In response to one of the reviewers, I'm keeping the younger character's ages from the show rather than the book. I'd say this story is a composite: around 60% from the book, 30% from the show, and 10% my own ideas about the world of Westeros.
"I would have thought my dear nephew would be out here celebrating his name day," Tyrion Lannister admitted, Bronn and Timett at his side.
"Maybe he's chosen to celebrate in a different way, if you know what I mean." Bronn suggested with a chuckle.
"Maybe." Tyrion looked over at the tournament, a far more pathetic sight than the one Robert Baratheon held before the war. He looked up at the stands, not seeing Joffrey where he would have expected him. Few smallfolk bothered to attend and those who did only uttered a few cheers. No one deigned to notice them, Tyrion turning his eyes away from the sight and traveling to the Red Keep.
During his trip, he took in the measure of King's Landing. The city had always been filthy and noisy but now it reeked of danger that it lacked in his previous visits. There were at least twice as many gold cloaks as there were a month ago yet safety was little more than an illusion. Tyrion watched over the beggars on the streets, those who recognized him watching with both desperation and hatred. Had he gone unescorted, he expected he would have been torn to pieces.
What little food was available cost twice the normal price. Guards could be found at every shop and inn, their owners desperate to hold onto what little they had.
Tyrion was relieved when he reached the Red Keep, though his face revealed nothing. He knew things were only going to get worse the longer the war continued. Being sure to keep his father's letter clutched tightly in his hand, he marched towards the Small Council chamber.
Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Boros Blunt stood at the door, the former holding out a hand. "Stop. By order of King Joffrey, the council meeting is not to be disturbed.
"You're telling me my nephew is actually attending a Small Council meeting?" Now Tyrion really had seen everything.
"He is. And he gave specific orders to keep things private." Moore's face was still impassive. His brother Jaime mentioned that Mandon Moore was the most dangerous member of the Kingsguard, excepting himself, because no one could tell what the man was thinking.
"Surely that doesn't apply to his beloved uncle and the Hand of the King." Tyrion showed him the letter written by his Father appointing him in his absence. "I've even brought friends to assist in our defense."
Bronn took a casual step forward, Timett staring coldly with his one good eye. Boros' hand went to his sword while Mandon looked them over carefully, considering his options.
"You may enter," Mandon reluctantly conceded. "They may not."
Savoring the small victory, Tyrion all but pushed past the two Kingsguard and entered the Small Council chambers. He saw the usual council members, along with his sister, discussing a plan of action. However, his eyes were focused solely on his nephew.
This can't be my nephew. Tyrion thought but the King's presence was unmistakable. He sat in his chair, hands folded, looking at those who were supposed to serve him.
His nephew was far more serious than Tyrion had ever seen him. And far more dangerous. Joffrey was prone to petty cruelties from a young age but the look he had in his eyes now… He's almost the spitting image of my Lord Father. How the boy changed so much in a short span of time, Tyrion did not know. It was almost as if he had been replaced.
Tyrion had no more time to consider the changes as Joffrey spoke up, saying "So what you're telling me is that Ned Stark has been found murdered and none of you have any idea who was responsible?" His voice lowered, making Tyrion's heart pound unconsciously.
"Ned Stark is dead?" Tyrion interrupted, his mind absorbing the implications. Tywin had sent him to King's Landing out of concern that Joffrey would prove inept at ruling but last he heard, Stark was still alive.
"Good of you to join us, Uncle Imp," Joffrey greeted, Tyrion choking down his rage as he had done many times over the years. "And yes. Two nights ago, Stark was found murdered in his cell, Ser Oakheart's corpse beside him. But not the two Gold Cloaks I ordered to assist him, telling me they were involved."
"Your Grace, I will find out who planned such a treacherous attack," Janos Slynt proclaimed, chins shaking from side to side. "Rest assured that this man will not escape justice!"
"How could this have happened, nephew?" Tyrion demanded. "With Ned Stark dead, our situation has grown far more dangerous." If this was how his nephew's reign was beginning, he likely wasn't going to last long.
Instead of the anger and threats Tyrion anticipated, Joffrey responded with a sigh: "I made a mistake. I underestimated how much danger he was in and failed to provide enough protection. I believed Arys Oakhart and half a dozen men at arms would be sufficient, but I was wrong."
