"I hope this gets you through the day." Matthew smiled, handing a hungry woman a couple of freshly caught fish.
"Thank you, Your Grace." She nearly wept in gratitude, rushing away before anyone could steal it from her.
"All right, who's next?" Matthew called out to the crowd. He'd spent much of the morning handing out food, mostly fish, to the hungry of King's Landing.
Ser Barristan beside him as always, Matthew looked out at a crowd of thousands. The war had only begun and hunger was already beginning to set in. These kind of conditions going on for months… Lot of people would end up dead.
He wasn't naïve enough to think this was going to fix all their problems, but he would at least make the effort. Matthew assigned their defensive navy to fish out in Blackwater Bay and removed the restrictions against hunting in the Kingswood.
"I happen to be King, and thus, it's my right to do whatever I want with my property," Matthew had explained when the Small Council questioned his behavior.
The gold cloaks surrounding him agreed to provide protection in exchange for additional food. While better off than many, the majority of the Gold Cloaks were smallfolk and still going hungry.
"Plus, it helps with publicity," Matthew mouthed to himself. Few had forgotten the injustices they suffered at the hands of Tywin Lannister. Despite technically carrying the Baratheon name, he was tainted with the man's reputation.
"Here's an extra fish, just for you." His heart broke when he saw the struggles of orphaned children. Sadly, resources to help them were nonexistent, so all he could do was provide a small amount of food and hope those equally desperate wouldn't steal it from them.
The fish ran out before everyone in the crowd was fed. "I'll be out here again tomorrow." Matthew wondered if it was wise to telegraph his intentions but he wasn't going to generate goodwill by staying in the Red Keep and engaging in cruelty.
Many angry eyes stared at him but considerably fewer than there were before food was given out. Barristan kept him close, hand on his sword. Matthew never went anywhere unarmed, but unlike back on Earth, it was with a weapon for which he had minimal training.
Can never get used to the stench, Matthew wanted to design a sewer system for King's Landing but it couldn't be done in the middle of a war. That combined with his previous orders could cut the death rate by more than half. I'll start designing it and maybe I can start getting it built when this is over.
Nobles inside the Red Keep watched him with astonishment. Few of them would have ever deigned to do anything for the smallfolk, let alone risk their hides and feed them.
"Time for my other duties…" Matthew groaned. With an imminent siege, he didn't feel like wasting his time settling petty disputes. As that was part of his job, however, he was given few options in that matter.
He took the time to glance over at Sansa, who spent most of her time in the Godswood. Matthew ordered a discreet eye to be kept on her, not trusting Littlefinger to find an indirect way of contact. He's not getting anywhere near her!
"My son, are you all right?" Cersei rushed up to him. "I heard you were out there, among our inferiors."
"I had Barristan there to protect me and decided to spend some of my time giving out food to the hungry," Matthew explained. "We win over the smallfolk, our job's going to be a lot easier. We've got enough enemies as things stand."
"There's no need to waste your time or risk your life for them," Cersei insisted. "You're surrounded by enemies and they'll see this as weakness. Worse, there are assassins out there. The Starks want our blood thanks to Baelish."
"I don't expect to win everyone over but sooner or later, we're likely to be attacked. My grandfather's already lost a major battle and my Uncle is captured. Renly has a massive army and we don't have the forces to stop him. If the smallfolk are starving, they'll side with anyone who can feed them."
"Fear is preferable to love, my son. Fear is what will keep them in line when things get difficult."
"Fear's all well and good but I intend to avoid being hated. Otherwise, they could just damn the consequences and rise up anyway." Funny how no one ever remembers the other half of that quote.
"I'm not letting you risk your life out there, Joffrey. We cannot take unnecessary risks."
"Mother, I know you're trying to look out for me, but I am the King now. I can't be seen hiding behind your skirts. After all, you're the one who told me fear is the way to go. Will they fear a king who hides from his people?"
Cersei paused, thinking it over. "I'll do whatever I have to in order to keep you safe."
"If you're insistent on keeping me safe, see what you can do to get Baelish to talk. I'm certain he has more plans we haven't learned. Provided I can keep Tyrion from drinking his days away, I'm certain he can find them."
"That disgusting little wretch!" Cersei would have been attractive had her hatred not been so transparent. "You cannot trust your uncle, son. He's a deviant little…"
"Mom, we're all on the same side," Matthew reminded. "Are the Starks or Renly going to care that we have problems getting along? I'm old enough to make my own decisions."
