Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to A Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire-all are properties of George R. R. Martin. This is merely for my own entertainment.

Those Sweet Summer Days: Part I

Before the Storm

The grand maester felt his knees creak as he stood and glared balefully at the stairway that had lead up to the raven's rook. His hair, as white as clean linen and soft as downy feathers, barely covered the crown of his head and his face was etched with deep lines and creases. As the freshly lit torches flickered, shadows danced across the mountains and valleys of Pycelle's face; age apparent in every wrinkle.

'Soon, I will need to call upon the council to appoint me an aide.' The wizened old man frowned, 'fifty odd years I've served the realm and I've never needed help before.' His grip tightened upon an intricately carved oaken staff, its head the shape of a roaring lion with eyes made of rubies. His gaze lingered on a note written in his own hand, laying still upon a slightly crooked elm table, addressed to the council of maesters in Oldtown. The maester closed his eyes for a moment before nodding, seemingly reaching some agreement with himself. 'Not today' he thought as he began shambling towards the cages, back bowed beneath the weight of twenty plus coiled links.

Each link shined in a different color beneath the evening sun, each representing a mastery of a different subject. There was silver for medicine, iron for war, gold for finance, and the crown jewel—valyrion steel for the higher mysteries. As Pycelle gathered the messages and tended to the ravens, he reminisced on a time before the rebellion, to a time when he was still forging his links. Those days were long past and under another king, yet looking out over the city, draped by rays of gold and clouds of amber, he mused it was hard to tell that a dynasty hundreds of years old had fallen.

Scrolls in hand, he began his trek back towards his quarters, chain rattling with every stumbling footfall. Its echo bounced along the curved arches and brick walls, and in that moment he believed he could be the only man in the Red Keep. But soon enough the moment passed, as the sounds of the keep began to filter towards him. The air was alight with the tinkling laughter of maids, raucous boasting of squires, and the clashing of steel from the training grounds. A wrinkled smile appeared on his face then, and his back straightened imperceptibly. For all of his failures, he had at least managed to do one great thing in his life. He had saved the Red Keep.

The smile remained with him even as he passed an open terrace upon which the queen stood. In gentle caress of the oceans breeze and the soft rays of the setting sun, her hair appeared to be a crown of liquid gold, and her emerald gown waved like the grassy meadows of the River Lands. About her neck lay a double strand of milky pearls, idly played with by an immaculate hand, nails painted in the colors of winter roses.

Pycelle bowed to the two kingsguard standing vigil before the archway before softly murmuring "your grace" as he came to stand next to her. Cersei glanced at the maester out of the corner of her eyes before giving him a small nod and a miniscule upward tick of her lips. Lips that are as red as her house's sigil he bemusedly noted before turning his attention to the grounds where two men sparred with all the ferocity of their birthrights: that of a crowned stag and a roaring lion.

Cersei eyes danced over the figure with aurulent hair, striking fiercely at his opponent, who boasted hair as dark as a moonless night. The man's coal eyes glowed with an inner fire as he blocked each stroke, the clashing of steel nearly drowning out the gasps of the crowd that watched. While normally this would illicit a derisive snort from Cersei, followed by a scathing comment about her lessers, today her grip upon the edge of the terrace tightened, white knuckles standing in stark contrast to her painted nails. After all, it was not every day one got to watch the golden prince bare his fangs against the black stag.

A soft cough slightly behind her made the queen jump, the deadly dance below having enraptured her. Turning to face the aged man fully, she graced him with a soft smile. "My sincerest apologies, grand maester. My attention was focused on the duel below. Now, how may I assist you?"

A stray gust blew a strand of hair from Cersei's elegant coils and danced tantalizingly close to the grand maester's face. The soft scent of roses played at the edge of his perception as he waved away the apology. "Nonsense, your highness. I admit, I too have been enraptured by their duel. I have not seen the two fight with this much vigor in a long time." He paused for a moment as the golden lion performed a particularly flamboyant flourish, to the great amusement of the crowd. "Your father has sent word. I know you wished to know right away." From beneath the folds of his robes he procured a gilded scroll, sealed with scarlet wax in the shape of a dancing lion.

Cersei hesitated for the briefest of moments before grasping the scroll. "Thank you Pycelle. I will send word to you on the morrow about a reply." She turned back towards the grounds but her eyes remained clouded and unseeing, the letter slowly crumpling in her hands. She heard a soft "Your grace" and the tinkling of chains as the maester left, but did not turn. Her eyes remained fixed upon the grounds, where the black haired boy was bowing towards the stands even as the other boy glared murderously at him.

'Oh my sweet, sweet boys. What am I to do with you?' Cersei thought as her grip upon the letter tightened. Jofferey and Tommen, almost as if they sensed their mothers' thoughts turned as one and gazed upon the queen. She gave them both a smile, the corner of her lips tugging upwards in a convincing mimicry of the real thing. As the great septs bells began to blanket the city like the coming night, Cersei fled the burning gaze of her sons, letter still clenched in white-knuckled fists.

In the stands, a lord wearing the embroidery of a soaring eagle studied the scene thoughtfully, looking slowly between the two princes. Deep within his subconscious, treasonous thoughts began to stir and questions began to bubble.


I think I have an inkling of a plot now. Just like last chapter this is un-beta'd and thus may contain spelling or grammatical errors. Thanks to both Marah Lane and Master of Dragons God for reviewing. If you have any suggestions, comments, corrections, etc. feel free to leave a review.