Cersei POV
I drum my fingers onto the solid table, my nails clicking against it quietly. Usually, sitting at this table brings me joy. Makes me feel as powerful as I truly am. But, like most of the great joys in my life, Tyrion has ruined it.
Sitting at the head of the table, barely tall enough to see over the books in front of him, he wears that pin like he is in charge. Showing up a barely a week ago, with disgusting mountain men in tow, he waddles his way through the Keep, to this very room. Interrupting the Council session already in progress, the little troll.
Then, the boy, Maric fucking Seaworth, the upjump son of a smuggler, reads a unopened letter, sealed with the wax of the King. The letter reads that should Tywin, Tyrion, or Stannis arrive in the city before Draedon is back, they shall rule in his stead as the Hand of the King. And should they all arrive, then Tyrion should be offered the position first, then Tywin, and lastly followed by Stannis, should the first two decline.
I have never hated the little beast more than the moment I saw him with his necklace of gold hands circled around his neck. The hatred is building more and more in the days that have followed, he should be worried for his health. Poison is not hard to obtain.
He should consider himself lucky that I have a Kingdom to rule for my son.
"When is the next shipment of fish and spices coming in from Pentos?" Pycelle asks, his words spilling slowly from his withered lips.
"Pentos has put a hold on our trading deals, as they fear that the ships may be damaged with the rebellion happening." The new Master of Ships says, as if the boy knows anything about this.
But, I can at least tolerate his ignorance, what I can not tolerate is the little beast attempting to rule in my son's name. Hand of the King or not, his word means nothing. My word is law.
"With Renly raising banners in Highgarden, and the battles in the riverlands, the roads to the west and the south have closed. We can not afford to lose anymore trading partners." Varys cuts in.
"Then we should turn our attention closer to the north. The Vale is the easiest place to get resources. The closest to us, and it will potentially bring them I to the fold to fight." Pycelle drawls slowly.
Varys looks around the table quickly, eyes glancing between the council members. "If the Vale wanted to be a part of the King's army, they would be here by now. Or at the very least, they would have sent word of their intentions to back him. They have not." His light voice fills the room. "I still believe that Essos is the best trading option that we have at the moment."
The little beast pours himself more wine. "Who did you have in mind exactly, Lord Varys?" He asks.
"Despite their hesitance, Pentos is still the best option. If we can ensure that their ships will reach our harbors safely, and ours to theirs, I believe that they will continue our partnership." The Spider looks directly at Tyrion as he speaks. "Or I am sure that more coin will get us their ships."
"We do not have the coin to fund their greed." Tyrion says.
"Many people are flocking to King's Landing to get away from the fighting in the riverlands, some to get away from the inevitable fighting in the Reach. We should impose a tax on those that wish to enter the city." I say.
Grand Maester Pycelle nods, his links clinking together in the motion. The Spider stays silent as he ponders the thought. The boy scowls in pure disapproval. The dwarf remains impassive, waiting for another to speak their thoughts.
"While I believe that would help with our lack of coin, it would turn the people against us. Against the King, and then Renly could use that to his advantage. It is our safest route to secure the path between Essos and King's Landing." Varys says. "We have to ensure their ships and sailors can make the trip unharmed."
"And how can we promise that?" Tyrion asks, openly to the room this time.
No one answers for several moments, and the silence fills the room. The boy begins to move in his chair.
"Well, we have two warships completely constructed and ready to sail, and almost three dozen trading boats sitting in our harbor. Some of the trading boats are large enough to be... modified into a smaller type of warship. Faster, smoother on the water, better maneuverability, but much less durable than regular warships. They could help regulate the waters to offer some security." He finishes.
Tyrion and Varys both look thoughtful, I despise them both for it.
"How long will these modifications take?" Varys asks.
"Most likely by the next turn of the moon." The boy says.
Tyrion drinks his wine. "Is that the absolute quickest?"
The boy winces slightly. "If you want the best of them. I am sure that they can be finished within a fortnight, but they will be less damaging should they run across any interference."
"How will they be modified?" I finally ask.
All of their eyes turn to me. Fools, the lot of them.
