Henrik II
The heavy wooden doors that led to the throne room creaked loudly as two guards opened them.
After he had reached the inside of the Red Keep, Henrik was ushered in by servants to lead him to his bed chambers. Rubin was given quarters to share with some of the Gold Cloaks.
Henrik was then instructed to rest and change as they would be having an audience with the King the next day. He felt glad about it. His bones were weary from riding, and he was all ready to collapse on the floor of his bed chambers, his eyes drooping. He was sure to snap at the King himself and lose his head for it.
Henrik paused in his thoughts. He was exaggerating. Obviously. The King wouldn't execute the son of a noble Lord for something as minor as that. The Mad King, yes, but King Joffrey wasn't that cruel, he surely hoped.
Moments before meeting the King, Henrik was dressed in his finest tunic and doublet. His hair was combed back and – to his utter dismay – the tiny prickles of hair on his upper lip and chin had been shaved off until Henrik was left looking like a boy of seven. Or at least that's what it appeared like to him.
Rubin would hear of no other. Henrik was a Lord's son, heir to Faircastle and would be Lord of Fair Isle one day, so he must dress like one, especially in the presence of the King and the Queen Regent. Henrik didn't argue with this logic. He would do his duty to make his House proud.
And yet, he still fought the urge to fidget and tug on the collar as he caught Rubin's stern eye. His groomsman often made his doublet too tight around the top, and it had Henrik restless like there was a knife pressing against his throat.
He bit back a sigh. Gods, he couldn't wait until this was over.
He knew he was representing House Farman, and his father would be furious if anything untoward happened. So, it was best to suck it up. Henrik sharply inhaled as one of the servants introduced him.
He tilted his head up as he walked in, sensing the multiple eyes on him from the rest of the Lords and Ladies. It was daunting, he had to admit – almost like he was the main puppet at a child's playhouse, everyone eager to get a glance at him. He heard the whisperings echo and tried hard not to listen. The steady, warm presence of Rubin behind him settled his nerves somewhat.
His gaze landed on the infamous White Cloaks of the Kingsguard in the forefront. Henrik stared, fairly in wide-eyed awe, at their shiny armour and the long swords strapped to their waists. Every boy in Faircastle knew of the Kingsguard since they could hold a sword.
And now Henrik could see one up close.
"All Hail his Grace, King Joffrey of the House Baratheon, First of His Name; King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," boomed a messenger.
Henrik peered at the slouching boy on the Throne. His hair was spun golden, and a crown rested on his temples. And, though his thoughts might sound treasonous, there was a tilt of something arrogant in the King's lazy smirk as if the whole court was beneath him. Most of all, the King looked bored. He wasn't even looking at his new arrivals and his gaze trailed across the throne room.
Henrik couldn't help the disappointment that struck him suddenly. The King seemed so. . . unimpressive. Not at all like the past Targaryen Kings and Queens.
Henrik had read up on their history and liked the idea of how mighty and regal they were with their silver hair and violet-smeared eyes that hailed from Old Valyria. It had delighted the young mind of Henrik, who used to tug on the Maester's robes and implore him to tell more stories, particularly of Prince Daeron the Daring.
Even King Robert was said to have been a mighty, handsome warrior in his prime despite Henrik never having laid eyes on him.
King Joffrey looked anything but a King – he was a boy. He reminded Henrik of one of his cousins from his aunt Jeyne: Ronas, a boy of two and twenty. His Lord Father had forced them to learn their letters and fight in the courtyard together, hoping it would make them as close as brothers. But Henrik would rather face Dragonfire head-on than declare Ronas as anything close to that.
Ronas was known very much for his malicious teasing and propensity to bully the servants and maids in Faircastle. Ronas was older which made him think he was wiser and superior. He'd shoot Henrik a smug glance from the corner of his eye when the Maester would praise his writing and call Ronas a clever young man with an eye for talent.
Henrik believed that Ronas was a strutted-up pig. He certainly had the nose for it, all short and pudgy.
The worst part was no one would believe him if he said a word against his cousin as the latter was skilled at putting on a mask. They'd just think he was slandering his cousin for attention.
His father admired Ronas, mostly because he was born from the womb of his beloved sister, which infuriated Henrik to no end. How could his father not see how much of a prick Ronas could be? Was he truly that blind, or did he merely turn a blind eye to everything but his son?
During most castle visits from his cousins, he had to endure his father smiling and nodding proudly at Ronas and at how far he's progressed with his education. Henrik dampened down his resentment, staring holes in the ground, and often bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.
