Jaime
The padded sword passed above the top of his head by mere inches as Jaime slipped under his opponent's slash, his larger foe unused to fighting boys his size. He grinned wickedly, as he brought his own arming sword upwards, a fierce thrust straight into the armpit of-
"Good try." Jaime grimaced as his uncle's hand shot up like a falcon in flight, grabbing the tip of his weapon and pulling Jaime forward, using his own momentum to drag Jaime under his elbow and promptly thwacking him on the bottom with the flat of his blade, sending Jaime stumbling to the ground of the training yard.
"That's not fair uncle!" Jaime protested, picking himself back up. "You can't just grab a sword like that in a battle!"
"There's a reason we wear Gauntlets Jaime." Uncle Tygett chuckled, though he relented a moment later. "Though I'll admit I doubt any of your opponents in the Prince's tourney will have the reflex for that little trick."
Jaime frowned at his uncle, feeling it quite unfair, but nonetheless choosing not to push the issue. Uncle Tygett could get mean if you annoyed him too much. "I would have gotten you if you didn't do that."
"Would haves don't count. You know that Jaime." his uncle teased, but let him get back into position to fight once more. Picking up his arming sword, Jaime assumed a ready position.
"Again," Jaime asked, and in but a moment he was striding forward once more against his uncle. He brought his blade forward in a strike down from his right shoulder to his left foot, which his uncle redirected with a flourish of his own. Then his uncle cut forward out of it towards Jaime, which Jaime avoided only by stepping back, rocking onto his heel before slashing across against Uncle Tygett's chest, a strike intended to create space while Jaime regained his footing.
Then they were back at it once again. Strike after strike they clashed, blow after blow, but Jaime only rarely felt that he could break his uncle's control, the veteran knight was simply too seasoned, and too talented in his own right. Whatever Jaime's immense natural talent gave him, his uncle Tygett had both similar talent and far more experience on his side. The best Jaime could do was avoid being hit as the man struck out relentlessly, driving him further and further back with each exchange. Jaime could feel the soft sand of the courtyard giving way to the hard-packed dirt near the edges and knew his back would soon be pressed against the pillars of the Red Keep if he didn't turn this spar around soon.
So he did the first thing that came to mind. Knocking his Uncle's sword to the side he used that same hard dirt to throw himself forward, crashing against his uncle, charging to tackle him to the ground with his shoulder.
Alas, his uncle, though letting out a noise of surprise at Jaime's technique, was simply too much heavier than him, the man was able to stop him dead with barely a waver.
"Hah!" Tygett laughed, wrapping his arm around Jaime. "Whatever possessed you to grapple with a man twice your weight lad?" He spun around and let Jaime go, throwing him to the sand of the inner courtyard. "Though I suppose that might have been clever against another boy your age."
"I thought you'd be surprised uncle." Jaime spat sand from his mouth as he pushed himself to his feet once again, swaying somewhat as he went to pick up his sword, still tasting the sand between his teeth.
"Feh, I've seen men do more foolish things in battle." Tygett waved him off. "You'd need to do something incredibly idiotic to surprise me." he grinned, his smile not as rare as Jaime's father's, but still quite unusual. "I think we're done for today if you've decided tricks are the only way you can win. You're not wrong, but it's also not what we're here to practice." his uncle walked over and patted Jaime on the head with a sweaty mitt. "Best we don't injure you three days before your tournament."
"Aww…" Jaime sighed. He'd been enjoying their sparring even if he was spending far more time on the ground than he preferred. Oh well, it wasn't as if there was nothing to do in the Red Keep. "Alright Uncle, I'll return to our quarters then."
"You best." Uncle Tygett nodded, leaving to put their padded weapons back in the armory, as Jaime headed back up towards the Tower of the Hand.
The Red Keep was, in Jaime's estimation, a very small castle to house a king. He knew, intellectually that it was probably just Casterly Rock being so large that it made him think that, but still. The towers were thin and short, and there were few sweeping grand balconies. The godswood was only a couple of acres, and the servants numbered no more than a few hundred. The castle had no internal dockyards, no mines, and so few steps… all that and it smelled, like everything in King's Landing.
