Sandor POV

It has been a hectic few days since I became the sworn sword of the King. And since Selmy and Oakheart have yet to return from Storm's End, his remaining Kingsguards have been steadily getting more and more tired from the long shifts. The King has graciously given his protectors the night off to recuperate and rest. I have been given the sole responsibility of protecting the King on this night, aside from his constant feline companion. They were hesitant to accept, but Draedon was very insistent and persuasive. This is what we have planned for, for this very moment in time.

I move silently through the White Sword Tower, where the four knights are sleeping. I have to slowly walk up so that I do not make noise and wake them. My follower is doin his best to remain quiet, but he is not as good as I. I make him give me some space on our way up. Silence is my best ally at the moment, so I had to dress for the occasion. Dark wool tunic, so no heavy armor clanking about. Simple breeches and methodical steps make sure my boots make no more excruciatingly loud thuds on the ground. Heel to toe when you step, bend at the knees; that is the proper way to sneak.

I make it to the sleeping cells on the third floor of the tower. Two of the three cells hold bodies of the the sleeping knights of the Kingsguard. I peer into the closest one and hear the calm resting breathing of Boros Blount. I have always wondered how hard his flat nose has to work to keep the short cunt alive, as it turns out, he breathes through his mouth at night. I should have known as much.

I look to my follower and motion for him to stop and wait outside. He halts and nods, nervously in fact, if I say so myself. I enter his cell and look down at his resting form. I pull my dagger out of my belt and ready it in my hand. I take a breath and when I do, he shifts in his cot.

I move quietly, and gently place my hand to his mouth. He begins to wake up, I can see the light haze that covers his eyes from the abrupt awakening. So I quickly plunge my dagger into his throat. He wakes up fully then and tries to fight me, but weakens with each passing second. I watch the life leave his eyes, as his blood rushes over my hand. Its warmth is very familiar to me.

When Boros the Belly finally stops twitching, I stand up fully. I walk out of his cell and look down to my clothing, my white tunic has turned the deep red of blood. I look at my follower, and see his widened eyes staring at my dyed clothing. I motion for him to pull his weapon out and prepare himself for possible threats. He nervously pulls a dagger, the dagger I gave him earlier this night, out of his belt and holds it loosely in his shaking hand.

I roll my eyes at the sight. I walk quietly to the next cell on this floor, but find it empty, it must be Oakheart's. Which means that the third and final cell on this floor level, will be filled with a warm body. I find Mandon Moore sleeping on the cot when I creep into the small room. I almost end his life, but I stop myself and step out of the room, and beckon my little follower over.

"Your turn to kill." I speak lowly to the boy. He looks confused at my words. "That is the deal. We do this together, blood on both of our hands." He bites his lower lip. "If you want the gold, take that dagger and slice his fucking throat." He whimpers lightly at my harsh tone, but moves to do as I said.

I watch him take slow, deliberate steps closer to Moore's sleeping form. His lithe body shaking with fear. I assume most men have that fear when they are about to take their first life. He stops and starts taking heavy breaths. I fear that Moore will wake up from the sound and that would mean that I failed my King.

Then, almost out of nowhere, the boy strikes. He pounces on the sleeping knight and glides he dagger over his throat. The wound spurts the man's life force out ferociously. It sprays the boy and ruins his servant outfit. Moore, not one to die that easily, claws at the boy, ripping at his eyes, drawing blood of his own. He stumbles back out into the living area. He raises a shaky hand and touches his gaunt face, his blonde hair dripping the red droplets of blood. He feels his eye and the small amount of blood that is coming from the marks.

He pulls his hand away, now painted as red as Moore's entire body. He sees the blood on his hand and just stares it for a few moments. I can not tell if it is his blood, or Moore's. A smile splits his face, it appears he likes the thrill of taking the life of another. He turns to me with a new expression, one that replaces his nervous disposition he held earlier. He is anxious for the next kill, I can see it in his blue eyes.

I motion for the boy to follow upstairs to the next floor, to where the remaining two knights are. He nods almost giddily at me. We cover the distance from the dead bodies to the sleeping ones rather quickly. Taking two stairs at a time, as quietly as we can. We finally make it to the top of stairway; to the fourth floor. I look back to the stairs, and see two sets of bloody boot prints.

I nod my head over to the lone cell on the right side of the wall, the still grinning boy nods and begins to walk silently to it. I turn my attention to the other side of the room, and begin to prowl towards my prey, much like a hound would a fox. The cell I enter turns out to be that of the droopy eyed cunt, Meryn Trant. I can only smile at my luck, I would much rather kill Trant over Greenfield. Not that I would not kill Greenfield, but I fucking hate Trant much more than his brother in arms.

