's not about to arrive in King's Landing, royal command or not." Matthew spoke. "Regarding the rumors about my parentage, I suggest we treat it with the silent contempt it deserves."
"Anyone foolish enough to speak such falsehoods will have his tongue ripped out!" Cersei declared.
"The only thing you'll accomplish is convincing people you have something to hide." The conversation felt familiar to Matthew, although Tyrion was the one having it. "We will not dignify ourselves with such lies." Beneath Cersei's mask of fury was terror.
"I've heard a few rumors of my own." Littlefinger remarked, rapping his fingers on the table. "Certain secrets some may not want revealed."
"My Uncle Renly is the biggest threat right now. How many men does he have following him?"
"Almost 100,000, Your Grace. He is marching through the Reach and the Stormlands, gathering new followers wherever he goes." Varys informed.
"How many men do we have?" Matthew's eyes went to the seat where Janos Slynt would have sat.
"Three thousand gold cloaks and six hundred men-at-arms, Your Grace." Littlefinger admitted, Matthew catching a slight hint of nervousness.
"Hardly in our favor if Renly decides to assault King's Landing. Do what you can to shore up those numbers and feed the city. With food from the Reach cut off, it won't be long before starvation sets in."
"Lord Renly is moving at a leisurely pace, Your Grace."
"And gathering more strength by the day. Lord Varys, I've heard certain rumors about my uncle. He and his squire Loras Tyrell seem unusually close, perhaps even… intimately close."
"Tell the world that he's a sword swallower and an abomination." Cersei delighted at the idea.
Rather hypocritical on your part. "Your Grace, I am curious as to how you discovered such information." Littlefinger viewed Matthew with a new respect and wariness.
"I've heard things… but true or not, it doesn't matter. The smallfolk love a good story; the more outlandish, the better. And it might just convince some of those flocking their banners to him to reconsider." Matthew hated using Westeros' homophobia but he'd take any advantage he could get in the war. "Have ravens and town criers spread this information across the entire continent."
"And what of Stannis, Your Grace?" Pycelle warned. "Your uncle has little support but he is an experienced military commander."
"I've got other plans for him." Matthew wasn't certain it would work but nobody on the Small Council needed to know the details.
Discussion continued about the war situation. The raven sent to Robb had yet to reach him, and with two Lannister armies broken, their position was a precarious one.
"Exactly who does the Crown owe so much money to?" Matthew changed the subject. "I am aware we are six million in debt, three million to my Grandfather. I want to know the specifics of the other creditors."
"700,000 to the Tyrells, 900,000 gold dragons to the Faith, 850,000 gold dragons to the Iron Bank of Braavos, and the reminder to Tyroshi banks." Littlefinger informed him.
And how much of that have you stolen? Even a fool could have robbed the treasury blind under Robert and whatever else he was, Littlefinger was no fool. "Repaying the debt to the Iron Bank will be our first priority upon conclusion of hostilities. Once we are victorious, the Lannisters and Baratheons will own the Crown's debt regardless."
"Your Grace, paying off debt in the middle of a war is…" Littlefinger warned before Matthew interrupted him.
"Best to make long-term plans. I know the Lords who fight by our side will want to be rewarded but we will still have enough remaining to reduce our debt."
These people make me want to slam my head against the table. Or theirs. Matthew griped, listening to everyone argue. He ignored an internal voice screaming for blood. As he was the King, however, they could not disobey a direct order.
"One final thing: I have a Royal Decree in mind." Matthew wished to at least do something to assist the common people. "We're going to require all midwives and anyone else assisting in the birthing process to wash their hands in water, preferably with a bit of wine mixed into it."
"Your Grace… may I inquire as to the reason?" Pycelle mumbled, playing the part of a doddering old man. Matthew wasn't fooled for a moment. Varys and Littlefinger stayed silent.
"In the interest of the mother's health and the child's." Matthew continued. "Far too many die in the birthing bed or shortly afterwards. I intend to put an end to that." It was likely to lead to an overpopulated city but one crisis at a time. "Is there any literature that indicates the benefits?"
"I believe Aegon the Conqueror's personal Maester Theon claimed the same thing." Pycelle spoke slowly. "He was a lunatic. The man believed diseases was caused by creatures too small to be seen! What nonsense!"
"Nevertheless, this is a direct order." Matthew allowed no room for argument. Knowing he would need support, he turned to Cersei and said: "I hope you're not refusing to carry this out."
"Of course not, Your Grace." Pycelle gulped, having gotten the message.
