"What do you need mother? I cannot keep Sansa and Myrcella waiting."
The Queen quivered slightly, her son's cold voice a near perfect match to her father. Disdain and disgust melded with a sense of superiority and detachment, a marked similarity she could not ignore, though it pained her greatly. With as much grace as she could manage, she stood tall and smiled apologetically at her son, hooking her arm in his and leading him away from the tourney.
"I ordered Dagmir to take them back to their quarters, there is much we need to discuss my son." She kept him close, relishing in the cold of his skin, a balm against the ridiculous heat of the Southern air. A quick glance made it clear that no one important was around, none of her spies or Varys', or even Littlefinger's. That feeling of security emboldened her. "Before you say anything, I wanted to apologize. For not listening to you at the Kingsroad. You were right, it pains me to admit it, but you were. I do not excuse my actions but they were in defense of your brother. You are not a parent, a mother. When are cubs are threatened, we are willing and able to do anything.
There are tales of mothers accomplishing incredible feats, mothers without training defeating powerful knights or lifting carts to protect their children. It is impossible to describe to someone who lacks such a connection, one that I myself never understood until Joffrey was born, until I became a mother. That drive, for me, costs me my reason. I acted poorly, I am genuinely sorry for what I did and I wish to make amends with you."
Silence, a long moment of nothing as they walked freely, making their way towards the entrance of the gardens that surrounded the castles. There were more people here, but it was clear to her that her son felt more at ease the moment they saw their first person. A women, sitting with a book in hand. A hanger on at court, but one Cersei did not have in her pockets.
Yet.
They reached a veranda, one frequented during summer days, where people enjoyed tea and sweet cakes and looked out towards the sea. Where the scent of roses and multitude of other flowers cast a veil washing away the stench of shit and sweat that filled the city. A rare comfort in Kingslanding.
It was only when they reached this veranda that her son turned to her, eyes cold and wary, that he spoke.
"I do not trust you, I am not sure that I ever can... but, for the sake of my siblings I will try and make amends."
She surged forth reading to embrace him, words flying off of her tongue. "Oh, my son, I am so thank-" Only for the words to halt as he stepped back, hand out to stop her from making contact.
"My forgiveness and trust is not without conditions. I rarely give my trust out and you broke that mother, shattered it entirely and it cost the life of a small child and the happiness of two others. If I am to work with you, you must prove that I can rely on you. Three things, three things that you can and must agree to and I will bring you back into my circle."
It was here that she realized that though he reminded her of Tywin, there was more of her mother at play then anyone had realized.
"Anything."
With the hand he had held her off with, he began to count down his task. "First you will allow me complete control over Tommen and Myrcella's education. They will either be married off or one will rule the Seven Kingdoms if something happens to Joff, they need to be prepared. Right now they are not, having a measure of understanding of what I am learning on the small council will serve them well. That education will include martial training, for Myrcella as well. I will not have her attacked and be helpless, we know what your father ordered to happen to Elia Martell and her children. If Joff's rule or the debt Robert has accrued comes to cost us more then money, they will be in danger. I will not stand for that and nor should you."
The words pained her, held her fast, but with them came a moment of excitement. "I wanted to train along side your Uncle Jaimie, in this I will not fight you. I wanted Myrcella to have those choices, but knew that my father and Robert would never allow them." A part of her ached with jealousy, irritated that her daughter had options that she herself lacked. It was frustrating, painful but the knowledge of Myrcella's safety empowered her enough that she could move past that.
Barely.
'He loves them and has proven to be capable, he will not do wrong by them... and even if he does, I can recind on our arrangement.' That thought filled her with comfort, the knowledge of deceit and the possibility of wielding it like a hidden dagger washed across her soul, easing her swollen aching pride. A modicum of control easily won from her son, so swayed by his love of her and his younger siblings.
"Good thing we will tell no one. I and my Sworn Shield will train them, personally... to be honest mother, you should learn to at least wield a dagger. If things come to a head, you would be one of the first to be harmed. I do not trust others to protect my family, not when so many sins and grudges burn in our blood."
Her heart soared, painfully and she knew then that despite their arguments and silence that her son loved her. That she was getting something over her father, so deeply denied her, only added to that feeling. It was an easy thing to grasp, to cling onto even as her son wrestled even more control over her other children.
"Next, I at the least want a considerable say in where and to whom my siblings are married off to. I do not trust Robert in the slightest to make those decisions. I do not trust Tywin to do what is best for them, your own marriage is proof of that." That made Cersei smile, cold and borderline vengeful, enjoying that her son loathed Robert as much as she did and unlike her vile father cared that she was utterly miserable. "I know that I cannot have total control, Tywin will make his views known with or without Robert but you do have a voice no matter how much he may ignore it. When Robert puts himself in an early grave, you will become Queen Regent. That means that your power will be equal to or near equal to the Hand of the King. In this your control over their marriages will be enough to sway even Tywin, wither he wants it to be or not. I will not have them married to people who use or abuse them, they deserve far better then that.