The boy clears his throat. "We would have to the make the outside of the ships thicker. From there, we could place a thin layer of iron on the inside of the hull, thin enough to not weigh it down, but thick enough to stop something breaking through. And finally, they would be fitted with a trebuchet of sorts. Something for long distance fighting. If the crew can keep their distance from the larger ships, they should not have any problems."
A thought crosses my mind. "What about wildfire?"
"What about it, Your Grace?" The boy says, brows knitted together in confusion.
"Could the ships be outfitted with wildfire, should the battle turn close range?" I ask.
"Wildfire would most likely burn the men on our own ship rather then the men on the other. It is an unknown that could be more devastating that helpful."
"But it could be more helpful." He just stares at me.
"It... is a possibility, I suppose." He says, voice weak. Pathetic.
"Forget about the wildfire for now. Begin commissioning the modifications, Lord Maric." Tyion says, puzzled look inside his mismatched eyes. "We should also plan for the possibility that this does not ease the minds of the Pentoshi. We should send word to others in Essos, figure out who is willing to work with us." He takes a sip of wine, while looking to the table. "Perhaps Lys."
"Are we sending whores to fight the war?" I almost snarl at the dwarf.
He scoffs lightly. "While that would be a tremendous sight, no. It is well documented that Lys constantly fights for the Disputed Lands against Tyrosh and Myr. They are known to be good winemakers. If the people are drunk, they would forget about their troubles and not riot. They would be fine trade partners, dear sister." His mushed little face shows how clever he believes himself to be as he finishes his little argument. It is insufferable to see.
Feeling the tension rise in the room, Varys hurries with his words next. "Braavos is the wealthiest of the Free Cities, should they not be our first choice."
"With the debt that the throne is in to the Iron Bank, it is best to avoid Braavos until the King decides to deal with it. Or, at the very least, until the Master of Coin has joined us in the city and has given us his input." The boy says, his words surprising me.
"What Master of Coin? The role has been vacated since Draedon relieved Baelish of his duties." Grand Master Pycelle echoes my thought aloud.
He would have let me know of this, I am sure. But, then again, he did not inform me of the Master of Ships.
The dwarf smiles, his teeth gleaming in the light. "Did the King not inform you, Grand Maester?"
The ancient man shakes his head, grey beard swaying as he does.
The little monster's mismatched eyes turn to me. "And how about you, Queen Dowager? Did Draedon inform you?"
I do not know what I loathe more; that title or the one that calls me that.
"Inform me of what?" My words calm, an illusion to what I feel inside.
The dwarf taps a book in front of him. "Lord Willas Tyrell is the new Master of Coin. Draedon wrote it down in the Council journal before he became ill ." His eyes turn vicious for just a glance. "Do you not read the Council journal, Queen Dowager?" He pushes the book across the table to me.
My hand stops the book's movement in an instant, slamming onto the leather. The sounds echoes through the large room. I keep my eyes on the dwarf, he meets my gaze.
"Out." I hiss.
No one moves, the air thickens with tension. I can see a hint of fear creep into his mismatched eyes.
Good.
"You three, out." The boy stands first, almost instantly. The eunuch follows more gracefully, and the maester trudges along very sedately.
The ancient man shuffles slowly out of the room, the long chain that is wrapped around his neck jingles as he exits. My eyes narrow at the little halfman as the door shuts.
He twists his large head to the side and stares through the open window. His small shoulders are even more shrunk in than usual. More fearful with less people in the room.
The clasp showing he is the Hand of the King glinting in the sunlight that is let in. I hate that thing too.
"Just because you proclaim yourself to be the Hand, does not make you the Hand. Draedon will want his own when he comes back. So enjoy it while it lasts." I spit the words out like venom.
"Draedon has already appointed me. You can read the words yourself." He gestures to the book. "It was father that assumed he was going to be Hand, and sent me in his stead. I did not just take it."
He is too calm, while I am beginning to let the anger control me. So I sit silently, just staring at the little beast. He shifts in his seat, and breaks his gaze from mine. He stares at the goblet in front of him, silence the only sound in the room.
"Where did Draedon go?" He asks eventually. Even if I knew, I would never tell this thing of where my cub was.
I scoff. "Oh, did he not tell you?"
