idk what do you think would happen if tommen had one person that wasnt trying to manipulate him, or two fourteen year olds trauma bond and figure out how to run a kingdom

1 - Defenestration

Look, he didn't mean to be the hand of the king.

Anyone with half a brain knew being the hand of the king was dangerous. It was scary. Most of the time, it got someone killed in nasty, painful ways.

He didn't have any lofty ideas of grandeur. His life was pretty pre-determined. He was meant to live and die as one of the many nameless servants, seeing to the upkeep of the Red Keep. It was simple work. For all the fancy titles the nobles had, they sure had a lot of trouble pairing up with them.

But he should have known he couldn't wish for normalcy. His short life proved the contrary.

His miserable life took a turn for the worse when he was fourteen years old and he dodged his mother's wooden spoon.

"Perceon," his mother, Saera, used his full name with a twitching frown. She was trying not to smile.

A word about his mother: Percy was pretty convinced every kid thought their mother was the best in the world, but his mother really was the best. She gave the best hugs, had never truly raised a hand toward him, and smelled sweet like the tangerines that grew in her home country of Dorne.

"Percy," she repeated with the smile she tried to hide. "That's not for you."

"You baked blue cakes!" Percy said. "And that's my favorite, you know, that's my favorite."

His mom's eyes sparkled with a knowing look. "I know, but the King – the poor babe – hasn't been eating well lately. He deserves a treat."

Percy rolled his eyes. His mother had the biggest and kindest heart. He had never heard her say a negative word about anyone, even about terrible people like the dead King Joffrey (good riddance). Her empathy extended to people who probably didn't even know she existed.

"No. I deserve a treat," Percy said. "I'm the one that's been scrubbing chamber pots and stoking fires since sunrise while his royal highness sleeps."

"You'll get one after you deliver these cakes to the King," his mother said.

Percy perked.

"Don't leave until he takes a bite."

"Why can't that jerk, Tyrek, take it to him? He's his cupbearer." And one of the king's many golden-haired cousins bustling around the place with their nose stuck all the way in the air.

"Just a little treat before he has to break his fast and go about his day," his mother said. "If what Daella said is true, the poor dear has a difficult matter to attend today."

It couldn't have been so difficult since the king was being plied with sweets. Percy wasn't going to argue anymore, not when he knew his mother set some aside from him.

He took the tray piled with the cakes. His face scrunched up as his mother planted a big kiss on his cheek.

He barely managed to dodge her tight hug.

"Gross," he said, trying to keep face in front of all the other kitchen people. Sometimes, it was embarrassing to have his mother treat him like a little kid, but most of the time, he was secretly glad she did. Even if he fucked up today, he was always doing his best in her eyes.

Percy scurried out of the kitchen toward the Tower of the King. He tried to keep his mind off of the cakes. He adored the little colored blue sweets. Mom said they reminded her of the waters of Dorne. The people of King's Landing always made fun of her accent and where she came from, and even the foods she liked to cook. Mom never let it get to her. She continued to be proud of where she came from.

Halfway up the thousands of stairs, the world rocked. Percy leaned against the wall for stability while his eyes darted around.

"What in the seven hells?" Percy cursed.

He stayed on the wall for a few seconds before he unpeeled, continuing up the steps with an excruciating slowness. His attention swiveled toward the odd window where he could see the whole of King's Landing.

"That's smoke," he mumbled to himself. His eyebrows raised to see dark black clouds columned in the air. "Is there a fire?"

He hadn't heard any bells warning of such.

Figuring he would know soon enough because all business was discussed in the kitchen and his mother was a gossip, he hurried up the last flight of stairs.

Ice dripped down his spine to see the Mountain lumbering in his direction. Though his knees were weak and his heart stuttered in his chest, Percy kept pushing forward in the same direction. He wasn't going to run away.

Covered in golden armor, the Mountain was the biggest man Percy had ever seen. Percy wasn't even sure he was a man. The Mountain was as silent as a crypt, and he smelled rotten as if he were a corpse.

Percy gritted his teeth and held his head as he passed the Mountain. He breathed out when he was in the clear. It was little further to the King.

The king's groomsman, Harry, nearly bumped into him. A short and breathless apology came from Harry before he went around Percy, not even bothering to give him a second look. Strange, Percy spared a thought.

Then, Percy was at the king's door.

"Mi'lord." Percy knocked. He listened for the affirmative.

No answer.

"Mi'lord," he raised his voice and tried again with a stronger, more persistent knock. He counted to five. When he heard nothing, Percy bent halfway down before remembering his mother wanted to see the king take a singular bite.

Percy huffed. He took care not to lie to his mother unless it was extremely necessary. With another glance at the door, Percy thought it was best to ask forgiveness if he interrupted the king's beauty sleep or caught him in the middle of a shit.

Percy opened the door. His eyes were drawn toward the great window.

"Waitdon't-" Percy's words mashed together as he pushed the tray to his side and raced toward the window, grabbing onto the back of the king's tunic and tugging him back.

The king yelped as he crashed into him. Together, they tumbled onto the stone floor. The tray clattered and the cakes spilled everywhere.

Dazed, Percy blinked at the high stone ceiling-cobwebs were caught in the early morning light.

He turned his head. The King was looking at him with wide, deep green eyes-his golden hair around him was like the beginning of a lion's mane.

For a moment, it was absolutely quiet and still. They stared at each other.

Then, the king was yelling- a noise filled with rage, and later, Percy would come to recognize it as grief.

The King launched toward him in a flurry of limbs.

For a few seconds, Percy tried to keep a cool head. Hitting the king was as good as signing his death warrant, but when he was punched in the face, all bets were off. Percy fought back.

The King fought like a man possessed. All flailing limbs and desperation. This wasn't Percy's first go-around. He had grown up in Flea Bottom, and the boys in the dirt and grime there were nasty and vicious and, for most of Percy's life, bigger than him.

So, Percy was fast. He dodged more than he got hit. They wrestled on the ground. It probably looked ridiculous as they grabbed and tugged and ripped and swung and kicked and panted.

And then they were done. Percy rolled this way, and the king moved that way.

Percy licked his lip and tasted copper. He didn't know what he was supposed to say, perhaps: please don't behead me, or I didn't mean to kick your ass, or didn't the king know that fighting was how commoners greeted each other?

His excuses paused when he heard a slight sniffle. He looked at the King, and his eyebrows pushed together when he saw the tears.

"Uh…" He didn't think he hit the king that hard. "Mi'lord?"

With a single word the King started to sob.

Percy startled. He slowly sat up and took the King in. He felt a twinge of sympathy at the sight. The King wasn't so kingly… he was a boy, about the same age as him, going through a rough time.

Percy looked over his shoulders, his eyes landing on the tray. Most of the cakes were dashed to pieces on the ground, but there was still a good one left. Percy offered it to the King.

"Do you want a cake?" he asked quietly.

The King glanced at him with wet eyes and a bit of a snot trail. Yuck. "Pardon?"

"Would you like a cake, mi'lord? My mother, a baker, made them fresh this morning just for you," Percy said. "It'll be the best thing you've ever tasted."

The King scrubbed his face with his arm. "Why?" he asked. "Why did your mother make them? I didn't request anything."

"She, uh, wanted to make sure you started your day with something sweet and easy," Percy said, fudging on the exact wording because he didn't want the King to cry again. By the looks of it, he wasn't sure how successful he was.

"That's so kind," the King said. "Your mother is lovely."

Percy nodded. The King nibbled on the cake.

"My mother's awful," the king said quietly. "She just murdered my wife and the High Sparrow and a bunch of high lords and ladies."

Well, okay then.