Reviews make me write faster! - I use the quatermaester interactive game of thrones map when writing.
Eddard Stark
Ned winced as he slowly climbed the steps of the Iron Throne to hold court. His crushed leg pained him with every step, but Grand Maester Pycelle assured him that it was healing. He grudgingly admitted that Lord Renly had been right to suggest moving his bedchamber to the base of the Tower of the Hand. The steps of the Red Keep and the Iron Throne itself were cruel enough. To climb the stairs of the tower constantly would have meant Ned would have had to take even more milk of the poppy than he currently was, and he preferred a clear head.
Grunting with relief, despite how sharp and uncomfortable the throne was, Ned was finally able to sit and look out over the day's petitioners. Grand Maester Pycelle and Petyr Baelish sat at the council table at the foot of the Iron Throne, though still on the dais. They were the only members of the Small Council still in Kings Landing apart from the ever-elusive Lord Varys, who seemed to appear and disappear from the council table at will.
Ned had thought that he was done with this. He'd resolved to return to the North and leave the corruption of the capital behind. But then the Kingslayer had crippled him, and in the fight with Robert upon his awakening the king had threatened to appoint Ser Jamie as Hand of the King if Ned did not agree to take the position again. As much as Robert had changed, as much as his actions disgusted Ned, he still did not have it in him to leave his dearest friend surrounded by enemies. He had reluctantly taken the pin from Robert's hand, and the cycle had begun anew.
No sooner had he taken the pin and agreed to be Hand of the King once more, then Robert had gone on a hunt in the Kingswood and had taken half the court with him. Including a vigorously protesting Lord Renly, who had made every argument possible to be left behind. Including the argument that it had been Prince Tommen's ninth nameday only two days after they left and if the young prince's own father could not be bothered to attend then he could at least let the boy's uncle be there for him. To Ned's resigned disappointment Robert had been unmoved and had dragged his younger brother along anyway, showing a complete disinterest in his younger son. How Ned wished for the Robert of his youth, the Robert that had been so enamoured with Mya Stone when he fathered her that he had never missed a nameday until the Rebellion. Ned had ordered Arya to spend the following day with Prince Tommen and be as nice as possible to him in the hopes of lifting the boy's spirits.
Ned had first thought to ask Sansa, but his eldest daughter seemed to think Tommen and Myrcella were beneath her in her betrothed's household, as Jeyne Pool was in his. Ned was not blind, he'd noticed the more callous side of his daughter growing the longer she spent in the company of the queen and Joffrey, though Sansa kept it hidden beneath her courtesies. He'd decided to leave her to her mooning over her prince in the Tower of the Hand and send Arya instead. Content that the problem with Sansa and Joffrey would be solved when he sent her back to Winterfell with Arya as soon as he could find a reputable ship.
Surprisingly, Arya had grudgingly admitted Tommen was not too terrible to spend time with as he let her play armies with him. They had used his wooden soldiers to recreate the greatest battles of Robert's Rebellion and see if they could change the outcome with the forces the commanders had had available. Princess Myrcella had apparently been incredibly pleased with Arya's efforts and had acted as judge while recommending new battles for the other two to act out with the soldiers, going all the way back to the Conquest of Dorne and the Dance of Dragons. Which surprised Ned as he assumed the princess would be like Sansa and have little patience for such martial games. Perhaps Robert could be persuaded to match Myrcella with Robb, or foster Tommen at Winterfell instead of continuing the betrothal of Sansa and Joffrey.
Ned was forced to pay attention as a group of terrified small folk were led before the Iron Throne by three Riverlanders. Ser Marq Piper, Ser Raymun Darry, and Ser Karyl Vance bade them to give their testimony. Ned listened with mounting horror as the reports of the mounted brigands got worse with each that spoke.
The apprentice used as a live jousting target until he grew too tired and was run through.
The alehouse guests raped and murdered before their children's eyes.
The entire population of Wendish Town; burned alive in their timber holdfast or shot full of arrows trying to escape the blaze.
Varys, Littlefinger, and Pycelle asked questions, but Ned already knew the truth given the reported size of the brigand's leader. Gregor Clegane. This was Tywin Lannister's response to Catelyn's mad seizure of the Imp. Never had the red light that bathed the throne room through its stained-glass windows seemed more appropriate. It was the colour of blood, blood that was being shed due to the actions of his wife, while he sat here. Useless.