Lastly, and I cannot stress this enough, you will be kind to Sansa." She opened her mouth, to protest in some way but her son's open hand stopped her, his cold eyes shutting down any desire to interrupt. "She is a child, and like you she was sold to a monster who's issues are far greater then people realize or care to admit. She will suffer enough under my brother, though I will do what I can to mitigate that. You will help her in that Mother, sisters in suffering, sharing a past that so many have endured. She deserves that much from you and you will give that to her. That means you will offer her genuine guidance, kindness and care. If you see Joff being cruel, and we both know that will happen, do what you can to limit the damage or redirect him. I do not care if she is of another's blood, she is to be our family, my sister and your daughter by marriage. That should mean something, to you especially.
If you agree, Mother, to these three things and prove that you really mean what you promise then I will let you back in my circle... fail to do so, go back on that word and I will banish you and do all I can to render you utterly without purpose or power. Your entire foundation of influence will crumble, Queen or Queen Mother in name only. I give you my word on that, and I so dislike to break my oaths."
The memories of her son's demands echoed fiercely in Cersei's mind, her own solemn promise following in suit. She wasn't sure if she meant it, knowing she would abandon the oath if she found the need. Her son, skillful and wise as he was, was still just a child and she knew she could slip out of such a grasp.
'Abandon my pursuits of power, obeying another man... no my son, my love for you is great but I will not allow another man to take what is rightfully mine.' She smiled, masking her inner thoughts as she turned her fullest attention to the image of her son, kneeling before Myrcella and Tommen, both dressed in trousers and leather armor. Myrcella's beautiful hair wrapped tightly in a braid her brother had personally woven.
Dagmir, tall and beautiful, held in both hands a wooden sword, looking on with a minor level of discomfort that Cersei understood. She knew, or at least suspected, that like most the beautiful Knight found the notion of training girls to be disconcerting and even immoral. Yet, it was clear that despite this he was willing to obey her son, holding his opinions to himself entirely. He stood straight, clad in his simple armor, a sigil she had never seen wrapped around his arm.
A Grey background with hands holding up a purple heart, all wrapped in beautiful vines.
The styling was beautiful, powerful, conveying a sense of purpose and direction. She knew it was not his sigil, the man had never held such a sigil before and it had no ties to any houses that she knew of. It seemed new, and for that reason it drew her attention, though only for a moment.
Her son's words to his siblings were far more compelling.
"Listen you two, I know it seems strange but from this point on, I am in control over your education. All of it, from what your Maester and Septa will teach you to what you learn on your own. You are to rule, be it as King or Queen if Joff were to perish before his time, or as the Lord or Lady of whatever House you marry into. What you have been learning has not and will not prepare your for this, at all. Gaining my position on the Small Council has taught me as such, though my personal studies have helped, there is much I do not know.
To rectify this, on your behalf, I have restructured your studies entirely. Instead of focusing on Curtseying and smiling and needle work, dear sister, you will learn politics and House management. How to run your family and work with another House. You will learn more on history, war and combat. You will be taking lessons with Dagmir and I on combat, for at least a single hour a day. I refuse to let you become fat like Robert, or grow helpless in case of an attack like so many women past and present. However, as I will be working with the Small Council and working to expand my influence and understanding, I will not always be able to teach you personally. For that reason I will be assigning you books to read and for at one hour a day, perhaps during dinner, you will be telling me what you read and your understanding of it. Your handmaiden will be reassigned, once I look into her. I want no one to know of your training, Robert and Tywin will attempt to stop such a thing and many will underestimate you. That is a tool beyond value, and one I wish for you to wield.
Tommen, your younger then she is but your education is more in line with rule, but not entirely open. For that reason I will be also assigning you books to read and you will be learning combat alongside our dear sister. Your education will revolve around your numbers, Father is incapable of understanding Finance and he bankrupted the realm. Mostly it is our women that are taught that, a foolish task since both men and women have sway over money. Your education will also involve politics and a variety of other subjects as I decide them. However, unlike our sister, I will be having you work underneath our Kennelmaster. I know how dearly you love animals, and having that responsibility over other beings will be good for you. I hope it will teach you a level of responsibility and compassion so many Lord and Kings lack."
From her position, Cersei wondered how her children would react. To her disgust and dismay, and anger, she could not predict it. No matter how much she thought about it, ran the concept through her mind, she simply could not figure out what her children would decided. How they would view their brother's orders.
Cersei hated the changes, some of them anyway. 'Kennelmaster, a lowborn position. He is not such filth, he is my sweet lion, above such labor.'
She kept her words to herself.
"However, it is cruel of me to ask you to only work. For that reason, outside of our training, I am going to set aside an hour minimum for you to play with or without each other, and an hour where we can and will eat together. One meal at least, and in that moment we will be family. Not royalty, legacies of Tywin or our Mother. I was far too ill to stay with you more then once a month for most of my life, even in the last three years since I have started to regain my strength. I missed out so much of your lives, and I refuse to lose any more. The Starks taught me that. I hope you can forgive me for not being there before."
