Fully completed story on:
patreon.com/FanFictionPremium
***
- More wine, Your Grace?
Robert took the flask from Light and drank half of it in one gulp.
- Dornish sour! It's like the wine of the Summer Isles. I was once a guest of Lord Cafferin... or was it Lord Grandison? I keep forgetting! He had a daughter who was as naughty and sweet as a peach. We used to eat roast swans with her and drink this wine. That was wine! It's worth conquering the Summer Isles just to drink it.
- And also for the local beauties,' Renly smiled.
The King laughed.
- That's right! I keep thinking, are they as black between the legs as everywhere else, or are they pink? What do you think, Lancel?
The question was clearly designed to embarrass the young squire.
- I think they're pink,' Light said.
The king patted his stomach and burped.
- Yes, all the women are the same. Except for Cersei. That bitch is so protective of her slit, it's like she's got all the gold in the Cliff. And she's always nagging me. Yesterday, the bitch told me not to go hunting, but to raise my children. How's that? Well, my little ones are all right, but Joffrey-- I don't know how I could have produced him. How?
- More wine, Your Grace?
Robert drained the flask. Light has prepared another.
- When we were returning from the Cliff, brother, and you stopped to hunt bear, I saw Joffrey try to challenge a peasant to a duel: he didn't take his hat off fast enough in front of the prince, you see. If the Hound hadn't talked him out of it, your son would have slaughtered the poor man.
- Bastard,' said the king. - Just like his mother.
Renly smiled dazzlingly.
- Do you know what Joffrey called his sword? The Lion's Tooth!
The king laughed, splashing wine from his mouth. Renly winked at Light.
- We've been talking, brother. We came here to hunt - so it's about time we started.
- That's right. I'm the king, ha ha ha ha! I'm gonna go kill some critters!
Robert got up from the table and staggered out of the royal tent. Light heard him calling loudly to the huntsmen and demanding that they bring him a lance. As soon as the king was out of the canopy, Renly's face lost its expression of mirth and became hard.
- Listen to me carefully, young Lannister. I don't know what your family's plotting, but you're obviously in on it. I'm told you and the Queen spent an hour in prayer together. Prayer, ha! Cersei's never been a devout woman. I'm warning you, boy: give it up. Game of thrones is not for you.
- Her majesty is very beautiful,' Light said offhandedly.
Renly laughed.
- Oh, so that's it. You've got the hots for her. Well, it's a hopeless case. Cersei's heart is a block of ice in her chest. If my brother, who's crazy about hundreds of women, can't get her to love him, you'll never have a chance.
He doesn't know!
- Anyway, I've warned you. You're the King's squire, so serve him. And stay away from the Queen. It won't do you any good.
Light lowered his eyes. From beneath his lowered lashes he could see Renly's gaze wandering greedily over Lancel's slender body. So the rumours about Renly's proclivities were true? Apologising hastily, Light ran out of the tent and rushed to catch up with the king, pulling out a flask as he went.
- More wine, Your Grace?
***
Light wandered wearily through the slick mud. The king strode purposefully forward, followed by his retinue: Renly, Ser Barristan, Thoros of Myr, and a few minor lords whose names Light did not remember. Robert was drunk and merry. Tales of the glorious past followed one after another. Now, for instance, the king was telling of the Greyjoy rebellion-how he had swept the ironborn with his war hammer, and had been the first to break through the breach in Pyke's walls. 'That's an example of a victory that failed to reap its rewards,' Light pondered. - The pirates should have been exterminated and their islands annexed to one of the Seven Kingdoms, preferably the West, as the richest and most developed. But no: the King has done nothing more than take Baelon's son as a hostage. When Robert dies and the war for the throne begins, the islanders are sure to pick up where they left off. And this time they must not get off so lightly.'
Thoros of Myr, priest of the god Rglor, popular in Essos, waved his arms as he slashed the ironborn with his flaming sword. Thoros liked to drink as much as the king, which is why he had taken root at court, although the dominant Church of the Seven in Westeros was rather hostile to the cult of Rglor. Of all the earthly religions, the faith of the Seven resembled Catholicism the most, with the High Septon as Pope and the Righteous as cardinals. Light had visited the Great Septa three times, ostensibly to pray. But in fact he wanted to look at the church hierarchs, to understand what kind of people they are and what to expect from them. The conclusion Light drew was that the church leadership was morally decayed. Fat old men, covered with gold trinkets, hardly believe in anything but their own well-being. On the one hand, this is good: corrupt priests are not a threat. On the other hand, the local religion, like Catholicism in its time, is in need of change. On Earth, the Reformation began with one priest dissatisfied with the excesses of the upper classes, so why shouldn't the same thing happen in Westeros?
Renly laughed exaggeratedly loudly at his brother's joke, showing off his excellent white teeth. Soon you won't be laughing, Light thought. You'll have a choice: kneel to Joffrey, whom you despise so much, or flee to Storm's End and raise the banner of rebellion. Light was sure Renly would choose the latter. And die.
One of the Huntsmen came running to the king.
- Your Grace, a boar has been seen nearby!
Robert looked round for his squire. Light sprang to him with a flask.
- More wine, Your Grace?
***
- Stand back, all of you! I'll-- eek! - I'll do him myself!
Slipping on the morning rain-soaked ground, the King took a steady step towards the boar. The old beast with yellow, bent fangs grunted and lunged to attack. The king made a movement, intending to strike the beast with his spear, but missed and dropped his weapon. And then everything happened very fast - Light didn't have time to turn his head.
Robert lost his balance and fell into the mud. The boar, whose fangs were already aiming at the king's stomach, flew past him without doing him any harm. Renly shouted something, the king made an unsuccessful attempt to get up and fell back into the puddle, the boar turning round for another attack. When one of the king's guards, Ser Barristan, rushed forward, grabbed a fallen spear and thrust it into the boar's eye. The boar wheezed and fell on its side. Renly breathed a sigh of relief. The king was crawling out of the puddle, swearing profusely, covered in clay. Light rushed to him.
- Your Grace! Are you hurt?
Robert shoved him so hard that Light almost fell into the puddle with him.
- Get away! It's all your bloody wine! The seventh scorcher! Where did you ever see a king floundering in the mud like a dung beetle! Barristan, old devil, let me hold you! If it weren't for you, your king would be lying there with his belly ripped open! To hell with it! To hell with hunting! The next boar will kill me for sure. Let's go back!
Light mentally cursed in Japanese.
***
The capital greeted them with the sad chiming of bells. It was a funeral sound that matched Light's sombre mood. In the week they'd been away, Jon Arryn must have read Pycelle's book, drawn the right conclusions, and was about to report them to the king. Cersei is finished, and it's a good thing she won't be interrogated before her execution. Otherwise, she might reveal how Light tried to kill the king. So far, no one suspects him of anything, but that could change quickly. Light is seriously considering fleeing.
- What's with the mourning? - The king grumbled unhappily. - I'm not dead yet! What Unknowing are they calling?
Gold-clad men from the city guard, led by the one-armed captain, Ser Jaselyn Bywater, met them at the gate.
- 'Sad news, your grace,' said the captain. - 'While you were hunting, your right hand man, Lord Jon Arryn...'
- Well? Don't drag it out! What's the matter with him?
- He's dead, Your Grace.