A/N: Slight content warning: Multiple mentions of violence towards animals and violence towards women. Honestly, Joffrey is a warning all on his own.
Sorry for the shorter chapter (again). I got selected to sit on a jury, and I've had NO time to write. Hopefully it won't be for long and I'll be able to get the next chapter out on time. There is a chance it may be late, however.
Tommen sometimes wondered if he would ever win his mother's approval. She would never say it, but Tommen knew she thought him too soft. It didn't matter that he excelled in his studies, that he was to one day be Lord of Casterly Rock. He read every book his grandfather told him to twice over, he knew every house in the Westerlands and their banner besides.
When his grandfather last came to the Red Keep, before they left for Winterfell, they'd all had dinner together. His grandfather told his mother that he was excelling in his studies, yet she hardly said a thing. Instead, she steered the conversation back to Joffrey. Joffrey, and how he was studying King Jaehaerys I. Joffrey, and how well he was excelling in everything.
She hardly notices I'm here. It would not have mattered had I gone to the Rock. Tommen tried to convince her once. His grandfather had come to visit and check his progress, and offered to take him back with him. It wasn't the first time he tried to do so. His Uncle Tyrion told him that when he was still a babe in arms, his grandfather had tried to convince his mother to allow him to foster at the Rock. His mother had refused, and had every time since when his grandfather broached the subject. Only the gods know why. She would have had more time for Joff.
Tommen did not know why he thought that time would be different. I was naive. A fool. Tommen had grown up on stories from his father about his time in the Vale with Lord Stark. Those had always been his favorite stories. On nights when Joffrey had been especially cruel, Tommen had closed his eyes and imagined he was far away. Sometimes he imagined he was high in the Vale, or safe in the Rock, with other boys his age who would be the brother Joffrey couldn't.
His mother ripped away those dreams. She had raged at him for hours. "Do you not love me?" she said. Tommen had been horrified, perhaps still horrified, that she would ever think that. For all that she favored Joffrey, Tommen never doubted that his mother loved him. Myrcella as well. Tommen asked her why she would not let him go, she answered "Because I love you, and I cannot protect you there." So Tommen stayed, and his grandfather was forced to be content with taking charge of his education and checking in on him. Tommen no longer dreamed of leaving the Red Keep.
Now when Tommen closed his eyes, he could hear how the crowd jeered. He could hear the frantic whispering of his mother, the sharp sound of Lord Stark's sword swinging through the air. He could see the way the great valyrian steel sword had sliced so cleanly into Lord Stark's neck, how his head tumbled from his body. The sight of Joffrey holding Ned Stark's head aloft would stay with him forever.
More than anything, he remembered Sansa Stark's wails. Her screams for Joffrey to stop, please stop. For however horrible his own father's death had been, at least he had not been forced to witness it. I promised Bran to protect her. Tommen had nearly been sick and had not been able to hold his tears at bay, much to his mother's disdain.
"You shame us all," she scolded. "You've shamed this family and Joffrey. You're a prince, you should not shed tears for a traitor." Tommen bit his tongue, but he wanted more than anything to scream back. You should be berating Joffrey, he's the one who shamed us today. He knew better than to say such a thing, especially when Joffrey was involved.
Once, when they had all been children, long before Tommen lost hope with Joffrey, his Uncle Renly showed him a pregnant cat from the kitchens. Uncle Renly was always kind to me. Tommen had run to his sibling, chattering excitedly to them about the cat. "We can each have one," he'd announced. Myrcella had shared in his joy. Joffrey hadn't.
Instead, Joffrey had hunted down the cat itself. A sweet thing, it had been. A friendly calico who came up to anyone who sought it out. Joffrey repaid it with a sharp knife. He hadn't even the decency to kill it first. He had let the poor thing suffer through it all when he tore the kittens from her belly.
Their father rewarded Joffrey with a slap to the face so hard two of his teeth flew from his mouth. The next Tommen laid eyes on his older brother, he had flown at him with all the rage he could muster at only six name days. He'd pulled his hair and kicked at his shins as hard as he could before Joffrey's hound pulled him away.