No, Cersei did not cry as the weight of her son's words, the guilt and pride and love she felt towards her child was not too much. No, she was too proud for such a thing... wiping her eyes had nothing to do with tears. It was dust, blown from the drafty castle into her eyes.
Nothing more.
Myrcella could not mask her smile as waves of excitement overtook her, an eagerness that all but made her shake. Her life finally, with those words, would gain a purpose. One she would embrace, with all she was.
'I never would have guessed... finally, learning something other then being a perfect lady. Sip your tea like this Myrcella, curtsey like this your grace, Ladies are not to play with swords or bows like savages, squeeze out a dozen blonde hair lions my sweet dove. Finally, finally I will get a taste of that which even my mother lacks.'
Turning to her little brother, she saw him tremble with innocent excitement, the sight of which lifted her spirits even more then before... then crushed it entirely as a wave of misery and fear became all she knew
' I pray, I hope this teaches him self sufficiency, if Arryn and I cannot help him as he ages, he will only be a puppet. A toy that others will dig their teeth and claws into, tearing him apart. He would be more dangerous a king then even Joffrey. Working with Kennelmaster may be what he needs, I only hope Arryn is right. Pity he won't give me an opportunity like that.'
She stopped herself, a thought blossoming in her mind, turning her smile into a smirk. She knew Arryn too well, and he knew her. Throughout her life, everyone treated her like a pawn, more Cersei's property then her own person. Tommen saw her as a mother more then a sister, his sweet anchor who protected him from Joff even before Arryn started to gain enough to strength to worry about more then his own life. Eight years of dealing with Joffrey, four years of protecting her brother from his madness. Having her brother, Sweet Arryn, come to her like a person, eager to know her for her, beyond blood or obsession or how he could use her or serve there mother... it was beyond uplifting, it opened her mind. She had never seen herself as more then a broodmare, more then a lady to be sold off to be ridden as her mother so aptly described herself.
He changed her. With each lesson he joined, question he asked, smile and bit of encouragement he bestowed upon her she changed. More and more, questioning her role and what she wanted, but despite that she never assumed or even dreamed that he could or would do this to and for her. He seemed determined and destined to die in obscurity, and yet here he was, wielding power over even mad mother and forging a path for her, one that if walked would make her ready to play in the Game of Thrones one day.
She would never forget that.
'I wonder what he is going to teach me, dear Tommen is going to work with the Kennelmaster. Fitting and wise, he will love it and it will give him a sense of duty and understanding of consequence while also expanding his lines of communication beyond mother, Joffrey and I. So what is going to teach me, I wonder why he didn't say... ' Cold green eyes burrowed into hers, she turned to face them and the answer came to her. " OF course, mother is here. There is no way he can be open with me about what he will be teaching me in full, he knows she would try and control what I am learning, to destabilize my project or manipulate me.'
Burying her curiosity, she focused fully on Arryn, genuinely curious as to what he had for them. Her palm ached for the wooden sword in Dagmir's hands, the expectation of pain and glorious power almost intoxicating in it's naughtiness.
"Now lessons, there are a few important facets of swordplay. Can you tell me what they are?" Myrcella, to her shame, couldn't answer.
Tommen's smile made it clear that he thought he could. "Stance! It keeps you steady and strong!" He fell into his stance, and right away Myrcella knew that her brother had made mistakes. Years of watching knights fight in tourney's, Jaime train in the courtyard, Arryn train on his own made that impossibly clear. "It this right?"
Arryn raised a brow, smirking a little at their youngest brother before reaching out to correct his stance. "Lift your arms a little higher, bend more at the knees... and move your chin up. You need to be able to see your opponent, without that you are dead. You need to be able to focus so drastically on your opponent, that you fade out your own body. Practice will ensure that while you do this, you never have to focus on stance or grip. Sheer habit will control that part.
Other facets that matter include but are not limited to grip, spatial awareness, variable acceleration and the ability to asses and endure pain. Complicated I know but you will understand that as I teach you. Now, before we start that, we need to test your physical abilities. Tommen, you already have some training so Dagmir is going to work with you while I see what Myrcella is physically capable of. Treat him like you treat me, it doesn't matter if you are prince. I expect respect and obedience, am I understood?"
Sweet Tommen nodded, excided and so happy he barrled into Arryn, burying his tiny head into his brother's belly. Arryn just chuckled, rubbing his brother's head before pushing him off, where Dagmir lead him away, whispering orders.
Her brother's full attention was on Myrcella now, the weight of his expectations fully on her. It was a heavy thing, not being able to hide from such a gaze, the realization that her brother would never hold back, treat her like a child. Expectations were a crushing thing, he didn't see her as a broodmare or proper lady. He saw all of her, the potential to be better and brighter then them all. He would expect nothing less...
It was an honor, no matter how painful but one she craved.
In a whisper, one her mother couldn't hear, her brother whispered words that reshaped her entire reality.