I have waited for this moment for a few years now. I ready my dagger and gently press it to his throat, his red beard hair laying on the blade slightly. I press it deeper into his skin deeper, cutting him faintly, blood droplets dripping slowly down his neck. The pressure of the blade or the pain of it digging into him awakens him. His eyes immediately focus on me, fear evident in them. His mouth opening in confusion, about to ask me what in the Seven Hells do I think I am doing. So I stop him before he can speak.

I push the dagger in deeper and slide it across his throat. Blood rushes from the fresh opening and he gurgles the words he was going to speak. I press it even deeper into the cunt's throat and slice through more of his flesh. I do not realize how long I do it until I stop and stand to see just what the cell looks like, what his corpse looks like.

I had cut, I suppose saw would be the better term for what I had done to him, I had sawed his throat all the way to his spine. Which is actually kind of funny, since I had always thought he was as spineless as any person could be. I leave the cell and see my little follower already waiting on me, fresh blood on his clothes and hands. Bloody smile still on his face.

"Ser Preston is dead. I slit his throat." He says it with joy in his voice. He approaches me in the center of the open room. "So do I get my pay now?"

I stare at the boy long and hard. I smirk at his eagerness. "The King thanks you for your service." I untie a coin bag from my belt, and toss it to the boy. He catches it with ease. He slips his bloody dagger back into his belt and opens the pouch. Confusion litters his face.

"This does not seem right. It only looks like a few hundred."

"Five hundred gold dragons." I say simply. He looks at me with even more confusion. I sigh. "The King truly appreciates what you have done here on this night. Everything you have done," I place my hand on his shoulder and look him in his puzzled eyes. "And for everything that you have yet to do." His eyes widen just a touch before I drive my dagger into his gut. I twist the blade as blood begins to leak from his mouth. The fear is clear in his eyes, ashis breathing becomes labored.

I push it upwards from his stomach to his heart, making sure when he drops, he stays there. I rip it out of his body and push him to the ground. I look at his prone body and watch the blood pour out of him. I crouch down and check to see if he is breathing; he is not. I pull his dagger out of his belt and toss it close to the body, so it looks like he dropped it. I turn around and head for the stairs. I have to get back to the King. It is going to be a long night.

Draedon POV

"So I have no Kingsguards alive in the city, there are only three spots filled on my Small Council, and I am only in the first week of my reign. Any comments or suggestions on how to fix something wrong here?" I look around the table to my esteemed council. Silence is all that answers my question. "Just speak if you have one."

Varys looks at me. "Letters can be written and sent out to inform people of the open spots that need to be filled with knights on the Kingsguard. I can have them written and sent by this night, if it pleases, Your Grace." His soft voice carries over the table easily.

I nod. "See it done, Lord Varys." He bows his head in acknowledgement at my request. "Any suggestions about new Council members?" Pycelle turns his head in my direction, chain jingling around his neck.

The ancient man finally speaks after a few moments of silence. "Your grandfather, Lord Tywin, is the best choice for your Hand. He has years of experience at the position, the only person in the Seven Kingdoms that is able to say that." He finally finishes his statement. It is a very logical thought.

I sigh. "Bring me a piece of parchment and an inkwell, so that I may write to Lord Stannis, recalling him back to King's Landing. Until responses come back, we will leave it at this. How are the Crown's financial situation, Lord Baelish?" I look to the slender man.

"We have six million in debt total. Three million to Lord Tywin, one million to the Faith, and two million scattered around between the Tyrells, the Iron Bank, and a few Tyroshi trading cartels." He strokes his pointed goatee as he speaks.

I can only rub my head as I listen to the list of people who I now owe gold to. I can feel an ache coming from the stress of my new responsibilities. I need to think of a way to lower this debt, and quickly.

"Lord Baelish, I would like to see the books. Send them to my room as soon as possible." He looks at me in surprise at first, before it changes to his usual smirk.

"Are you sure, Your Grace? It is just numbers on dusty pages of some books." I can only stare at the small man. His grey-green eyes staring back at me.

I blink a single time. "Yes, Lord Baelish. I am quite sure." I say calmly.

He looks away from me. "I will have it done at once, Your Grace." He bows his head.

"Good. Is there anything else of import that I need to know, or can we conclude this council meeting?" I ask openly to the members at the table. Silence reigns for a few moments, eyes look towards the Spider.

