The Horned Lion that Could - (ASoIaF, Tommen!SI)

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A new life, a new list of challenges.

I will not bore much on the details of my second birth, but I will provide a rather scathing summary of my childhood as the youngest son of King Robert Baratheon. My name is Tommen, and I have a shitty 'big brother'. And while this may sound like the same old tale of someone mentioning some 'reincarnation story' where Tommen plays it safe, that is not the case.

Sure, I am careful with my words and I definitely don't call my new mother an incestuous whore, but I am not as lenient towards my brother. Joffrey was a psycho brat from the very beginning. Even when I was a wee baby, he would stirr the craddle where Myrcella and I would be slumbering, trying to give us nightmares and what not.

I was patient then, knowing that mom had a firm hand in not having his 'baby boy' hurt the rest of her litter. And I was glad none of that left my twin sister scarred or something. That being said, as the years went by and I reached 5, things picked up some steam as I started to plan away how I was meant to play the damn game of thrones.

I knew a lot of stuff. A lot of valuable stuff, but I couldn't just make big moves at the time. I needed to be patient and cautious, but also arm myself with the means to defend myself from my shitty older sibling. And that came in the form of a simple wish.

"Mama, can I have a whip for the pony?"

Cersei's motherly smile hardly shook me from my bitter perspective over her personality, but at least I could bribe her with my cute chubby baby-boy self. I was definitely going to shed that with muscles, but for now I had what I needed: a fucking whip. And a flexible little one at that.

And I decided that, rather than ignore Joffrey's shitty attitude, I had to 'teach him' the way things were going to go if he wanted to live a respectable life: It all started with a fawn. Little adorable baby deer. A cute thing that dad decided could work with me since I was his 'tougher-looking boy' (a comment Joffrey loathed the moment he heard it) and because it was akin to a stag.

So, fast forward to me being 6 and getting notified that Joffrey had been stalking the grounds where the fawn was meant to enjoy some free time from me. I fetch the whip, I tell Myrcella to either tag along to watch or to not snitch on me (she opts to watch what I was up to), and I catch Joffrey lacking as he is looking for the fawn with a skinning knife at his disposal.

He tries to play on his height-advantage. A silly attempt considering a few slashes by the knees has him bowing just fine. Then I slap him. Twice. And he is soon running away crying to find mother. Cersei has mixed feelings on the situation, but she tries to get my hands off the whip.

Turns out that dad got wind of the situation and a big fight ensues between our parents about my 'right to defend myself'. Joffrey is scolded nonetheless, and Robert hands me a nice pat on my head for 'standing for myself'. Then he is off to his booze-rush. Mrycella is actually delighted with what happened.

Cella is what I would call the 'Cersei' that could have done so much if she hadn't been too dommy for her own good. And I don't mean sexually- I mean as a person that wanted everything done her way. She is a good sister, my main adviser for big plans since she is my 'shoulder sister' with a more naive but more blunt outlook, and... she is not trying to fuck me. Well, not yet, but hopefully never.

You know, Lannisters trying that Targ Incest Pill gone wrong as fuck. But not on my watch- or after my birth, that is.

Still, more 'incidents' occur in the ensuing months. Joffrey tries to assassinate my fawn, 'Mr. Prongs', on two occasions, then he tries to destroy my lil' cats five times. All in the span of a year. At this point, I have grown particularly good with the whip and it has become a habit of mine to be seen having it around.

I would soon be old enough to get trained with swords, but I really had done some basic exercises to turn my chubby baby-boy self more attuned to become Bobby B. II without the drunken streak and the slice of regret.

Dad loved me, and mom couldn't decide if I was a smart kid or if I was too unruly. Joffrey hated me, and Myrcella was my platonic soulmate (as in, I would love to have her around by my side forever, just not as a lover).

I even had a bit of a connection with Jon Arryn. The old man that acted as a grandfather when he had 'struggled' so much to get 'his own' son was quite overburdened between dealing with my father's vices and other pricey shit the realm demanded. We were in heavy debts, and Jon was too buried in paperwork to know the bad guy was the one supposedly shitting gold in the position of Master of the Coin.

Baelish was the biggest threat in court after Varys, but I was quick to 'neutralize' his plot the moment Jon Arryn passed away. While everyone was busy focusing on the dead Hand of the King, I focused on finding the notes that could have gotten Ned Stark onto our asses and had them burned.

Like hell we were creating any shitty succession crises just yet.

Still, I am 7, it's 298, Jon Arryn is dead- it is time for us to move north to meet 'Uncle Ned'.

Robert is steadfast on this decision despite Cersei asking someone else that isn't from the north. I am actually agreeing with her (on regard of this needing someone that is accustomed to King's Landing and its shitty politics, not about putting a Lannister in charge), but she doesn't understand that Bobby B. is a sentimental man and he wanted his 'buddies' to keep charge. So, Ned was going to be entrusted with 'deal with Robert and his shitty habits'. Not something one could easily stomach, but the King gets what the King wants.

So, we are going North and the carriages are prepared for the trip. For long months, I am holed up in a corner of the warm covers with my sister. Cella and I are at work to optimize the finest pillow fort in Westerosi history, and we have repelled an assault or two from the shitstain that is our brother.

I also taught Myrcella some non-slur insults to employ against Joffrey. Mother protested a few times, but we had father guffawing a few times as those terms got to him. Months meant to strengthen the bond between our family only created a more fine rift: Bobby B., Cella and I, against Cersei, 'Uncle' Jaime, and Joffrey.

I want to say I tried to fix it, but I didn't. I just hate the trio too much to truly care. Too harsh? I have seen the full scope of their bullshit and I wasn't planning to have any of that happen to us. Surprisingly enough, I can't get a grip on Uncle Tyrion. The guy is too hooked up on booze and whores around our stops to care to talk with his 'beautiful sister and her family'.

Tragic, but I can't fault him. Lots of abuse on him, and I was, as far as he could tell, another family member for him to be hated by.

After months of going from warm to hella cold, we finally arrive to our destination. Winterfell was upon us, and while I had plans to not befriend any of the Stark children, fate decided I had been doing a lot of naughty things.

So a certain shewolf tomboy made it her mission to hunt my ass down to tackle me in surprise attacks.

AN

Another Tommen!SI, except he has most of the stuff under control. Except Arya. Arya is an unpredictable gremlin.