"I am having your room moved to my wing, both of yours actually but in your case it is mostly about your training. From this point on, you are on my council dear sister. Whenever and whatever I deal with, in the castle or kingdom, you will hear of it and I will ask your advice. Even if you have little to say, I will be teaching you, molding you to be more. Mother was never taught to rule and look how inept she is, that will never do. You are better you will be better. My Cici, you will be our future."
She didn't throw herself, settling for wrapping her arms around her brother softly, kissing his forehead and just enjoying his presence for a moment. Then she released him, her determination burning through her doubt and fear. She opened her arms entirely, no longer masking her body and how the tight leather confirmed her growing feminine features.
"Now, I need you to punch my hands." Her brother held out his hands, staying on his knees. "Don't hold back, you won't hurt me, I just want to see where we have to go with your strength. You won't just be learning to use a sword. I want you able to use your body, your fists and feet, to protect yourself. A bow as well, but I know you are not strong enough to even pull the string back yet."
"I understand." Without holding back, she punched his hand, ignoring the genuine sting of that shot across her knuckles. Again and again, she hit her brother's fist, annoyed by how tired it made her. "Sorry." She said panting after only a minute of striking his fists.
He just gave her that easy smile, one only she got from him. "It's alright, you have never had to really physically work for anything. That is normal... we need to bolster your stamina before you can do anything. I want you to jog around the courtyard, with you walking every other round. Do this for ten laps, then take a moment to breathe. After that we will work on building your strength. Do not be discouraged if you feel weak, everyone starts somewhere."
With a nod, she walked towards the edge of the courtyard, ignoring the dust rising off of the dirt filled courtyard. Nervousness would not overtake her, she would not allow it, but that did not mean that it did not haunt her every step.
"Lord Arryn." The voice, though muffled through the door that led into the courtyard, echoed across the mostly empty space. Myrcella hid behind a pillar without a need for an order, watching her brother as he walked towards the door. She knew the importance of secrecy.
With a creak, the door opened, revealing the tired eyes of cousin Lancel. Breathless and a little nervous, the man bowed to her brother, looking almost as afraid of her brother as he was of Robert. .
"What do you need?" He kept his tone cordial, but it was clear to Myrcella that her brother was not pleased with the interruption.
The uncomfortable Lannister gulped the air, his eyes twitching to the dedicated sounds of a grunting Tommen swinging his blade, trying to maintain his stance while wielding his wooden weapon. "Your Father, King Robert, has called a meeting of the Small council... something about Daenerys Targaryen."
Everything changed about Arryn's stance, the irritation turned into a cold efficiency that reminded Myrcella of her mother. Turning, he glanced at Dagmir. " Continue as planned, keep your eye out. Mother, I will be back after our meeting but knowing the subject I doubt it will too short. Keep the children away from Father, I do not trust him to keep his temper in order should they irritate him."
Her mother, in a rare moment of cooperation, nodded with fierce devotion. "Of course." Her tone was tight, passionate and despite her dislike of her Mother the sound eased the tension in Myrcella.
"I will be back as soon as I can. Mother, if I am not back by dinner, take the children to my chambers. I had a servant gather the books they will be reading. Dagmir knows which is for which."
Nodding to them all, he followed their cousin, leaving behind unbridled tension that sweet Tommen didn't seem to understand, but from the look on Dagmir's eyes it was clear that the Sworn Shield knew of the weight of what had happened. Something was going to change, the castle would not be a safe place to be around for anyone.
'No wonder he wishes for us to learn martial skills.'
More dedicated then ever, Myrcella obeyed her brother's command, jogging around the courtyard, never looking at her mother. This was her path to purpose and she would walk it wherever she went, no matter how hard or tiring it would be.
Arryn was actually shaking as he walked to the Council Chambers, fear beyond measure filled every corner of his soul. His father's hatred of the Targaryen Dynasty, the natural Baratheon temper and his inherit entitled personality and increased impulsivity would make this meeting one of untold importance. If he made a mistake, crossed his father or his bloodlust in anyway, he could lose everything. His morals, no matter how much he wished to cling to them, would matter little.
'I will be pitted against Father and Lord Stark, Moral and Honorable versus Entitled Bloodlust. In serving my father I may lose Lord Stark's wavering trust in me. This will not be a meeting anyone will truly win.'
He dreaded the mere idea.
"Thank you." Nearly tripping, shocked at the whispered words that penetrated his deep thoughts, Arryn turned to his cousin, fixing him with a curious look. Lancel flushed, showing clear against his fair skin. The older man was all but shaking, a deeply appreciative look in his terrified eyes. "From before, with your Father."
Understanding where his cousin was coming from, he could not help the smile that crossed his face. "It is alright, I loathe how he treats you Lancel. You try harder then most Squires and your a good man. There is no need to be cruel, it is his duty to teach you to be a Knight. He is failing in that." He kept his tone low, ignoring Lancel's actual flinches as his open admittance of Robert's failing, knowing there were spies everywhere. Pycelle had yet to inform him whom they all were, it was wiser to be quiet.
