"As if I don't have better things to do." Tyrion marched off, confused as to why his nephew was so insistent he be the one to feed the smallfolk. It wasn't as if it made a difference anyway with nearly half a million hungry people in the city.
I've already done more with ordering the Gold Cloaks to go hunt and to request more food from nearby farmers. This is pointless! Joffrey was the King, however, and he knew he couldn't openly disobey him.
"You know, Imp, I think these people might actually be growing to like you," Bronn pointed to the crowd.
"Nice change of pace." Tyrion sighed but he found the sellsword's words to be true. There were still plenty of glares and muttering but also some genuine appreciation for his efforts. About bloody time.
He would rather have spent his time preparing for the eventual siege. Not an easy thing to do with Cersei obstructing him at every turn. Despite their promise of cooperation, they had yet to live up to it.
Without Bronn at his side, Tyrion knew the mob would tear him apart. Either for money to buy food or sheer rage over their situation. He wouldn't go so far as to trust the mercenary, but he at least understood he had more to gain allying with the Lannisters.
"Aren't you neglecting your Master of Coin duties?" Bronn remarked.
"We've got bigger problems at the moment," Tyrion reminded. "Plus, Baelish is no longer in any position to threaten us." Nor was he sure the man was still alive. His sister had chosen to personally oversee the interrogation and as Littlefinger was a threat to her children, Tyrion considered what he would face to be a fate worse than death.
"Your nephew's setting you up for something," Bronn pointed out. "First, he has you perform both your Hand of the King and Master of Coin duties. Then he has you feed all the poor bastards out there, listening to all their sob stories. Lot less of a cunt than you told me he was."
"Perhaps he's hoping I get torn limb from limb by an angry mob," Tyrion snarked but his voice lacked conviction. Joffrey was much more serious than before… and treated him with kindness. True, he still made plenty of japes, but the King supported and appreciated his efforts.
"My Lord, you have twenty supplicants waiting to meet with you." His squire Podrick Payne ran to greet him. A boy of fifteen, he'd offered to stand alongside Bronn and protect him from the crowd. However, sending such an inexperienced boy into such danger was beneath Tyrion and he refused.
"If one of them's Lady Tanda, I'm not interested," Tyrion declared. He knew she was desperate to find a match for her lackwit daughter Lollys. He shuddered at the thought of marrying such a woman. "Admittedly, if not for the austerity we're under, I might go anyway just to eat a good meal. But give her my regrets. Who else?"
Most of the others were of little importance. However, there was a name that caught Tyrion's attention. "A member of the Night's Watch said he urgently needs to speak to you, My Lord. Ser Alliser Thorne."
"Allister Thorne?" Tyrion scoffed. He would much rather have encountered Yoren. Out of everyone on the Wall, he hated Thorne the most.
"He has a hand kept in a jar and…"
"Have him spend a few days in the black cells," Tyrion knew it was petty but no longer would he be forced to endure the man's arrogance and side comments. "Perhaps it will humble him a bit."
"Man like that will never be humbled," Bronn snorted with laughter.
Podrick spoke up, "And… the people are still going hungry. Many blame Renly Baratheon but there are still those who hold you responsible."
"Me?" Tyrion fumed at the injustice. "I've been doing everything I can to feed them. If they should blame anyone, blame the King! He was the one foolish enough to leave Lord Stark with so little protection!" That he too underestimated Baelish was something Tyrion chose to overlook.
"I'm just relying the message, My Lord," Podrick looked away.
"Thank you for telling me," Tyrion decided to let him down easy. "Be sure to tell them we're doing everything we can. The King has promised new shipments of food will arrive shortly."
However tempted he was to see Shae in the Tower of the Hand, he knew he had to meet with his sister first. If it ended with bloodshed, Tyrion would begin believing in miracles again.
Speaking of my dear sister… He spotted her marching into the Red Keep with a large procession, barely-concealed fear beneath her angry expression. "My Lords, I wish to speak with my sister in private."
Cersei hissed, looking ready to strike him. Her guards' faces turned towards her, ready to carry out her orders. "This better be important, Imp." She spat.
"Excellent; I see you're taking our vow of cooperation seriously," Tyrion mocked. "Where were you? I hope you're not taking any unnecessary risks, sister."
"I was inspecting the scorpions and ballistas on the walls," Cersei responded. "Some of us have better things to do than sleep with whores and studying worthless papers. Renly Baratheon has just begun his march up from Highgarden with all his strength behind him."