Why, the walk from the yard to his quarters in the Tower of the Hand wasn't even a quarter mile. How on earth did they ever fit so many important people in such a small place?
Of course, part of that was that they shared the space. In the Hand's suites, Jaime and Callum had been made to share the same room, while Cersei had her own just across the hall. Jaime had never lacked for his own room at the Rock, and neither had Callum, so the two were not used to sharing space. Callum did not like that Jaime threw his dirty clothing about the place and waited for the servants to clean it up, and Jaime did not particularly enjoy that Callum stayed up far too late into the night reviewing and adding to the notes he took during the day.
Honestly, Callum must be the only boy in the whole of the seven kingdoms who spent more time reading and writing when he wasn't being supervised by a Maester.
Fortunately for him today though, Callum didn't seem to be around. He must be out visiting the Dorneish again, or bothering the alchemists. That suited Jaime just fine. He dragged off his training clothes and dropped them to the floor, sighing in relief as he worked his shoulders free. The thick padded gambeson that young men were expected to wear for the Prince's cup (Plate Mail and Chain were far too expensive to have fashioned for children, even the Lannisters wouldn't do it unless they were going to war.) was burdensome and uncomfortable. It sat far too heavy on his shoulders, and far too stiff on his arms. He grunted as he stretched, letting loose the tension in his body so he could be free in his movement once again.
"Jaime, are you back from your- eh…" Jaime turned to find his sister, having walked into the room unannounced. "Your training?" she said a moment later. "Are you doing well? Do you think you'll win the tournament?"
"Oh!" Jaime nodded cheerfully. "Yes, Uncle Tygett is working me hard, but I think I'll do well enough against the other boys. How about you? How have you been enjoying the Red Keep?" He honestly wasn't even sure what Cersei had been getting up to these last few days, only that their father had been keeping her in his office for many hours at a time for some sort of lesson.
"It's been going well." She smiled, though Jaime thought he heard a little bit of nervousness in her voice. "That is, Father's been telling me about a great many things… to prepare… oh Jaime." Cersei rushed forward and hugged him, her silk dress with its elegant embroidery felt strange on his bare chest. "I… father means to make me a Queen!" she said, quite excitedly. "He says… oh he says that at the end of this tournament, he'll ask King Aerys to betroth me to Prince Rhaegar."
"Prince Rhaegar…?" Jaime felt a bit dumbfounded by the revelation, not really returning his sister's embrace. He had seen the silver-haired man before, standing on his balcony overlooking the courtyard, and he had recognized him in the great hall as well. Jaime tilted his head… he supposed it was a good thing that his sister was being betrothed to the prince, but it also felt… off somehow, like it was a terrible thing too. It was strange. "That's a good thing right?" he asked, feeling unsure himself.
"I… yes, it's wonderful, I'll be queen of all the Seven Kingdoms." Cersei nodded, pressing her chin against his shoulder. "I'll be the most powerful woman in Westeros, with the finest of things and everyone will love me." she sounded as if she was as unsure in her answer as he was, despite the strength of her words.
"That's… good, I'm glad Cersei." Jaime smiled, even if it still felt strange to him, he loved his sister, and he smiled at the thought of her fulfilling her dreams. "I hope that everything goes well."
"And why wouldn't it?" Cersei stepped back from their hug, looking him in the eyes. "Our father's the King's Hand, and the most powerful man in Westeros save for the King himself. I'm quite a beauty too, or so you've told me." Cersei teased, leaning forward and placing her hands on her hips. "Isn't that right Jaime?"
"Yes Cersei, you're the most beautiful girl in the Seven Kingdoms." Jaime rolled his eyes, but he really did mean it. His sister was certainly prettier than the current queen. He'd seen the gaunt woman with the silver hair twice already, and while she was fair-skinned and pretty like all the Targaryens, she lacked that color of life and adventure that Cersei carried with her wherever she went. "I meant that I hope King Aerys doesn't say no, or… what if Prince Rhaegar doesn't like you?" he asked honestly, not noticing the slight color of hope in his tone.