"Your Lord Father, he is merely, it's in his rights as king to-"
"Few things justify cruelty." He interrupted cousin, stopping him with a look of solidarity. It was an easy thing to place a hand on his bicep, comforting the utterly terrified man. "I am not above correcting his behavior but I only have so much power and he will only put up with so much. Had he not been in a better mood due to the Tourney, I would have never dared to help you... but you cannot continue to serve him Lancel. It isn't right for you. I will speak to my Grandfather, should he allow it I would have you serve me instead. As a prince, it is in my power to take a squire even if I am not a Knight. I am sure we can find you a teacher to embolden your martial talents.
If you agree to serve me then I can protect you from the abuses of my father more fervently. Perhaps in return you can watch over Tommen when is without my attention... yes..."
Staring at his cousin, he took in the man's frail frame. Like most Lannisters, his cousin was thin and tall but unlike most Lannisters the man lacked the willowy muscles and strong frame they tended to have. The frame Arryn had, the frame even Myrcella had despite having no training. He had met his Aunt Dorna, Lancel's mother, once during a tourney for Joffrey's name day and it was clear that he had many of her features. Her weak body and nearly emaciated frame was something she had passed on to Lancel, a fact that hindered his martial training alongside his utter lack of confidence and weak will. He was by no means intimidating, and would likely never be so.
Living underneath the shadow of Tywin had stripped any innate defiance, working underneath Robert had burned out his strength and sense of self. The world, despite his noble status, had never been kind to Lancel and it left Arryn sort of sad. What kind of man would his cousin be had the world been kinder, for even a second. What would he be if he was built upon instead of crushed at every turn.
A wave of protectiveness and empathy, similar but no where as potent as what he felt for his siblings, washed over Arryn. However, unlike with what he felt for his siblings, this wave was tempered with a smug pride knowing that if he helped Lancel the boy would be utterly devoted to him. The one decent island of peace in a sea of cruelty. Having someone other then Dagmir and Myrcella loyal to him, even if he would never entirely trust such a weak person, would be a rather potent boon.
"Speak nothing of this conversation, not even to my mother. I will do what I can but you must be on your best behavior. Your talents and potential are being wasted. Now, let us speak no more of this. I must prepare my mind for what it to come."
And so he did, in utter silence for the rest of the long trek to the Council Chambers. His cousin shaking as his mind swam with the possibilities of freedom from Robert's abuse and fear that his hopes would be for not.
It was not an easy silence.
Once they reached the Council Chambers, Arryn all but tasted the anger and tension in the air. The Guards were pale faced and shifty, a layer of panic in their expression. Robert's rage had melted their arrogance it had seemed.
Without acknowledging them, he turned to his cousin. "Go to my Father's chambers and stand with the guard there. He will be angry if you are not available immediately." It was a tad humorous, watching his much older cousin nearly sprinting away. With that image, he hardened his heart and stepped into the room, ready to fight with words and logic, knowing he would have to live on the defense if he wanted to walk away nearly unscathed.
It was immediately clear that he was not the only one on edge, even the normally unflappable Peter Baelish was shifting in his seat, his hands twitching and clasping on his sides. Varys, though he hid it incredibly well, was sitting straighter and his sense of theatrics was diminished.
Robert, sitting at the head of the table, actually sneered at him as he entered, shaking with rage he could barely contain. It was honestly frightening, a potent fear born of knowing that the man was no longer bound by even a sliver of logic. Pure hatred was his master, rage and bloodlust his friends.
"Father." He bowed slightly, taking his normal position next to Pycelle. "May I ask what this meeting is about or should I wait for Lord Stark?" He kept his tone respectful, low and unchallenging. He hoped it would keep him alive.
His father didn't answer, gritting his teeth as he struggled to hold himself together.
Pycelle leaned towards him, a soft whisper escaping his withered lips even as he slipped a scroll into Arryn's hand. "Daenerys Targaryen has married a Kahl, a Dothraki warlord and is pregnant."
'Of course... and knowing father he will want her dead, at any cost. I cannot say that he is wrong to want that, even without his hatred.' Layers and years of study, his rather broad knowledge of Westeros History, made clear that his father killing the Targaryans would be a wise choice. 'I cannot see Lord Stark allowing it, the man is wrapped in a layer of honor and idealism a mile thick. If he fights father with the same fervency as he resents and slanders Jaime, then this will be disastrous.'
It wasn't hard to predict the views of each of the other Council members, how they would handle this. Pycelle would act the part of a syncophant and agree without a real reason, Varys would do the same but with more theatrics. Peter is cold and unfeeling, he is used to dirty dealing anyway so I cannot imagine he would see an issue with this. Renly, being raised under the hatred of Robert and growing up after the war... he would bend to his Brother's desires and more then likely to agree though a part of that would be out of sheer empathy.
Lord Stark burst through the door a few minutes after Arryn, a hesitance in his eyes making it clear that he too held some fear for the rage boiling inside of Robert.