"Your Grace, there is one message." I look at the eunuch, his soft eyes staring at my own. "As you know, Lord Renly left the capital a day after your father died, and traveled in the direction of Highgarden, with Ser Loras Tyrell in tow." I nod my head in recognition of the actions of my uncle. "It appears that the Lords of the Reach have thrown their support behind him, and have begun to rally their banners."

"Does these Lords include the Tyrells?" I ask curiously.

He smiles strangely. "Yes, Your Grace, it does." He speaks in his high pitched voice. "Although, Lord Willas Tyrell is not among them. He has disappeared in the night with some of his hawks and hounds, with a small group of men to guard him on his travels." He finishes.

I look at the table for a moment, before turning back to him. "And where is Willas? Or where is he going?"

"I have no idea as to where he is, but he was last seen traveling on the Roseroad, before sightings have stopped." He finishes with a small smile.

I nodded my head at him. "So, where does this leave us?"

"I propose we wait to see if he turns up somewhere unexpected." Grand Maester Pycelle says slowly, which is normal for him.

"I meant about Renly, Grand Maester. But thank you for your input." I nod my head towards the old man. His cheeks begins to turn red underneath his thick white beard.

Varys looks around the table before looking at me. "Lord Renly appears to have intentions to stake a claim to the throne." He finishes in his soft voice.

"He is third in line for the throne." I say simply. "What is this supposed to mean exactly?" The council members bow their heads, or otherwise avert their eyes away from me. Varys takes a breath before speaking words that I know he is going to say.

"War is coming." Varys says firmly.

My heart plummets into my stomach at his words. Knowing what is going to be said, and hearing them are two very different feelings.

"So it is." I say slowly. I stand to leave the room. "Write to Tywin and the Stark boy, tell them to ready their respective forces to protect their King." I walk out of the door and the meeting. I barely notice when Sandor falls in place behind me, as I walk in no particular direction.

As I walk, I think of what is happening as of right now. I have war happening between the Lannisters and the Starks, with the Riverlands being razed because of it. The North has rallied behind Eddard's oldest son, who is leading the army for now, while Lord Stark will being leaving a few days time to join them and take over as the head of the army. It has been arranged for Lord Stark and his youngest daughter to leave on a ship set on course for White Harbor in just a few days time. Most of his guard will leave with him, only a handful of guards will stay to protect Sansa. Her friend, Jeyne and her father will stay here as well.

Can the Starks and Lannisters fight with each other, or is it only against each other?

With the North and the Westerlands at each other's throats in the Riverlands, and the Reach rising up in the South, the next few moons will surely dictate how my reign will be viewed. How I handle these situations will show the people what kind of King, what kind of person, I truly am.

I am taken from my thoughts when I realize that I am standing in the Throne Room. Only myself, Sandor, and the iron monstrosity are inside the room. It is as if my eyes are being pulled towards it without my consent, because I feel compelled to look at it. I begin to count the swords as I unwillingly peer at it. I make it all the way to fifty swords, before I realize that I have been creeping towards the seat of power, and I have made it to the stairs that hoist the great seat above all else. I slowly take each step with great pause. I vaguely hear Sandor call for me.

Slowly, I make my way to the top of the stairs, all the while, never taking my eyes off of the hauntingly beautiful creation. When I reach the top, I begin to saunter towards my throne. I lower my hand to lay on the armrest of it. I feel the sharp edges of the swords that my hand rests upon. The rough texture of the iron blade raises the hair on my arms as I rub it. The edge of the blade slices my finger slightly, drawing blood out of the small incision.

I gingerly turn my back to my throne and look out over the empty room. Before I noticed it happening, I am firmly planted on the uncushioned seat. I lean into the uncomfortable backrest, my back conforming to the throne's design. And in that moment, everything becomes dulled. The thoughts of war, the fear I feel, everything. In that moment, I am at peace.

I look to where Sandor stands dutifully at the base of the steps, staring at me. He begins smirking at me, I can only imagine what he is thinking. I half expect mother to walk through the door and smile at me, for finally realizing the power I sit on, that I now have in the palm of my hands.

This feeling scares me, I am not used to feeling like this. This feeling of being in power, it is foreign to me. I do not know if I like it, maybe I could get used to this feeling, like I am used to feeling weak. So this strange sensation is how I could feel all the time, I just have to accept this. Accept my position in the Kingdoms, accept my position as King.

