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The Last King by Greed720
 Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: M, English, Percy J., Words: 184k+, Favs: 4k+, Follows: 5k+, Published: Jan 22, 2018 Updated: Oct 27 1,644Chapter 8
AN: So here is the next chapter, I hope you all enjoy it. I also want to thank everyone for all the support they have given this story, I really appreciate it. Thanks to all of you this story is now the most popular story in this crossover section. Or at least it was the last time I checked. So thanks for all your support.
Also if anyone has any questions or wants to ask anything PM me and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.
Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or Game of Thrones.
( - )
(Last Time)
Tytan nodded at that, completely unbothered by Cersei's previous irritation. Still though he did feel a point needed to be made. "Still, I think you should see to it Joffrey receives punishment. The boy is one of the Prince's, it's about time he grew up and learned how to act like a man and not a twisted little child."
Cersei frowned slightly as she heard her beloved firstborn's comments on his brother. A part of her knowing he had a point. After all she knew her second born son was twisted, he had done things that had shocked her, and Cersei was not often shocked. Despite that though she loved all her children, so much so that she would kill for them and die for them, but she could at least admit Joffrey was a monster.
"You might not like to hear it, but unless you want him to die young, you're going to need to bring him to heel." Tytan continued on bluntly. Knowing as he did so that he was telling the truth.
Cersei bit her lip as she heard that, but eventually nodded her head. "I'll think about it."
It was the best Tytan was going to get from his mother. The woman was too proud and too stubborn to give any more than that. Even to Tytan.
( - )
Chapter 8
( - )
(With the Royal Procession)
It had taken the Royal Procession another month of travel from the Crossroads Inn before they had finally made it back to King's Landing. Which was something of a relief because the length of the journey had begun to grate on all of them. Even the King had been less frequent in his demands to stop the column so he could hunt.
One good thing that came from this though, was during the last month of the journey to the Capital, the unpleasantness that had taken place at the Crossroads Inn, between Arya and Joffrey, had been all but forgotten. The Direwolf, Lady, and the butcher's boy, Mycah, and his family having all been sent back up North by Ned Stark, with an armed guard. After which the King and the Warden of the North had proceeded to deal out the appropriate punishment to their misbehaving offspring.
Fortunately though, in the end no blood had been split over the incident, Tytan's guardsmen having tracked down the butcher's boy before Joffrey's dog, the Hound, could. After which they had brought him back to the Camp and delivered him to his father.
In fact the only thing that really came of the incident was Lord Stark and Robert punishing their offspring, with Arya being restricted to a carriage under Septa Mordane's eye for the rest of the trip south. Whilst Joffrey was given a thump around the head by Robert and had to travel in the Royal carriage with his mother for the rest of the journey. Both of which were very minor punishments, but far better than what might have happened.
All things considered it was the best that could have come of the situation. Sure it was slightly awkward for a few days when the Stark family and the Baratheon family occasionally came together to dine. But things had eased up eventually, and by the time the procession had reach the capital things had returned to normal.
At present Tytan and his guards were a part of the column as they made their way through the Gate of the Gods, the group of eight having taken their positon near the front of the Royal Procession, just behind where the King and his Kingsguard rode, but in front of Lord Stark and his own retinue. After which the Royal carriage trundled with the Queen and three of her offspring inside.
Riding through the through the streets of King's Landing, and ignoring the stench that came from the mass of humanity that called the place home. Tytan couldn't help but smile slightly as he and his mounted men heading for the looming Red Keep in the distance, his home.
As Tytan and the rest of the procession wended their way through the streets, the smallfolk, had all begun to line the streets. The majority of them cheering and shouting as the majestically armoured soldiers and livered servants that passed by them as they headed to the giant Keep. The King making a show of it as he was currently resplendent in his finest robes, with a stag themed crown atop his head.
The fat man grinning jovially as he waved to the cheering masses, all of whom were so star struck by the pageantry of the King and his company, that they forgot what a crap ruler he was. Still for the moment that didn't matter to them as they instead threw flowers onto the streets, littering the roads with petals, and lifted their children over their heads so that they could see.
