Today I woke up to a rush in the Red Keep that sharply contrasted yesterday's sombre atmosphere. The Keep's staff are swarming the hallways in preparation for my family's trip to the North, and soon flood my own chambers as well. It takes some tact to lead them away from the spots in my room where I have hidden my stolen goods, and after my official inventory has been properly packed, I usher out my servants and think about which of the raided items to bring on the road, before I go and finish up my work in King's Landing.
The dagger is easily concealed. I'll keep it on me, and hide it when necessary. Something about the manticore venom compels me to bring it as well, just in case.
Firstly, I look for Cersei in her chambers, in which I spot Pycelle already talking to her about a breach in security.
"A vial of manticore venom, a...a most potent substance," Pycelle stammers out, "has been found missing from my inventory. It will kill a man within moments of reaching the bloodstream, if… if applied by means of a bladed weapon."
Cersei, who was already annoyed about the impending travel to Winterfell, asked the grandmaester: "Why do we have vials of deadly poison lying around unsecured, grandmaester?", she tilts her head in pissed off perplexion, before continuing: "I don't know what link is earned for common sense, but I fear that you might need to be sent back to the Citadel to obtain it, if you don't find the culprit and secure your vials properly."
With a reply like that, I believe that Cersei shouldn't be concerned about an untracked vial of venom in the Keep, since it pales in comparison to her own virulent words.
He doesn't mention anything about the shade of the evening, which means he found my warlock entry completely legitimate. I suppress an outburst of laughter thinking about how he must've reacted to my forgery. He raises no further issues as he waddles away, leaving Cersei alone with me.
"Mother..." I break the ice.
"Little cub.", she replies, all previous loathing gone, "How are you? Did your servants pack your belongings for the trip?"
"They have, Mother. I-", I try again to state the real reason why I'm here, before Cersei interrupts again.
"Wonderful. The Stark family has two or three children your age, so don't feel bad about leaving King's Landing. You'll have other kids to play with. I expect you and Myrcella not to partake in their games if they're too wild. The prince and princess should be leading their games, and not the other way around." She projects her own feelings about the trip north and commands us to be domineering as guests. Wonderful, indeed.
"Is there something else that bothers you, Tommen?" Cersei asks, seeing that her previous statement wasn't enough to leave her alone.
"There is, Mother." I finally begin, "Nothing about the trip itself, though. I'm more curious about what happens when we come back." Cersei perks up at that.
"What do you mean?", Cersei asks, her tone now laced with anticipation.
"It's just that…", I continue, nervously, "It's just that I'm wondering what you think of father's old friend. Have you met him before?"
"Once or twice", Cersei responds, after a short pause. She withheld her opinion of him. I internally translate her silence into "My thoughts of Robert's childhood friends are unsuited to a child's ears, as with my thoughts on anything related to Robert. I see Stark as the lord of rednecks and his very existence is far beneath my consideration."
"I see.", I say, pausing shortly before continuing, "I believe you tried convincing him to let grandfather take his place?"
She scoffs, shaking her head in disapproval. "I have. Even before Jon Arryn died, I have laid out reason after reason as to why your grandfather would be the best choice for the position, but Robert refuses.", Cersei says, before continuing in a mocking tone: "'I won't want to see any more Lannisters than I already do', he says."
Sounds about right. Nevertheless, I press on:
"Last night I visited father's chambers, finding him deep in equal parts grief and wine…" but probably more wine than grief. "I asked him, too, what will happen now that Jo-lord Arryn is gone, to which he told me of lord Stark."
I continue, now capturing Cersei's attention: "From what he told me of him, I understand he followed Jon Arryn's lessons, as well as his own code of honor, more devoutly than Robert did. It's no surprise, then, that father chose him, seeing him as a spiritual successor to lord Arryn, who managed the realm well enough."
"I just hope father's friend doesn't work himself to death like the last Hand of the King. It would look suspicious to many.", I wrap my speech up with this loaded sentence.
"I…", Cersei says, as she tries to regain composure "I certainly hope not. This trip is wearing me down already, and we haven't even left King's Landing. If I had to endure one more trip just to fetch Robert's friend…" she trails off, looking through the window.
I look at her for a while, taking note of her behavior, and then continue: "I guess it's in everyone's interest that the new Hand has a long and easy rule, unmarred by unexpected complications, then."
"Why are you concerning yourself with this? Now, of all times?" She turns to ask me, voice raised, with the morning sun framing her face.
"Is there a better time than now?" I answer daringly, tongue faster than thought, earning me an angry glare from the queen. Her blonde hairstyle looks like a radiant crown when embellished by the sun, giving her the appearance of a wrathful solar goddess.
"There is no apt time for a boy like you to concern himself with the health of old lords." she approaches me, cupping my face in her hands. "I understand if lord Arryn's death has awoken fears about the passing of your family and friends, but it's highly unusual to talk about the death of lords you haven't even met before. Spoken to the wrong people, those words could be taken as an insult, or worse. Understand?"
"I understand, mother." I answer, feigning sheepishness.
"Good… Go see if Myrcella's finished with her packing." Cersei ushers me out with those words. I have nothing more to gain from this conversation, except unnecessary ire from the queen.
Once the packing and preparation is complete, and the crowd of servants dies down, the royal family departs from the Keep and, ultimately, King's Landing. Our presence is greeted with cheers and praises by the smallfolk as we pass by their windows and shops, while the soldiers of both Lannister and Baratheon stock flank us, to keep any curious commoner from getting too close to us. Contained in the queen's carriage, though, I can only get a general idea of the scenery outside, the details left to my imagination.
Exiting King's Landing for the first time, I look back at the city, and take a look at the salmon-colored castle that towers over the rest of the architecture, which I'm lucky to call my place of residence. It puts my whole situation in perspective, considering I could've been placed in a far worse position, if I got any life here other than this one. There is a hollow comfort in that, in my case, I can hope for a comfortable life before a brutal death, which can not be said for the rest of the denizens of Westeros, who can only hope for misery from the cradle to the grave with the occasional commercial break..
We exit our carriage, only to be ushered into a comically larger carriage, looking more like a horse-drawn cottage. With over forty horses and ten wheels, I find myself at a loss of words, for this is the most impractical display of luxury I've seen during my stay here.
"Fuckin' wheelhouse…" Robert mutters under his breath, summarizing my feelings about the motel on wheels I beheld.
I let out a deep sigh, as I enter it, surreptitiously checking if the dagger is still on me. My preparation period ends the moment the wheelhouse starts it's crawl towards Winterfell, and the game of thrones officially kicks off.