"The Whore is Pregnant." Each letter, filled with utter loathing, weighed heavily on them all.
It looked as if they literally pained Lord Stark, but as he spoke it also became clear that it was almost a continuation of another conversation between the two men. The understanding in Lord Stark's eyes, the tightening of his stance and exasperation of words. "Your speaking of murdering a child."
On some level, these words lifted Arryn, however he it also broke some of his little respect for the man. 'Can he not see the danger this presents us all? Not even through the Dothraki but through her name...'
"I warned you this would happen, back in the North. I warned you. But you didn't care to hear, well hear it now." Robert adjusted himself in the chair, a frigidness only adding more potency to his words. " I want them dead, mother and child both and that fool Viserys as well is that plain enough for you? I want them both dead" The words turned on themselves becoming an insult.
On that hit home with flawless accuracy.
"You would dishonor yourself. Forever if you do this." Lord Starks words were pained, his desperation clear.
"HONOR! I'VE GOT SEVEN KINGDOMS TO RULE. ONE KING SEVEN KINGDOMS. YOU THINK HONOR KEEPS THEM IN LINE. YOU THINK IT'S HONOR THAT KEEPING THE PEACE? IT'S FEAR, FEAR AND BLOOD!"
Arryn stood here, feeling the hateful eyes of his father upon him, but knowing that if there was any time to speak it would be now before the two broke from each other. He looked at Lord Stark, eyes compassionate and soft.
"I understand your dislike of this, Lord Stark. It is distasteful and evil."
His father actually stood up, knocking his chair backwards onto the floor. "EVIL! YOU LITTLE SHIT, WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT EVIL? WHAT BUSINESS DO YOU HAVE-"
"But father is right." His words slammed into his father who stopped talking, giving him a furious but almost confused look. Slamming into Ned Stark who actually took a step back with a look of betrayal, as if he could not fathom that Arryn would actually agree with such an evil act. "A simple look in history makes it clear the danger that she presents, even if you utterly ignore the Dothraki. She has a name, a name that holds power over history and a generation of people who served it. Even if she or Viserys never hold the desire to rule, or the Madness inherit to their blood, the name is the key to immeasurable instability in the realm.
Any and everyone with a grudge towards the capital, to the realm. Anyone who wishes to garner control over the realm, is eager for power. These people can use them, spearheading conflict and command that will be turned against us. It has happened before, the Blackfyre Rebellions and the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Five rebellions, five rebellions that devastated the realms and left a culture of fear that only served to increase the distrust and dislike of bastards. The Free Cities and those within used their connection to the Targaryens to justify and lead a path of destruction for our realm, the scars remain even after almost fifty years.
It was something that could have been rectified if anyone had taken seriously the long term threat they presented. Cut the weed out root and stem. They rebelled and warred five times, after at least the second rebellion it should have been clear that their aspirations were too great and their willingness to disobey to potent for the realms safety.
I hold no grudge against the Targaryans, I wasn't born during their reign nor knew anyone who suffered directly at their hands. I cannot understand my father's rage and hate for that reason but it also means that I am not ruled by it. In the interests of the realm and our people, sacrifices must be made. They must die, before the infection can spread. Before they or others harness the power of that name to disrupt the fragile balance of our realm. In this we must as iron, united and strong."
His words ceased but the presence of his words rippled across the room, he could feel a smugness in his father's stance. From the corner of his eyes, the Lords looked at him with a respect they had never bothered to give him. Even Peter seemed to look at him with a new light, something he knew also made the man register him as a threat.
He would remember that...
More important then all of that however was the coldness, not unlike that of the direwolves of Winterfell, made it's way across every feature of Lord Stark's eyes. His unyielding spirit had proved stronger then even the wisdom of Arryn, his logic wasted as it slammed against the man's sense of honor and rigid world view.
"From the mouth of the Son of Tywin, I am not surprised to hear such a thing." He held no emotion in his tone, only something that bordered on hatred.
"My Grandfather is a monster, but being a monster is often what is needed for the good of the realm. Being in power means making sacrifices for the realm, our personal morals matter little. I will never like this, I will not celebrate their deaths but I will not regret them either. The Realm comes first, Lord Stark, the lives of three people be damned."
Ned actually sneered at him, looking far more like Cersei then he would ever be happy to realize. "How do we know she is pregnant, because the Spider heard a rumor?"
Varys, whom everyone turned to bar Robert, leaned forward with an almost offended sort of look on his face. "Not a rumor, my Lord, the Princess is with child."
"Based on who's information?"
"Ser Jorah Mormant. He's serving as advisor to the Targaryans."
Disgust overtook the coldness. "Mormant, you bring us the words of a traitor half a world away and call it fact."
"He was never a traitor, Lord Stark." Arryn felt a level of enjoyment as the disgust turned towards him, a flair of hatred building towards the unyielding moron that was the Stark Lord. "He sold people into slavery, a vile deed and one that is punishable by death but it does not make him a traitor. He never turned against the realms, or my father. He fled for his life, choosing to not suffer the consequences of his actions. However, it is this crime and his fear of punishment that makes his word so reliable.