Tytan himself was also making somewhat of a show of it, as currently he was dressed in his finest. The dark haired Prince having shed his usual leather armour and chainmail, and had instead donned a fine red leather jerkin, black breeches and polished leather boots. His sword still belted around his waist had also been given a new sheath, this one made out of fine red leather, with panels of gold on it and jewels encrusted along its length.
It was not something Tytan would choose for himself, as he had always been a prudent person. Not given to wasting money on such displays of flamboyance or frivolity. Unfortunately though his mother was, and in order to appease her he had accepted some of her suggestions.
Still the smallfolk seemed to appreciate it as they screamed and shouted for their blessed Crown Prince. Their cheers if anything being greater than they were for his father.
After another half an hour of riding through the tight narrow streets of King's Landing, waving to the crowds, the column eventually made it into the courtyard of the Red Keep. Or at least the Royal entourage, the Starks and the carriages holding their luggage did. With many of the other camp followers and guards having been sent off to other places in the Capital.
Of course Tytan had barely set his feet on solid earth before a servant had individually approached both the new Hand of the King and himself, summoning the two of them to a Small Council meeting. Eddard Stark had of course been summoned because as Hand of the King, the Small Council served him, all of them acting as councilors who overlooked the running of the Kingdom.
Tytan meanwhile had been summoned to stand in for the King, who very rarely bothered to attend the meetings. Instead shifting the responsibility to Tytan, just like he shifted many of his other responsibilities to his eldest, like holding court, when the fat man was off whoring or hunting.
Of course he justified all of this by saying he was preparing his son for Kingship. Which was of course bollocks, though Tytan did benefit from it as it allowed him the power to make real change. As he had done when he had had the Mountain and his men arrested, castrated and sent to the Wall. Or when he had introduced new laws tightening up the taxation on the wealthy, and protecting the most vulnerable in society.
Plus of course he had also used the positon to his advantage to garner himself more power and influence in the Capital. He might not have been the most political savvy of people when he had lived as Percy Jackson, but seventeen years spent in King's Landing and several centuries in Tartarus had given him the knowledge and the ruthlessness he needed, to not just survive, but to thrive.
Striding through the Red Keep, Tytan soon left Jamie behind, 'to guard the Queen', as he, Ivar, and Ubba instead headed for the Small Council chambers. The rest of his personal guard overseeing the servants as they unpacked the baggage. Which was also an excuse for them to sit around drinking wine and chatting.
Using the many shortcuts Tytan knew through the castle, he was quickly able to make his way to the Small Council Chambers. His entrance to the room being less than flamboyant as he simply walked in, not bothering to knock and barely bothering to acknowledge the other men present.
To many this would seem rude, but for those there none of them batted an eye at his actions. After all it was not a hidden secret that all of the people there disliked the others.
For example there was Lord Varys, who was a short plump eunuch with pale skin, and a shaven head, who sat on the Council as the Master of Whispers. Who was also known as the 'Spider', an untrustworthy and backstabbing man who spied on the Seven Kingdom's enemies, its allies, its nobility, its commonfolk and even its Royalty. On top of which the man was a known foreigner, which to some of the more xenophobic Westerosai, was just as bad as him being the King's spymaster.
Then there was Renly Baratheon, the King's younger brother and a spineless man who pandered to the Tyrells and shirked his duties. The man sat on the Council as the Master of Justice, was known at Court as both a closet homosexual and for the sheer lack of effort or interest he showed in fulfilling his responsibilities. Not that the first part bothered Tytan, he was the child of Greek Gods after all, his ineptitude did.
To the other members of the Small Council and to the rest of the Court, the man was inept and a waste of space. In fact Tytan only tolerated him because he is family, and also because his lack of control over the Goldcloaks, the city Watch, allowed the Prince to impose his own control and influence on them.
After that there was Pycelle, a doddering old man who had served as Grand Maester to the Seven Kingdom for many decades. Of course the man was also known as Tywin Lannister's man, Pycelle having sold his loyalty off to House Lannister many years ago when he had betrayed the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen, and had allowed the Lannister armies into the Capital. Suffice to say the man was not at all trusted and was very much disliked by everyone present.