His head turns back to me, his eyes narrow. "Did he tell you?"
"Draedon tells me more than he tells any other. He trusts me."
He swirls his goblet. "Just not fully." I fight the urge to sneer at the dwarf. "Or else he would have told you his plan."
"Draedon does what he thinks is best for his family. The family that he loves, and that loves him. The ones that didn't abandon him in his most vulnerable state." My words cut him deep.
His small body stiffens, his calm mood has officially ceased. The lioness inside me is pleased.
"No one abandoned Draedon, and he is aware of that." His words fail to hide the tenseness in his voice.
I do not attempt to hide the sneer now. "Stannis abandoned him after Jon Arryn died. You abandoned him to go the Wall. Robert abandoned him for wine. Renly abandoned and betrayed Drae for his own selfish gain. Where were you, Tyrion? Where were you when those oversized dogs took Joffrey from us? Where were you when he ascended those steps for the first time? What about when his own flesh and blood started a rebellion against him? Because I was here. With him through the hardest moments of his life, and you were not. Do you really believe he will just forget that? He will not. I will not let him."
"I did not abandon my nephew. Even you would not think so little of me, Cersei."
I tilt my head to the side at his words. "And yet, you were not here." I push my untouched goblet of wine towards him. "You need that more than I do. I am not the one that will have to prove their love and loyalty." I grab the book as I stand, and walk towards he exit. I stop by his chair. He does not move, as I lean down. "And, believe me when I say, you will have to prove it."
The little beast shrinks even smaller when I finish. Good, he should be filled with shame. Shame and fear.
I could almost sigh in contentment at the sight.
I tighten my grip on the book as I stand and leave. When did Draedon begin keeping these notes? I suppose I will find out soon enough.
Myrcella POV
"Princess, His Grace is sick. The Queen has said that his door is to remain closed until he is healthy." The servant boy says in a rushed tone, as I continue my trek past him.
I have not seen my brother in almost a month due to an illness. I refuse not to be able to see him any longer. I need to make sure he is fine. I need to hear his voice. I need to see his smile. I need...him.
Ser Balon is standing guard outside of his room, which is new. Since the illness struck, the entirety of the Kingsguard have been inside of the room with Draedon. Should he ever need anything, they are right there to be ordered away. So mother has posted a half dozen Lannister guards outside the room to deter anyone from trying to enter.
He turns to me as I approach. His white cloak glimmering in the open hallway, the sunlight from the windows making it appear rather bright. He never turns away from me or the servant following at my heels. He steps in front of the door when I get too close.
"His Grace is resting. He has had a harsh few weeks, Princess." The White Knight says, in courteous voice.
I exhale a loud breath through my nose. "I wish to see him now."
"My apologies, Princess, but I must deny you." He responds.
I stare defiantly back at the burly man. I almost lose hope before something clicks. "He has been sick?"
"Yes, very sick, Princess."
"But he is better now, right?"
A nod, "Much better."
"Says who?"
"The Grand Maester himself."
"The same Grand Maester that said Draedon was dead when he was born?"
A small cough from the man lets me know I have him. "Yes, I suppose the very same Grand Maester."
"I need to check for myself then. I do not trust his judgement." The Knight hesitates, shuffling from one foot to the other. "Open the door, Ser Balon." I order.
I glance back to see the servant has yet to leave, but is looking at me in a disappointing way. It bothers me in a very miniscule way.
As the door opens, the servant has yet to relent on his disappointing looks to me disregarding direct orders from my mother. The door creaks open slowly, revealing Draedon. Asleep, sprawled across his enormous bed. I spot Ruby drinking from her large container of iced water on the balcony.
"Princess, you should not be in here. The Queen will be angry with you." The servant says to me in a semi threatening tone.
Foolish man, my mother does not scare me anymore. My Draedon will protect me from any sort of wrath that she will produce. He always has, it has been that way ever since I was little. He has always been my protector.
Ser Balon grips the servant's shoulder and pushes him back. "She may enter, you may not." The servant looks down and away from the voice.
I edge closer towards the bed, the servant standing to timidly by the opened door. Not quite inside, but not in the hallway.