Tommen wept for days, but it hadn't mattered to his mother. "It was only a cat," she chided. "You'll apologize to your brother for attacking him." When Tommen refused, his mother called for Pate. Tommen still felt a pit open in his stomach when he thought of Pate. He hadn't had need of him for years now, and Tommen hoped he was far from the Red Keep. Far from his transgressions.
That was when Tommen abandoned the hope of befriending his brother. The cat hadn't been his, but it did not matter. He should not still be angry over that cat, but no matter how hard he tried, Tommen could not let it go. It haunted him, just as what happened on the steps of the Sept would haunt him for years to come.
She never blames Joff. The first time Joffrey kicked him, when Tommen still hoped to love him, he had run to his mother with fat tears streaming down his face. She wiped his tears and set him on his feet, but instead of the comforting words she saved for Joffrey, she only had contempt. "You should not disobey your brother, he is to be your King." He is not King yet, he wished to say. But Tommen did not want to see Pate that day.
His mother said he was supposed to love Joffrey. Joffrey, who had never once made the effort to love him. She told him and Myrcella that because Joffrey was their brother, they ought to remain by his side. More than once Tommen found himself wishing that Joffrey wasn't his brother.
Once, he had followed his brother everywhere. If Joffrey went hunting with their father, then Tommen begged to go as well. Tommen did his best in his lessons, to move ahead so he could learn with his brother. He even pretended to like the same games as his brother. He would let his brother beat him in the yard, he would play the role of the villain even. None of that had been enough to win his brother's affection.
Tommen tried to love Joffrey. Joffrey did not try to love him. Tommen was half convinced that Joffrey hated him more than he loved him. For all his efforts as a boy, Joffrey's kicks and punches grew harder.
Perhaps I should not have been surprised. Tommen still remembered his fawn as well. It had been a gift from one of his uncles upon his eighth name day. It didn't last a week before Joffrey killed it, had it skinned, and then turned into a new jerkin. Joffrey had worn that jerkin as frequently as possible, and Tommen had never forgiven him. Despite all of Joffrey's cruel games, never did Tommen think he would do what he did. Tommen had seen Joffrey promise Lady Sansa to be merciful, the entire court had seen him promise. But still he had taken Ned Stark's head.
At least father did not live to see that. Tommen had expected to find nothing but barren wasteland and savages in the north. It was all his mother had spoken of on their journey. Past the Neck, he'd been confined to the wheelhouse with his mother and sister. His mother had no shortage of stories to share of the monsters that lurked. How was I to know better? All he had known before was from his father, and his time with Ned Stark hadn't even been in Winterfell.
The north was nothing like his mother said it would be. It was cold, and in some places barren, but the Stark children were not the wild savages his mother spoke of. Save Rickon, he thought fondly. Tommen spent most of his time with Bran, and found in him the brother he once longed for. There weren't many boys his age in the Red Keep. Those that were, his mother hardly let him associate with. She's overprotective because she loves me. She just didn't want him to get hurt, was all.
Bran showed him everything there was to see in Winterfell. The godswood with the great white Weirwood that unsettled Tommen. "There's no tree like this in our godswood," Tommen shared with him. Bran argued that it was not true godswood then, which sparked a spirited debate. Whenever Tommen argued with Joffrey he got a fist to the stomach or a kick in the shin. With Bran, he only got a wolfish grin and sharp laughs.
They did not linger in front of it long. Instead, Bran showed him how to climb a tree. He'd never climbed a tree before, or anything, really. His mother had been far too afraid that he'd fall and hurt himself. But his mother wasn't there, and he wasn't a boy any longer.
Tommen liked the glass gardens best. They were far warmer than the First Keep or Broken Tower, whose missing stones let in the wind and snow from beyond. The flowers and other plants in the glass gardens reminded him of home. He'd dragged Myrcella away from his cousin Alysanne the next day to show her, and they became her favorite as well.
Despite how the Weirwood had unsettled him, Tommen found the crypts to be worse. I do not belong here, he had thought. The Stark kings of old were carved out of harsh stone, as were the swords in their hands and the direwolves at their feet. Bran had taken him so far down the light from the entrance disappeared, and the glares of the stone kings grew more and more intense.