The questioning of the Small Council members, and Ned himself, made the situation clearer to him. Both the Westerlands and the Riverlands had called their banners, with Tywin Lannister calling his general muster to Sarsfield and Edmure Tully to Riverrun. As he heard the Lords of the Trident detail his good brother's response to the raiding, Ned wanted to despair. Edmure had sent men to all villages and holdfasts within a day's ride of the border, looking to protect every inch of his soil and every man that called him lord.
While gallant, it was far from wise to do so. Unless Ser Edmure had depleted his entire host, the men sent to each location would be few and they would easily be overwhelmed by the hundred or so raiders riding with Ser Gregor. That portion of the Riverlands strength would be cut up peacemeal, as they would never learn the fate of their neighbouring garrison's until they had already been overwhelmed. The main Riverlands force was in an even more precarious position, as even if the parties had been kept small breaking off so many men had to have reduced the strength of the general muster at Riverrun. Which would mean that his gallant and oh so foolish good brother likely no longer had the concentrated strength needed to meet the Lannister army sure to descend from the Golden Tooth. Especially if Tywin sent his full force.
Still, no matter what the strategy, the butchery of the Mountain cried out for justice. Ned's hand twitched as he thought of Ice, locked in his solar atop the Tower of the Hand. He wanted nothing more than to ride out and bring King Robert's justice to the brigands, dragging Ser Gregor back in chains to behead with the greatsword that had brought justice to so many Northerners over the centuries. He wanted to use blade of House Stark on the very steps of the Red Keep, cutting through the corruption of the capital as Cregan Stark had done in the Hour of the Wolf. But the throbbing of his shattered leg reminded Ned that at the moment he couldn't even climb the stairs in the tower to fetch Ice, let alone ride out and drag the Mountain back to face justice.
Ned looked around the court before coming to a decision. The command should by rights go to Ser Ilyn Payne as the King's Justice. But he was a Lannister bannerman, and Ned didn't trust him in any case. Instead, his eyes sought out a knight with a fierce reputation. He stood to render his judgement, doing his best to hide the pain from his shattered leg. It was important that he not show any weakness in this crucial moment.
"People of the Riverlands, I cannot give you back your homes, or your crops. Nor can I return your dead to life. But perhaps I can give you some measure of justice in the name of our good King Robert. I mislike sending others to swing the sword when I have passed the sentence, but it seems I have little choice." Ned gestured to his shattered leg before continuing.
"Ser Ronnet Connington. You will assemble twenty men and command a force to bring the Mountain to justice in King Robert's name, I will send twenty of my own household guard with you. Ser Raymun Darry, Ser Gladden Wylde, Lord Lothar Mallery, Ser Elwood Harte, you shall each assemble twenty men and join Ser Ronnet."
The husky young knight came forward and knelt before the Iron Throne, his straight red hair falling about his face and hiding his close-cropped red beard. Ned could see why he had been given the moniker of 'Red Ronnet'. He was about to give the formal command when a voice cut across the silence of the court. "Lord Eddard!"
Ser Loras Tyrell swept forwards to stand at Ser Ronnet's shoulder, the golden rose belt around his slender waist emphasising the difference between himself and the more visibly muscular Stormlands knight. Ned tried not to let his anger show, but if the Tyrell boy was going to demand he be given the command instead Ned resolved to firmly put him in his place. No matter what the consequences might be for Jon, the Hand of the King could not be so openly defied. "Ser Loras?"
The Knight of Flower's voice carried clearly over the whispering of the court. "As Master of Laws and thus responsible for the king's justice, in his absence Lord Renly has endowed me with the power to give Ser Ronnet eighty of his own household guard. To join the score you have given yourself."
Ned stared. Ser Loras had been away from the city when he awoke, apparently having left Jon taking out twoscore of Lord Renly's household guard each day while he was absent. The Knight of Flowers had ridden back through the gates a week after Ned had awoken with not only the score of Tyrell guards he had left with, but the hundred mounted men-at-arms of the Holy Hundred, led by Ser Bonifer Hasty. Ned was wary of whatever moves Lord Renly was making, but Littlefinger had sworn that Ser Loras had done nothing but train in the week since, excepting his scaring of the Redwyne twins back to the Arbor with threats of their mutual grandmother.