As I stare out into the empty room, the first true look I have ever given from here, and I realize something. I realize that I like this view. That I want this view for many years to come. That I will do anything to keep this throne in my possession. If Renly wants to lay a claim to it, that will be fine. But he will not take it from me, I refuse to give my throne up to a fucking pillow biter, of all people.

So if it is war that Renly wants, then it is war that he will get.

Barristan POV

I can only ignore the words that are coming from the Septon, as I watch the dirt as it tossed onto the finished grave of the latest King that I swore my life to. He marks the third King that I have served, while his son will be the fourth, and I pray that he will be the final one. Jaehaerys gave me the cloak that I have worn with pride since I was twenty and three. I liked my brothers the best with Aerys. The peace that followed with Robert was the best. But Draedon, well Draedon I like the best out of them.

I had watched Jaehaerys wither away from sickness. I had seen Aerys lose his mind and do horrible things. I watched Robert change from the Warrior himself, into a fat drunkard. But I have seen Draedon grow from a boy to a man grown. A bit soft for a King, but I am sure that he will change with time. He was always a late bloomer when it came to things. He was eight when he first read a book, he never looked back after. He was ten and two when he picked up a sword for the first time, now he challenges me in the training yard. He will learn how to be a strong King, it is what he does. It takes time for him to settle in to a new task, but he will adapt to the new challenge, like always.

I just wonder how long it will take him to change.

I look at my fellow White Cloak brother, Ser Arys Oakheart. The King chose him to accompany me when I transported his father's body. He is without a helm at the burial, allowing his shoulder length hair to shine in the sun. He turns to look at me, hair moving with the light breeze that is blowing, a serious expression on his face, a most unusual look for him. Sir Arys has always worn a lazy smile, or a carefree look, but never a serious, gloomy expression.

When the fresh dirt is finally finished being tossed on the grave, Lord Stannis walks over to me and my brother. We stand at attention as he nears. My white helm reflecting the summer sun's light, directly into the eyes of the Red Woman that follows behind the Lord of Storm's End. She does not blink as the light strikes her eyes, not even a little. She stares at me as she walks towards my standing form. I turn to look at the knight that follows Stannis, Ser Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight.

Before they can reach us, a servant boy runs up to Stannis, with a letter in hand. "M'lord, a raven came from the capital." The boy cries out.

He hands the letter to Stannis, who just accepts it and dismisses the heavily-breathing lowborn boy. The boy bows his head and runs back to where he came from. When I turn away from the retreating form of the boy, I meet the eyes of the Red Woman, she apparently has never looked away from me. I do not show it, but she unnerves me to no end, with her knowing stare. It is as if she is seeing all of the horrible things I have done in all of my years of life. I turn my attention to the letter the boy brought, as it is sealed with the royal sigil of a crowned stag.

Stannis' usually serious face has contorted into one of anger. Pure fury burning inside of his blazing blue eyes. Ser Davos stands dutifully by his side, but his face gives away his worry. The woman finally takes her alluring eyes off of me, and places them on Lord Stannis and his now crumpled letter.

"Has something happened, my Lord?" Davos breaks the silence between our little group. Stannis turns on him, with speed I did not expect the man to possess.

He takes a few calming breaths before he responds. "It appears that my nephew was attacked by a damn assassin." I feel my heart begin to beat faster at his words. He turns to look at me and Arys, who I can tell from his sharp intake of breath, is in no better shape than I. "The letter says that if it were not for Clegane, the cutthroat surely would have made it to the King. The entirety of the Kingsguard that remained inside the capital to protect the King, has perished." He hands the letter to me, and I read it as quickly as I can.

Uncle Stannis,

I can only assume that father's burial has happened, so I hope it went well and without a problem. I am writing to inform you that the Red Keep is not as secure as I have believed it to be. An assassin entered the White Sword Tower, and slayed my Kingsguard. We believe that he had mistaken the tower and just adapted to the mistake. If Sandor had not been entering the tower in search of a place to rest, I fear what would have happened to my family. I ask that when you read this, to immediately find Ser Barristan and Ser Arys and send them back to the capital. And if you were in the procession with them, I would much appreciate it. I need you uncle.

Your nephew,

Draedon of the House Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm

I hand the letter to Arys, who reads just as quickly as I. He nods as he hands the parchment back to Lord Stannis. "My Lord, I would ask that you provide us with provisions for our travels, as we must leave in haste." I say as Arys nods alongside me.