"Why shouldn't he like me?" Cersei asked. "I'm the best!"
"Well, you're a lot younger than him." Jaime cautioned lightly. "Callum says that Princess Elia dislikes him because of his age compared to hers."
"She does?" Cersei asked, blinking, and then her face took on a more rightful look. "If she speaks badly of Callum to me then I'll punch her!" Cersei threatened.
"I don't think- that's probably not the right way to handle things." Jaime giggled, imagining his sister getting into a fistfight with the Dornish princess. It was a strangely plausible idea given his sister's behavior, and what people said about Dornish women. "Besides, Callum seemed like he didn't hate her for it when I spoke to him."
"Callum wouldn't hate a fly if it landed in his soup!" Cersei said angrily. "His heart is softer than butter. That's why we need to ensure he's not mistreated." Jaime blinked at the fury in her tone, he hadn't actually been aware that Cersei cared that much about Callum.
"Er… I think he could hate someone if they really deserved it." Jaime replied, walking over to his bed and sitting down. Though come to think of it, Callum really didn't speak badly of others very much. While Jaime had servants and the like that he disliked in the Rock, and Cersei disliked basically all of her teachers, he couldn't actually remember Callum being rude to anyone. "Well… I can't actually remember him hating anyone, now that you mention it."
"Callum is like me," Cersei said, and Jaime couldn't help himself snorting at her words.
"I've thought the same thing before," he admitted, though they were also so different, it amused him.
"Really?" Cersei asked, her eyes widening, before she nodded hurriedly. "You understand right? He has a woman's heart like I have a man's. We were born wrong."
Jaime blinked, that wasn't… that wasn't exactly what he had been thinking. "I meant that he was just doing things to keep father happy Cersei. You know he's told me that he doesn't even want to be a knight. He's just doing it because he should." Jaime scratched his head. "I don't know anything about this heart of a woman business." he gave her a smile. "And I don't think there's a single thing wrong with you."
"Tch, Jaime." She punched him in the shoulder but reflected his grin. "But it's obvious when you think about it. What kind of man doesn't want to be a knight?" she asked, her eyes focused as she leaned in, like it was some great conspiracy. "And I love swordfighting, just as much as you do, way more than Callum does. If I were a boy I would want to become a knight even more than you."
Jaime very much doubted that anyone could want to be a knight more than he did, but maybe Cersei could manage about the same. They were twins after all. He supposed she was making a bit of sense. Still… "I think there's a bit more to being a man or a woman than whether someone wants to be a knight."
"It's everything else too!" Cersei insisted. She'd clearly given this far more thought than Jaime had any intention of ever doing. What business of it was his whether someone had the 'heart' of a woman or a man. "He's so quiet and demure when we're with Father, you wouldn't even know he's there until Father calls out for him. It's the same at dinner, we might be yelling at each other about some silly thing, but he's quiet as a mouse." Cersei continued brightly. "He spends all his time reading books in the castle and he loves it, and when he goes into the city with Ser Ilyn, who does he visit but Septas of all people?" Cersei nodded her head vigorously as if her argument was utterly irrefutable, and Jaime decided it might as well be. Cersei had always been better at arguing than him, so it wasn't as if he could contradict her. "Our souls must have been mismatched in mother's womb. I was clearly supposed to be a boy and he was supposed to be a girl."
"Whatever you say Cersei, I like you perfectly well as a girl," Jaime smirked, especially when he saw that she blushed slightly at his compliment, right before she pouted and punched him in the arm again.
"That's easy for you to say, Jaime." She smirked right back. "You were born with the right heart for your body." Cersei nodded, "Well, I should be born with a man's heart than a woman's anyway since it means I take after father. No one else in the seven Kingdoms can say as much." she grinned now. "Certainly not you Jaime."