Ned felt a pit of apprehension form in his gut. Renly Baratheon had clearly predicted not only Tywin Lannister's actions, but his own response to it. Which made him suddenly fear that Tywin had predicted Ned's response as well, and that there was more to this than a simple attempt to goad the Lords of the Trident into being the ones to break the king's peace by striking at Ser Gregor themselves before bringing their complaints against him to the Iron Throne. But as much as he dearly wanted to question the boy privately about what he and Lord Renly knew and were planning, he could not delay sending out Ser Ronnet now he had announced it in open court. To do so would be indecisive, which was often even worse than weakness.
"I thank Lord Renly for it." Ned replied honestly. A hundred and twenty men should have been enough to counter Ser Gregor's hundred or so brigands. The extra eighty Baratheon guards would make sure of it.
"In the name of…" "Lord Eddard!" Ned bit back a curse as he was cut off again. Ser Bonifer Hasty strode forward, dressed in his house colours of purple and white but with the seven-pointed star displayed prominently on his doublet. His close-cropped grey hair and muscled but older body was a marked difference to the young man and the boy who stood next to him.
"Ser Bonifer." Ned growled out between gritted teeth.
"Gregor Clegane has proven himself a false knight." The Stormlander stated clearly across the silent court. "His actions are not only an abomination to The Seven, but a breaking of every vow he ever swore to them. I beg you my lord, let me ride out with my Holy Hundred as well. With only one force chasing him the Mountain may be able to lead them on a merry dance all over the Riverlands before he is caught. With two, either Ser Ronnet or I may able to chase him straight into the welcoming embrace of the other."
Ned immediately saw the truth of that, and with a hundred men already assembled he would not have to gather more crownlands knights to send whose virtue he barely knew. Ser Bonifer had a reputation as a good man and his Holy Hundred were known to be well disciplined and have a spotless reputation. Ned had no fears of their conduct under the king's banner.
He nodded at Ser Bonifer, who promptly bent the knee on the other side of Ser Loras to Ser Ronnet. Ned then looked questioningly at Ser Loras, who had yet to step back into the massed ranks of courtiers and petitioners.
"If it pleases the Lord Hand and Ser Bonifer, Lord Renly also instructed me to offer a hundred of his household guard to Ser Bonifer if the Holy Hundred were also sent in pursuit of the Mountain." The Knight of Flowers replied, making the whispers still rippling through the court change to outright babbling.
Ned knew what the comments were without even hearing them. They were the same questions he had himself. Namely how had Lord Renly been able to predict and orchestrate the situation so perfectly and, more importantly, why he was willing to send a hundred and eighty of his own household guard after the Mountain. Leaving himself with only the twenty that had accompanied him on the hunt.
Ned had half a mind to refuse, but then he thought of the message that would be sent to Tywin when four hundred men under the banner of the King, the Hand, and the Master of Laws chased the hundred-man Lannister raiding party. Maybe it would be enough of a statement of Ned's, Robert's, and Renly's resolve that the old lion would back down. Remembering the blood-soaked fields of the Rebellion Ned decided he had certainly heard worse ideas.
"Thank you, Ser Loras, I am sure Ser Bonifer is grateful." Thankfully, the Tyrell simply nodded and stepped back into the court. At least there would be no more interruptions from him. Looking at the two kneeling knights, Ned once again attempted to make the formal proclamation.
"In the name of Robert, of the House Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard, of the House Stark, his Hand, I charge you to ride to the Riverlands with all haste under the king's banner. There you are to bring the king's justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane, and all who shared his crimes."
The court seemed to be in total shock, as if they could not believe that such a judgement had actually been rendered against a bannermen of Tywin Lannister. Ned had had his fill of them for the day.
"This session of the court is over. Ser Robar, carry word of these matters to the king. Ser Bonifer, Ser Ronnet, Ser Loras, please remain."
The other courtiers filed out as the two Stark household guard in attendance helped Ned down the steps of the Iron Throne. Lord Varys had disappeared by the time he reached the bottom, as had Grand Maester Pycelle – with surprising speed for one who was supposedly so infirm – and out of the corner of his eye Ned saw Littlefinger talking to Sansa and Septa Mordane as they left the gallery. He frowned, making a note to look into that later, before turning to the three men before him. Ser Arys Oakheart was standing at his shoulder as his constant shadow, as the Kingsguard had been since he had awoken.