The next member of the Council was Petyr Baelish, also known as Littlefinger. The man was the Kingdom's Master of Coin and had been for close to a decade now. He was also known to be a backstabbing weasel who one could never trust. Luckily though Tytan had a beneficial relationship with the man, mainly due to the fact that after Tytan had joined the Council he had noticed discrepancies in the way Crown's treasury was handled.
Now Tytan was not a genius with numbers, but he was cynical enough and experienced enough to know when someone was playing the system. Suffice to say a bit of violence later and Tytan and his men had retrieved Littlefingers ledgers. Which the Prince had had a trusted Maester look over for him. Which of course had revealed the discrepancies and embezzling Tytan had suspected.
Not that Tytan had called the man on it, no, as a teenager he might have. But Tytan was older than he looked and was wise enough to the world to know an opportunity when he saw one. Which is why he now used the stolen ledgers as leverage. On top of which he had also effectively robbed Littlefinger of most of his accumulated wealth and assets, using the threat of execution and the power he held as the Crown Prince and the pseudo commander of the City Watch to do so.
Nowadays Littlefinger was under Tytan's thumb, Tytan's man on the Council and his tool in the Game of Thrones, not that Tytan trusted him. No, he knew the little worm would rip his throat out if given a chance. Which is why Tytan continued to keep the man restricted to King's Landing, and defunct of resources. The Crown Prince using men loyal to him either through honour or because he paid them, to keep the man in line.
Littlefinger for all his talk of true power had missed the most important thing. You could tell lies, you could manipulate people and come up with grand schemes. But take away his gold and the man was nothing, all it would take was for Tytan to lose his temper and run Baelish through with his sword and the man was dead, nothing he said could stop that.
Not that Tytan expected the man to realise that, as he likely still plotted to try and find a way out of his metaphorical chains. Tytan wouldn't of course allow him to do so though, as although he might not be the most subtle of people, he was ruthless enough to see to it that the man wouldn't survive the attempt. He had had safeguards put in place, plus the Baelish knew he only lived as long as he remained useful.
Then after Baelish, there was the final member of the Small Council, Stannis Baratheon, and the Master of Ships. The man had the personality of the Wall, and was as humourless and cold as it too. Despite that though he was competent, fulfilled his duty and was still likely the most liked person on the Small Council. Of course on that day he was most noticeable by his absence.
Tytan of course wasn't exempt, as the men in the room all disliked him too. Renly because the Prince had usurped much of his power on the Small Council, and often dismissed any suggestions the man made about binding House Tyrell to the Crown through marriage. Not that Tytan was that opposed to the match, but mainly he got irritated by the man's fawning over another House over his own. Tytan didn't appreciate disloyalty.
Pycelle disliked Tytan because he deliberately ignored the man and went over his head, Tytan making it clear to the old man that he neither liked him nor trusted him.
Varys's reasons were not quite as well known, however it was assumed by the way they barely interacted that the two were not on favourable terms. Or at least that was what Tytan assumed, as the bald man was the hardest on the Council to read.
Baelish's reasons for hating the Crown Prince were pretty obvious. The Prince after all had Baelish by the balls, not that any of the Council knew why. However they all knew that the Prince had something on Littlefinger, something that enforced his compliance, which is why Baelish always seconded and supported whatever proposal the Prince made. Of course Varys knew what these reasons were, just as he knew that the men who guarded Baelish's brothels, and the man himself were all in the Prince's employ. Who ironically enough were probably paid them with the gold he had forcefully taken off Baelish.
Then finally there was Stannis, whose dislike for his nephew stemmed from the Prince's former frivolous ways, his drinking and his whoring reminding Stannis very much of his brother Robert. Which of course meant Stannis often linked his dislike of Robert to his nephew, who he saw as little more than a carbon copy of Robert. A selfish, irresponsible, whore-mongering drunk.