"If by taking after father you mean being grumpy." Jaime replied teasingly, "Then I'll leave you to it."
"Pssh." Cersei giggled, waving him off. "I'll not hear your slander. I'm famously sociable" his sister's words had no heat in them as she turned to walk towards the door. "I've a tea party with Queen Rhaella this evening I'll have you know."
"Oh, very good then." Jaime chuckled, waving his sister out the door. "Remember that she's Prince Rhaegar's mother, if you want to marry him she has to like you too. Don't be too grumpy"
"Oh Piss off Jaime," Cersei replied in annoyance, walking back across the hall to her own room and shutting the door behind her. Jaime could only smile as she left.
Having a sister like Cersei was exhausting at times, and embarrassing at others (Particularly when he had to wear her clothes), but all the same, he wouldn't trade her out for anyone else.
Come to think of it, that was true for everyone in his family. If he had his way, Jaime Lannister wouldn't change a thing.
Pycelle
His chains sat heavy on his neck, all wrapping into each other and interlocking across his torso, they ran down from about his neck to the base of his breast, sitting over his blue velvet robe in a cast necklace that displayed his academic status. He felt its weight more every day as he got older.
Not that he was ancient yet! He was only 60 and in good condition, but it wasn't as if he lived an especially active lifestyle either. Aside from his eh, carnal pursuits, there wasn't much opportunity for the Grand Master to stay fit.
"Are you paying attention, Grand Maester?"
Pycelle looked up tiredly. His eyes finding the rather ornery and paranoid Lord Symond Staunton, the Master of Laws, and perhaps the most aggravating man on the small council.
"Yes… yes.. what were we discussing again?" He asked, not having to make a show of his utter boredom. He simply did not care what this man thought of him. "Something to do with tariffs I believe."
He could almost see steam rising from Lord Symond's ears as the man grit his teeth. "Yes. Grand Maester, I was discussing the need to raise tariffs at the docks here in King's Landing to secure the funding for this Tourney."
"Ah, yes… well why not just do it then?" Pycelle asked, keeping his expression placid while the man in front of him grew ever more red in the face.
"I… Grand Maester I came here to ask you to support it! I cannot simply change it unless the small council-"
"Ah. Yes, I see…" Pycelle strokes his beard, cutting the man off. "Yes, I see, I see…" he said, blinking in elaborate fashion. "So you want to raise tariffs…"
The brief moment of relief almost saw the Grand Maester burst out laughing, Especially when the implications of his words finally caught up to the man and his face turned even madder than before.
"I shan't waste any more of your time." The man said, angrily standing up, his hands pressed to Pycelle's desk and a glare in his eyes. He sneered at the old man, before turning and marching out of his study, slamming the door angrily behind him.
Pycelle smiled at his back as he left, the facade of the doddering old fool melting away as soon as the door was shut. Oh, how he did enjoy that. Lord Symond was perhaps the least competent master of laws that Pycelle had ever had the displeasure of working with. Aerys was his third king, albeit his tenures under Aegon the Unlikely and Jaeherys II were both quite short, but even still Symond was the fifth master of laws he'd had the displeasure of working with.
It was not that the position itself was useless. The King's laws left much up to his vassals' discretion and the Master of Laws was a good institution to handle the many discrepancies in that discretion. No, the issue was that the Master of Laws was, and for a long time had been, a position used mostly to reward friends, suckups, and toadies for the Kings of Westeros. It was simple to understand why. The position required no true background in any form or sort of dealings. A Master of Ships needed to be a navy man, typically, a Master of Coin ought to be a treasurer. The King's Hand was his most trusted supporter, but the Master of Laws, he only needed to be a man of "Sound judgment" and of course who had more sound judgment than a man who frequently complimented the king?