"My Lords, I would like to speak to my son in private." Cersei announced, everyone swiftly departing.
"What would you like to speak to me about, Mother?" Matthew wondered. Knowledge of the books and television show wouldn't prepare him for everything.
"Why are you taking such an interest in the Small Council, sweetling?" Cersei smiled, hugging him. Matthew did his best not to cringe.
"Someone has to do the job." Matthew removed himself from her embrace as soon as he decently could. "My father almost never attended them and the realm is nearly bankrupt as a result.
"Your father… was your father." Cersei concealed her hatred with a sweet smile. "He had other interests."
"I know his failings as well as you do." Matthew sighed. "I'm aware you didn't get along and I know that he struck you multiple times." Personally, he would consider it a mutually abusive relationship but knew how to strike an emotional chord with Cersei.
"I'm so sorry you had to hear that." Cersei gave the first hint of genuine remorse Matthew ever saw from the woman.
"It is what it is." Matthew gave the appearance of a sad sigh. "All the more reason why I shouldn't be like him, shouldn't it? I don't intend to spend my life drinking and whoring."
"You've always been a special young man."
"And you're one of the reasons for my decree." Matthew lied. "Giving birth to me and my siblings was dangerous, wasn't it? How would it have gone for you without that risk?"
"For your sake, I would have endured it a hundred times over. Robert's cruelties, his humiliations… all of it." Cersei took his hands in hers.
"And now I'm King. Not a duty I was expecting for a long time. Oafish as my father was, I still miss him. I can't do this without you, but I also need you to listen to me. The burden's on my shoulders now and I can't afford to waste any more time."
"Whatever you need, you only have to ask." Cersei hugged him again. Love for her children was her only redeeming trait.
"We're family and I won't let anything happen to you." Matthew allowed himself a private smirk. He wasn't about to let Cersei's foolishness destroy the realm, not if he could prevent it.
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"How are you being treated, Father?" Sansa asked the next time she was allowed to visit him.
"They're treating me well." Her father responded, keeping up his spirits for her sake. His clothes were clean and he was well-fed, befitting a prisoner in the Tower Cells. "I'm more interested in hearing about you, Arya, and everyone else."
"I'm being looked after." Sansa promised. "But my marriage to King Joffrey is at an end." She wasn't sure what to feel about that. Their families were at war and her sister had disappeared, with no one knowing what happened to her. But she wasn't quite ready to give up on her dream.
"Perhaps that's for the best." Her father smiled sadly.
"I'm sorry, Father. I'm not allowed to tell you what Robb and Mother are doing." Sansa wanted to tell him everything but she swore a vow to King Joffrey and couldn't bring herself to break something so sacred. "I pray for peace every day."
"I pray for you." Her father approached her, bending down to eye level. "Have you been harmed?"
"No, he's been as kind as could be." Sansa responded. But her pleas for her father to be freed had been ignored. She couldn't fathom what it would be like to live without him, never see him again after she was sent home.
"Despite everything that's happened, I look forward to your visits." Sansa hoped her father could see she was telling the truth. She felt her dreams disappearing from her grasp.
Maybe we can still marry after all. Sansa thought. Someone as handsome as Joffrey couldn't be a bad man and perhaps it would allow the war to end. The stories weren't lies. They couldn't be.
"He's going to be sending me home soon, once Robb bends the knee." Lowering her voice and whispering in his ear. "Robb's taken Jaime Lannister prisoner. He's won every battle."
Ned smiled with pride. "I wouldn't have expected anything less from him. I'm sorry you're in this situation, Sansa."
"I'll keep working to get you free." Sansa promised. She spoke with him for a while longer about small matters before reluctantly departing, carefully walking down the stairs so as not to trip over her dress.
Joffrey was waiting for her at the end of the staircase, Barristan Selmy standing beside him. Sansa took a step back before reminding herself there was no reason to be afraid of him. "Your Grace, how can I serve you?" she curtsied.
"There's no need to worry about formalities right now; it's just us." Joffrey smiled at her. "I know this has been difficult for you. How are you holding up?"
She loved to see Joffrey smile. Sansa fought down the impulse to kiss him, reminding herself it wasn't ladylike to make the first move. "Have you heard any news about Arya?" She never liked her younger sister, but it didn't mean she wanted to see her dead.
"I'm still looking for her." Joffrey sighed, rubbing his temples. "But that's not the reason I'm here. I wanted to… to say I'm sorry for everything that's happened. I didn't want any of this."