"So a question." Tytan began as he looked around at the assembled Councilors, the Prince having taken the seat the King should have occupied as he did so. The dark haired man letting out a faint sigh of contentment as he leant back into the cushioned chair. "Why has the Small Council been summoned, Stark and I have barely been in the Capital an hour?"
"Yes, however after your absence for the last five months and because of the arrival of the new Hand, it was believed that the sooner a meeting was called the better." Varys replied softly, feigning a short bow to the Prince as he did so, though the action looked more like a slight incline of the head than anything.
Tytan nodded abruptly at that, understanding the reasoning, even if he would have preferred to have had a spot of dinner and an early night. "Fine, and where is Stannis."
"He's gone back to Dragonstone to sulk, he left around the same time you and the King did." Renly replied blandly, the young Baratheon disliking Stannis as much as he did his other brother and Tytan.
"Yes, however in the absence of both yourself, the King, Lord Arryn and Stannis, the rest of the Council has endeavored to make sure the Kingdom ran smoothly." Baelish spoke up, a tight smile on his weasel like face as he did so.
Tytan narrowed his eyes as he heard that. He had of course received the occasional raven from those loyal to him in the Capital, informing him of what was going on and what his enemies were up to. However meeting Baelish's cold gaze, the Prince decided he would have to check to make sure what had been reported was true. Sometimes keeping the man alive was more trouble than it was worth.
"Yes well now that we have returned, we can once again begin looking to the future. The Kingdom can only stagnate for so long after all." Tytan replied stiffly, a part of him wishing he was as skilled with his words as he was with his sword. Unfortunately though he was not the most eloquent of people, nor was he the most subtle when it came to verbal jousting.
Settling into his chair, Tytan then proceeded to wait patiently for Ned Stark to arrive, both Ivar and Ubba standing silently at the side of the room. Fortunately without the Hand or the King in the Capital the Small Council was able to bring forward no new laws or initiatives. Which meant that Tytan likely didn't have any damage he would need to undo, so this meeting should not go on long to long. After all these meetings were often monotonous and boring, however they were also very important in regards to the running of the Kingdom.
Which was important for Tytan to experience, after all a King couldn't just be a good warrior, he had to also be a skilled Politian and a wise ruler. Someone who wasn't just able to lead his men into battle, but could also lead his Kingdom in times of peace. Which of course necessitated battles of words as oppose to battles of armies. With this being something his father did not excel in.
After a few minutes of awkward and uncomfortable silence, the door to the Chamber eventually opened and Lord Eddard Stark, the new Hand of the King, and the Warden of the North entered the room. Unaware of the pit of snakes he had just entered.
"Excuse me my Lords," Eddard said as he entered the room and walked towards his seat at the front of the table, his stoic grey eyed gaze surveying the people in the room, including all of the advisors and Tytan's two guardsmen. His eyebrow raising slightly as he saw the Crown Prince was present, Eddard having not noticed that he was summoned for the meeting as well.
"I apologize for being late." Eddard continued as he took his seat and leant his hands on the wooden table top, his gaze once again surveying those present, "Where is Ser Barristan? Is he not the Lord Commander? And Stannis, was he not named the Master of Ships?"
Varys smiled as he heard that, before he lowered his head in a short bow, "Ser Barristan is the Lord Commander, but due to his previous relationship with the last King, it was thought best that he should not be put on the Small Council. As for Lord Stannis, I'm afraid he has departed the Capital and we've been unable to get in contact with him ever since."
Ned's nodded as he heard that, his brow furrowing as he thought about the reasons behind the absence of Lord Stannis, "Is that so Lord...?"
"Varys." Varys replied softly, his tone unctuous as he gave yet another bow, "And I am no Lord."
Ned nodded at that before he proceeded to give greetings to the other Lords, all of whom he recognised. With his greeting to Renly being friendly and open, whilst his greeting to Baelish and Pycelle was slightly frostier. Ned mentioning old slights as he did so, the Stark Lord being almost as blunt as Tytan when it came to dealing with them. However unlike the Crown Prince, Eddard didn't have the power, ruthlessness or influence to back up his words. Not yet at least.