Cersei looked like she was going to argue but thought better of it. Grateful for the reprieve, Matthew marched into the Throne Room where countless people were waiting for their disputes to be heard.
He did his best not to allow his boredom to be visible. Many of them were what he expected: complaints about higher food prices, increased taxes, disputes with neighbor. Matthew noted most of the anger was directed at other peasants, not the noblemen above them.
In the end, he gave promises he wasn't sure he could live up to, had a few wife-beaters flogged, and made sure Renly received the blame for their current situation. Matthew made sure decision carefully, balancing the need for change versus not appearing weak.
Few failed to notice the change in his demeanor. Seeing a mature, capable king rather than a petty one forced his competitors to reconsider their approach. "Bet they'd never believe the truth even if I told them…" Matthew allowed himself a private laugh. There was little joy to be found for him in Westeros.
Whenever he wasn't interacting with the smallfolk or making plans to deal with his enemies, Matthew preferred to be left alone in his room. Barristan stood outside as always, looking upon him with newfound respect.
"I hope those people arrive soon." He'd sent a raven to specialists in Braavos, hoping they'd bring over examples of cannon and gunpowder. "They've probably just gotten the raven. Got to remember I can't expect modern communication speed."
Matthew unlocked his dresser drawer, looking over the various plans for improved weapons and quality of life. The latter would take years, assuming they were accepted at all.
If I remember correctly, I've got a few months before the Blackwater battle. It would hopefully give him some time to learn how to use a medieval weapon. Maybe a Warhammer, copy who my father is officially supposed to be.
He'd negated at least a few acts of stupidity by the other characters, but sadly, Stark was still dead. Littlefinger would soon wish he was, but however much the bastard deserved it, Matthew couldn't bring himself to watch.
A sudden idea came to him. Matthew hastily wrote two letters to people he hoped to court as allies. It was a long shot, considering their character, but the effort had to be made. With Littlefinger wishing he was dead, he couldn't count on the Tyrells to bail him out.
He was so engrossed in his plans, he neglected to instruct Barristan to follow him. However, the man was dutiful as ever and needed no encouragement to do so.
Numerous maids and other servants watched him, most of which Matthew considered to be spies. Hence why I'm not letting anyone else send these. Baelish wasn't the only enemy within the Red Keep. Varys was equally dangerous and currently untouchable.
Matthew chose the fastest ravens he could, those already inside the room hastily moving out of his way. Much as he hated to admit it, a part of him was growing to enjoy the power he possessed. He could brutalize and slaughter on a whim if he chose to. Never; I will not let this position turn me into a monster!
He sent two copies of each letter to their destination, wanting to ensure the message was received. Attempts at interception were likely to be numerous.
"Your Grace… what are you sending that cannot be done by servants?" Barristan spoke curiously.
"Hoping to win over some unlikely allies. If it fails, we're no worse off than we are now." Matthew shrugged, not wanting to divulge his plans to anyone. Barristan was honorable but the walls had ears.
"I… you've changed a lot in a short period of time, and for the better," Barristan complimented. Matthew knew the man enough to realize he rarely gave his opinion unless called upon to do so.
"Well, except for my skill with a sword."
"That can be remedied with time, Your Grace," Barristan smiled. Underneath that smile, however, was a belief there was more he wasn't being told.
"Not everyone can possess your skill. It's a shame what the Kingsguard's become. I like Sandor well enough but he's not suited for the white cloak." And he's staying away from Sansa, thank God.
"You are most kind, Your Grace."
That night, sleep eluded him. Matthew did not dare wander from his chambers, not with such a large target on his back. Not real comfortable to sleep in but better than being dead. He threw the mail shirt over his normal clothing.
He couldn't stop thinking about the circumstances that transported him to Westeros. "What the hell happened to me? Did we end up switching bodies or was my consciousness somehow transferred to Joffrey's brain?"
He devoutly hoped it was the latter. Thinking of Joffrey in his body, causing havoc… putting his girlfriend and sister in danger. They'd notice something was different. Matthew knew he couldn't protect them, not where he was, so he begged whoever was listening that hadn't happened.
"Not that I'm likely to see them again anyway…" Being away from home depressed him. Danger Matthew could deal with but the thought of never seeing his loved ones again threatened to crush him.
