After Cersei's attempts to comforting came to only intensify my worries, I headed to the sparring field with my uncle-but-actually-father Jaime. After about two months of training I have decided that this is my favourite thing in the world, so far at least. Don't get me wrong, I like reading and drinking is better but both pale in comparison to the feeling I get when I have a sword in my hand and an enemy ahead of me. The Dance of Swords is my passion and only the fact that Jaime has, you know, a job is stopping me from training with him every day, all day. That and the fact that I would probably collapse. Unfortunately for me on this day that job came up. After a good number of spars - all of which he won, of course - a servant appeared on the grounds.

"Her Grace requests your presence, Ser Jaime." he announced, and my mood immediately sank.

There were only two reasons I could think of - either she wanted to complain to him about the small cut I got yesterday and that Deep Den's maester treated late last night, or to engage in behaviours unbecoming of a pair of siblings. As I came to consider these people as my real family more and more each day, I also became growingly uncomfortable with the idea that my biological parents were brother and sister, and twins besides. While initially it was a not-so-little quirk that made the story that much more interesting, now it actually seems real. As a normal person who is neither a narcissist or in a deeply unhealthy codependent relationship with his sister, I am obviously disgusted by it. But what is a man who has but two grandparents who themselves happen to be first cousins to do other than accept it?

Not really interested in worrying myself to death over the uncomfortable nature of my existence and with my trainer… busy, I decided to go train someone else. That someone else being Tommen. That might not have been the best idea, but I couldn't think of anything else to do at that time, so I found myself outside his chambers, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my cloak. A guardsman with a crimson cloak and a lion's head helmet stood outside, hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

"Open the door." I commanded, he nodded in response.

"As you wish, Your Grace." he said gruffly.

I stood aside as he did as ordered, the wooden door creaking against its hinges. I found Tommen inside, sitting on the bed with his hand on a cat, its fur the same gold as his hair. He looked up and I saw a flash of fear in his eyes when he realised I was the one in the room, which almost turned my stomach in revulsion.

"Why are you here, Joff?" he asked, his voice weak.

"Uncle Jaime is busy but I still want to train." I replied. "Can I do so with you?" The flash returned, stronger and more intense, but wasn't accompanied by an answer of any kind.

"How about this," I continued, trying to convince him. "Today, we'll limit it to just you trying to hit me, alright? I've been training for a while now, I'm sure I can teach you a thing or two."

I received a weak nod in response, which was good enough for me. The plump prince got off the bed and followed me to the yard, taking care to stay well behind me. We got to the yard soon enough and I discarded my own blunted tourney sword, scabbard and all, replacing it with a wooden sword for each of us. These ones weren't weighted, but they would serve the same purpose for a seven-year-old boy. I handed him the sword, hilt first, and he picked it up with some manner of skill.

"Alright Tommen, try to hit me." I said as I picked up my own sword.

Five years of difference in age and two months of training with Jaime Lannister meant that it wasn't ever a competition, but only a bumbling idiot would think that Tommen didn't also inherit the Kingslayer's natural skill. That, combined with a lifetime of repressed anger meant that I had to make some sort of conscious effort to keep his strikes at bay which, while somewhat weak, were well-aimed and quick. However, a lack of training meant that his stamina could certainly be better and he was panting, hands on his knees and sword discarded on the ground, a few minutes later.

"Good, Tommen. You did very well." I said and he looked at me with complete bewilderment in his eyes.

"But I didn't hit you once!" he complained.

"I've been training with uncle Jaime for over two months now. Do you know how many times I've hit him?" I asked and he simply shook his head. "None." His look remained one of astonishment.

"But… how?" was all he could ask.

"Uncle Jaime is the best living swordsman in the Kingdoms. I am five years your elder." I answered, but he simply crossed his arms petulantly. "Come on Tommen, I'll let you leave when you hit me."

He didn't.

— — — —

Maester Eon's Account of the War of the Ninepenny Kings was open in front of me, a thick pile of sheets of paper to my left, a quill and inkpot to my right. According to the Deep Den's Maester, this book was one of the most detailed in the genre of military accounts. I therefore borrowed it from the Lyddens to read on the voyage. We were about two or three days away from King's Landing. It was to my great disappointment that while it went into tactics in depth, those used weren't worth the parchment they were written on. I was deeply disappointed with the lack of tactical development in this world though, reading the books, I really shouldn't have been surprised. Even Robb Stark and the Blackfish, those military geniuses, only really used strategy - the split at the Twins, the night attack on Oxcross, etcetera, none of it was actually tactical. Tactics in Westeros seem limited to the very basic - double envelopments, ambushes, armoured spearheads and so on. When the only major wars in the last half century have been decided by single combat, tactics don't really seem to matter.

