AN: Hi there, welcome all.


Chapter 2: The Broken Prince


Henry could feel himself bounce whenever the wheelhouse hit a bump in the road, and it happened so frequently that he was tempted to have the roads redone when he became King.

Gods, he would be glad if all this oversized wagon did was bounce, rather than have a wheel fall off and need to be repaired, which would extend their already long trip north.

The journey to the North had begun almost a month ago now, and even as it was summer, the further they got to the Neck, it got cold enough that they needed to stop and throw on furs and warmer clothing.

It wasn't entirely inhospitable as the Riverlands looked rather beautiful in a gloomy sort of way, the column stopping at a few castles to stay a night or two before getting back on the road to their destination.

Specific memories made as they traversed through the southland kingdom were seeing the mighty castle of Harrenhal, and the Gods Eye, where two dragon battles took place.

It was all-

The wheelhouse rocked again, and his back felt like he had gotten kicked, his mother took notice and asked if he needed another pillow, "I'll be fine, Mother."

The Queen shook her head, "I don't understand why we couldn't have sailed to the North, it would be faster and less troublesome."

No doubt Father ached for a long horse ride, or maybe the King didn't like the seas as his brother did, "We're almost there, Mother, I can make it the next few days." He assured the Queen, who squeezed his hand gently.

Laughter was heard from outside the wheelhouse, and reaching over, Henry opened it and saw Joffrey riding alongside Lancel and his sword shield, Sandor Clegane.

He watched them for a moment, envious of their ability to stand riding a horse all day and not feel like you are at the feet of the Stranger.

And Joffrey, well, his little brother, loves to mock him for his inability to be a man at all.

"Brother, can you sing to me?" His sweet sister asked him, though he knew that she was letting the mask fall.

Myrcella was the perfect replication of their mother, cunning and courteous in equal measure. She was only ten, but her beauty had already been taken note by Lords with heirs around her age or older.

He knew, however, that their mother wouldn't simply allow her to be made a Lady for some tiny House, and he had laughed greatly when he heard that Walder Frey had offered his youngest son as a suiter.

As if the boy could possibly be worthy of Cella, his uncle Jaime once said that the Freys believe they are sought-after matches for brides and grooms due to the marriage between Aunt Genna and Emmon Frey.

It very well could be true, even the pathetic have to have confidence in themselves.

The thirteen-year-old Crown Prince grabbed a book from his person, it was new, given to him by his uncle Tyrion before they set sail.

It was less a historical tome this time than a guide or rule book about a game played across the Narrow Sea, Cyvasse was the game that required the players arrange the tiles on the board, with a screen in the middle, so neither can see how the other arranges their board. Among the squares that the players can place themselves, are mountains. In turn, the players move their pieces across the board.

It was a game for tacticians, his uncle told him, and soon the game would be played here in Westeros as it had grown in popularity outside Volantis, where it originated.

Leaning back, he indulged his mind and read till day turned into night, falling asleep with Tommen and Myrcella leaning on both his shoulders.

The next morning he awoke to the sound of the wheelhouse stopping suddenly, his eyes fluttering open and reaching to look outside and was amazed.

Behind them was the long line to Moat Cailin, they were in the North now.

Stepping up, he opened the door to step unto the ground and gazed upon the rolling hills and the kingsroad that led to nearby castle leagues away still.

Turning to Arys Oakheart, his friend and protector, "Is that Winterfell?" He asked the older man, who shook his head.

"Castle Cerwyn, I believe, my Prince. The seat of House Cerwyn." Henry hummed and walked along the column, assuming the king had stopped to rest a moment.

Despite ignoring them, he noticed some men sending him sneers, and boys who flocked behind Joffrey made snide jokes as he passed them.

It never bothered him but was a nuisance, and in time as he and Joffrey get older, these whispering hens will get bolder with their closeted insults to his health and inability to fight and ride like some gallant knight.

Someone who Joffrey is trying to be.

His little brother is as tall as him, and over the years, had grown quite proficient with a crossbow and that sword of his, Lions Tooth, a Shite name for an overtly pompous sword for an equally pompous Prince.

Henry knew Joffrey could be deadly if not for his temper and overconfidence, unable to take an ounce of criticism from the Master at Arms, Aron Santagar.

"Ah, nephew, well rested? I hope so." A wisp of a smirk formed on Henry's lips as he turned to look at the stumpy form of his uncle Tyrion Lannister. "I was worried for a moment, sleeping till well past noon when usually, you would go days without much sleep in those books of yours."

"Books you gave me, and I would be if mother hadn't been having the Maester's administer essence of nightshade so I don't collapse from fatigue." He said this with a hint of humor, his uncle hopped from the barrel he was sitting on and walked over to him.