"It'll take him some time to get here." Tyrion feared Renly much less than Stannis. He was charismatic but had no experience as a military commander nor was he as clever as he believed. "I've heard the same reports from Varys and he's traveling at a rather leisurely pace."
"His host is said to be eighty thousand strong." Cersei could no longer conceal her worry.
"So many even now?" Tyrion thought that an exaggeration. He'd already had confirmed reports of numerous Storm Lords refusing to support him due to his rumored homosexuality.
"I need you to order our father to bring his army to King's Landing. He outnumbers our forces ten to one and if he gets here…"
"Our father is a little busy being humiliated by Robb Stark to march his army anywhere," Tyrion reminded. All it would accomplish was making Cersei feel more secure, so he was confident Tywin would ignore the order. "It's almost as if you doubt your son's skills."
"He is a boy of seventeen and… he's never experienced real battle."
"All the more reason we need to cooperate with each other, Cersei." Tyrion decided to extend a grudging olive branch. "We may not like each other, but after all, our King ordered us to work together. You've been holding out on me as much as you can get away with."
"It's the King's prerogative to withhold information from those who serve him," Cersei smirked.
"The only one holding back is you. How long do you think we have before King's Landing comes under attack? You might take satisfaction in withholding information, but you're the one who's going to be harmed because of it. Now I know you're preparing something and I'd like to know what."
He knew it was something big but not precisely what. Even Lancel had yet to learn and the boy was pathetically eager to tell Tyrion everything in exchange for keeping his secret.
Cersei turned away, her face scrunched up. Eventually, however, she chose to tell him. "Wildfire. We've got thousands of wildfire pots ready for whoever dares stand against us."
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Tyrion mocked. "I hope you see the true value of cooperation now. I'll be sure and factor them into my plans, both for the defense of the city and for returning your beloved brother to you."
"Someone needs to keep things together and you're too busy scheming and whoring to do it," Cersei's glare returned. "And Joffrey… he does seem rather confident these new designs of his will work."
"And you've got nothing but the interests of the people in mind," Tyrion quipped. "I wouldn't write him off quite so quickly. If you continue to work with me, I have every confidence we'll get through. After all, A Lannister always pays his debts."
Tyrion turned around to leave when Cersei stopped. "Oh, Imp… if anything happens to any of my children thanks to these 'plans' of yours, I'll place you in the cell right next to Baelish."
"I hope not; such a waste of my talents." Tyrion fired a parting shot, knowing her threat wasn't an idle one.
The mystery only deepens. Tyrion's spies informed him that in the bowels of the Red Keep, advanced weapons were being constructed. Black barrels had made little difference in the wars between the Free Cities but Joffrey was confident they would be a true game changer.
"It's almost like he knows something we don't," Tyrion mused. A possible alliance with Braavos, new and as of yet untested designs, strange turns of phrase…
He was increasingly convinced this wasn't Joffrey Baratheon Lannister at all. A Faceless Man would be the obvious guess but it didn't account for all the knowledge he possessed. Instructing the Braavosi on how to increase the strength of the explosive powder and speaking of a theory nearly all Maesters considered utter nonsense.
Strangest of all was his regard for the smallfolk. Tyrion was willing to win them over for pragmatic reasons but Joffrey seemed to truly care for their welfare.
"You know, I think my nephew's earned himself a reward," Tyrion rubbed his chin.
"I have just the thing in mind," Bronn chuckled. "Trying to win him over another way, are you?"
"Consider it my reward for his efforts and for the fact unlike most of my family, he recognizes my true value." Tyrion slapped Bronn on the back. "Time to make him a real man. I'm certain he'll appreciate such a gift." Best of all, it would keep Joffrey distracted for a while, allowing him some time to put all the pieces together.
XXXXXXXXXX
Perhaps now they'll take me a little more seriously, Matthew considered, watching the four convicted men die on the gallows. One was lucky enough to die instantly, with the other three slowly choking to death.
He looked at the two men to the left, where blood stains were still visible. Upon learning they'd raped and murdered a young girl, Matthew decided to castrate them. "Amazing just how easy this is…" It went against the legal system he took for granted, but he found brutal punishment to be much more satisfying.
Nearly 1,000 people gathered to watch the executions, eyes glued on the condemned man. All but one had lost unconsciousness by this point, their faces turning blue and purple from lack of oxygen.
The mercenaries had chosen not to listen to his warning about breaking the laws and now they were paying the price for it. Matthew didn't worry about the others losing their loyalty, as the remaining sellswords now received a slightly larger paycheck.
"Throw their bodies into the bay; they don't deserve a funeral," Matthew ordered. The gold cloaks surrounding him hastened to obey.