"Ser Loras. How did Lord Renly know what Tywin Lannister would do? And why did he volunteer so many of his own men? I feel that he believes there is more to the old lion's actions than simply trying to goad House Tully into being the ones to break the king's peace rather than House Lannister." Ned asked directly, cutting to the heart of the matter.
The two other knights looked confused, no doubt wondering why a third son would know the thoughts of a lord paramount, even if they were known to be close friends. Ned, however, knew exactly how deep Ser Loras was in Lord Renly's confidence.
The Knight of Flowers grinned proudly. "Lord Renly is an excellent strategist. He simply placed himself in Lord Tywin's position and identified your influence over the king as the greatest obstacle facing him. He then considered how that influence could be removed without causing your death, as that would make the king so wroth as to be self-defeating. It is well known that the only thing that King Robert likes more than hunting is warring against rebellious lords after all."
"How did that result in him predicting Gregor Clegane's raiding?" Ned snapped out, already beginning to feel out of his depth.
"It is also well known that you believe in the First Men tradition that he who passes the sentence should swing the sword my lord. Lord Tywin likely planned to use that. Sending Gregor Clegane out in a manner that would both goad the Tullys and demand an immediate response from the Iron Throne, a response you would feel honour bound to lead. An ambush is likely awaiting any force that pursues the Mountain under the king's banner, hoping to capture you and make you Lord Tywin's prisoner. In the dungeons of Casterly Rock your influence over the king would be no more, and your status as a hostage would give House Lannister tremendous influence over both the king and House Stark. If the gods smiled on him, he would even have been able to claim that your good brother was the one to break the king's peace. Levelling the charge that you rode out to cover up Ser Edmure's treachery rather than respond to any Lannister raiders. Thankfully the Riverlanders petition for justice at court today has robbed him of that. More, his own son gave you the wound that caused his entire scheme's failure. Truly the Seven seem to be laughing at House Lannister."
Ser Bonifer gave a satisfied grunt. But Ned was gripped by the desire to force the satisfied smirk from the young Tyrell's face. He looked so proud at serving someone that had such a talent for duplicity it made Ned feel sick. The only thing that allowed him to resist doing so was the knowledge that the cocky boy was right. For someone to use his honour against him so filled Ned with such fury it was difficult to keep himself under control, but it was true. He would have led the men he sent after Gregor in Robert's name if not for his shattered leg, and in so doing he would have fallen right into the old lion's trap. As much as Renly Baratheon had shown himself to be a silver tongued, duplicitous, honourless southron – yet again – he'd done so while pulling Ned's head out of the lion's mouth. So, Ned held his wolfsblood at bay, however difficult it was.
"If Lord Renly believes it to be a trap, then why has he committed so many of his own men?" Ned growled out.
It was Ser Bonifer that spoke up rather than Ser Loras, though given that the old knight had been at court since the days of the Mad King Ned supposed he should not have been surprised. He would have seen a great deal of court intrigue in his days admiring Queen Rhaella from afar.
"Because trap or not, the actions of the Mountain demand a response from the Iron Throne. Men must be sent, but Lord Tywin likely expects the same number that the Mountain rides with to be sent after him, as you originally intended my lord. Lord Renly likely believes that four hundred men have more chance of escaping whatever trap the old lion has prepared for us than a hundred and twenty do."
"Or of turning the trap back on the old lion, if the gods are with us." Ronnet Connington announced strongly, leaving no doubt that was what he intended to attempt.
There was little left to say, so Ned dismissed the three knights and began to walk slowly back towards his temporary solar and bedchamber in the base of the Tower of the Hand. With every day that passed he wished harder that he was back in Winterfell. He was not made for the south. Today had only reinforced his decision to send both Sansa and Arya back home to the North.
As the Tower of the Hand finally came into view, Ned resolved to tell them both after the evening meal, before continuing to search the book that seemed to have gotten his foster father killed. The sooner they were gone, the safer he would feel.
Renly Baratheon
It was safe to say that if Cersei wasn't about to murder Robert Baratheon, I might well have beaten her to the punch.
Nearly three weeks. We had been trapsing through the Kingswood for nearly three weeks now. The worst of it was that I hadn't even been able to work, read, or plot in the great encampment of the court that had accompanied us. Instead, I was forced to accompany Robert on the party he led out each day, a party that only ever had a single guest aside from myself. The rest of the court were left to enjoy the woods or hunt in their own small groups.