He has lost everything, doing this, serving and watching the Targaryans under the guise of loyalty while actually serving my Father would be one of the only acts that could restore his losses, on at least some level. It is not honorable, but as my father said Honor has little to do with ruling. It only has power when all are honorable, and since that is not what the world is Honor is a hinderance that will only undo the fragile peace."
It took all he had, every drop of restraint not to charge the man in front of him and attempt to carve him into nothing. How could anybody be so blinded to reality, so stuck in himsel that he ignored the painful realities that was so present in their world. A man who's father and grandfather had served valiantly in the Blackfyre Rebellions, who saw the evils of the Mad King.
How Winterfell was standing with such a fool at it's helm was beyond Arryn.
"How could you... why would you..." The man shook, his eyes closed tight. "Without honor we are no better then the beasts, then the Mad King."
"Careful Ned, careful! It doesn't matter, what if he's right?" Robert, who had fallen silent, started to bellow as the fires in heart raged ever brighter. "If she has a son? A Targaryen at the Head of a Dothraki army? What then?"
Ned straightened his back, defiance clear in his eyes. "The Narrow Sea still lies between us. I'll fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water."
"No culture is unchanging Lord Stark." Arryn almost cringed, he was stunned at the sound of his own voice. He sounded empty, callous and cruel. "Right now they fear the sea, but what of their descendants? What of those who come afterwards, lead by one tied to our lands in name and blood? They are raiders and ravers by nature, the challenge and promise of a new land filled with new challenges and battles to be won would make them malleable. Especially if their leader is of foreign blood. They serve their Kahl without question. Would it be hard, of course it would be, but power and promise can sway even the most steadfast and stubborn hearts. They may not be a threat to us now, but if a boy is born, then our future and the future of realm is in jeopardy.
We cannot do nothing, killing the girl and her brother would only serve to protect our people. Ensuring that at least one potential path of destruction is no longer open to our enemies." Turning to his father, he shared a look of rare understanding with the brute. " It would be wise to kill the Kahl as well. Kahlasars only hold themselves together on the respect and fear bound to their Kahl. Take him out and the entire army will evaporate, the sum of it's power dividing into nearly nothing. Without the head holding them together, they hold little threat to us."
Robert, to his own shock, grinned at him for the first time in his life. "The boy gets it Ned, a boy of fourteen, never having seen a war or tasted blood. He gets it, you honorable fool, why can't you?" He was no longer yelling, settling for a near growl.
The rest of the Councilmen turned their gazes to Ned Stark, with Renly speaking first. "My Nephew is right, we should have them killed years ago."
"When you find yourself in bed with an ugly women, you'd best close your eyes and get it over with. Cut her throat, be done with it." Naturally that was Peter Baelish, and even in the heat of conversation most of them rolled their eyes at his words.
Pycelle, ever the sycophant, leaned forward. "A rough analogy, but one I cannot disagree with. I hold no ill will towards the girl, but three lives, even if two are children, cannot be held above the rest of the realm."
"If the gods see fit to bestow a son to the Princess..." Varys, who had been silent for a time, spoke up with a rare moment of seriousness and lack of dramatic presence. " Then the realm will burn, in one way or another. It is vile that we must do this but for those of us who presume to rule we must often commit vile deeds for the good of the realm."
Frustration only built in Arryn's chest, anger and disgust melding until he said his last piece before the emotions overtook his good sense."
"Lord Stark, none of us have an exceptional grudge against them bar my father but we all serve the realm first. In the interest of the realm, this is what we must do. Weather you like it or not, weather it fits your morals and honor and pride. It is not about you, Lord Stark, or me or even my Father. It is about the Realm. Do your duty and be done with it."
Cold, merciless and unendingly annoyed, Arryn finally sat down, looking at the moron wrapped in clothes he himself crafted. He knew, from the way the man looked at him, at all of the lesser councils and focused entirely on Robert. As if they did not matter, as if their words held no purpose or power. It was then that something became clear to Arryn.
'For a man so disgusted by manipulation he sure is fond of using his past with Robert to control him, to guilt him into obedience.'
Ned took a step forth, moving closer and closer until he was leaning over the table, his face a mix of pain and loss. "I've followed you into war, twice. Without doubts without second thoughts. But I will not follow you now. The Robert I grew up with didn't tremble at the shadow of an unborn child."
"He isn't the man you grew up with, seventeen years of ruling and two wars makes a great change in anyone." Arryn's voice was low, almost a whisper as his hate for this stupid man solidified. "He is not trembling before the shadow of an unborn child, he is pulling out a weed before it poisons the rest of the garden. Culling the diseased before they infect the rest, pulling out the burning branch before it sets the forest ablaze. Unlike you, Lord Stark, he is not allowing something as pointless and useless as honor to obscure the dangers this child will present us. Unlike you, he values the realm more then his personal pride."