It wasn't as if the master of laws even made any laws himself. That sort of thing fell to the King and the Hand. No, the master of laws merely "advised" and therein lay the problem with Lord Symond. The man was a paranoid, irredeemable viper of the court. The type of man who spent all his time at the Red Keep looking for royal approval because his own lands were worthless. He could only hope to rise in status by playing on the King's own paranoid follies and raising his own standing as a 'trusted advisor'. Trusted by Aerys perhaps, but only because he was so evidently non-threatening compared to anyone competent. No, Lord Symond delighted in getting in the way of the actual business of the small council on a regular basis. Whatever Lord Tywin would suggest, typically a well-thought-out and practical proposal (in Pycelle's opinion at the very least), Symond would argue against it in the small council, and because King Aerys feared Lord Tywin, he would often choose Lord Symond's less enlightened approach. This had resulted in multiple disputes with Crownsland lords, as well as a short-lived spat with Lord Steffon Baratheon that nearly ruined the King's otherwise good relationship with the man. It had been far too much effort paving over that mess.
Fortunately, King Aerys' relationship with Lord Tywin seemed to be thawing recently, what with Prince Viserys' birth and the-
Pycelle was broken from his thoughts by a knocking at the door, and he blinked, slipping back into his doddering old man persona without a second thought. "Erm, that is, yes come in!" he shouted. "Wait, no, ah, Who is it first?"
The door swung open, and Pycelle smiled, his facade dropping away in a moment as he greeted the only man worth working for in this ugly city. "Lord Tywin." He smiled genuinely. "To what do I owe the pleasure this afternoon?"
"Hello, Pycelle," Tywin said curtly, shutting the door behind him. "I saw Lord Symond storming down the hall, I assume that was your doing."
"He's attempting to circumvent you to raise tariffs on King's landing again." Pycelle nodded, not wasting any time conveying the essential information. "He was attempting to rally my support on the small council. I suspect he will speak to Lord Qarlton and Lord Lucerys as well."
"Let him. Qarlton is not a fool about such matters." Tywin spoke derisively, "And I doubt that the Velaryon cares about such things. There will be no increase for frivolous reasons." he paused. "I have something else I wish to speak to you about today, Grand Maester."
"I am at your service," Pycelle bobbed his head.
Tywin, being the man he was, wasted no time, pulling a heavy book from his satchel, he dropped it onto the desk. "You've five brass chains and eight copper ones." the King's hand said shortly. "You have a good understanding of history and a sharp mind for laws, I want you to review this text and tell me what you think."
"A book?" Pycelle picked it up, glancing at the cover in curiosity. It was not often that Lord Tywin came to him with books. Much more frequently it was ledgers, and charts, and intelligence reports. "Authority and Law in the Seven Kingdoms… by Callum Lannister. Your son wrote this?" 'your eight-year-old son?' Pycelle left the last part unsaid and instead flipped open the cover.
"Callum is a very intelligent boy," Tywin said, and Pycelle could hear the pride in his voice. Lord Tywin did not speak of his second son often, more frequently he mentioned young Jaime. Pycelle recalled that the boy had been able to speak and learned his letters early, but that was about the last thing he'd heard of Callum Lannister.
As he read through the introduction, he had to admit he wished he'd heard more. "This is not the writing style of a child," he said carefully. "I find myself intrigued Lord Tywin. You are sure that your son wrote this? He does credit one Maester Eomund, who I believe has a few brass chains himself."
"I've confirmed it with Eomund personally. Callum was the primary author, he only consulted with Eomund on various historical facts." Tywin said, cooly. "Knowing the boy, he's likely using Eomund's name for the sake of earning credibility."
Pycelle raised an eyebrow, looking up from the book and meeting Lord Tywin's intense green gaze, before glancing back down at the contents. "I see… well I will certainly review it if you believe this is worth my time," Pycelle said, not entirely convinced that a child of that age could feasibly write such a political treatise, but also knowing better than to argue with the Lion.
"The Lord Tempor system I've implemented in the Westerlands. It was Callum's suggestion." Tywin said, obviously seeing through Pycelle's disbelief. "It needed some small refinements, but it has already made great steps towards centralizing my authority in the Westerlands. My incomes have expanded to now exceed that of all my vassals combined." Tywin leaned forward. "He made that suggestion when he was six. Forgive me for taking his work seriously."