He refused to give them the chance to be sent to the Night's Watch, which all of them pleaded for. Matthew looked upon the bodies with a furious gaze, refusing to allow such men to weasel out of their punishment.
Perhaps I should have let them. Matthew was finding it all too easy to throw aside his 21st century values and embrace the brutality common in Westeros. They were the first people he executed since his arrival, but likely not the last.
"I just have to be careful not to get carried away." Power could corrupt him as easily as it could anyone else. Matthew wanted to change things for the better, perhaps accelerate the technological and social change required to build a modern society. So did many revolutionaries before they were seduced by power. He vowed that would not happen to him.
He kept Tyrion and Barristan around for that very reason. Few in the Red Keep were interested in giving honest counsel, only what they felt would benefit them. The constant stream of sycophants threatened to drive him mad.
Based on the glances of the smallfolk, he was winning at least some of them over. Matthew wasn't naïve enough to seek universal popularity but having at least some of the common people on his side would keep King's Landing stable.
With the spectacle over, Matthew met up with Ser Jacelyn Bywater at the gates of the Red Keep. "How are your gold cloaks doing keeping order?" He inquired. Bywater was another man he trusted to give him honest reports.
"We've at least kept things somewhat stable, but the hunger's only getting worse," Jacelyn responded. "People are hungry and they're looking for someone to blame. Seeing you out there feeding them has helped to a degree, but I'm not sure it helped in the long run."
"We're already doing everything we can to keep them fed." Matthew rubbed his temples. "Half the lords and ladies in the Red Keep are giving me death glares when they think I don't notice because of the austerity I ordered."
"You asked for honesty and I'm providing it," Jacelyn was one of the few Gold Cloaks that wasn't corrupt. Matthew intended to have him promoted at the next Small Council meetings. "There are a few mutterings of treason, but you've managed to convince the majority of them your Uncle Renly is to blame."
"Precisely where it belongs. I know a lot of the men we've recruited are barely worth the time and money it takes to train them. What do they think of me?"
"Many support you, some don't. When your enemies get there, for the time being, I don't see any major problems."
"So you do think we're going to be facing a siege?"
"Your grandfather is at Harrenhal and Renly continues his march North. If not for his leisurely pace, your uncle would already have arrived. Stannis is not a threat as things stand, not with only a few thousand men."
"I knew there was a reason I liked you. Tell me, is there anything I'm overlooking when it comes to keeping the city fed? I have our Navy spend most of their time fishing, the Gold Cloaks are out there hunting. I'm having food brought in from the Free Cities. If there's anything else, please tell me." With such an unfamiliar world, Matthew knew there could be something he was missing.
"No, Your Grace," Bywater responded after a few moments of thought. "I will keep you appraised of the situation."
"Thank you." Matthew retreated into the Red Keep. At times, he considered wearing a cloak and disguising himself to hear the rumors. Even those who gave honest council he knew not to trust completely. But it was too massive a risk. There were spies all over the city and his skill with weapons was still poor. Alone, he'd be all but begging for an assassination attempt.
He ignored the glares many gave him behind his back. Matthew couldn't bring himself to be sympathetic. They might not have been allowed to feast the way they were accustomed to, but unlike most of King's Landing, were not going hungry.
Barristan marched to him the moment Matthew arrived inside, as did the rest of the Kingsguard. He'd yet to find anyone to replace Arys Oakheart, the posting being low on his list of priorities.
They are at least doing their job. However low his opinion of most of them were, the rest of the Kingsguard at least took their duty of protecting him seriously. And I'm probably going to need the protection the way things are going. King's Landing makes what I faced in Chico look trivial.
As was typical for him, Matthew retired to his chambers, only to hear voices from the other side of the door. His hand went towards his mace, having decided that it would be a superior weapon to a sword.
"Open the door but don't start swinging until we know what we're walking into," Matthew instructed, Barristan and Mandon Moore standing in front of him.
Moore opened the door cautiously, his sword drawn. Matthew peaked over Barristan's shoulder as much as he dared, questioning if this would be the first fight for his life since arriving in Westeros.
It wasn't. Instead, Matthew witnessed a pair of scantily-clad ladies on his bed. Upon seeing him, they rushed over and smiled, encouraging him to join them.
Save for Barristan, the Kingsguard sheathed their swords. Matthew lowered his mace but did not put it away. Not every assassin would be an obvious one.
He moved inside his quarters, feeling himself stiffen up. Matthew had done everything he could to be faithful to his girlfriend despite the distance between them.
