The next morning, I'm woken up by the knocking on my door, too early to call it a good night's rest. My grogginess is unsurprising considering my late night raid. The servants enter my room hastily, and for a moment I worry that I might have caused too big of a commotion last night. Breyna and two others, I don't remember their names, enter, pushing an ornate food trolley into my room.
"Good morning, young prince!", Breyna greets me, while the others pull out some plates from the trolley.
"Your family won't be breaking their fast in the dining hall this morning. The queen has instructed us to bring you food to your room and to tell you to do well in your classes.", she instructs, continuing again after a short pause: "Oh, and your lessons with ser Jaime Lannister are canceled for today."
What? Why? Am I under house arrest? They would've taken my plunder then. I was doing so well, though, these past few days. We even mastered feints!
"You didn't tell me you were training with ser Jaime, my prince", Breyna says, "How long before you make me a squire, like you promised?"
"Didn't you tell me you were too old to be playing with swords?" I sass her back, sleepily.
She feigns shock at my response, before answering:"True. Though women prefer the term 'mature', rather than 'old'."
"Your breakfast is on the table, my prince. I'll let you rest some more, but I hope you will fully awaken before your food goes cold.", she informs me, "Tell one of the guards if you need a change of clothes, and I'll be right there.", Breyna finishes, as she escorts the other two staff from my room, who push the trolley along with them. "Enjoy your meal, young prince. Farewell!"
Ser Pounce climbs on my bed, woken up by all the noise and ready for his morning cuddles. I indulge him for a while, before getting up to eat and dress myself for classes. Maester Rickard has given me the books I demanded, but some of them are written in High Valyrian.
"Improving two skills with one book", he called it. Cheeky northener. Nevertheless, my High Valyrian did improve, when I immersed myself in the given material. Many books on topics outside of Westeros are in High Valyrian thanks to the influence of the Valyrian Empire before it went supernova. Reading the exotic books, I see another path to take, if the situation becomes too much. Retire to the Summer Islands to live out my days living a life of Animal Crossing, rather than my current Crusader Kings 2 experience. Another option is the polar opposite of my previous one – Asshai by the Shadow. I sincerely doubt I'll look forward to a better fate if I end up as a captive of a shadowbinder or a blood mage, but I've been lucky so far. Who knows.
Once I finish daydreaming about being in a tropical paradise or becoming a powerful wizard. I set my books on the end table, check up on my secret stash and proceed to check up on the cause of today's irregularities.
I meet up with my older sister before proceeding to go to the courtyard where I find a squat man conversing with a laughing knight from the Westerlands. He notices us, and excuses himself from his current conversation, before slowly approaching us.
"Uncle Tyrion!" exclaims Myrcella before rushing into the man's embrace, whose smile could disarm an entire Khalasar. I expected him to be uglier.
"Myrcella!", the imp answers, "It's so good to see you!"
"What a beauty you are becoming", Tyrion continues, as I start walking towards them, "I'm sure all the boys in the realm drop their jaws like anchors whenever they see you." Myrcella can only blush and giggle at that compliment.
"And you", Tyrion turns towards me, before roughing up my hair and hugging me, "I don't know whether to call you the most handsome prince or the most agile prince. Your uncle Jaime has told me you'd give ser Barristan a run for his money." I doubt Jaime actually said that, but if he mentioned me to Tyrion, it means I really did catch the attention of the blonde douche. Speaking of…
"Where is ser Jaime, anyway?", Myrcella asks, beating me to the million dragon question.
"I haven't seen father or mother anywhere, either." I add, hoping Tyrion knows why the palace is deserted.
Tyrion's expressions dampen before he answers: "Your mother and father, as well as ser Jaime, are in the sept of Baelor. The hand… Jon Arryn… has passed in his sleep. They sent me to look after you while they pay their respects."
So my initial suspicions were true. Jon's death knell has sounded, serving as the starting pistol of a plot that shatters the tentative peace of Westeros after Robert's Rebellion, and a reminder of the coming storm that I must face. Am I properly preparing for it?