Just as Bran showed him Winterfell, Tommen showed him the Red Keep. He showed him the training yards, where Bran continued to teach him what he could. His mother hated it, but his father agreed it was high time he learned. I'm still not good, by any means. But far better than before.
Tommen showed him all the secret passages he'd found. Winterfell had abandoned servants' passages, but nothing like Maegor the Cruel had built. He used to use them to hide from Joffrey, but he hadn't told Bran that. Tommen knew there were far more passages than the few he knew of, and had told Bran as much. They made it their mission to find as many as they could, which admittedly wasn't much.
Bran's favorite spot, however, had been the dragon skulls in the dungeons. That had been the place Tommen had been the most excited to show Bran. It was where they spent most of their time, when they weren't in lessons or in the training yard or hunting for new passages. Everyone had forgotten about the dragons, and no one thought to visit them. It was always quiet and peaceful.
It was where Bran had told Tommen to meet him the night before he left. Tommen had retired to his room for the night after a particularly draining dinner with his mother, only to find a folded piece of parchment on his pillow, sealed and unbroken. Meet me by Vhagar, it'd read. And so he had.
Bran was exactly where he said he'd be. When Tommen found him he was pacing back and forth with his hands clasped tightly behind his back. As he got closer he could see the anxiety written all over his friend's face, the worry in the crease of his brow. Bran never worried, and it had put Tommen on edge.
"What's happened?" Tommen asked.
Bran took an aborted step before turning his back. "Father says Arya and I are to return home."
His stomach had dropped. I'll be alone again. "Why? I'll talk to him, tell him to let you stay."
Bran spun back to face him then. "You can't, you can't tell anyone we're leaving!"
Tommen wrinkled his nose. Lie to mother? "Why not?" It isn't a lie if she never asks. Perhaps I just forgot to tell her.
He chewed at his lip. "I can't say. I just didn't want to leave without saying goodbye." Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them back. Princes don't cry. Bran continued. "I also need to ask something of you."
"Anything," Tommen said.
Bran made Tommen swear to look after Sansa, to protect her. No matter how much Tommen prodded, he would not say why, but Tommen promised anyway. Sansa was kind. Kind to him and to Myrcella, and Tommen knew just how cruel Joffrey could be. Perhaps I should not have promised.
Every day that Tommen saw Sansa, she faded more. The bags under her eyes grew darker, more pronounced. Her hair limp and dull where it had once been bright and vibrant. Tommen had promised Bran he would do his best to protect Sansa, and he'd failed.
At least the beatings have stopped. Tommen had never before felt so helpless. The Kingsguard are supposed to be honorable. But still they beat Sansa at Joffrey's orders. There was nothing that he could do while it was happening, but he did his best to help after. Even if it was only walking beside her in silence, Tommen hoped it helped some. I wish I knew how to help more.
He found Sansa that morning strolling through the gardens. The split lip the Kingsguard had given her on Joffrey's orders had almost healed, but an ugly yellow still remained around it. She had abandoned the northern hairstyles she favored before her father's arrest, as well as the northern styled gowns. The gowns she wore now were long out of style, and ill fitting to boot.
Tommen approached her cautiously. Joffrey no longer beat Sansa, but he found other ways to humiliate her. He had not been present for it, but he'd heard ladies gossiping throughout the keep about Joffrey taunting her once again. This time, he'd ensured she knew just what would happen to her brother once their grandfather defeated him. His head on a platter, he'd promised.
"Are you well today, Sansa?" Tommen cursed himself. He knew the answer already. Of course she isn't well. Joffrey cut off her father's head. Tommen knew all too well what it was to be on the receiving end of Joffrey's cruelty. I am a fool to ask.
Sansa slowed her pace to match his. "I am better, thank you Tommen." she smiled sadly at him. Bran's smile. He worried after his friend most nights. Bran and Arya left for Winterfell only days before Lord Stark's arrest. They had a head start, but Joffrey wanted them nonetheless. He'd made sure Tommen knew just how many men he sent after them.
Tommen glanced behind his shoulder and waved the guards back. He spoke in a hushed tone. "I'm sorry Sansa. For Joffrey."