"Enjoy yourself, Your Grace," Meryn Trant laughed, giving a lecherous look. Barristan flashed a brief look of disapproval but said nothing.
Right, Robert was notorious for this. Still not entirely lowering his guard, Matthew inquired: "What are you ladies doing in my bedchambers?" Even if not assassins, they could still be spies.
"Your Uncle sent us as a gift, Your Grace," one of them giggled, removing her already see-through clothing. Matthew attempted to look away but couldn't stop himself from glancing at them.
"He wanted to thank you for all your hard work," the other spoke, Matthew judging her to be the younger of the two. She was a gorgeous young woman, blonde hair flowing down her back. Her brown eyes stared at him while her counterpart all but pushed him to his bed.
"I appreciate the kind offer but…" Matthew felt his resistance weakening. The girl gave his crotch a brief squeeze.
"I always enjoy being with handsome men like you, Your Grace." She sat beside him. Her hair was jet black, a few freckles on each of her cheeks. Matthew watched her carefully, looking around her few remaining scraps of clothing for a dagger.
"So… what are your names, since we're getting to know each other," Matthew asked as a stalling tactic.
"My name's Serenity and she's Tiffany," she giggled, moving to remove his robes. On the other side of the room, Tiffany threw aside the last of her clothing, sitting to Matthew's left side.
I shouldn't be doing this; what would Emily think of me? Matthew questioned, not that it stopped him from looking. He did not remove his clothing but provided no resistance when his robe was removed, revealing his bare chest.
Serenity was the one who took charge, Tiffany proving herself to be rather timid. "I still can't believe my Uncle sent you here," Matthew chuckled. "Well, ok, maybe I can with his reputation."
"Have you ever been with a woman before?" Serenity teased. "I imagine you've had hundreds."
"Not exactly." Matthew wanted to move away but his body refused to cooperate with him. I'm probably going to be stuck here until the day I die. He attempted to justify to himself.
"He thought I was perfect for you, being a woman with fifteen name days."
"Wait, what?" Matthew screamed, his desire disappearing in an instant. Fifteen?! What kind of… right, right Westeros, better known as a shithole.
"You don't need to worry about any lack of experience," Serenity attempted to reassure. "I've been pleasing men… and the occasional woman… for more than two years."
Matthew's face darkened further. Keeping his face and voice calm, he responded: "You can thank Tyrion for his… kind gesture, but I think I'm going to have to decline."
Serenity pouted in response. "I was hoping to find out what it would be like fucking a King. I bet you're the biggest I've ever seen."
For the first time since his arrival, Matthew found himself speechless. He pulled away from her, still being careful not to cause any injuries. He coughed, rubbing his temples. When he was able to find his voice, he uttered: "That's really not necessary, Serenity. The offer is appreciated, but… I know it's hard to explain but you're a bit young for me."
While Serenity attempted to change his mind, Matthew looked at Tiffany's naked figure. She moved no more than she had to and as she was still, he had time to examine her. Several faint pink lines marked her back.
"Tiffany, what are those marks?" Matthew questioned although he was certain he already knew.
"A mere accident, Your Grace," Tiffany stammered, unable to meet his eyes.
"I know whip marks when I see them." Matthew didn't believe her. Putting his robes back on, he questioned: "What happened to you?"
"You are the King, Your Grace. I cannot expect you to care about trivial matters." Despite her attempt to be cheerful, Tiffany's lip quivered.
"It just so happens I care quite a bit. Frankly, I expect you would rather be anywhere in the world than here." Matthew moved closer, examining the wounds. They looked fresh and the mark of a whip was unmistakable.
"No, no, I promise, Your Grace," Tiffany pleaded with him. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
This fucking place… "How did you get those marks? You don't need to stay silent on my account."
"You're going to get us both in trouble!" Serenity interjected.
"No, I want to hear what she has to say." Matthew was full of quiet fury. He needed to hear the truth from her before he could act.
It took nearly a minute for Tiffany to speak. His look of concern convinced her his question was genuine. "I… I was forced to work there a few moons ago. A man offered me a job and I said yes. I didn't realize he meant…. And they told me if I ever tried to flee, they'd murder me and my brothers. I thought that I could at least make enough money to support them. Father does nothing but drink and…"
The more she spoke, the angrier Matthew became. He turned to Serenity and asked: "Did the same happen to you?"
"Had to find some way to support myself when my parents were murdered. Can't leave, but I don't behave like her. Some of my clients are decent and even fun."
"Well, you're not going to have to work for them anymore. Where is this brothel and who is in charge?"