Everyone at Faircastle knew Lord Sebaston Farman was far different from his son, Henrik. The Lord preferred the weight of a quill in his hand to the heavy metal of a sword – an aspect Tywin Lannister valued. Henrik often believed that was why his father and Ronas got along so well.
But if there was one thing Henrik could confidently get the better of Ronas for, it was sword fighting. Every time he kicked Ronas to the dirt with a swish of his practice sword, he couldn't help gloating and puffing his chest out in unbidden glee.
Ronas might have been good with his practised words and his smiles, but Henrik was the better-skilled fighter, and nor did he miss the opportunity to rub this in his cousin's scowling face.
"Henrik," came Rubin's hissing voice, so quiet that no one else heard it. "Bow."
Henrik, remembering his courtesies, sunk into a bow, Rubin following behind him.
"Arise, my young Lord," came a husk feminine voice. "And tell us what your business is today."
The Queen Regent had addressed him. She was a strikingly beautiful woman, with the same golden hair as her son, emerald eyes, and a slender, graceful figure. Henrik understood why most people hailed her the most beautiful woman in Westeros. Her beauty was hard to deny.
Next to her, with her gaze centred firmly on the ground, sat a young girl with hair the colour of flames. Nobody in Faircastle even had that type of hair colour. Henrik suspected you probably couldn't even get it as a hair dye.
The girl's face was guarded, and her hands folded in her lap. She had the straightest posture Henrik had ever seen – not even the Septas at Fair Isle could sit like that. He willed her to look up, his curiosity growing, but she never did.
"Have you come to bend the knee to me?" demanded the King rather impatiently, drumming his fingers against the arm of the throne. "And recognise me as King and Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms?"
Henrik, broken from his thoughts, was taken aback at the brash tone but quickly schooled his features into a polite smile, turning his gaze away from the girl. He bent a knee.
"Yes, your Grace," he said, managing to keep his voice steady. "I am Henrik Farman. I've come to swear allegiance to you on behalf of my father as his only son and heir. House Farman is yours to command."
King Joffrey instantly looked mighty pleased. "I'm glad to hear that. But why is Lord Farman not here on his knees swearing to me instead?"
"He is indisposed currently, your Grace," explained Henrik. "We are sworn by our oath to House Lannister, our liege Lord, as I'm sure you're well aware, your Grace, and so he fights in battle alongside Lord Tywin against Robb Stark."
There came mutterings of discontent and quiet condemnation from the other lords and ladies at his response.
King Joffrey nodded solemnly, his thin lips pressing together to appear important. "It is a disgrace and farce based on the words of the traitor Lord Stark that good men – loyal men to their King –" He raised his voice and did a great show of jutting out his chin in dramatic fashion. "– must wage a war against a Pretender. But the crown recognises honourable men who keep their sworn oaths. Which is why I hope to serve House Farman well as your King, Ser."
Henrik bowed his head with a courteous half-smile. He could only offer one thing. "Your Grace."
The Queen Regent spoke, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "Farman, did you say? I recognise that name. Would you happen to be related to Jeyne Farman?"
Henrik nodded in surprise, turning his gaze. "Yes, my Queen. She's my aunt. But she's Lady Clifton now."
"Yes, I heard she married a Bannerman of Lord Farman. I recalled that she was one of my girlhood companies. She has a dozen children last I heard. And –"
"I'm sure Lord Henrik has heard enough of your petty childhood stories, mother," interjected King Joffrey irritably before turning back to him. "Enjoy Kings Landing, my Lord." His voice was dismissive and passive.
The Queen Regent appeared displeased and hissed something under her breath to her son. King Joffrey, however, ignored her.
Henrik wasn't sure what to make of them. But he bowed for the final time.
"Well, that went better than expected," remarked Rubin once they were back in Henrik's chambers. A smile appeared. "You did well, young Master, for someone meeting the King for their first time. Most men tremble, and some piss themselves, would you believe?"
Rubin meant this for Henrik to laugh. But he stared into the fire, a frown on his face.
"I don't like him," he declared boldly. "The King, I mean. He feels off somehow."
Rubin sobered. "Don't let anyone catch you hearing that. Joffrey Baratheon may not be Mad King Aerys, but you don't want to push it. It is treasonous talk." Henrik shrugged carelessly, and Rubin sighed. "One day that amount of recklessness and courage is going to get you killed," he said with a note of exasperation.
"Good," grinned Henrik. "Who'd want a boring death anyway?"
This chapter came out faster than I thought.
Thanks for reading and for the support. I appreciate it greatly.
I think think this chapter explores much more of who Henrik is and his relationships. Let me know what you think. I hope it wasn't too rusty and that he comes out like a natural character.