The progress I have made before the official story starts will serve as a good enough base for my current goal. My only goal for now. To take the Iron Throne and can make this rundown realm see the light of a new day, no matter how many nights, long or brief, might fall upon it!
"Are you still in the realm of the living, prince?" Tyrion japes. I hope that I will be, uncle.
"Barely clinging, uncle" I try making a smile, when all I want is a stern look to adorn my face.
"Come now, nephew, I'm sure you'll make it." Tyrion says, "How about you show me some of those moves you have impressed my brother with? It's time you faced someone your own size." he continues, putting up his stubby fists in a mock guard.
His offer to cheer me up breaks my solemn spell, and I agree to fool around with him and Myrcella. The three of us spend our day playing and talking, with Tyrion keeping up a decent intake of wine as fuel for our escapades. I shouldn't find it surprising how good a conversation one could hold with Tyrion, and, judging by his reactions, he is likely surprised by my own eloquence as well. The little bastard nearly manages to draw some stories of my old life from me before our time together ends and we see the royal procession return to the castle.
After dinner, I decide to see what Robert has in store for us, and if it follows the expected route. I enter his chamber, only to find him holding a cup of wine with a sad expression on his face. We make Eye contact, before I decide it's more prudent to leave him to deal with his grief first, before pestering him about who will be his future secretary.
"No no, come in, Tommen." Robert slurs, as I was about to close the door. "You needed something?"
"No, father", I meekly respond, "I… just wanted to see how are you doing."
"Really now?", his look of curiosity is made exaggerated by his drunkenness. He continues: "If you need something just say it, don't dance around the question. Stop being afraid of me"
That's an… interesting command to give.
"Yes, I see how you behave", Robert says, "You're afraid of me... You're afraid of your own father. I must be a shitty father then." He gives a sardonic laugh, before continuing: "But… This past week or so, you stopped being a crybaby and started confronting your fears, like when you confronted Joffrey. I'm proud of that, at least."
"I just want to know one thing, though", Robert asks, "why did you pick that smug prick Jaime to teach you, and not me?"
"I just", I begin nervously, wondering where this might lead, "I just don't like warhammers that much"
"You think I only know to fight with warhammers?" Robert asks. "When I fought Rhaegar on that fucking river, you think my warhammer and my strength were what won me that duel? I know how to fight with a sword. I know how people fight with swords, and I know how to fight against people that fight with swords. That's what won me all those fights."
It made sense, what Robert said. I guess he is a bit offended by my choice after all.
"I see." I finished, before dredging up another uncomfortable topic: "Father, now that lord Arryn has passed, do you know who will be the next Hand of the King?
"Of course I know. I am the king, so I get to choose him, after all." Robert answers laconically.
"So… who will it be? Uncle Stannis?" I test the waters. I haven't seen him at all during my stay here, but I could've sworn he should leave King's landing only after Jon dies. I hope my loaded question gets Robert to provide his whereabouts.
"Stannis? He is already Master of Ships and that's more than enough for his grumpiness." Robert answers, slightly infuriated, "He went back to Dragonstone a few days after Jon got sick. No, I'm giving the pin to someone else. An old friend of mine…" Robert's tone is tinged with a slight sadness as he continues, "Have I told you of lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North?" I can only shake my head in response.
"Heh, we were both at Jon's mercy when we were young. Ned paid attention to Jon's lessons more than I ever did, so if there's anyone fit to rule beside me, it's definitely Ned Stark", Robert introduced his BFF to me, and I pretend like I've never heard of him before.
I spend the rest of the evening listening to the adventures of Edd and Robb through the latter's drunken recollections, which, beyond entertaining me wildly, serve only to cement Robert's resolve to bring him here. It is this fact that prevents me from fully enjoying his stories, because I know he is bringing the honorbound man all this way south, only for him to die in this lion pit.