"Yes, of course, my lord." Pycelle bowed his head, chastised, though still not entirely confident that the boy wasn't just acting as a mouthpiece for someone else. "I will review it thoroughly."
"Good," Tywin said. "I've read it. I want you to read it, and tell me what you think, which aspects are feasible and which are not. I've already formed my opinions, but I would hear your academic understanding of the sources he draws upon and their history of success or failure. I do not have time to dig through Essosi tomes and records myself."
Pycelle nodded, ah, that suited him well. A few days of reading and a few weeks of research would soothe his old academic heart. "I will do as you ask and provide you with my report," he said calmly.
"See that you do. Callum has spent a great deal of time and effort crafting his ideas, but he is also too clever to trust at times." Tywin spoke with a small smile. "I did not realize until six months ago that he created the entire Lord Tempor concept to ensure himself a position of authority after he comes of age. A boy of six already maneuvering to secure a future holding." Tywin frowned. "Not that his other reasons weren't true I'm sure, but he never spoke to me of that one. Find whatever truths he's distorting to make his arguments more sound, and if he has any similar motivations. I would weigh them in my own thoughts."
Pycelle nodded. "It will be as you say, Lord Tywin."
"Good." Tywin nodded, standing up and leaving. "I'll expect your report in a fortnight."
Pycelle watched the man leave, off to whatever the next task for him was, and he couldn't help but feel a small pang of jealousy. Some men were born with intelligence, and some were born with power, but rarely were both matched as cleanly as with Lord Tywin. Now if his son was indeed intelligent as he said, then Tywin was triply blessed.
'Then again, he is a second son…' Pycelle reconsidered as he flipped open the book once again, to a section at the beginning detailing the coining of a new phrase 'Feudalism', a term the author, child or not, used to define the system of governance in Westeros.
As Pycelle continued to read, his estimation of the author only grew higher. No, rather than Tywin being lucky, perhaps it was Pycelle who was unlucky, simply because there was no way that Lord Tywin would let Pycelle recruit his second son to the Citadel.
Elia
Elia fixed her hair tightly into place with a pin, long straight, and black, she thought it looked pretty enough in a neat bun, and together with her fanciest dress, she looked fine enough to meet the king.
Which was good because that was exactly what she was going to do. King Aerys had invited the families of all the great lords of the realm (who were currently at King's Landing) to join him in a great feast the evening before the tournament started.
"Doran?" She shouted, staring at herself in the mirror, looking to see if she could spot any remaining imperfections. "How much longer do we have before we need to leave?"
"Well it's probably already started, but we don't want to be the first ones to arrive either." Elia nearly jumped as her brother spoke from the door, though she was able to steady herself on her chair. "No need to shout though."
"Don't do that." Elia snapped, shaking her head and standing up. "Do you think this is fine enough?"
She wore an emerald green dress with white Myrish lace and a silver necklace about her throat. The dress was high cut and conservative, but only so that its tight back binding could make the most of her small bosom, giving an illusion of size that wasn't truly there. About her torso, there was a stiff frame that kept her back straight and her chin high, and the thin contours took advantage of her slender belly to lead the eye up or down as the viewer pleased. The fabric of the dress itself was silk, though the Myrish lace was cotton where it protruded bright white around her collar and her cuffs. In comparison to her torso, the fabric of the skirt was loose and hung off of her behind like a waterfall down to her ankles. It was a fine thing, and well made by the tailors of Sunspear.
"Yes, yes, it's fine enough, you don't need to put on every piece of jewelry in your travel trunk." Doran chuckled. He himself was wearing an orange doublet over a black silk shirt and leggings, the badge of House Martell sat on his left breast and it was clear that he was acting in a more official capacity than Elia.