Sansa tensed and gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Joffrey has been nothing but kind. My father was a traitor, as is the rest of my family." Tommen frowned. She is frightened of me. The thought made him feel ill, and he wracked his brain for anything he might have done to make her feel that way.
He did not believe that Lord Stark would commit treason. It has to be as Sansa said. Someone lied to him. Lord Stark was not a liar, and he would never harm his father. They were best friends. Besides, he had loved his father. And he liked to think his father loved him, in his own way. His father had been happiest when he asked to go hunting with him, and so he tried to accompany him as often as his mother allowed it. Perhaps if I had gone on that last one, father would still be here.
He had heard the rumours around court of course, the ones that claimed his father was not really his father at all. It can't be so. He wasn't a child, he knew that his mother never loved his father. But that did not make him a bastard.
"You don't have to be frightened of me, I'm not Joffrey," Tommen insisted. Sansa shushed him, gripping his arm tighter. They made their way into the keep and towards her chambers.
She lowered her voice. "I am not frightened of Joffrey." She's lying. He saw the way she trembled and cowered. He knew she took longer routes through the keep to avoid him.
A pause enveloped them. Tommen tried to think of what he could tell her to ease her fears of him. Perhaps if she knew… "I promised Bran I would protect you," he told her.
Her face crumpled and her shoulders sagged. "I have heard nothing. About Arya or Bran." Now I've made her sad.
"I haven't either," he assured her. Neither his mother nor Joffrey had made any mention of Arya or Bran. Joffrey would have said something. Joffrey would not have missed the opportunity to lord it over Sansa that her siblings were his hostage. He would not have remained quiet about such a victory in his eyes. Perhaps he made it home to Winterfell. Bran loved Winterfell, and though they'd had fun exploring the Red Keep together, Tommen knew he missed it. "Do you miss Winterfell?"
Sansa's eyes adopted a faraway look and the bags under her eyes more pronounced. "King's Landing is my home now," she whispered. She's lying again.
They came to a stop outside of the rooms given to Sansa. They were smaller, and far from the best in the Red Keep. The guards who had been following them stopped on either side of the door. What does she need guards for? Sansa did not know the Red Keep very well, she'd told him that herself. If she wanted to run she wouldn't know where to go. She couldn't very well explore on her own either, with guards trailing her every step. Tommen studied the two guardsmen. They wore Lannister livery, but he did not recognize them. Uncle Tyrion's men, perhaps. It comforted him that his uncle had afforded her some protection.
Tommen bid her farewell, and went on his way. Joffrey no longer beat her, he was far too scared of Uncle Tyrion. Only the gods know why. That didn't mean he left her alone. He still mocked her, called her a traitor and humiliated her. The day after Joffrey took Lord Stark's head, he'd brought her up to the gates and made her look at it. Tommen had wanted to be sick when he heard that. He tried to imagine his own father's head, up on a spike.
The only one aside from Sansa who seemed to share in his grief, both for his father and Lord Stark, was Myrcella. Joffrey only cared that he was King, and his mother had hated their father. His uncles did not even seem to grieve. Instead they rose up against Joffrey. His Uncle Tyrion gave his condolences, at the very least. His mother hated that his uncle returned to King's Landing, but Tommen was grateful for it.
His father had been too busy for them, and his Uncle Jaime only cared for their mother. But their Uncle Tyrion always made time for them. He had not visited the Red Keep often, but when he did he always brought gifts for them. He always told stories as well. As a boy, Tommen had just been glad someone wanted to spend time with him.
Things were better now that his Uncle Tyrion was acting hand. Perhaps if he had arrived sooner, Lord Stark would still be alive. His mother claimed to be able to control Joffrey, but Tommen knew that was a lie. If she could control him, then he would have never taken Ned Stark's head. She would have stopped Joffrey beating Sansa as well, had she known. She must not have. She would never have stood for it.
When his Uncle Tyrion arrived he'd put a stop to the beatings, but the damage had been done. Any hope for peace with the Starks had long disappeared, and Tommen couldn't blame them. I would not make peace, were I Robb. Had someone taken his father's head, beat Myrcella and humiliated her, he would be furious. I would never make peace with someone if they did that.