"It used to be Lord Baelish, but after you arrested him, it's been Ulric Waters," Serenity answered.
Matthew put on his mail shirt and grabbed his mace, opening the door. He addressed the Kingsguard: "Follow me. There are a few brains that need to be bashed in."
Marching down the Red Keep, everyone inside knew to keep out of his way. Matthew could see nothing but red, promising brutal vengeance to the men responsible. He clutched his mace tight, barely stopping himself from swinging it around in incoherent fury.
Lots of curious onlookers watched but no one dared to intervene. With Tiffany's assistance, he found the brothel in question.
Matthew saw several girls and women just in his vicinity, the moans coming from the other rooms sounding faker than the porn videos he used to watch. "Your Grace, have you come to…"
"No, get all the clients out of here," Matthew scowled, eyes full of hatred. "Now!" He terrified the young woman, who shouted the King's orders.
Half clothed men muttered curses under their breath. One looked ready to object until he saw Matthew's expression. He considered splitting their skulls open but decided to reserve his justice for those most deserving.
"This is an honor, Your Grace," Ulric Waters greeted, a skinny man in his 30s. Everything about him screamed sleazeball: his lips, his eager expression, his lustful glances at the girls who served him. "If you wish to have all my girls at once, you have but to say the word. Your Lord Father came here many…"
"I've been hearing a few interesting stories," Matthew spoke, reluctantly granting him a chance to explain himself. "About you kidnapping young girls and forcing them to work for you."
"Where… where did you get such a ridiculous notion, Your Grace?" Ulric stammered, black eyes not meeting his.
"Are you calling your King a liar?" Matthew's voice lowered.
"Of course not, Your Grace! I am merely saying that… the stories are incorrect." He looked even more frightened at the sight of Serenity and Tiffany, sweating profusely.
A cry of pain was heard in the other room. "Then do you have a very, very good explanation as to why I'm hearing a girl cry in the back?" Matthew raised his mace, Barristan looking at the man with equal disgust. However, the other Kingsguard showed little but indifference.
"I'm going to find out for myself," Matthew hissed. He ignored Ulric's desperate denials.
He forced the door open, walking in on the sight of a young naked girl being whipped. Her tormentor turned to Matthew, but had no time to say anything before he attacked.
Matthew split his skull open with the first blow, blood dripping on the mace. Not satisfied with that alone, he hit the man again and again, bellowing with rage. He never had a chance, dying after the first few blows.
Even then, Matthew did not stop brutalizing his corpse. By the time he was finished, he was little more than a puddle of blood and tissue. He took out the dagger and cut the young girl down, knowing someone would have to see to her injuries. "You're safe now; he can't hurt you anymore."
"Thank… thank you, Your Grace," she sobbed in gratitude. The girl didn't look a day over fourteen. "I refused to service a client and he…"
"That much I can see for myself," Matthew looked her in the eye. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Jenye Poole, Your Grace." She shook, still trying to cover herself.
That name sounds familiar. Matthew searched his brain for knowledge of the books. "You're Sansa's friend, aren't you?" When she nodded, he added: "She'll be overjoyed to see you again. Don't worry, these people are going to pay for this."
The rest of those who worked for the man were rounded up by the Kingsguard. Without a word, Matthew smashed the mace into Ulric's head almost casually, killing him.
"So do you have any very good reasons why I shouldn't kill you all on the spot?" Matthew evaluated the eight terrified men.
"Spare him," Tiffany pointed to the man on the right. "He was always kind to us." Matthew gestured for Trant to drag him away from the others.
"Your Grace, please… send me to the Night's Watch," one of the men pleaded, realizing there was no getting out of their situation. "All I do, I only did because of his orders."
Not interested in the Nuremburg defense. "I've got a better idea: why don't we let the ladies here decide? They're the ones who suffered at your hands."
He discovered half of the girls inside the brothel had been forced to work, with the remainder doing so voluntarily (relatively speaking) to support themselves. After a brief argument among themselves, five were chosen to die, with a sixth to be sent to the Night's Watch. The remaining two, all the women asked to be spared.
"For the crime of slavery, I, Joffrey Baratheon, First of my Name, and King of the Seven Kingdoms, sentence you all to die." Matthew swung his mace at all of them, wanting the predators to die at his hands.
The first three went down begging for mercy. Two realized they had nothing to lose and attempted to flee, only to be cut down by the members of the Kingsguard.
Matthew couldn't stop himself from laughing. He'd killed many people in the war, but this was the first time he'd ever killed outside combat. And it felt… far better than he'd expected. He gave a small smile of satisfaction seeing justice done.