"My father is a traitor, Your Grace." Sansa spoke, the honorific being spoken unconsciously.
"Yes, and I and my siblings would have been killed if his plan succeeded. I know my father was a drunk but he was still my father." Joffrey scowled, turning away from her. "Soon as your brother bends the knee, I will send you back to Winterfell. You might be upset about this, but you'll be far better off not residing inside a shithole like King's Landing."
When did Joffrey become so crude?! Arya would probably giggle but Sansa couldn't believe he would swear in front of a lady. "And our marriage?" She still held hope he would change his mind.
"As I said before, that isn't going to happen. You're still a traitor's daughter and I don't think you understand what marriage would mean for you anyway. Too much has happened between our families for that to be possible. If the Gods are kind, I can prevent more from happening."
It meant she would be Queen, married to a handsome and noble King, bearing his children. Sansa felt her heart shatter. Hiding her deep disappointment, she responded with: "As you wish, Joffrey." She fled from his presence, struggling to hold back tears.
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"Does he intend to keep me here forever?" Ned Stark asked himself, voice echoing through the walls of the Tower Cells. Looking carefully at the door, he could see Arys Oakheart and two Gold Cloaks on the other side assigned to guard him.
He had been given no news of the outside world. The servants who provided him with food and drink were ordered to keep him ignorant. Sansa told him a few things when she could get away with it, which wasn't often.
If Jaime Lannister was captured, that meant the War in the Riverlands had turned in their favor. Ned considered it unlikely it would convince Tywin to yield, not after Catelyn had so brazenly kidnapped Tyrion. However, a victory was better than a defeat.
More than anything, he worried about Joffrey. Had he not been captured, he would have broken the betrothal anyway. Tormenting the butcher's boy, having the Hound kill him afterwards, along with numerous other cruelties he witnessed…
That night, outside the door, Arys spotted four shady characters in cloaks marching towards him. Being warned that someone might try to assassinate Stark, he raised his sword in warning.
Three crossbow bolts impacted him. None penetrated his armor, leaving little more than a slight bruise. Before he could charge forth, however, the two Gold Cloaks assigned alongside him tackled him to the ground, removing his helmet and taking out their blades.
Not to be deterred, Arys grabbed his own dagger and stabbed one of them through the throat in their struggle. With only one assailant remaining, the remaining Gold Cloak thought it best to flee before the same happened to him.
However, the struggle allowed the assassins to reload their crossbows and without his helmet, Arys' face was vulnerable. He succeeded in evading the first bolt, deflecting the second with his arm, but the third went through his face, killing him instantly.
Throughout the battle outside, Ned listened, resigned to his fate. I won't give them the satisfaction of trying to run. Not that he could anyway inside a cell. So long as his daughters were safe, he didn't care what happened to him.
When the cell door opened, Ned braced him for a flurry of bolts but they did not come. Not yet at least. The man walking into the cell was none other than Peter Baelish.
"Such a delight to see you again, Stark." Littlefinger's smile was impossible to see in the torchlight but Ned was certain of his gloating.
Having nothing to lose, Ned barreled at Littlefinger. Not anticipating an attack, Baelish was swiftly overpowered and dragged to the ground. If he was to die, Ned intended to make sure Baelish died with him. He squeezed the man's neck with all his might.
Only when bolts penetrated his shoulders was Ned unable to keep his grip. Littlefinger hastily moved out of reach, coughing and holding his throat. Regaining his composure, he admitted: "I was certain Joffrey was convinced to kill you, but he seems to have gathered his senses." He spoke slowly, his neck still raw and painful.
"Should have known you were the one responsible." Ned spat, staggering to his feet. The assassins physically subdued him, forcing him onto his knees.
"I'm afraid I have plans for the Seven Kingdoms, ones that do not involve you." Littlefinger pulled out a knife. "I've been looking forward to this for a very long time. Do give Brandon my regards." Littlefinger opened Ned Stark's throat and he knew no more.
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Ned was never going to survive this, no matter what Matthew did. I've always felt Littlefinger had a hand in his death, since out of everyone in King's Landing, he had the most reason to see Stark dead.
As for any questions about Sansa's behavior, keep in mind she's not the hardened player she is in the last seasons of the show. She's still a young, naïve girl and as Joffrey didn't chop her father's head off in front of her, Sansa still has some feelings towards him. We'll see if that lasts.
Matthew isn't going to be able to rely on canon for long. His very presence has changed things in ways no one can hope to predict.
Next chapter: we get to see how GRRMs favorite character responds to the events of King's Landing.