Uncle Tyrion will help her. He was never cruel, not to him or Myrcella. He only hoped that his Uncle Tyrion would be able to ensure Sansa never married Joffrey at the very least. The betrothal agreement had never been signed, but Tommen knew his brother. Once he had something, he was loath to let it go. And he loves nothing more than tormenting Sansa. Tommen wished he could leave the Red Keep and ride for Casterly Rock with Sansa. She would be safe there, and I could keep my promise to Bran.
That evening, Tommen remained in his room. His grandfather had written to him and given him several more books to read. A book on the dance of dragons by Archmaester Gyldayn, which Tommen found quite thrilling. Another on the histories of the Westerlands, which Tommen struggled to keep his eyes open through. The last one was about the free cities, which Tommen had never studied before. He picked that one first.
The hour grew late and the sun set outside. One of his cats sat beside him on the desk, casting long shadows on the wall in the flickering flame. The second cat curled in his lap, purring as Tommen absentmindedly pet it. Tommen heard the door to his room enter and his mother announced herself, but he only gave a half-hearted greeting. He was too engrossed in his book.
She came closer to his desk and spotted the cats. "Don't you think you're a bit too old for such things?" He ignored her. She had never liked the pets he kept. As he got older she told him more and more how he was far too old for such things. Tommen didn't think so, and his grandfather never mentioned it. His mother spoke again. "I hear you accompanied the Stark girl in the gardens again."
This again. "I did," he replied. He remained focused on his book. The last time he had done so, she'd told him to perhaps avoid doing so. She said perhaps. That doesn't mean no.
She came to stand beside him in an attempt to demand his attention. "I thought I told you to steer clear of her."
Tommen still did not look up from his book. "Joffrey humiliated her once more, so I escorted her back to her room. That's all."
His mother snapped the book closed. The cat on his desk lept to the floor, and the one from his lap scurried away as well. "Joffrey no longer does so. He says nothing that isn't true. Her father was a traitor and her brother is as well. She should be grateful. You would do well to remember that."
His chest tightened and his nails dug into his palms. "Grateful that her father's head continues to rot above her? She's done everything you've asked of her. She's not a traitor," his mother's eyes flashed.
"Careful, Tommen."
Tommen, for once, did not heed her warning. He remembered how sallow Sansa appeared earlier. "
She clenched his chin in her hands and her nails bit into his skin. He tried to pull his head back but she would not budge. "Do not speak to me in such a way. Perhaps I should find you a new whipping boy." Tommen averted his eyes. He had no wish to cause harm to someone.
Cersei sprung to her feet and clenched his face in her hand. "I do not understand why you disobey me so." Tommen did not answer and she knelt before him. "I thought you loved me."
His heart lurched. "I do love you!" For all she coddled Joffrey, she was kind to him as well. She so rarely made him do things he did not wish. She's harsh because she wants to protect me. That's what she told him once, when he asked why he was not allowed to learn to joust.
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I know you do, sweetling." She brushed his hair back. "You mustn't spend so much time with the Stark girl. Who knows what tales of treason she'll spin."
Tommen furrowed his brow. Sansa is not a traitor. The rumours about his mother and Uncle Jaime couldn't be true. He couldn't believe them, wouldn't believe them. She would never do such a thing. But then why did Lord Stark say his brother was not the true heir? Lord Stark was an honorable man, his father said so. He would not have lied. Tommen's head began to hurt and he no longer knew what to think.
"Yes, mother," he said, if only to be left alone. "I'm sorry."
She rose to her feet and beamed at him, folding him into her chest. His chest warmed. She so rarely gave those approving smiles to anyone but Joffrey, and he cherished each one. I'll be more careful when speaking to Sansa.
"Good," she stepped back. "I love you, never doubt that." Tommen gave her a tremulous smile, and she left.
He closed the book on the free cities and opened the one by Archmaester Gylydan. His cats did not return, but dragons did. Vhagar, Silverwing, Meleys, and other dragons of old came to life and swirled in his mind. Soon, his troubles were forgotten.