Not noticing his poor first impression, Eddard instead decided to get to the matter at hand. The Northern Lord being distinctly tired and uncomfortable after the long journey. With this meeting being the last thing he was interested in doing. "So what are the matters for today my Lords?"
In response Varys withdrew a scroll from the folds of his long sleeved robe, before he passed it on down the table to the Hand, "The King has instructed us to stage a tournament to celebrate your appointment as Hand of the King."
"Another one?" Tytan asked, an amused look on his face. Of course the fat man had ordered a tournament, his father did love them so. Not that Tytan could judge as he was also a fan of the jousting and the melee, as well as the pageantry and the celebrations involved. The entire city became festive during a tournament.
Ned frowned as he heard that before he looked down at the scroll in his hands and began to read off aloud the prizes for the winners, "Forty thousand gold dragons for the champion, twenty thousand to the runner up, twenty thousand to the winner of the melee and ten thousand for the winner of the archery?"
Grand Maester Pycelle turned his head towards Littlefinger as he heard that, his voice a bit raspy as he asked, "Can the treasury bear such expenses?"
"Hmm, it may require us to borrow the money." Littlefinger replied calmly, his gaze flicking to the still amused looking Tytan, before he opened his ledger, "The Lannsiter's will likely accommodate I suspect, we already owe them five hundred thousand gold dragons, what's another ninety thousand?"
Ned's eyed widened as he heard that, his gaze immediately locking onto the frowning face of Petr Baelish. "Are you saying the Crown is half a million in debt?"
"No it's one and a half million dragons in debt, half a million in debt to the Lannisters and one million in debt to the Iron Bank. However the Crown is working to pay those debts of slowly but surely." Tytan spoke up, cutting Baelish off as he did so. "Fortunately when I joined the Small Council as my father's somewhat permanent representative I brought in a number of Maesters and Accountants to help Lord Baelish with the ledgers."
"Help that was most appreciated." Baelish answered in a seemingly pleasant tone as he gave Tytan a short bow. Even if he was spitting with impotent fury and anger on the inside.
"How could Jon let this happen? It's is all well and good that we are paying it off, but it should never have happened in the first place. Aerys Targaryen before he died had left the treasury overflowing with gold?" Ned said, giving Tytan a brief nod a he did so, before his steely grey eyes locked on Littlefinger. Ned having caught the insinuation he Prince had made.
"Despite our best efforts, his grace hardly listens to wise advice. He does as he pleases. Even Jon Arryn could only do so much." Pycelle spoke up in his raspy voice, before he glanced over at Littlefinger, a gleam of malice evident in his gaze. "Of course poor account keeping by the Master of Coin is just as to blame as the King's lack of restraint. Thankfully though the Council have reigned in Lord Baelish's ludicrous borrowing and have made progress in the direction of rectifying his many mistakes."
"The Master of Coin merely finds the money that the King demands," Littlefinger began to say defensively as he saw the eyes of the other Councilors on him, like crows circling over a fresh corpse, the thin man internally seething at having been put into this situation. A situation he as of yet could not see a way out of, not with him being isolated in King's Landing and bereft of resources. "The Hand is the one who spends the money."
"Yet when you get money you are supposed to get it by raising taxes on the wealthy or the Septs, or by selling off unneeded assets. What you're not supposed to do is just borrow it, only for some of it to be lost in transition." Tytan replied bluntly, not allowing Baelish to worm his way out of this. After all he might not have dragged the man before Robert wit the evidence in his hands. But he would make sure all those in power knew what a useless turd Baelish was. On top of which Tytan was privy to some of the terrible things Baelish had done.
He only needed the man for his voice on the Council and a front for Tytan to build up his own resources, using Baelish as little more than a neutered puppet. A figure head who has no real power, and whose life is only worth what benefit he brings Tytan.
"Yes Jon Arryn gave clear, prudent advice to the King, as did we all." The Grand Maester spoke up once more, "But his Grace never took it into consideration."