"Do not fret, Ser Barristan. A ship will be prepared for you in just a few days and then you will be able to set sail. Or if you would like, you and Ser Arys can take some horses and arrive in the capital in close to a fortnight. The choice is yours." The stern Lord of Storm's End stares at me with a piercing gaze.

Ser Arys speaks for the first time on this day. "If it pleases, Lord Commander," I nod to my brother in arms to continue, "It seems like it would be better to wait for the ship to be prepared. I do not know about you, but I am still weary from our travels here and I would like the rest."

I sigh at his words. I can understand his sentiment about wanting to rest, as it has been a long few weeks, and rest would be nice. But, the King has no Kingsguard in the city and he needs them. All he has to protect him is the Hound and his pet lion. But, would the two of us really be of much help, if we can not even get through our shifts without falling asleep at our posts?

My internal debate comes to an end as I turn to our host. "If we may, my Lord, we would enjoy the comfort of your keep, if you will have us."

"Of course, Ser Barristan. Start resting for your journey back." Stannis says before he spins on his heel and walks back towards his family's ancestral keep. Ser Davos following behind him, after a brief nod of recognition towards myself and Ser Arys. But the Red Woman stays behind and stares at me and my brother.

She saunters towards me and stops when her body is very close to my own. So close, in fact, that the scent of her auburn hair fills my nostrils."I wish I were going with you when you return to the capital. It would be nice to be able to finally see the man that the flames will not show me." She walks away after that, her eastern accent lingering in my ears.

I look at Arys, who looks at me at the same time. He widens his eyes and releases a breath. I can only shake my head at the strange woman. The King will have his hands full with her, if Queen Dowager Cersei lets her get close enough to him. We make our way into the ancient keep, the place we shall rest our heads for the night, to sleep and replenish our bodies for the long journey that awaits us in the near future.

Myrcella POV

Tommen's food is perfectly cooked, exactly how he asked for it. His bacon, flimsy and undercooked, so he can chew on it for a while. Mother's food is always made to her liking, as the servants and kitchen maids are terrified of her. I watch her stab her fork into one of her sausage links and bite into it. I look down to my plate and feel envy wash over me for mother's sausage.

My eggs are not quite as done as I had hoped. They are still runny in the middle. My bacon has been burned black, and I do not like it like that. Even my crisp fried fish is undercooked and mushy as opposed to crisp, how it was supposed to be. I am confused about how it can turn out mushy, when it is supposed to be crispy. It has set the tone for the rest of my day, it is not going to be a good day.

But then Draedon entered the dining room and my day seemed to brighten up. I can feel the smile find its way to my face, as my eyes land on him. His crown gleaming in the light as he walks towards the mahogany table, shining as brightly as his beautiful eyes. He stops briefly to tell a servant of the food he desires, but he continues over to us.

He reaches where Tommen is sitting first, and a slight pang of jealousy hits me. I should be the one that gets his affection first, not Tommen. I am the one who should have their hair tousled about right now, not my little brother.

Next, he moves over to mother and bends to kiss her cheek. The pang returns harder than before. He should be kissing me, not her.

"Good morning, mother." He even speaks to her first. Anger beginning to form with the jealousy.

"Same to you, Draedon. Did you sleep well?" Mother says, with a hand on his arm as he walks towards me and the empty chair that is next to me, on the right.

He flashes her his perfect smile, as he walks farther away from her. "I slept as easily as I could hope to."

Mother just nodded her head at his words, as he passes behind my chair. I fear that he ignores me, but only for a moment. I feel his powerful arms wrap around my lithe body, while he maneuvers around to firmly kiss my cheek.

"Good morning to you too, dear sister." He lightly says. His face still so close to my own, that his beard tickles my cheek as he speaks.

A warm feeling fills my belly as he hugs me. I love this feeling, and it only happens when Draedon is around or touching me. I do not feel it with mother or Tommen, I did not feel it with father, or with any of my uncles. Only Draedon. It has only just started recently though, I do not know what this feeling is, but I enjoy it tremendously.

"Hello to you too, Draedon." I say with a small giggle that I could not contain. He smiles at me and places another light kiss to my cheek, before he releases his hold on me and takes a seat on the empty chair at the table.

He is barely settled in his seat before his personal cook places his plate of food don in front of him. "I prepared what you asked for, Your Grace. Your bacon not quite burnt, but not undercooked. And I made some extra fried peppers glazed in honey, I know that you enjoy them, Your Grace."