"Then let's go," Elia said, nodding to him, and he acquiesced, taking her arm and guiding her out to the waiting wheelhouse. She appreciated her brother's care helping her up into the cabin, and soon they were on their way to the Red Keep, along with what seemed like every Lord in Westeros. When they finally arrived at the keep, the gatehouse to the great courtyard was jammed up with some two dozen wheelhouses, and Elia could only roll her eyes as they were all forced to stop and wait.
"Too many guests I suppose, can't be that uncommon in the Red Keep?" Doran japed as they sat together.
"Oh, can't it?" Elia asked. "I doubt many truly want to come to King's Landing, what with the smell."
"You'd be surprised, Elia." Doran corrected, still cheerful. "Men are drawn to power like rats are drawn to cheese. Women too, but that's less common in these uncivilized kingdoms."
She snorted at his words, though they were true, and peeped out of her window again, seeing that the logjam had not moved an inch. "I say we get out and walk," she said, frowning. "This is a waste of all of our time."
"It's not as if it doesn't give us an excuse to be late though." Doran said cheerfully, "But if you'd like to get there faster, then walk we shall."
Her brother helped her down onto the paving stones and tossed their driver a silver stag for the pain of continuing to wait through this mess to park their wheelhouse in the courtyard.
They walked in past the barely moving wheelhouses through the warm afternoon air, though it would have been more pleasant, in Elia's opinion, if it was anywhere but King's Landing. They passed by the gate with nary a word from the Gold Cloak guarding it, seeing who they were by the badge on Doran's chest and not even bothering to ask for their invitations, they passed by the utter havoc that was thirty wheelhouses trying to fit into the great courtyard and went to meet the castellan who was directing guests in through the gates of the Red Keep.
"Ah, Prince Doran, Princess Elia, welcome to the Red Keep, the King holds his feast in the great hall, down this hallway, past the Large iron and bronze doors." the slender man greeted, offering bread and salt. Elia took it with relish, as it was quite good bread, clearly freshly baked and still steaming slightly on the plate beside him. He was sure the kitchens must be bringing over new loafs every few minutes.
Once they'd taken the customary guest right, they passed through the door and down a long hallway, where Elia could only marvel at the great ribcages of dragons that hung from the ceiling like Macabre chandeliers, before finally entering the great hall, which was already raucous with conversation and shouting. There was so much noise, and so many people already. Lords and ladies in their bright regalia, servants rushing back and forth, and children playing between the massive wooden tables, but only one thing caught the eye and seemed to tower over all the rest. There, on a raised dais above the crowds, above the food and the tapestries, above even the skulls of dragons that hung from the walls, some large enough that a grown man or woman could stand inside them, there was a misshapen mass of blades. The Iron Throne stood eight meters tall, twisted and angry, it reared up from the ground like a great fountain of steel, wrought together so it was said from the blades of the Conqueror's enemies. Its colossal bulk dwarfed the feastings below it and at the sight of it, Elia felt her pulse quicken, her fingers numb.
Terrifying, it was terrifying. She had heard of it, but she had not seen it, and now it frightened her. Despite all the joy and life in the room below, Aegon's throne sat like a bulbous tyrant surveying it all with little more than cold cruelty. Elia was not one to believe in Old Wive's tales, but if magic was true as they said in Essos, then she had no doubt there was magic in that throne.
Dorian seemed less surprised, however, tugging her along towards the high table, and managing in the effort to distract her from the monster of iron that overlooked them all. Instead, her eyes were drawn to their destination, and to the Lords and ladies that attended there already. There was Lord Tyrell, and his wife Lady Olenna, their son also, young Mace, and then there was Lord Steffon Baratheon sitting with the Aryns, which made sense because Jon Aryn was fostering his son and that Stark boy. There was of course the large Lannister party, and there was little Callum looking so small at the King's table, sitting beside his siblings as they squabbled over some bit of food and getting into a conversation with the Baratheon heir.