Tytan rolled his eyes as he heard that, clearly the man was trying to make himself seem greater and more influential than he really was. But that was just the way with all of the Councilors. They were some of the most powerful men in the Seven Kingdoms, their power and influence only rivaled by Tywin Lannister, Cersei Lannister and Olenna Tyrell. Though of course some off the members, like Renly, Pycelle and Baelish latched onto others to keep and enhance their positions, either willingly in Renly and Pycelle's case, or unwillingly in Baelish's.
"Counting coppers he called it." Renly added in, in a bemused tone as he looked around the room, "Something he was never good at."
Ned immediately began to roll up the scroll back-up, "I will talk to Robert about this. This is an extravagance that we can't afford."
"The man won't listen." Tytan said bluntly as he leaned forward in his chair, just as keen as Ned to end the meeting, but wiser than the Stark Lord as he knew that they would have to make the arrangements eventually, so it would be better to do it now then call another meeting the next day, "We should at least begin making plans about the entire business."
Ned glanced over at Tytan as he heard that, a slight frown passing across his face before he nodded. "Very well we'll make provisional arrangements. I will still talk to Robert about it though."
"That's your prerogative." Tytan dismissed as he shifted in his chair, before he looked over to Varys. "Before we begin making the tedious arrangements though, can you tell me if you have heard any word from the North about the arrest of Roose Bolton?"
Ned twitched as he heard that, his brow furrowing as the Prince brought up Lord Bolton, one of Ned's banner men, and if what the Prince had said was true, a stain on the honour of the North.
Varys nodded his head as he heard that, before he glanced over at Eddard. "The siege of the Dreadfort is over, the keep was taken, though Roose Bolton was killed in the fighting."
Eddard's face tightened up at that.
"Though considering the recently flayed remains they found of some poachers in Lord Bolton's dungeons, and the stories the commonfolk who work at the Dreadfort told, then Roose would likely have had his head taken sooner or later." Varys spoke up dismissively, not really caring about a minor Northern Lord who's vicious bastard son had caused his downfall. The man was meaningless when it came to the game after all, he wasn't either a piece on the board, or at least not anymore.
"Too quick an end if you ask me." Tytan said bluntly, "Still it's over now, I take it Robb has sent his bannermen back home?"
"Yes, and the fort is now being manned by Stark men under the command of Rodrik Cassel." Varys replied easily.
"A good choice," Ned spoke up with a nod of his head, pleased to hear that his son was more than living up to his responsibilities as Lord of Winterfell.
"Yes, well we might as well get on with the arrangements for the tourney." Tytan spoke up again, even if internally he was somewhat proud of his friend Robb.
( - )
(Elsewhere within the Red Keep)
"Ouch," Joffrey complained loudly as his mother gently dabbed some healing salve onto the almost faded bite mark on his forearm.
"Oh don't make such a fuss, the wound is practically healed," Cersei relied brusquely as she finished what she was doing and instead inspected the half dozen faint marks on Joffrey's arm.
"They're ugly. They're never going to be gone entirely," Joffrey complained as he too looked at the faded bite mark.
"Think of them as battle scars, all the great warriors have them. Even Tytan has a couple of scars. You should be proud of them." Cersei said absentmindedly, as she let go of Joffrey's arm and instead sat back in her chair, a strange look on her face as she looked at the petulant expression on Joffrey's face, the words Tytan had spoken to her after the incident echoing in her head. "They show that you are a warrior who faced down a Direwolf. Just like your brother."
"I'm nothing like him. I didn't fight anyone, I just let the beast bite me. What's worse is the two Stark girls saw it," Joffrey snarled back, his anger getting the best of him.
"You are still young, and neither of those girls are credible. You still have time to show the world who you truly are, and one day my son, one day you will be the Lord of Casterly Rock, one of the great Lord's of the land and the brother of the King, and when that happens, the truth will be what you make it" Cersei explained, trying to cheer her son up. She was conscious of the kind of man that her son could grow up to be, and so had decided to try and steer him in the right direction. However he was still her son, and she loved him and didn't want to see him upset.
