Tyrion II

They all watched as Joffrey got knocked on his ass over and over by the older, bigger boy. There was no heraldry to speak of, so Tyrion couldn't tell precisely who was administering the beating.

"All right, I've seen enough," the king decided, leading them away from their concealed vantage point. "They'll be at this for a while. Ser Aron knows his business, can't have the boy thinking he has nothing left to learn."

"His fights back still, Your Grace," Tyrion pointed out. "Quite game, that son of yours."

Robert's lips twisted under those heavy black bristles the gods named a beard. "Aye, that's so. We'll leave my son to it. No point in embarrassing the lad by letting him know his father saw him lose." He turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. "Kingslayer! What do you make of our Joffrey?"

Jaime froze, and for a moment looked genuinely taken aback. "He's good, Your Grace, very good, considering his age. The prince didn't just outfight Lancel; he outthought him. Anyone can swing a sword, but keeping your wits at the same time takes rare talent. Even I relied on strength and speed over skill in my boyhood. 'Twas years before I knew any real tricks."

"Tricks," Robert grunted. "Lancel, you said. That's one of your Lannister cousins, right? A few years older than Joffrey?"

His brother kept his silence, so Tyrion answered for him. "Our Uncle Kevan's son, Your Grace. If I recall correctly, the boy is eight, almost nine." Really, Jaime? Forgetting close kin is unbecoming for a Lannister!

"Eight! Two years older and barely touched my boy!" Robert rumbled with pride. "Every year counts for more at that age, you know. If Joffrey keeps this up, I might actually have a son worth a damn after all. Gods know I did nothing to deserve it. He's clever, too, Pycelle says. Who knew one good clout on the ear would set him straight?"

'Twas more than a clout, Tyrion thought in amusement. Robert had knocked the boy senseless, or so Cersei said. Would that every wayward lad could be corrected thus. Whatever the case may be, the boy was queer. When Joffrey asked him for a smith to fasten an iron bar to the wall of his bedchamber, Tyrion thought him quite mad. His young nephew even devised a game in which he had to pay a "pull-up tax" any time he wished to eat something or even to relieve himself in a chamberpot. Couldn't argue with results, he supposed.

"Yes," the king spoke softly, more to himself than to the brothers Lannister. "I should spend more time with him. Joffrey won't be a boy forever. Mayhaps I'll visit the yard more often, let him see me swing my hammer. There'll be a melee at the tourney in a few weeks. Aye, I could use some sharpening up..."

Oh, Cersei will hate to hear that! Robert liked to fight, and what was worse, he usually won when he actually put in effort. No doubt more than a few of their men risking the melee would return with broken bones. The king was no true threat in the lists, and thus, Jaime, but anything could happen in a melee. Tyrion decided to warn their people to stay well away. A meeting with Robert's hammer could be hazardous to one's health!

They climbed the tower together, Jaime and Tyrion in the king's shadow, who cursed himself for being out of breath at the top of the spiral staircase.

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Breathless, too, was a young page wearing a badge of House Arryn. The lad came at them at a full run as soon as they turned the corner. "Your Grace! The Lord Hand requests your presence at your earliest convenience!"

Robert sighed tiredly. "Very well, back to being king. Let's see what Jon wants, kingslayer."

The king pointedly did not mention him, which Tyrion took for dismissal. He shared one last secret smile with his brother and continued in the other direction. Going up and down that bloody tower had stiffened his short legs. When he knelt to rub his poor thighs, a shadow passed above. Who might this be?

The smell of powder was answer enough. Lord Varys didn't even need to titter mockingly. "A visit to the yard, my lord?" he asked, as if he didn't know. Varys knew everything, or so he feared.

Tyrion looked up, meeting the innocent gaze of King Robert's Master of Whisperers, who had once belonged to the mad king; he must never forget. "Just stretching my legs, as you can see, Varys."

"I see much," the eunuch replied, and implied. "The Crown Prince is a wonder, I'm sure, and catching the eye of the king, even? His Grace must be thrilled at the lad's progress."

"Saw the fight, did you?" In these situations, it was always better to ask than to answer. Tyrion learned that lesson at the foot of the old lion himself.

"This one, and others. Young Joffrey is a born swordsman, they say. One could only expect it, given his lineage."

Tyrion wasn't certain what Varys was implying, so he just smiled placidly. Baring teeth did little to soften the gaze of his ugly face, but one must always do one's best with what the gods give them. "Joff has learned his courtesies, at any rate. Why, the boy hasn't japed about my being a dwarf in months!"

"Yes," Varys agreed, sounding none too pleased. "Completely changed, almost as if he's become a different person entirely."

This time, Tyrion caught on, and the implication made him chuckle. "You can't possibly be suggesting the child is a faceless man!"

Varys covered his face with a handkerchief and hummed neutrally, adjusting his gait to Tyrion's short strides. "No," he answered, sounding oddly sincere. "A faceless man would be a better actor. Rather, I'm saying Prince Joffrey has changed, entirely within himself. He isn't trying to be different. He is different."

"And thank the gods for that!" Tyrion declared. "I know it's your job to be suspicious, spider, but this time, I think investigating too deeply would not profit anyone. Let the realm have its prince and have done with it, I say. Meals with my family have been more agreeable of late, I can tell you that much. No spying required."

"I do not doubt it, my lord. Only..." Varys trailed off, whether this was rhetorical mummery or genuine unease, Tyrion couldn't say. "A changed prince could mean a changed king. Our lot is a comfortable one during good Robert's merry reign. Joffrey has already come to you and asked for things. You know as well as I that the queen would give him the moon if he asked. One wonders what he might ask the king for."

With that, Varys left him, leaving Tyrion to ponder. It was probably nothing. Joffrey was just a boy. What could a boy want?