Draedon grants her a smile and a touch on her hand. "I appreciate the thought, my dear Alyssa. Everything looks amazing, you have outdone yourself." She blushes prettily at the praise, and I want to wipe the smile off her face. If the glare is any indication, mother does too. Stray brown hairs falls in front of her face, hiding the rush of blood like a curtain hides the sun. "You may go." Draedon speaks in an unusual tone. "But I am sure looking forward to my dinner." Her blush darkens even more, before she curtsies and exits the room.

I very much dislike the brown eyed girl. Dislike is actually too nice of a word for how I feel about the common girl that stares at my brother with her stupid big brown eyes. Her eyes are so dull to look at, unlike mine. I look over to mother, she has not stopped staring at Draedon.

"And what are you having for dinner, Draedon?" Mother asks slowly. Draedon just looks at her with clear eyes.

"I do not know yet, mother. I suppose that I will enjoy whatever my cook spreads on my table." Mother's glare hardens, as Draedon winks at me. I can not stop the smile that makes its way to my face at his expression.

Draedon looks down to my plate and frowns as he stares at it. He picks it up and replaces it with his own plate. "I know how much you hate undercooked eggs, so take mine." The warm feeling returns fully, as it fills my belly again when I take a bite of perfectly crisp bacon.

Draedon cuts into the disgusting eggs of mine and takes a bite of them. He smiles at me, but I can tell he wants something to drink other than water. He suffers through the bad breakfast, so I can have his good one. This is why I love him.

Before he can finish it though, one of Varys' servants enters the room with a bowed head. The boy is short and stocky, he has not missed too many meals. Shaggy ginger hair falling across his brow. hands a piece of parchment to Draedon and dashes from the room, before the Hound stops him from leaving. He pick the boy up by the back of his robe. Draedon opens the parchment and begins to read it. Silence fills the room, as we all have baited breath waiting for him to finish the letter. Draedon's eyes widen to a large extent as they continue scanning the parchment.

Draedon stands and marches over to the lifted boy, whose eyes show his fear. "Is this true?" Draedon speaks quickly, but the boy's head moves quicker. He nods furiously at the question. "Sandor, release him." The Hound drops the poor boy from a height he is unused to being at. "Find Lord Varys and tell him to get to the Council Room. Before he goes there though, send for the other Council members." The boy stands there, awaiting more orders."Now, boy." He rushes away after that.

Draedon walks back towards his spot at the table, grabs his goblet of water and unceremoniously dumps the water out into the base of a nearby plant. He quickly grabs the wine and fills the goblet of his full to the brim. Mother has a strange look on her face as she watches him move. Draedon sits down after he takes a deep gulp of his Arbor Gold.

"What does the parchment say, Draedon?" Tommen innocently asks of our favorite sibling.

Draedon looks down to Tommen and his golden locks of hair. "Well, little brother," He looks toward mother as he speaks, "it appears that our dear uncle Renly has finally decided to solidify his claim to he army that is backing him and his own foolish schemes." Tommen nods his chubby face in acceptance of the answer. "Well, he is getting married to House Tyrell's daughter, Margaery." Tommen tilts his head to the side, confused about what is being said. "He is actually marrying this girl, just so he can steal my throne from me. What an amazing family we have, right, Tommen?" Draedon begins to laugh lightly, before it changes into a booming sound, much like how father used to laugh.

Tommen inches away from our laughing brother. "That means that a war between two kings is about to start soon." He speaks in between laughing. I have heard his laugh a thousand times, and I know that this one is different. A laugh that holds no humor in it. Mother must notice it too, as her eyes show concern as she stares at Draedon. "And both of them are Baratheons too, it just keeps getting more interesting by the second."

He stops laughing and abruptly stands up. "Excuse me, but I have some issues that deserve my attention." He walks away from the table and to the door. "I will see you tonight." He exits, the Hound following close behind him, like a silent shadow.

We sit quietly for a few moments. "Mother, is Draedon okay? His laugh seemed different." Tommen asks, with a questioning look on his face. Even little Tommen could see through the fake laugh, which is surprising, as he usually does not catch things like that.

Mother smiles sweetly at him. "Draedon is going to be alright, my little lion. He is just under some pressure now, but I know things will be okay again, very soon." She pats his hand with her own. "But you do not need to worry about that, eat your breakfast. You too, Myrcella." Her emerald eyes turn on me. "Do not fret over this. Draedon will fix everything."

I smile lightly and nod my head. I pick up a piece of bacon and take a small bite. My appetite has disappeared, along everything else, except worry for Draedon. I just knew that this day was going to be bad.