I look over Draedon's sleeping form, and frown. I expected a pale, sweaty version of Draedon. Not his normal, beautiful self. I expected limp hair, not his thick locks. I watch his chest rise and fall with each breath. I reach out and touch his cheek. I move my hand down to his bearded jaw, and I think he realizes it in his sleep. As I think I can feel him begin to nuzzle my palm a little, and my heart flutters a bit.
This just feels so... right.
But then I remember that I am being watched, so I move my hand to his broad shoulders and shove him. Not too forcefully, although I doubt I could truly hurt him. It takes four shoves before Draedon acknowledges them. Four.
He awakens slowly, his eyes fluttering open. His wonderful stormy eyes are glazed over with sleep, as he peers around the room, trying to remember the situation he is in. He sits up, feet hitting the floor. The bed's covering falling harmlessly off of Draedon, revealing the shirtless body underneath.
I hold my breath at the sight of his bare chest, tan from the days of practicing with swords underneath the sunlight. His broad shoulders seem to go even farther than usual, as he stretches some of the drowsiness away.
"Apologies, Your Grace, the Princess was very insistent about seeing you." Ser Balon speaks from his spot from the hallway.
Draedon chuckles as he looks to me fully, mirth replacing the glaze of sleep in his eyes. "No worries, Ser Balon. Just do not allow anyone else to enter today." His voice is deeper than usual, the sleepiness changing it.
"Yes, Your Grace." The door closes, leaving me alone with Draedon.
He stands from the bed, his frame towering over me by almost three heads. His broad chest on display as he stretches the tiredness out of his body.
He leans down towards me and gently presses his lips to top of my head. "Good morning, sweet sister." I can hear the rumble of his voice in his chest as he hugs me gently.
I can feel my face begin to heat up at the sweet gesture. Thankfully, he turns away from me after that and walks towards the small table by the wall. It takes me a moment to find my words, as I watch the muscles in his back shift as he walks.
"It is closer to the afternoon." He chuckles, the sound blossoms warmth in my heart. "Mother said that you have been sick." I say to Draedon's back, as he pours himself a goblet of water.
He nods slightly, "Aye, I have been, but I am better now." He responds to me.
I cross my arms over my chest. "What sort of sickness was it?"
He turns to me and smiles his perfect smile, my belly grows tight at the sight of it. "The contagious kind."
I fight down the tightness and see through his lie. "Why do you lie to me, dear brother?"
Raising the freshly filled goblet to his lips, he responds. "Why must you be so intuitive, sweet sister?"
Because I have not slept good in weeks without seeing you. "It is in my best interest to ask questions about things I do not understand." He chuckles at my words. "So, were you actually sick, Draedon?"
A sigh leaves his lips. "No. No, I was not actually sick, Myrcella."
"Then, what have you been doing all this time?" I ask him.
He smiles once again, the tightness in my stomach returns. "Reading, mostly."
I smirk at him slightly. "That is not a very insightful answer. And I demand a proper answer." I stomp my foot playfully.
"I suppose it is not, but it is the answer you will get." He turns away and throws a piece of meat to Ruby.
My smirk intensifies when he does, I must tease him. "So reading is more important to you than spending time with me?"
I hear the amusement in his voice when he responds. "Of course it is. It is much harder to find an interesting book, than it is to find a sister." His smile widens at my fake shocked face.
"That is very rude of you to say, Draedon. You were supposed to say that I am your highest priority in life." I respond back snootily.
He laughs. "You should know by now just how much I love you, sweet sister."
I can not help the sharp inhale of breath I take at his words. Is that what this strange feeling is? Love? I know I love Draedon, but do I love him? Is that what this warmth is when he is around me?
He takes my silent pondering as something else than what it is entirely. "If you really must know, I was traveling somewhere I have never been before."
I push my love thoughts away, so that I can respond. "Can you tell me where?"
"No." He answers simply.
I huff a little bit at his single word. He smiles, the too familiar tightness returns. "But I can tell you some things about my trip."
He sits down at the table holdng the pitcher of water, and gestures towards the the chair opposite him. I shuffle toward it as quickly as possible in my dress. I can figure out about my love for Draedon later. For now, I am happy to just sit here and listen to his warm voice as he tells me a story.