"So grandfather has agreed then?" Joffrey asked quickly, his eyes now on his mother, a greedy glint now present. "He's agreed to make me his Heir?"
"Not yet, but he will. Your marriage to the Stark girl will help with that. It will provide you with political links to both the North and the Riverlands, and will also mean that you can begin producing Heirs of your own." Cersei replied, a slight frown on her face as she thought of her obstinate father, who so far had not named Joffrey his Heir, despite her requests. It seemed her father and Tytan both thought the same about her son.
"Do I have to marry her? The Stark girl?" Joffrey finally asked, his brow furrowed at the thought of not being given Casterly Rock. After all who else was there to carry on his grandfather's legacy? Jamie was a Kingsguard, Tommen was a weak child, Tyrion was a vile little dwarf and Mycellla was a girl.
"If your Father wishes it and the girl's Father agrees, then yes you must. For the duty of your House, and to become the Lord of the Westerlands, you will marry Sansa Stark. But it isn't all bad, although most marriages are not filled with love, I know that as well as any, there are a few that work out for the better. But if it isn't pleasant, then you like myself and the many before us will likely find some sense of pleasure in your situation," Cersei replied as she saw Joffrey frown again. Thinking of what she had gotten out of her loveless marriage, four beautiful children and Jamie as a lover.
"Do something nice for the Stark girl," Cersei continued as she saw the petulant expression on her son's face. "It's time Joffrey that you begin to grow up and accept the responsibility that comes with your family name."
"I don't want to do anything nice for her," Joffrey whined, feeling like his mother was getting at him. After all she had never spoken to him like this before.
"But you will do it. The occasional kindness will spare you a lot of trouble down the road, and will help win you her heart and the hearts of others. Take it from someone who knows this to be true," Cersei replied patiently.
There was a few moments of silence after Cersei said that, before it was broken by Joffrey letting out an irritated sound.
Hearing that Cersei let out a sigh of her own, lamenting as she did how Joffrey couldn't be easier to deal with, like his brothers and sister.
( - )
(Later that evening)
Collapsing onto his bed, Tytan was barely able to keep himself awake as he buried his head into a silk pillow. The Small Council meeting had dragged on for far longer than he had expected, which combined with how tired he was feeling after the long journey south, meant that the moment he entered his chambers he was ready to crash on his bed and sleep for the next twelve hours.
It was late in the evening by the time they ironed out the last of the details, and for once Tytan was in no mood to drink and make merry. Instead he had dismissed his guards and headed for his bedchambers.
Upon entering he had paused only long enough to shed his fine clothes and hand them on to a Royal servant to wash. After that he had just collapsed onto his bed, ready to sleep.
Which he eventually did as, as soon as his head hit the pillow he had soon drifted off, his mind beginning to wander as he did so. With images starting to appear before him in his sleep.
These visions including those of a large white tree upon a frozen hill, and a dark, dank, bone filled cavern that was underneath it. The cavern and its sole occupant hidden from view by the ancient trees gnarled roots.
He also dreamed of three dragons, flying through the skies. The shadows their mighty forms cast, passing over a mighty walled city in some arid and dry country.
After that he saw a field of ice and snow, through which a vast army of undead men and women marched. Their forms rotting and decaying, some little more than bones held together through the sheer will of their masters.
Then finally the last thing he saw before he woke, the one which struck him most, was the image of striking, young looking girl, with golden brown skin and bronze coloured hair. A slightly mischievous smile on her face as she peered at him from around the trunk of a tree.
That was the last image he saw before he vaulted up in his bed. His breath coming out ragged as he sat up in bed, his body covered in a film of sweat and his green eyes wide.
( - )
AN: So what did you all think, I hope you all enjoyed it. Hopefully more of Percy/ Tytan's backstory in Westeros is coming out. As is some of the aspects of his personality that his life experiences in King's Landing and Tartarus have caused.
So other than that, I hope you all enjoyed and leave a comment or a review.
Thanks a lot for reading.
Greed720.
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Jump:Chapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27
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