Tyrion I

The Red Keep had been quiet of late, Tyrion Lannister observed. Quieter than usual, one might even say suspiciously quiet. King Robert and his royal sister were fighting, that was plain. Unpleasant? Yes, but normal enough. They had had rows before, great roiling, screaming matches loud enough to wake the closer neighborhoods in King's Landing. The present quiet was much different. My young nephew is at the heart of it, no doubt. All the servants gossiped about it when they thought he was out of earshot. The boy, cruel and callow as only a spoiled prince could be, cut up a pregnant cat to see the kittens in her belly. When he proudly presented his discovery to Robert, the king gave him a good clout on the ear, more than good. His Grace, though fat and getting fatter, was still a man of surpassing strength. He'd knocked several of the boy's teeth out with one backhand blow, sending the young lad sprawling on the rushes. He might've done more, but Tyrion's sister took young Joffrey in hand and fled from the Royal Presence. They'd hardly spoken since. Cersei, a vile shrew at the best of times, was still a mother who loved her children. Tyrion could discourse on her many flaws from morning till evenfall, but this much credit he could give her. She had a right to be angry, even if the prince deserved it. Ah, the boy. Joffrey was the other half of this bizarre situation. It seemed absurd, but Robert might've actually managed to knock some sense into his son. Every report grew more ridiculous than the last. Joff trained in the yard with a new determination, listening intently to Ser Aron Santagar, the master-at-arms. He'd lost the foppish arrogance instilled in him by Cersei and trained alongside boys of much lower birth with nary a complaint. Sweet sister hated it, of course, but the boy never had much trouble getting his way when his mother was concerned. Word from Maester Pycelle was even more shocking. Joff had mastered his letters well enough to read histories of the simpler sort, and could do sums faster and more accurately than some highborn lads twice his age. Wherever did he find the brains? Not from Cersei, surely, and definitely not from Robert. Curioser and curioser. "Mother, really, I'm fine. Maester Pycelle says I'm on the mend, and new teeth will come in soon enough," piped a high, reedy voice. Prince Joffrey recoiled from his mother's overzealous care as he attempted to keep her from cutting up his food for him. Would you believe the lad was six? Curious indeed. The boy didn't know what he had. Imagine, Cersei Lannister behaving like a servant! Anything for her darling boy, of course. "Oh, good morning, Uncle," Joffrey greeted him politely. Their eyes met, and Tyrion could not detect a single mote of disdain. Seven be praised, it was a miracle. "Good morning, my prince," Tyrion answered courtesy with courtesy, and sat down to break his fast, giving his sister a wide berth. Little Myrcella and Tommen the babe remained in the nursery, leaving the Lannister siblings to dine with the prince. "What's this I hear about you reading?" "I'm learning about Aegon's conquest right now!" the lad answered brightly. "Would you like to talk about it? Personally, I think the loss of the dragons is a great tragedy. I would've loved to see one." "It would be the last thing you ever see," Jaime teased. "They could swallow an aurochs, those dragons, to say nothing of the fire.""Don't scare him!" Cersei berated her twin. This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon."I'm not scared," Joff said, but not boastfully, with hardly a trace of childish petulance. "The dragons are dead. The dead can't hurt you.""Wisely spoken, nephew," Tyrion complimented, a rueful smile twisting on his lips. Would that it were so. The dead might hurt us most of all. "Where's father?" the prince asked suddenly, making the gentle smile on Cersei's face curdle instantly. "Still abed, little lion," she answered diplomatically. A whore's bed, went unsaid. "Is he still angry with me? I thought I was being good!"The truth of it silenced all the table. Joffrey on his best behavior was a wonder. "You are good, Joff," Cersei told the boy, and, shockingly, Tyrion found he agreed."Well, I'll just have to keep at it then," Joffrey said reasonably. He ate the last of his soft eggs and drained his cup of milk. "I'm off to the yard, then. Farewell, Mother, Uncles." With a quick bow of his head, the prince rose from the table."Do be careful!" Cersei called after him. "I shall yield to Ser Aron's wisdom, Mother. No more lost teeth, I promise." With one last casual wave, the little blond boy was on his way."He reminds me of you, Jaime," Cersei said once the prince left them. There was a certain resemblance, Tyrion had to admit. Same long limbs, same golden curls. Those plump, pouty lips, though, that was also Cersei."Me?" Jaime raised an eyebrow. "The boy takes after Tyrion, if anything. Reading histories at six! I couldn't read at all at that age." "Because you had swords on the brain, of course," Tyrion joked. "So does this one," Jaime replied with a queer look in his eye. "I've watched him once or twice. He does all manner of odd things in the yard, but I can tell he's fast and has good balance. With steady training, they'll make a proper terror of that son of yours, Cersei." "I don't like it," his sister complained bitterly. She'd hardly touched her food, Tyrion noticed. "Joff is less biddable than he used to be, always off to this lesson or that, with hardly any time for me. A part of him died when Robert struck him. A mother can tell."Right, the bad part, Tyrion said to himself. A servant brought Tyrion eggs and bacon of his own, burned just as he liked it. Somehow, his sister's sour mood made the meal taste all the sweeter. Even the headache from last night's wine seemed to fade away like a dream on the wind. "He is the heir," Jaime broke the uncomfortable silence. "Heirs have to be serious. Mayhaps Joff...realized his responsibilities. Personally, give me a sword and a strong foe, and let the realm rot. Leave ruling to serious men.""You could rule, if you were more serious, brother. You should be hand, not stodgy old Jon Arryn."Jaime and Tyrion sighed as one. If anyone was unfit for the position of Hand of the King, it was Jaime. "I like where I am," Jaime said, and the twins shared a secret look that Tyrion couldn't quite parse. Was it true what they said about twins having a secret language? Whatever the case may be, his brother stood up next. "I must arm myself. The watch rotation for the king starts in an hour."Cersei reached for him, but Jaime pulled away. "Apologies, sweet sister, but duty calls." Well, Tyrion wasn't about to subject himself to Cersei alone, so he made his own excuses. Mayhaps a trip to the yard might be in order? Prince Joffrey might be the most exciting thing in the castle just now. It would be a shame not to take a look.