He doesn't see his impish uncle often, only a half year ago had the second son of Tywin been inside the city and relished in coming North… Henry found himself confused as little else would force Tyrion from the brothels on the Street of Silk.

Tyrion was a dwarf, half the size of his uncle Jaime and twice the wit. His uncle had golden hair, though appeared paler than his mother and her twin. The man had two mismatched eyes, green and black.

"Care for a game, good nephew, whilst my sister is preoccupied?" Tyrion offered, and Henry looked and spotted the Queen, unnoticed and discreetly, the pair left and got things and, for a good hour, played a game of Cyvasse.

It was a close game, and his uncle ran his forces to near destruction, but he left his lead piece unprotected, so Henry moved his lead piece over and claimed his crown.

Each move was a deliberate gamble, sacrificing his pawns and knights and cavalry, tightening his guard, and forcing his uncle to loosen his own, which he took advantage of.

"I'll be damned, you are catching on well at this game, nephew."

Henry swelled with pride till he heard the steps of his little brother approach with his dog beside him.

It really soured what seemed like a good evening, "Playing games again, big brother?" Joffrey questioned and lifted up the knight piece, "Pretending to fight when you cannot, pitiful."

The air was thick with how he would respond.

Anger flared in Henry, wishing to rise from his seat and hit his little brother upside the head and make him redden his cheeks with embarrassment, but instead, he got up and pulled the knight piece from his brother's hand. "Not all fights need be fought with swords, Joffrey, it is why Daeron the Good is remembered as the best of them and Maegor the weakest of Kings."

It was a subtle jab at his brother's temper, and his ego that overtakes his senses in most things.

Joffrey's cheeks did red in shame, "Father wants to see you, I'm sure it's to disinherit you in favor of a healthier and better son. Come on, dog." Sandor gave a gruff response before following his charge.

Henry remained there, silently, until Tyrion decided to speak, "I do not know Robert on a personal level, not as much as Cersei, but he doesn't seem the type of man to do anything like that."

A scoff left the Crown Prince, "My father has spent more time with his lads and whores than me, he often wishes me to take part in hunts, but that much exertion leaves me bedridden." He confessed.

It's happened before, it was a rainy three days, and he was sure to die as he could barely leave his own bed to even piss or shit.

The King just doesn't see him as well as he does Joffrey or even Tommen, his longevity is questionable, and that involves his ability to procreate and have children when he eventually marries his Queen Consort.

His wife will have to be sure to give him sons, even just one would do to carry on the bloodline because if he should die without one, he fears what's to become of the dynasty his father in Joffrey's hands.

Tyrion offered him a sympathetic stare, "Best go, Henry, it ain't well to leave him waiting."

Henry signed and rose from the seat, "Come, Ser, the King awaits." His words were bored and weary of what his father might demand of him.

King Robert of the House Baratheon. The Demon of the Trident and slayer of the Last Dragon was in his umpteenth cup of wine when he arrived where his father was standing next to his other uncle, Ser Jaime.

The cold and shameful stare of his father burrowed into his own cool hue of blue, a twitch in the man's great beard leaving Henry to wonder if he was frowning or sneering in disgust.

"You called me, Father?" He addressed the King with his head lowered to the dirt.

"We will be at Winterfell in a few hours, just a few leagues past Castle Cerwyn." He knows this as well, "I want you with me at the head of the column on your horse."

"You know I can't endure that long of a ride, do you want me dead at the doorstep of the Starks?" His remark was rewarded with a firm but not too rough of a smack from the King's hand, Henry brought his own hand to feel where the strike had landed.

Robert felt ashamed from the way he recoiled his hand, "Sorry, son." Another apology, always saying sorry for things he knows he does when he is in his cups.

His uncle Jaime had his head turned, as did Ser Arys, it was funny that they are Kingsguard and not Princeguards.

"Stay under your mother's skirts if you so wish but you will be at my side when we pass through those gates, now go, get some rest while you can."

Henry left then, an hour later, the column was back on the road and passing by Castle Cerwyn by noon and not long after that he laid eyes on the seat of the Lords of Winterfell and Wardens of the North.

It looked massive, larger than the Red Keep and towers as tall as the smallest of Harrenhal's spires when they past it crossing the Riverlands. Only Kings lived here, surely no Lords, He thought as he looked, opening the door to the wheelhouse.

His mother bid him remain but he conveyed that it was the King's order for his heir to be astride when meeting the Starks, she didn't want him to go but reluctantly let him leave and find a horse which Arya helped him mount.

The strain on his body, the vibrations of the horse as it trotted to he front caused him much pain yet endured it.

He did enjoy the let-down expression of his brother, Henry hoped the second son would realize where his place was.

The Crown Prince's blue eyes went from his brother to the place where he and his family would be staying, feasting with wolves and other beasts according to the Grand Maester.

"Lovely… "


AN: See you all soon, thanks for reading.