So many guards? Tyrion wasn't sure what frightened him more: Stark needing so much protection or that it still wasn't enough. He looked over the Small Council members and his sisters, curious as to who was responsible. Baelish wore a pained grimace he attempted to keep hidden, Cersei snarled in fury, and Varys was impassive as always.
"And these fools have learned nothing!" Cersei fumed. "I had hoped to have Stark take the Black and perhaps make peace with that son of his, but that's impossible now. I hope all of you can give me some answers or else I'll find men who can!"
"I don't think that's going to be necessary just yet, Mother," Joffrey raised his voice. His cold anger returned, making everyone else at the table back up. "When such occurrences happen, I ask myself a question: Who Benefits? Who would want Ned Stark dead?"
"There are many such people who wished him gone, Your Grace." Varys bowed his head.
"And your little birds provided no warning of any such attempt, so I'm wondering where your loyalty really lies," Joffrey glared. Cersei turned toward Varys, making him realize he was in a great deal of trouble.
"I've got a few suspects of my own," Tyrion admitted. "Lord Stark wasn't in the city long enough to make any enemies and we would have been far better served with his survival. Now we have three armies to face and a city under siege."
"It just so happens I have a name already. There's a man who has wanted Stark dead for many, many years." Joffrey watched those on his council for any sign of fear but everyone sat stoically. Almost everyone; Pycelle looked worried, fearing he would be considered at fault. "Lord Baelish, your grudge against Stark was well known."
"Your Grace, the rumors you have surely heard are mere exaggerations," Baelish responded calmly. Tyrion took note of the man hiding his left arm. He wore long sleeves, but at a second glance, the man was in great pain. "It's true I was involved in an altercation with Brandon many years ago but while I have no love for the Starks, I see no reason to see them dead. War impacts my businesses, after all." Tyrion saw a flash of nervousness on the man's face, heightening his suspicions.
"I've heard other things as well. That you've boasted of taking the maidenheads of both Catelyn and Lysa Tully is well known. And you fought that duel with Brandon for Catelyn's hand."
"A youthful indiscretion, Your Grace. I was but your age and overwhelmed by infatuation. I do carry a token of his esteem but this was nearly two decades ago." He's been obsessed with Catelyn since he was a boy. Tyrion remembered. To see Ned Stark, imprisoned and defenseless…
"Then perhaps you should reveal your arm, Lord Baelish," Tyrion broke out into a grin. "You know, the very thing you've been trying to conceal since I arrived."
"That sounds like an excellent idea to me," Joffrey laughed. "I've noticed it too, and your long sleeves. Show me your left arm." He stood up and approached Baelish. For the first time, Tyrion spotted visible fear. With an enormous wince, Baelish placed his left arm onto the table.
"You miserable worm!" Cersei screamed, turning against Baelish. "I'll have your tongue ripped out for this!" Joffrey pulled up his sleeve to reveal a splint on it.
Joffrey looked over the wound. "Spiral fracture. One only caused by someone grabbing and twisting your arm. Then there's the handprint bruises. If we compared them to Stark's hands, I think we'll find a comparison."
"Your Grace, I have served you well as Master of Coin, as I have your father," Baelish attempted a different tactic. "I have increased the crown's revenues tenfold and have earned a most comfortable living. Why would I throw all of that away just for the sake of a duel taking place nearly two decades ago?"
"Merely my skin accustomed to the new clothing. I will adjust soon enough."
"Let's find out, shall we?" Joffrey whistled for the Kingsguard to be brought in. Following his orders, they immediately restrained Baelish, his collar ripped off and his bruised neck exposed for all to see.
"I regret to say I tripped over my own feet and was forced to care for myself." Baelish's eyes darted around, with no more attempt to hide his fear. Cersei's eyes promised him a torturous death.
"Still doesn't explain the handprints. Guards!" Mandon Moore and Meryn Trant marched in. "Take Lord Baelish to the bottom cells. He is under arrest for High Treason."
"Your Grace, I swear to you, I'm innocent!" He begged. The Kingsguard dragged him out, his broken arm being touched causing him still more pain.
"Don't insult my intelligence, Littlefinger." Joffrey fired a parting shot. Tyrion turned his head at the development. And I suggest we bring in more men to ensure he arrives there. After the ambush on the Tower Cells, I wouldn't want to have any last-second rescues allowing him to escape justice."
"Should I start worrying as well?" Tyrion commented to break the silence. "We're now without a Master of Coin."