A lie, he knew it was solely about revenge for his father, but the words hit home. Lord Stark looked at him, betrayed and disgusted.
"The man who casts the sentence should wield the sword. Are you willing to do that? Take your unstained blade, with your green hands and carve this child and it's mother in two for the good of the realm, Prince Arryn?"
A moment's silence as the challenge rippled across the room everyone turned to him, in curiosity and concern.
He knew the answer. "Without hesitation, with my teeth if needed."
"The girl dies, Ned. I don't care how it happens, the girl dies and so does her fool of a brother." Robert's voice was as cold as Arryn's own, and in it he heard such a similarity that it became clear that despite their separation and isolation, Robert had in fact left his own mark on Arryn. Blood be damned.
"I will have no part in it."
"You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You'll do as I command or I'll find me a Hand who will."
Lord Stark pulled off the Hand's pin, placing it on the table. "And good luck to him. I thought you were a better man."
"He's a King not a man."
Ned turned to Arryn, sneering once more. "Why do the two have to be separate?"
"One serves himself and his family first, the other serves his people. A lesson I hope you or your son learn, Lord Stark. I fear for the future of your House should it be forgotten."
Everyone, even Robert cringed at his words. Ned, eyes filled with something that bordered on hate, the same look as he gave Jaime Lannister, turned on heel and marched away. The King, so stunned by his son's words, didn't even call for the Hand or insult him in a typical tantrum.
Arryn didn't care, he knew that he was right. He may have been open, to brutal, to brash, but he was right. Ned Stark would burn the world down if it suited his honor, he was not fit to rule anyone. If he did not shape up, if his son's did not learn that lesson, then they would never grow as a people. Stagnant and isolated until their Kingdom crumbles under the weight of the world and progress.
From that point, in quick whispers and uneasy conversation, his father and Varys discussed how to best remove the last Targaryans. Robert decided he didn't care how, only that it happened, and that as his son suggested they also get rid of Kahl Drogo. This last fraction of the meeting took moments, less then a full three minutes, before it separated.
"Boy." Robert said, as he passed, holding him back as the other's left. He was uncomfortable, even afraid, knowing that his father was likely not pleased with what had happened, his words towards Lord Stark. He was about to apologize, mitigate the damage even slightly, but Robert did something he never expected. "I am proud of you."
Eyes wide, jaw almost scraping the floor, Arryn stared at his father. "I am sorry, what?"
"You stood up to Ned, something I have almost never been able to do. He's good, very good at making people feel all of an inch tall. He has never been able to deal with the ugly parts of the world. Even during the war, both of the wars actually, he never could make hard choices. It cost us, often and in great numbers. I have never told this to anyone, but nearly a tenth of the deaths in the war could be attributed to Ned's reluctance to make hard choices. I do not know how you can do that, how you can shut yourself off like that.
Maybe you get it from Tywin... I do not know." The King stepped forward, putting his hands on Arryn's shoulders, eyes oddly warm. "I never should have been a father, I never questioned that. I am not the type, too selfish and impulsive, but your not like that. Your not cruel like your mother. I am proud of you, you will serve this country well. Tywin may be a bastard but he was right, putting you on the Small Council was a good idea. I need you, people like you, who can tell me no... who can make hard choices without ass licking and money grubbing. I need you.
You are never going to be king, but I will do what I can to make you Hand when you get older. Joffrey will need you, someone like you to help him to rule. Gods know that your mother is not fit enough for that."
Patting him, with more strength then seemed possible for such a clearly exhausted man, the King of the Seven Kingdoms gave an awkward nod before walking away. The weight of the Seven Kingdoms sitting heavily on his broad shoulders.
It was several minutes later, after he struggled to contain that odd scene with Robert, that Arryn managed to leave the Small Council Chamber. Almost aimlessly, like he was floating, Arryn strode toward the hall containing his room. Absently, he pulled from a pocket the scroll Pycelle had given him, deciding to finally look at it's contents.
It was small, thinner then his pinky and about as long. It wasn't stamped with any sigil or sign, but he knew it was from his Grandfather and thus would be important.
His heart all but stopped the moment he opened it as only two sentences filled the paper. Two sentences that rearranged his world, justified his choice to take over Myrcella and Tommen's education, idea to gain a Sworn Shield and encouraged him to start training in combat once again. Words that, by their very nature, could destroy their country and the uneasy peace that held it all together.
Words he never wanted or expected to hear.
"Caitlyn Stark has kidnapped your Uncle Tyrion, blaming him for her son's fall.
If he is not returned in three days, our Houses go to War."
Chapter Over, Tell me what you think in the reviews.
My best work, period. It isn't the best start, I think but boy is it long and strong and powerful. Twists and turns and changes that fit his personality and the stupidity of those around him. I love it and am beyond proud of this chapter.
Please, please review this. I need to know what you think of this masterpiece.
Love, forever yours,
Your Ninja Overlord,
Mika.
