My low expectations of Westerosi travel speed were first shattered upon seeing Cersei's wheelhouse: a monumental tribute to her preference of comfort over practicality. The shards of my shattered expectations were further ground to dust by its wheels and their lack of reliability.
"Ahh... the wheels broke again?", I say, stretching in my bed after being woken up by the crack-thud of the axle breaking, "We were behind schedule on today's malfunction. I almost got a good night's sleep."
Opening up my eyes, I see Cersei sitting on the bed in her nightgown with an unamused expression on her face. Her morning mood becomes further aggravated by my wit, so she responds: "Mayhaps you'd like to walk all the way to Winterfell instead and pitch a tent every night before sleep?"
"There's no reason why we should suffer this, especially when the solution is obvious: less load weight on the axle." I explain, "Splitting this titan up into two smaller wheelhouses would be best."
"And who would travel in the second one? Myrcella and yourself need to be in my sight during the journey." Cersei asks.
"Robert and Joffrey, for example?", I answer with a shrug.
"Robert and Joffrey wish to ride by horse, not by wheelhouse, as I'm sure you know." Cersei replies, getting a chance to use the Lannister smugness. With Cersei and Jaime, smugness seems to be a biological urge, rather than a state of mind.
"Except when father gets drunk." I say, needing not to remind her how often it happens, considering he brought a cart with barrels of wine: a medieval fuel cistern for his debauchery. "Then, he seeks the comforts of the wheelhouse, rather than the saddle; and Joffrey doesn't want to sleep in a tent alone, either, when he can just lay in a bed as well."
She isn't the only one with road frustrations, and she is responsible for commissioning this wheelhouse, so I have no qualms about telling her how it is. But, Cersei doesn't like my standoffish behavior, no matter how justified it may be, and her expression tells me just as much.
"I'm going to go check if uncle Jaime or uncle Tyrion are awake." I say, intercepting any words of criticism that may have followed my outburst and exiting the carriage.
There are few luxuries to look forward to during our trip, compared to the ones offered back in King's Landing. Those luxuries, however, are unique to the trip itself.
For once, I feel crisp, cool air rushing through my nose and filling up my lungs in a way that the stale city air could never manage. I've remembered the many insulting phrases used to describe the smell of King's Landing, but, even when passing Fleabottom, the scent didn't reach those depths. It leads me to believe that the Lannister mismanagement of the city was to blame for that – something to prevent if possible. The capital city is supposed to be the symbol of a country, especially its state and government. Letting it fall into disrepair would be nothing more than a testament to incompetency.
Another luxury to look forward to is the time with Tyrion.
"Good morning, dearest nephew." the shorter uncle greeted, "Slept well?"
"No." I said, "It looks like you did, though... I'm wondering how, considering how much fun you and father had the previous evening."
To my surprise, Robert and Tyrion weren't brothers in cups before the trip. It took some time for Robert to even tolerate Tyrion, much less drink with him. It didn't help that Tyrion wasn't a planned passenger, so Robert saw him nothing more than a leech sucking on his reservoir of wine. Fortunately, the two found many mutual interests (tits & wine, of course) and became buddies thenceforth.
"A few cups of wine won't erode my enthusiasm, young prince." Tyrion said, theatrically," Now, I must make my way to some food before they fix your mother's wheelhouse"
The 'they' that Tyrion refers to aren't dedicated maintenance workers, but instead regular soldiers who happened to be the closest to the cart at the time of breaking. Their repair process consists of looking at the broken thing like a deer at oncoming headlights, before bullying each other into trying to fix it. If you fail, you get a light smack and get called a stupid cunt. Should you succeed, you get the privilege of smacking the others and calling them stupid cunts instead. The group of soldiers then convinces another group to switch places, avoiding being on maintenance duty, and the cycle begins anew.
With these logistics in mind, Tyrion needn't rush to break his fast. There is enough time for a proper lunch as well.
"May I accompany you, uncle?" I ask.
Tyrion shrugs before saying: "I don't see why not. Come, let's get some sausages for the both of us."
We make our way to the food cart, push aside anyone who isn't royalty (a funny thing, considering we are both barely up to anyone's thighs) and grab some food. I find a blanket and set it up on the open grass for our royal asses to sit, and we proceed with our morning meal.
"So, uncle…" I say, chewing on Westeros-brand hardtack, "What interests you about Winterfell so much that you decided to come with us?"
"The new Hand of the King is there, from what I hear, making it a most interesting place to visit, does it not?" Tyrion says, "But that's not my real destination. I want to travel to the Wall."
"Thinking of taking the black to atone for your lecherous ways?" I say with a smile.
He laughs, before answering: "No, my dear nephew… There's still more lechery for me to commit before I even think about taking the black. They'll have to hold against the White Walkers a while longer."
"I'm sure you'd make a fine ranger, uncle. Lord-Commander Lannister has a nice ring to it."
He laughs even harder at that. Our smiles dim a little after that: my own after being reminded about the emerging White Walkers; Tyrion's for a reason only he knows, but one I can suspect.
"I can only imagine my father bearing such a title" Tyrion says, confirming my suspicions. His smile returns before proceeding with the conversation: "He would probably refuse to believe in the White Walkers even as they stare him down."Tyrion finishes. We chuckle at that thought.
"Speaking of your father, I remember he put you in charge of the sewage in Casterly Rock. Did you ever consider doing the job again in King's Landing?" I ask.
"Why would I?" Tyrion asks, laughing at the proposition.
"Because, outside of the keep, the sewage system is garbage, and I think it might affect the image of the entire city at some point." I explain.
"Why do you even worry about that? That's the job of the small council, not two small second sons like you and myself." Tyrion continues, "Besides, King's Landing would be far more complicated to tidy up than Casterly Rock was."