That meant I was forced to suffer through his constant ranting. About simpler days, about my lack of masculinity, about Lyanna Stark, about the work of being king, about how I wasn't a man, about the Targaryens, about Ned's stubbornness, about how I was a disgrace to the Baratheon name, about the Lannisters. All of it in an endless cycle that had worn out my patience by the ninth day. By the fifteenth, Ser Barristan was reduced to looking over consolingly at me as I was so angry that I had lost the ability to hide my utter contempt for Robert, king or not.
Today was the nineteenth day. The news from Ser Robar about Ned dispatching Ser Ronnet and Ser Bonifer to hunt down the Mountain had arrived yesterday and Robert had fallen into an even fouler mood as a result. I had barely been able to ask Ser Robar to continue on the Kingsroad and bring the news to Storm's End before Robert had forced the entire grand encampment to hear his thoughts on stiff-necked Starks and arrogant Lannisters for the rest of the evening.
Today would be the day he met his end though. I was sure of it. Faced with such clear evidence that the situation was about to break out into open war, Ned would be certain to get his daughters away from the capital. He was not nearly as confident of Robert's support as he pretended to be, and he had no other allies in the South. Not given his continued wariness of me, the total silence from the Vale, and that Riverrun was where the Lannister's hammer blow was almost certain to land. Sansa's wailing at him announcing his evacuation plan should still have triggered his realisation about the royal children and he would have confronted Cersei the next day. Which meant that Cersei's instructions to Lancel would likely have been only a day behind Ser Robar. If I was right, Lancel would have received them this morning.
It wasn't even midday yet, but Robert was already far drunker than he usually was after a full day of hunting. Which confirmed my suspicions. Robert, Lancel, myself, Ser Barristan, and today's guest, Ser Balon Swann, all trapsed through the Kingswood as Lancel continued to ply the king with wine, being unusually attentive rather than trying to keep out of the king's gaze as he had done every other day we'd been dragged hunting. Robert had picked Ser Balon as today's guest for his superb skill with a bow. He was fed up with coming back emptyhanded from chasing after the elusive monstrous boar and determined to bring back something today. Even if it was a deer or two that the knight had shot rather than the boar he had forbidden any of the other hunting parties from touching.
A messenger caught up to us and made to pass me and Ser Barristan, who were hanging back a little. I reached out a hand and stopped them.
"And what is so urgent?"
"An urgent message for His Grace from the Master of Whispers." The messenger responded curtly, just as several had over the course of the near three weeks we had been in this accursed forest.
"Give it to me, I'll ensure he gets it." I ordered as I stared down the messenger. Clearly, he was reluctant, but as I was a member of the Small Council, and I had the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard at my shoulder, he relented.
Robert didn't say a word even though he had to have heard the messenger. Which was the attitude that had allowed me to intercept every message that had come to him, except Ser Robar. It was why I had reverse psychologized my way onto this accursed hunt, so that I could stop any news that I had called the Stormlands banners from reaching Robert.
I hadn't quite realised how much verbal abuse would be headed my way as a result, but I had little choice but to endure it. This was the moment of critical vulnerability for me, when my position was the most precarious because I was taking action that was technically treason against a king who was still very much alive. If Robert found out and was actually roused to action by my opponents, then the Stormlands lords would never support me over him. I would find myself in the black cells so fast my head would spin.
"What is it this time?" Ser Barristan murmured quietly as I read the missive.
"More information on the gathering banners." I answered truthfully. Leaving out the fact that they banners being reported on were mine, not Tywin Lannisters.
"You will have to tell him soon." Ser Barristan noted critically, making it clear that his patience with my actions was wearing thin.
"Do you really think that any of these messages will be welcome? That he will actually read them if I give them to him?" I repeated the defence I had been using for weeks.
"Welcome or not those words are for the king. He needs to read them."
"I would have more luck teaching a horse to sing than getting him to read them at the moment." I griped, entirely genuinely.
Ser Barristan actually let out a little huff of a laugh. "When then?"
"When he has finally killed this dammed boar. That should put him in a good enough mood." The bitterness in my tone went completely unremarked as Robert continued to speak loudly over us.
"…called it making the eight! Ahh the Riverlands! Have you ever fucked a Riverlands girl Balon?"
"Yes, Your Grace, though it would be ungallant of me to say who."