"For a lesser crime, I may have overlooked it, but Littlefinger ensured the Starks will fight us to the death. Would you expect Robb to believe any proclamations of innocence?"
"However much I loved my father, he neglected his duties, preferring to hunt and whore," Joffrey announced. "As a result, he overlooked too much. That time has come to an end. I will not overlook corruption in my Kingdom. Lord Slynt, I believe you know something about what I'm referring to."
"I've always been an honest and loyal man, Your Grace," Slynt raised a hand to show his sincerity.
"No, you're loyal to the highest bidder," Joffrey narrowed his eyes. "It just so happens that we were able to outbid Lord Stark. Nor am I blind, Lord Slynt. You're far from the first Gold Cloak to take a bribe, but few have enriched themselves to the extent you have. Now what am I to do with you?"
"Your Grace, I have served you loyally!" Slynt protested. "The traitor Stark tried to buy me, get the Gold Cloaks to overthrow you!"
"I'm well aware of that." Joffrey thumped his fingers on the table. "That is way you are only being removed from your position, not executed. Nor am I revoking your Lordship."
"This. . . this is an outrage. . . Your Grace!" Slynt bowed, looking to Cersei for support, but she would not oppose her son.
"I may not be able to make things better for you, but I can certainly make them worse. I've already found a suitable replacement." Slynt took the hint and left. "Remember: you're getting off easy."
Since when did my nephew possess a brain? Tyrion wondered. "Curious way to reward someone who assisted you." Varys and Pycelle watched him with nervous eyes.
"I took his previous service into account, but my father neglected his duties and now the realm is in ruins. Maester Pycelle, Lord Varys, if you would excuse us. I wish to speak with my Mother and Uncle alone." Not wanting to give Joffrey any excuses to harm them, they obeyed. Once they left, Joffrey rubbed his temples. "I doubt we'll be able to conceal Stark's death for long and I wouldn't put it past Baelish to have a backup plan in place."
"True, secrets are difficult to keep," Tyrion agreed. Perhaps he won't be a hopeless case after all.
"I'm aware you have little love for each other, but you will work together nonetheless." Joffrey raised a hand to forestall any accusations from the two siblings. "We all have many enemies. If we do not hang together, we will certainly hang separately."
"Where did this new wisdom of yours come from?" Tyrion wondered. Has Joffrey been killed and replaced by a Faceless Man? A capable player, calling for unity, and eyes that spoke of terrible experiences… he could barely believe him to be Joffrey Baratheon.
"When I had a crown placed on my head. Baelish made a big mistake expecting me to be a brutal but easily manipulated boy. Uncle Tyrion, I trust the men you brought into King's Landing can behave themselves."
"They won't be any trouble." Tyrion knew how unlikely that was. Having a few hundred sellswords and Hill Tribes would lead to at least a few fatalities.
"Make it clear to them that the penalties for breaking my laws will be severe. We are at war and I refuse to allow chaos and anarchy to break out inside King's Landing. Tywin can't help us right now. We are on our own."
The rest of the discussion revolved around attempting to keep Jaime safe. All three inside the room knew their relative would be killed if Ned's death was discovered. What plans they could come up with to free him were long term and had no guarantee of success.
Has he gone mad?! Tyrion wondered upon learning Joffrey ordered all midwives to wash their hands in water and wine while helping a woman give birth. He knew the Targaryens were prone to madness, so perhaps a bastard born of incest was vulnerable to the same thing.
Tyrion left the Small Council chambers with more questions than answers.
I'm not going to be ready for a long time. Matthew realized, Barristan pulling him up off the ground.
"You're improving each time, Your Grace," Barristan complimented. He still appeared confused, but was too polite to inquire.
"We'll resume tomorrow; can't stay away from my duties forever," Matthew decided. Too much to hope for to keep Joffrey's reflexes, such as they were. The most he'd done before now was dueling with sticks when he was a kid. Swordsmanship took years to learn and at most, he'd have only a few months before going into battle.
Matthew returned to the armory, allowing his squires to remove his armor. "Thank you very much." He gave them a nod of acknowledgement. He'd yet to learn their names but the two boys were quite competent at their duties. The boys were still wary of his wrath. No matter what, Matthew intended to be a different king than Joffrey. Westeros held little room for kindness, but so long as he was stuck here, he'd do whatever he could to improve things.