Unable to shut his brain off, Matthew resumed writing notes and plans. It was all he had.
XXXXXXXXXX
"Well, my nephew's suspicions were accurate," Tyrion admitted, hiding his surprise. "Littlefinger's definitely done something with our finances."
"Did you really expect there not to be?" Bronn chuckled. "If I was Master of Coin under Robert, I'd have robbed him blind and fled for Essos before he was any wiser."
"He hasn't robbed him, not exactly," Tyrion responded. There was plenty of embezzlement. The books didn't add up, with hundreds of thousands of gold dragons not being accounted for.
Surrounded by papers, he hid his resentment over being demoted from the position he'd expected to have. Rather than being second only to the King, he was little more than a glorified clerk. "I haven't found it just yet, but Littlefinger's done something."
"So has he started talking yet?" Bronn placed his feet on the table, curious about Littlefinger. "I've never known a man who didn't break sooner or later."
"Not yet, no." Tyrion found a lot of strange investments on top of the embezzlement. He had a massive paper trail to go back through, but it was clear Baelish was a financial genius.
And even his cronies don't know that much. Those who had no control and simply stole at will were the first caught. Tyrion admitted to taking a certain satisfaction seeing them plead for mercy, occasionally with literal bags of gold in their pockets.
The more subtle ones were harder to catch. His nephew had fortunately granted him all the authority he needed to make changes. Even so, it was a time consuming process.
"Shouldn't we be worrying about this once the war is over?" Bronn remarked, occasionally looking through the papers himself. There was little else to do in a dark room with only a couple candles for light. "Your nephew's priorities seem to be rather skewed."
"Skewed or not, he has the right of it," Tyrion admitted. "Not that it'll matter if we lose this war. If we're dead, all of this will end up being someone else's problem."
"Speaking of which, what's happened to your nephew? Based on what you told me, I was expecting him to be a cunt, but here he is, actually ruling."
"Truth be told, I have no idea." Tyrion took a large drink of wine, pondering the sellsword's question. "He's not hiding behind Cersei and he's shown more intelligence than I've ever seen from him."
Of all the mysteries he'd encountered when arriving at King's Landing, his nephew's newfound behavior was the most perplexing. He saw a very different man, one haunted by horrific experiences and someone who felt he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
People changed over time, but never so quickly and so completely as Joffrey Baratheon. Joffrey Lannister. Tyrion scoffed. Jaime and Cersei's activities had never been a secret from him.
It couldn't be Joffrey, yet it was. Tyrion's first instinct was to ask if a Faceless Man had replaced him, but that seemed even more implausible. While there were no shortage of people who wanted him dead, there was no reason to take his place.
The one thing he hated more than mysteries were the ones he couldn't solve. Joffrey continued with his usual japes, but Tyrion observed they lacked the true derision he'd become accustomed to. He even looked at him with respect.
He could almost convince himself Joffrey had merely grown up… save for his nonexistent swordsmanship. He could never compare to Jaime but Tyrion knew the boy was at least a passible swordsman. Not anymore. But what could have happened?
"Halfman, ever consider you're looking in the wrong spot?" Bronn suggested. Tyrion hated the name, but from Bronn and Shagga, he could tolerate it.
"What are you talking about?" Tyrion was shaken from his thoughts.
"I know thieves well enough to realize the good ones don't hide what they've taken where everyone can find it. It's not going to be in King's Landing."
"So where…" There could only be one place: The Fingers. Baelish had been seen as harmless, interested in money and power like everyone else in the Capital.
"I expect you'll find quite a bit of money there. If you like, I can…"
"That won't be necessary." Tyrion crushed the idea immediately, believing that Bronn was more likely to run off with whatever was found rather than return, guards or not. "We're in the middle of a war so we can't go traipsing around and hoping we get lucky."
Despite his frustration, the more Tyrion looked, the closer he came to figuring out just what Littlefinger had done. He'd never admit it to anyone but he was slightly touched his nephew trusted him enough to investigate. Certainly he'd received little enough gratitude from his family.
I'll figure it out in the end. I always do. That included discovering whoever ended up replacing his nephew.
XXXXXXXXXX
Baelish felt like going mad.
How long has it been? He couldn't even begin to guess. When he was taken away, he had been stripped naked and thrown in the cell, with nothing but his fears to occupy him with.