"It isn't that complicated. It's still relatively tidy, all things considered." I rebut.
Tyrion stares at me for a moment, potato wedge in hand, before asking: "No offense, Tommen, but how do you know of the state in the outskirts of King's Landing without leaving the castle?"
"It's what I do, uncle. I stay in the castle, and I know things." I reply with a grin. His slightly shocked expression turns to one of acquiescence, before finally eating the potato he held.
"So, uncle, what would it take to convince you to help drain the city of waste?" I ask
"It isn't quick nor easy to properly install-" He begins, before I interrupt.
"I never said anything about proper installations., not yet at least." I add. I'm fully aware than any proper installation wouldn't be even halfway done before the first siege or riot hits the capital, which is why I'm interested in quick fixes before anything concrete and permanent is made.
"We should make something basic at first, before committing to a better solution, just in case." I say.
"We would have to discuss this with the king and small council." Tyrion dampens our mood with politics.
"That part, uncle… Leave that to me." I smile to reassure him.
We part ways and I seek out Jaime, wanting to take the opportunity to train with him - something that's surprisingly hard to do now. We cannot spar during traveling times, and when we make a stop, he is either having a meal, sleeping, or guarding Robert. Our schedule has become erratic, so I have to make use of any free time available.
My progress has hit a plateau. I find my attacks getting outmaneuvered, which frustrates me to no end, since I think I control his blade, only to find it poking my belly as I'm delivering the killing blow. After the seventh time this happened today, I find myself throwing my training sword at the ground and kicking it for good measure out of frustration.
"How dare that sword make you lose." Jaime laughs with his smug, mocking smile, before picking my sword up from the ground and giving it back to me.
"You focus too much on my sword. Look at the body. My sword can come at you from many sides, which is impossible to keep up with. You want to know how to watch for swings, check this out." He says before stepping back.
"Watch the hands." he says, making slow attacks and feints for me to properly see. "The hand controls the sword, the sword goes where the hand tells it to. It's easier to figure out an attack when you look at the hands rather than the sword." He demonstrates another feint, left to right, as the lesson finally clicks into place.
"Of course, watch the eyes as well, and the shoulders. If an opponent has intent behind the attack, if he won't feint it, he will shift his entire body with the attack, rather than just his hand and arm." He explains, leaning his entire body into an overhead strike.
"And, this should go without saying, looking at the body allows you to see where you can strike your opponent." Jaime finishes his lesson.
We clash a few more times before getting properly exhausted and sitting down on a fallen tree to rest.
Jaime offers me his wineskin, which I politely decline. I look around for people and prepare to ask a question, before deciding against asking it.
"Is there something you wish to ask me, Tommen?" Jaime asks.
"No." I say, shaking my head hastily. Not yet, at least.
I return to the wheelhouse right on time to find it repaired and ready to roll. The next interesting stop was later that day, as the sun began to fall behind the hills, and the sky and clouds started to turn the colors of autumn leaves.
Settling into the inn, I heard my name being called for.
"Tommen!" Robert called from horseback, with Joffrey and his disdainful stare next to him. "Come, there's something I haven't shown you."
I got on horseback and followed him until we reached a riverside where the water was shallow enough to cross.
"Do you boys know where we are?" Robert asked.
"Yes…" Joffrey answered in a disinterested tone, not giving the river a second look.
Robert wore an insulted look as he looked at Joffrey for a moment. He then continued to me: "Tommen… This right here is the Ruby Ford." he noticed my look for surprise, taking it as a sign of interest"
"This is where I've slain Rhaegar when I descended my warhammer upon him like a thunderbolt from the sky!" he said, his voice getting rough as he finished.
"And the place where you became a king." I add.
"Aye." Robert continued. "It's not what I expected, or wanted, to win when I marched on the Targaryens, but it's what the Gods gave me in the end."
I inspect the scene a little closer now that I know it's imbued with history. I can envision the battle between Robert and Rhaegar playing out on the river, like a tango of heavy blows between the two, centered in the storm of the battle itself. Must have been hell for movement though.
"I can imagine the difficulty of moving around in the water, compounded by the heavy armor."
Robert barked out a laugh. "Aye, that was a slog. The currents weren't fast that day, thank the gods, else we'd be swimming for the kingdom, not fighting over it."
I snickered at that and continued to look at the view, conjuring up soldiers in my mind to portray the battle again, before Joffrey interrupted us with his fidgeting.
"Your brother seems to be bored, having been here before. Lets go back..." He trailed off, a disappointed tone in his voice.
Later during the trip, once we entered the north and found another inn to stay at, was when we had a delicate situation.
Sitting at the table with us was a chipper Robert eating stew and telling us about the north.
"Ahh, it's as good as it was when I first came to eat here, all those years ago." Robert laughed heartily. "Everything I needed could be found at the North: a warm bed, a warm stew and, err..." Robert trailed off, finally noticing everyone staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to finish with 'a warm northern wife' – Lyanna.
Cersei didn't say a word, but glowered at him with an unspoken threat. Robert did not dare provoke her, his previous mood banished, now eating the stew half-heartedly. The mood was tense until we went to our quarters to sleep. Later that night, I heard them keep the whole inn awake with arguing and shouting.
"I can't even enjoy a proper meal without you ruining it. Nine years have I not set foot here and you intend on ruining it on the very first day! Nine years!" Robert growled.
"Even another ninety could pass, and you would still dredge up the ghost of the girl you wished to marry before me! Even on our wedding night you whispered her name! You didn't even give me a day of marriage before you wished to replace me with her." Cersei howled.
It went back and forth for a while, before she stormed out the door and went outside the inn, straight to the wheelhouse to sleep, marching some of her guards with her.
The anger between them cooled down, along with the weather, as we reached the regional capital of the North – Winterfell.