"Perhaps I should switch to a new weapon." Swords didn't do much against armor. Perhaps a mace or Warhammer. Optimally, Matthew hoped to stay out of the fighting entirely, but as King, that wasn't going to be possible. "I've got a Battle of the Blackwater to prepare for." How that would turn out now, Matthew had no idea. Littlefinger was the one responsible for bringing the Tyrells to King's Landing just as Stannis was near victory… and also conspired with Olenna to kill him.
Can't keep relying on canon… and having Littlefinger removed as a threat will make things easier. Matthew had yet to have him tortured in the three days since his arrest. According to reports from those who worked down there, he was going mad with fear, along with the total silence. "A little more pushing and he'll start talking."
He didn't trust the man not to lie just to make the pain stop. Matthew considered torture to be of limited effectiveness and only used when absolutely necessary.
By this point, Matthew had come close to memorizing where everything in the Red Keep was. Everyone who saw him gave a brief bow, either trying to suck up to him or fearing what would happen if they didn't. He kept Barristan close to his side, vastly preferring his company to that of Sandor Clegane.
"Hello, Tommen, Mycella." Matthew greeted, walking towards them. Tommen flinched, holding his cat protectively, while Mycella moved in front of her brother. I haven't even spoken to them yet, Matthew realized. He'd been too busy with his other duties to give much thought to the two people who were his younger siblings in this world.
"What can we do for you?" Myrcella tried to appear brave. Matthew had no trouble seeing her underlying fear, though.
"Just wanted to see how you were doing," He responded politely. Perhaps they could at least form a cordial sibling relationship, if a close one wasn't possible.
"We're fine, Your Grace." Tommen whimpered, keeping his cut far away.
"I trust Sandor's been treating you well." Both nodded in response. Matthew looked up at him, the giant refusing to participate in the discussion. He suspected the scarred man was quite happy not having to serve the likes of Joffrey anymore.
"Why do you even care?" Myrcella dared to demand.
"I know I haven't treated either of you well but you're still my siblings." This is going to be difficult. "We've got a lot of enemies out there and as the oldest brother, it's my duty to look after you."
Both looked at him skeptically. "Thank you, Joff… Your Grace," Myrcella responded. Deciding there was little more he could do, Matthew decided to leave them alone.
"Ser Barristan, is my Uncle still in the Tower of the Hand?" Matthew inquired once they were by themselves.
"To the best of my knowledge, Your Grace," Barristan affirmed.
This time, Matthew did not need anyone to lead him there. "Wonder if he's brought Shae in there yet…" He mused to himself. She was certainly in King's Landing, assuming this world followed the books and show. Bronn and Timett waited outside the door, the former smart enough to keep his hand away from his weapon. Matthew wasn't too worried; he trusted Barristan was capable of victory should they try anything. "I'd like to speak to my Uncle; stand aside."
"Oh, I'd give it a little while." Bronn grinned. Noises could be heard from the other side of the door.
"Duties of the realm wait for no one," Matthew ignored him and opened the door, certain what he was going to find on the other side.
Wouldn't be Westeros without a sex scene, would it? Matthew crossed his arms, listening to Shae's fake moans, Tyrion too engrossed in the act to notice him. Wonder how long it's going to take.
Shae was the first to notice, gasping in horror when she saw Matthew. She turned Tyrion's head around, the dwarf scrambling to get his clothes back on. He really is an ugly man. He looked nothing like Peter Dinklage.
"What is the… what can I do for you, nephew?" Tyrion kept his tone polite, hiding his anger. He pointed to Shae and stammered. "She's just…"
"I know my grandfather forbade you to bring her here," Matthew cut off his words. Tyrion didn't need to know how he gained that knowledge. "And I don't care. We've got business to attend to."
"Couldn't you have waited a couple minutes?" Tyrion put on his clothing.
"What would the fun be in that?" Matthew shrugged, unable to keep a small smile from his face. He turned his head to Shae, who made no move to put her clothes back on. "Lady Shae, if you would please excuse us. I have something important I need to speak with my Uncle about."
She threw her robe back on, which left little to the imagination, and departed with a confused look on her face. "I'm always at your service, Joffrey."
"I trust you and my mother have been getting along."
"Is that what you're interrupting us for? Yes, of course, we're closer than ever!" A resounding lie but Matthew didn't need them scheming against each other.
"I have further orders for you which must remain private. Baelish is rotting in the dungeons, where I intend to have him spill his guts about what happened. However, I have a strong suspicion that our Master of Coin has something hidden planned."