He knew those who entered the Torture Cells never came out. Left in the darkness, the fear of what was about to happen to him overloaded his mind. Baelish had sent numerous people into the cells, generally whores who attempted to disobey his orders.
Surprisingly, he had been given food and water, although none of the guards ever spoke to him. Whenever he heard footsteps, Baelish braced himself for the pain to begin, only for him to be left in peace.
How could this possibly have happened? He'd known Joffrey as petty and cruel, but very susceptible to flattery. It was a simple matter to convince him to execute Stark and start the war, giving him the impression the man was too dangerous to leave alone.
Only he'd disobeyed, throwing his plans for a loop. And managed to obtain enough evidence to have him taken away. Baelish noticed the difference in Joffrey but hadn't thought much of it until it was too late.
"I'll find a way out of here." The only sound he heard was that of his own voice. Baelish recognized the isolation was an attempt to break him and swore they wouldn't succeed.
My plans are still in motion. Stark is dead, Joffrey will soon find himself suffering the same fate, Cersei will destroy the realm, and I'll still be standing. And Catelyn would be waiting for him. He'd waited nearly two decades to have the woman he loved. He could wait a while longer.
The sound of footsteps made his heart stop. "It's just another game." He told himself. Joffrey was just tormenting him. This time would be no different.
Baelish's eyes were blinded by the torchlight, forcing him to cover his eyes with his arm. When he adjusted enough to see who was standing in front of him, he trembled.
"Lord Baelish, how are you enjoying your accommodations?" Cersei smiled, three large men surrounding her.
"My Queen, I swear to you, this is all a misunderstanding," Baelish made another attempt. Joffrey might have imprisoned him but Cersei might be persuaded. "I've always been loyal to you. I was the one who persuaded the Gold Cloaks to support you."
"If I didn't need you to talk, I'd have your tongue ripped out." Cersei turned to the guards and said: "Let him have one last look at his cell. I want him to appreciate the journey."
Baelish tried to run but there was nowhere to flee to. Despite being relatively well-fed, the guards overpowered him, dragging him through the dark halls.
Outside the cell, he could hear the screams of others. Baelish closed his eyes, telling himself he could still talk his way out of this. His smooth tongue had removed him from many dangerous situations.
"My Queen, this isn't necessary," Baelish tried again, trying to keep himself from begging.
"Are you calling my son a liar?" Cersei warned, making no move to have the guards let him go.
"Not a liar… merely deceived by Varys. You cannot trust eunuchs. Every word that comes out of their mouth is a lie. I've served loyally for years…"
Baelish gasped, seeing the room he was dragged into. Dried bloodstains were still visible on the walls, along with numerous torture instruments.
"I'd tell you to start talking, but then, we're already discovering your plans," Cersei mused, hands behind your back. "You underestimated my son and you underestimated me. Even my brother, vile little dwarf that he is, sees through you."
"My Queen, if it wasn't for me, your plans after Robert's death would have failed." Baelish made no further move to conceal his desperation. He was tied to the wooden platform, his limbs stretched to the breaking point.
"My son wanted to try a different approach, break you without putting you to the question," Cersei spoke, grabbing a torch. "But what he doesn't know won't hurt him."
She placed the torch against his feet, inflicting more pain than Baelish had ever experienced in his life. Even the wounds he took in his duel with Brandon paled compared to this. Baelish's screams echoed through the cells, threatening to shatter his vocal chords.
After what felt like a lifetime but was only a few seconds, Cersei removed the torch. "There's only one punishment suitable for traitors, Baelish. I never trusted you but I never dreamed you'd work to have me and my children butchered."
"Please, My Queen…"
"You killed Stark, convincing his son to make war on his behalf. You stole from the treasury, and you planned on having our King murdered." She placed the torch on his feet again.
Even through the pain, Baelish was coherent enough to realize they hadn't yet found out everything. Men would say anything that would make the pain stop, something he could use to his advantage.
They don't know about Lysa. If he was killed, she'd wage war on his behalf. The woman was disgusting, taking advantage of his broken state to sleep with him, but her obsession was useful. I'll have my revenge on you, dead or not.
"My son's ordered you to be kept alive," Cersei continued, now pressing the flame to his torso instead. "And he is the King." Then her face transitioned into the most evil smile Baelish had ever encountered. "You won't die…. No matter how much you beg for it."
XXXXXXXXXX