At the head of the table, obviously, there were the Targaryens themselves, a riot of black and red clothing and hair of silver and gold, they all looked quite alike to each other, particularly the king and his wife. Seeing them now it was striking that they were brother and sister. She felt a touch of revulsion at the thought. Elia certainly couldn't imagine marrying either Doran or Oberyn. Much as she found her marriage to Callum unpleasant, it would still be by far preferable to marrying her siblings.
Doran steered them near to the Lannisters, and she saw him match eyes with Lord Tywin, who was busy carving slices off of a roasted boar's head rather vigorously. Tywin with but a brief motion of his hands sent his brothers moving to find chairs further down the table, giving Elia and Doran fine seats between the royal family and Lord Tywin himself. "Good day to you, Prince Doran, Princess Elia."
"Lord Tywin." Elia gave a small curtsey, before taking her seat after Doran. To her right was Queen Rhaella, who was engaged in a discussion with the king of some sort, while across from her was Lord Luthor Tyrell, and to her left was Doran, and the Lannister party. Across and to Lord Luthor's left though, her eyes caught on a purple gaze that almost seemed to drown out the room around it.
"Princess Elia, a pleasure." the man nodded his head, his hair a silvery gold as it fell around his ears, his face as handsome as any man Elia had seen in her life. His voice was smooth as silk, courteous, and of mild tone, he gave her a small smile.
Elia swallowed involuntarily, her breath catching in her throat. "P-prince Rhaegar, likewise." She said, suppressing a blush that threatened to rush to her cheeks. She had heard that he was beautiful, but not that he was so-
"Oh, what's this then?" A harsh voice spoke.
Her eyes snapped to the man at the head of the table, and in comparison to the Prince, she almost wanted to recoil in fright. King Aerys looked like half a corpse, with long silver hair that hung down in ragged clumps from the top of his head. He wore a golden circlet around his forehead, but without it, he would look more like some old sorcerer than a king, for his eyes were sunken in and shadowed under heavy eyebrows, and his fingernails were like claws. Up his arms and on his palms there were viscous scars and scabs, as if he was constantly cutting his flesh away with small knives. His voice was like gravel being poured from a bucket. "Oh… the Martell party, I see." his lips seemed to be nearly a sneer. "Welcome, I suppose, to this tournament and feast to celebrate the birth of my son." she felt he didn't particularly mean a word he said, though that wasn't exactly uncommon in highborn feasts. "I hope you understand that we won't bring him out for you to see. I've had quite enough children poisoned." his bitter insult spoken, he laughed.
Elia felt a shudder run down her spine as the king laughed cruelly, before turning back to his wife, talking to her in low tones as Doran put a steadying hand on her back. She sent a thankful glance to her elder brother, before turning her gaze back towards Prince Rhaegar, who was now staring at his father in consternation. She had to wonder at how different the father was from the son.
The king's words seemed to have not made it all the way down the table, though she thought she saw Lady Olenna leaning back with narrowed eyes, she could not tell much more than that, but Elia had to admit that the entire thing had rocked her. Was this what the King's table was like? She had never been to a feast with a host so hostile, certainly not at any Dorneish court, nor even in the Reach or the Westerlands when she had toured there.
Elia struggled to find words to say.
"I… hope you are well, Princess."
She glanced up to find a very guilty-looking Prince Rhaegar, still just as handsome as before, but his eyes now downcast. After a second, she realized that his words were intended as an apology, albeit a coded one, for even the prince couldn't apologize for the actions of his father, not in front of him.
Elia swallowed. "Yes… just… thirsty, yes, I think I'll have some wine." Elia snatched one of the goblets in front of her, the heady taste of full-strength wine a balm on her mind as she tried to shake off the effect that the King's words held on her.
"I'm glad." Prince Rhaegar said, his small smile returning, as he leaned across the table slightly towards her, purple eyes gleaming. "So, tell me, how was your trip north from Dorne?"
"Oh, it was quite pleasant." Elia nodded, feeling a strange pull towards the beautiful man. She returned his smile as she answered his question, and they began to talk more. "You see we took the long route to avoid shipbreaker bay…"