"Ah, so you're unwilling to write the man off as a harmless trickster."
"Oh, he wants power, like everyone else, but I think he's got something grander in mind. My father spent like a drunken Democrat and it would have been easy to embezzle money. A fool could have robbed him blind and whatever else Baelish is, he's no fool."
"A drunken what?" Tyrion scratched his chin in confusion.
"Never mind, turn of phrase. My point is that I need someone to find out what he's been up to. Economics aren't my expertise and I need someone clever enough and honest enough to root it out."
"I'm flattered that you put such trust in me, Your Grace."
"I'm in need of a Master of Coin and there's no one I trust more to hold the position than you."
Tyrion scowled, knowing it meant a major demotion. "Nephew, I…"
"Yes, I know what your father assigned you to do. But I am King; he is not. I can take over some parts of the job, considering much of the Small Council have their heads up their asses. However, I'm finding myself making long term plans and I need to know how much Baelish has fucked us over."
"I would have thought three days of being put to the Question would have loosened anyone's tongue. Don't tell me you're getting soft."
"He'll talk but I want to make sure he isn't lying just to make the pain stop. Tyrion, I'm reassigning you as the unofficial Master of Coin. Officially, you'll still be the Hand of the King. You've got my authority to make any changes you need to. I expect some of Baelish's cronies are involved, and they'll squeal to save their own skins."
"I don't know if you've noticed, Joffrey, but we are in the middle of a war. Do you know what happens when a city falls?"
"Quite well," Matthew stared at him. He'd seen countless atrocities fighting overseas. Hell, he'd seen the aftermath of a nuclear weapon. "I'm already making plans, one of them increasing our food supply."
"I wouldn't expect the Starks to be merciful, not after Eddard's death. And by now, your uncles have spread lies all over Westeros."
"When I fight them, it's going to be on my terms, not theirs. And Littlefinger is much more devious than anyone gave him credit for. You've always been the smart one in the family." Matthew decided a bit of flattery was in order.
"Do tell my father that. I've been trying to persuade him my entire life." Beneath Tyrion's snark was anger and depression.
"I'll be sure and mention it. I trust you can do what I ask."
"Certainly, but I'd like you to do something for me as well. I'd appreciate it if you kept my…"
"Your whore?" Matthew interrupted. "I'll keep your secret. I know what kind of man my grandfather is."
"You're proving to be a competent player, Your Grace. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you've been replaced by a different person."
You have no idea how true that is. "I have every confidence you're up to the task. Just out of curiosity: have you ever heard of cannons or bombards?" If someone had already invented them, it would make his job much easier.
"I'm not familiar with the names."
Damn! "Are you at least familiar with explosive powder?"
"None of them are in Westeros, but… the Free Cities have built a few weapon they call black barrels. I believe they work by stuffing power inside, then a stone ball. Nearly as dangerous to their users as the enemy, so no sensible lord goes anywhere near them."
Suppose I can't expect them to use the same names. "We're going to bring a few experts in from Essos to design them for us." Matthew had already written out several ideas that he felt were workable with Middle Ages technology and the fact they already possessed the concept would make it much easier.
"Nephew, your wits are addled." Tyrion laughed.
"I happen to think they have much potential. I know I'm asking a lot of you: Master of Coin, Hand of the King, and an honest advisor."
"This won't stay secret for long. I'm sure Varys is already listening to us."
"Effort's got to be made." Perhaps I should have had him removed too. Matthew had cause to execute Baelish and fire Slynt. Although he was still King, removing so many of the Small Council would make too many enemies and like it or not, he needed Varys' spies.
Learning gunpowder and cannons existed made his job much easier. And I've got a few other ideas as well. Provided he lived long enough to make it happen, he might be able to turn Westeros into a better place.
Yeah, I wouldn't want to be Littlefinger right now. Matthew's learning fast but there are still many surprises in wait for him. He's got many ideas but unfortunately, not a lot of time to implement them.
If anyone's wondering why I decided to mention gunpowder existed on Planetos, it existed in the time of the Middle Ages. Many were slow to adapt the weapons, both because of how dangerous they were to yield, and that they allowed peasants to be able to kill noblemen. Matthew, of course, has no such hesitation.
To me, Tyrion would be the most likely to suspect that something was different about him. It's going to be hard to keep it secret, considering surviving the Game of Thrones requires people to be observant.