"Fierce aren't they! Couldn't believe they grip those girls had on my prick in Stony Sept! No point asking if you've fucked a Riverlands girl is there Renly? Probably too afraid they'd mess up your hair! If you even managed to get it up in the first place."
I was beginning to understand why Stannis had taken to grinding his teeth. I was certainly grinding mine.
"Not enough time hunting this brother of mine, Balon. Likes to throw masquerade balls and prance around in frilly lace and other such bollocks."
The urge to just thrust my boarspear through the fat oaf's back and damn the consequences was growing by the moment.
"A man's not a man until he's killed all of the great game animals and fucked a girl from at least four of the kingdoms; isn't that right Selmy?"
"Oh? And I suppose you're a prefect example of a man?"
Silence fell over our entire group as I realised the voice behind that provocative comment had been mine. It seemed I had finally lost my badly fraying hold on my temper without even realising it.
"Your Grace…" Ser Barristan began, clearly looking to defuse the situation, but Robert was having none of it.
"No, Selmy, lets see what this vain little dancing prick has to say. Gotta admit that's more of a spine than I was expecting for starters." Robert sneered contemptuously.
Red descended on my vision. The contempt from someone who was so utterly unfit to judge me shredded the very last of my control.
"I'm already more of a man than you will ever be! Which of us has run away from every problem that they couldn't hit? There's only one cockless wonder here Robert and it's you! You've never faced any problem, any challenge, any responsibility except for battle! Even then you leave the strategy and everything else of import to someone else and just wade in swinging your hammer, usually half drunk! You've run away from every responsibility you've ever had, burying your prick in girls and your face in food and wine, leaving Jon, Ned, Stannis, and me to run the fucking kingdom for you! Then you have the gall to complain that we actually do it! Being king is not a privilege Robert, it is a duty! One you cravenly shirk from sunrise to sunset! Three small council meetings in seventeen years Robert. THREE! Fucking girls and hunting doesn't make you a man. Shouldering your responsibilities does! But you wouldn't know that seeing as you scream and roar rather than shoulder a single one of yours! Fucking Viserys Targaryen is more of a man than you! At least he took responsibility for his sister and protected her for years! What was your response to someone attacking your supposed brother in the street? Stick him with all of your duties and tell him to forget his crippling injury while you run away into the woods to hunt and brag about how many girls you've fucked! As if that will make the rest of us believe you're some paragon of manhood. Well guess what Robert? NO ONE FUCKING DOES!"
The silence was total. Ser Barristan was staring at me in stunned disbelief, Lancel looked like he was going to faint, Ser Balon managed to look both shocked and calculating at the same time, and Robert…
The king looked like he had swallowed the strangler, his entire face going purple as he gripped his boarspear so tight that the shaft made ominous creaking noises. Robert was still choking, trying to get words out but unable to in his utter fury, when his spear broke with a deafening crack, showering splinters across the forest floor.
I threw my own boarspear on the ground and stalked off before he could recover the power of speech and order my execution, or just beat me to death himself with the broken pieces of his own spear. I hadn't meant to say any of that. It had been beyond stupid. But nineteen days of constant abuse from someone who was the very definition of a useless man-child failing upwards had ground my good sense down to nothing. Robert announcing he was a better man than me because I accepted myself and was loyal to my beloved while he fucked hundreds of random women rather than face his responsibilities had been the final straw. Breaking what was left of my control and letting all of my frustrations with his incompetence and cowardice blast out of my mouth like dragonfire.
Ours is the Fury. It seemed I was a true Baratheon after all.
"RENLY! COME BACK HERE YOU SWORD SWALLOWING CUNT!"
I ignored the distant shout and continued walking, arms crossed and hands in my pits to try and stop them shaking. From anger or fear I couldn't tell. Even through my blinding rage, the fear of what Robert would do was potent. I had hammered every trigger Robert Baratheon possessed and there was no way he was going to forgive that. Especially not the shot about Viserys.
Ironically my entire survival, political and possibly literal, was now in the hands of Cersei. If Robert was not gored by the boar today, then everything I had worked for would be ashes by sunset. There was even a possibility Robert would just run me through with my own boarspear in front of the whole court when he returned to camp. The Baratheon fury had cost me dearly and now I could do nothing but curse my own stupidity and loss of control. That and pray for the success of Cersei Lannister's assassination attempt. Thanks to my unrecoverable mistake everything was riding on Lancel now.