I still decided to write down anything I found interesting, of course, but I drastically overestimated how much paper I would end up needing. Just as I was getting to the big thing, the duel between Barristan and Maelys, I heard a creak of the door. Looking up from my book, I found my littlest and only uncle waddling into the room.

"My sweet sister has invited us all to sup with her." he announced

"Even you, uncle?" I asked

"Yes. I have no clue what I did to merit such punishment." he japed.

"I'll have you know that my mother is an exceedingly pleasant woman." I retorted, feigning offence, as I got up.

"Both of us know that's not true." he said, finally serious. I laid a hand on his shoulder, having to almost extend my arm completely.

"What did she do?" I asked, my tone similar to his.

"You'll see." was all he said.

We walked in silence through the wheelhouse, which had stopped, to its dining room. It was very well decorated, with a table with space for ten and about as much luxury as could be fit, not including things made of crystal and glass, of course. I hadn't gotten really used to drinking from a metal goblet, but it wasn't the end of the world. Cersei and Jaime were the only two people there, both on one side of the table, with seats and spaces set out for the two of us on the opposite side. I was able to take a seat and a piece of white bread before she started talking.

"I heard that you've started training Tommen." she said, not betraying any emotion.

"I did. Uncle Jaime isn't always free and I need something to do to take my mind off the game. Helping Tommen seemed like a good idea." I explained, feeling Tyrion's disappointment when I called Joffrey's - and my - biological father by a term which while technically correct did not represent the true extent of our relationship.

"Good." she replied. "He needs it. It's what I've also heard that worries me."

"And what would that be, mother?"

"That you're just letting him try to hit you. Clegane said you haven't attacked once."

"Tommen is seven, Cersei." Jaime interrupted, earning a glare.

"When you were seven you could run rings around every other child in Casterly Rock." she replied. "You certainly didn't allow anyone to treat you like a child."

"Forgive me for interrupting," Tyrion said, interrupting, "but Tommen is as different from Jaime as I am."

"Do not compare yourself to my son." Cersei warned and the Imp returned to his silence. I took this opportunity to explain myself.

"Tommen has some natural skill, certainly, but he's seven and hasn't exactly had the most intense training regimen. This lets him build his strength and learn to control his movements. He also seems to enjoy it very much, so there's that." Cersei scoffed.

"You shouldn't let anyone treat you like a punching bag. You're the Crown Prince." she declared haughtily.

"And Tommen is my brother, and a better person besides. I need to make amends for a decade of horrible actions. Letting my brother try to hit me is a good way to do so." I said, with a tone that declared that the argument was over. Cersei clearly didn't understand that, as she started trying to speak.

"Enough, Cersei!" Jaime interrupted. "You didn't call them here to talk about Tommen." He received a glare but Cersei finally relented.

"Fine." she said. "We received a rider earlier today when you were reading." she uttered that last word as if it was a great crime. "Here." She gave me a letter. It read:

Lady Lysa has barricaded herself in the Arryn quarters with her son Lord Robert, their knights, men-at-arms and other members of their household. His Grace the King seems to be relenting in his decision to allow Lord Robert to foster at Casterly Rock with your lord father. Ser Meryn Trant is in command of the force of Lannister household guards - led by its Captain Vylarr - and men of the City Watch - led by Allar Deem - which has been detached to make sure that Your Grace's orders are followed.

Lord Tywin wishes me to inform you that a reinforcement detachment of fivescore guards has been sent and will arrive one week after you. Lord Commander Slynt has made it known that the order turned out to be more laborious than expected. We all eagerly await your return, Your Grace.

Grand Maester Pycelle

"I knew something wasn't right." I bitterly said as I crushed the paper inside my fist.

"What happened?" Tyrion asked, curious.

"Lysa, that whore, has barricaded herself with her guards and will put up a fight if we try to get Robert from her. Robert, that coward, is going to bend over backwards to her if we don't stop it. As if that wasn't bad enough, Janos Slynt wants a bigger bribe." I explained.

"Slynt haggles more than a Tyroshi fishmonger." Cersei sharply complained. I audibly sighed.

"Mother, do please deal with this… issue." I said as I got up. "I need to go hit something."

— — — —

Thanks for reading!

I am thoroughly disappointed in you. I didn't receive a single guess for what Lysa did. I'm going to give you another chance with Cersei, though.

Reviews make me write faster.