Chapter 1: Arrival and Departure
Upon waking, the first thing I noticed was the smell.
Well frankly, calling it a smell was something of an understatement. Hell, to call it the vilest odour that man had ever had the misfortune of encountering would still be an understatement. Imagine the most foul shit you had ever taken, mixed with the worst night of vomiting in your life, and multiply that by half a million, and then leave it to stew for several hundred years.
And these people lived with it!
Well, I wouldn't exactly call it living, per se. The short, grimy, miserable lives of the peasantry was truly deserving of pity, especially for those among them who were unfortunate enough to wind up in the steaming cesspit that was King's Landing.
If I was a peasant, forget tyranny or starvation, the stench alone would be enough to drive me to rebellion!
Fortunately, for me at least, I hadn't wound up as a peasant. I had the luxury of regular baths, of clean clothing, and of a privy in which to complete my daily ablutions. I did not need to worry about my next meal, or about being robbed, or even about being conscripted into some Lord's army to fight and possibly even die in yet another ultimately pointless battle.
Unfortunately, for me at least, was the fact that to escape all the trappings of the peasantry, I had been punished by being born into royalty. Now, to you, that may seem like a blessing. Think of all the power! Alas, I was keenly aware of the fact that such great power came with an equally great responsibility, thank you for that one, Uncle Ben.
That, however, wasn't my principal concern. You see, it wasn't a matter of what I was, but more a matter of who I was.
I was Tommen Baratheon, and with all that the name entailed. Yes, my father was a drunken tub of violent lard. Yes, my mother was a scheming incestuous harlot. Yes, my brother, the heir to the bloody throne, was a total fucking psychopath.
I wasn't gonna lie, the urge to climb to the highest terrace of the Red Keep only to go hurtling over the edge was strong.
Thankfully, that urge was quickly tempered by the fact that I was literally surrounded by fantasy characters. These were the people that a younger, nerdier version of me would have killed to be able to share a pint with. And though the plan to go tumbling down was very much still the order of the day, I simply couldn't resist the urge to share a few words with these veritable legends first, though they didn't know of their status.
Barristan the Bold, the Kingslayer, Varys, Littlefinger, Pycelle, King Robert, Queen Cersei, Sandor Clegane, Stannis Baratheon, Jon Arryn, just to list a few. And those were just the notables that I could meet in King's Landing alone. Never mind meeting Daenerys, Tyrion, Tywin, Eddard, Olenna, Brienne, or even Jon Snow. It was simply too good an opportunity for me to forsake.
After all, suicide had no deadline. If I ever felt the need, I was sure I could find a blade to fall on when the time was right.
However, contrary to my initial expectations, I often found myself lacking for time. Between lessons with the Grand-Maester, praying at the Sept, and sharing meals with my family, I scarcely had the time to fit in any facetime with those I wanted to speak with the most. What little spare time I had had previously, was now occupied by the covert martial training I had organised for myself. Obviously, given that the old Tommen spent his free time alone chasing cats, publicly announcing my interest in learning the ways of the sword would simply be too large a departure to not arouse significant suspicion.
Thankfully, the old Tommen seemed a bright chap, even if he was portrayed as being a bit naïve at times. The sudden improvement in my performance in my lessons with the Maester, especially surrounding the more technical subjects he was charged with teaching me, had not been as drastic as I had imagined it would be. He remarked upon the change only once, stating that the young prince had "developed a love for the fine art of numbers".
Fat chance, you old fuck.
No, as it is, I was just barely managing to avoid tearing my hair out in frustration at the sheer tedium of the lessons. Though learning about the history of Westeros was interesting, and learning of the politics between the houses was too, albeit to a much lesser extent, everything else was a drag. Not only was the Maester's understanding of arithmetic painfully simplistic, much of the 'science' he attempted to teach was just plain wrong.
Germs were real, goddamn it!
Alas, I couldn't prove him wrong, not without attracting more attention to my royal self than I was comfortable with. It was already difficult enough maintaining a childlike persona around everybody, without having a spotlight shined on my admittedly poor performance. That being the case, I needed a place to vent my frustrations, hence, the martial lessons.
Plus, swords were just plain cool, and nobody could convince me otherwise.
To that effect, I had approached a nameless guardsmen, splitting him off from his group as covertly as possible and asking for some tutoring with a sword. I had done this under the false pretext of not wanting to embarrass myself when I officially began my martial training, though I knew my mother would never allow me to receive it, and though it was a drain on his time, the poor guard, for fear of upsetting his prince, had assented to my request. And so, from that day hence, I would dedicate an hour of my time, just after the Maester had finished with my lessons, to slink off to a handful of agreed locations where the guard would proceed to walk me through the basics of swordplay.
Oh sure, it was just the basics for now, but it would be a nasty surprise for anyone looking to take my head against my will. To be fair, I was almost certain that Varys knew about my midday escapades, judging by the glint in his eye on the occasion that we passed each other in the many hallways and passages of the Red Keep. Save for him, however, I remained fairly certain that my attempt at secrecy had been something of a success. Neither Littlefinger nor Jon Arryn showed any signs of knowledge, and that was a result I was satisfied with. My mother and father remained out of the equation entirely, my mother far too obsessed with her eldest and fucking her brother to pay any close attention to my activities, and my father was blackout drunk and balls-deep in a whore most hours of the day.
Needless to say, I sailed right under their respective radars.
Curiously enough, the one person who had noticed, and been concerned enough to talk to me about it, was little Myrcella. She approached me after following me to one of the sessions, only to see the guardsman helping me with my positioning and swings, getting the technique down. She had hid in wait, and cornered me only after the guardsman had rushed off to attend to his duties. Her concerns about my secrecy surrounding the subject were swiftly allayed when I obfuscated the truth behind the lessons with the childish desire to squire for the Barristan the Bold. After all, what boy doesn't dream of following in the footsteps of the greatest knight of the realm?
To that end, I pretended to believe that I had to prove myself worthy of his tutelage, and hence the lessons. Myrcella, thankfully, bought the lie, offering me a wide, toothy smile and a hug and assuring me that I would be the greatest knight in the world one day.
Truth be told, I had forgotten that she was supposed to be the elder sibling between us. Still, even coming from a young child, the words of encouragement were heartening nonetheless. If nothing else, than keeping this pure, innocent girl safe was good enough cause for sticking around.
Unfortunately, this meant that I had to begin caring about the fates of the people surrounding me, and that was a truly horrifying prospect to consider. Almost everyone I currently knew would be headed, in one way or another, to a grisly demise. In some senses, once I got past the euphoric fanboy phase, the reality of Westerosi life came crashing down upon my spirits. This world was brutal, and there was no getting around that fact.
Fortunately, before I could have a full-blown panic-attack at that realisation, my mother announced a family trip at dinner.
We were departing for Casterly Rock before the end of the week.
And we were leaving the stench behind.
I had an idea for an ASOIAF fanfic and though I'd put it down on paper.
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