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Chapter Text

A/N: Hey everyone, welcome to my newest long form Free Write! Planning to update it every single day for the foreseeable future! Excited for this one~

-x-X-x-

Robert Baratheon's nostrils flare as he breathes in the scent of smoke, blood, and sweat in the air… before grinning viciously. Victory had never smelled so sweet. That bastard Rhaegar was dead and the tide of battle had turned in their favor the moment that Robert had delivered the killing blow with his Warhammer, smashing the rubies right off of the pompous prick's armor in the process.

Everywhere he goes, he receives the cheers and praise of the men. Everywhere he goes, he sees the awe and respect in their eyes. Today was the day the Targaryen Dynasty fell.

It didn't matter that the snakes still held King's Landing nor that the Mad King still lived. This battle had turned into a rout, leaving the loyalist forces all but decimated. The path into the Crownlands was wide open and Robert intended for them to take full advantage of that fact.

His own injuries had already been wrapped, and a short post-battle meeting between him and the other rebel lords had already taken place. With Rhaegar Targaryen and Lewyn Martell both dead in battle, the most important decision to be made at that meeting had been the fate of Ser Barristan Selmy. One of Ned's bannermen, Roose Bolton, had advocated for Selmy's execution, but Robert had ultimately decided against it.

Ser Barristan Selmy was a courageous and honorable knight. He was a man of oaths and loyalty in a world filled with vipers and cowards. Robert couldn't bring himself to allow such a man to be killed in such a way. Instead, he'd pardoned Selmy and even sent his personal Maester to make sure that the man survived.

Now? Now Robert found himself walking almost aimlessly, not quite sure what he's looking for. Perhaps he simply wishes to revel in his victory some more. Or perhaps he's looking for exactly what he finds. Truthfully, part of him knows that he shouldn't be seeking out base pleasures, not now that Rhaegar is dead and the path to his Lyanna is finally cleared.

… But Robert is only a man at the end of the day, a man with an able body and needs of the flesh. This was this and his love for Lyanna was something else entirely.

As such, when he catches sight of the woman standing there amidst the carnage, Robert can't help but be immediately taken with her. She wears strange white cloth and doesn't have a single scratch on her, despite her hands being covered in blood and curled into fists at her sides.

A battlefield healer. Must be. Women like her were rare, but Maesters who were willing to leave their stuffy castles to treat anyone beyond their liege lords after a battle were even rarer. As such, it fell to her type to try and save who they could, more often than not.

But even as Robert marks her as a healer in his mind… her eyes meet his and a shiver runs down his spine. The intensity in her gaze makes him feel the need to arm himself for some reason. Like he should take up his Warhammer and wield it against her, despite her sex.

Moving through the battlefield like she belongs on it, the woman approaches him, her eyes roaming up and down his form before arriving back at his face.

"You are the one they call Robert Baratheon."

Not really a question, more of a statement. Robert chuckles, finding himself liking her instantly.

"That's right. Robert Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Lord of Storm's End. Leader of this motley bunch. And you are?"

The woman in white with her bloody fists tilts her head to the side, gazing up at him knowingly.

"… Does it matter?"

A toothy grin spreads across Robert's face as he slowly shakes his head.

"No… no it does not."

-x-X-x-

She leaves him gasping and sore. So much so that when he wakes up the next morning alone in his tent, he can barely move a muscle. Robert can only stare up at the tent's ceiling with wide, wild eyes, remembering the details of the previous night quite… vividly.

He was a large man, and though he was not ever in the business of hurting women, he was also not in the business of being treated like one either. But this woman… she had strength to her that belied her form. And what a form it was. Once she stripped off those white coverings, he had quickly begun to wonder if she was some sort of healer-warrior, just based off of the scarred, corded muscle that had combined with the soft feminine parts of her for a truly strange yet oddly appreciable view.

Of course, he hadn't had much chance to ask questions of her. Not when she was so… insistent. So… needy. Robert had been with lustful women before, but this was different. He'd been with women who knew how to ride a man instead of being ridden before as well… but again, this was different.

In truth, he felt like she'd done more damage to him last night than Rhaegar or any of the Loyalists had in the battle just hours previous. Robert felt strange about the entire encounter… but he couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed the experience all the same. And multiple times at that…

Only, things take a turn for the strange when he finally gets himself out of bed. Requiring a small dose of Milk of the Poppy to function through the pain and soreness, Robert begins to hunt for the woman he'd bedded the night before. Except… nobody can direct him to where the woman might be. Nobody can even tell him who she was either. It's like she was a ghost. In the end, after hours of fruitless searching, all he has is his memories and the marks she's left on her body to remember her by.

It was the strangest, most engaging experience of Robert Baratheon's life, leaving him with so many unanswered questions and a strange yearning for more. But he could not allow himself to be distracted from what needed to be done. In the end, all he could do was rally his forces and continue to push forward. So that this pointless war could end and the Mad King could be brought to justice.

So that he could finally have his Lyanna, once and for all.

-x-X-x-

Robert Baratheon sits alone in a study with naught but despair in his heart and ashen regret in his mouth that no amount of wine seems capable of washing away. They'd won, just as he knew they would. Aerys was dead, slain by his own Kingsguard. Robert has been made King with Jon agreeing to serve as his Hand. And yet… and yet… none of it means much of anything, does it?

After all, Lyanna is dead, located too late in Dorne before the worst could happen. Ned has returned to the North with her body, leaving on bad terms because he was angry over Robert's reaction to the brutal deaths of Rhaegar's wife and dragonspawn.

And Robert… Robert finds himself surrounded by snakes dressed in the skins of lions. House Lannister had done nothing during 'Robert's Rebellion' as they're already taking to call it. It had not sided with the rebels, nor had it come to the aid of the Mad King.

Until, at the very last moment, Tywin Lannister had brought his army to King's Landing, arriving ahead of Robert's forces. It could have been bad for his side if the Lannister Lord didn't intend treachery all along. The moment that King's Landing had opened her gates for the Warden of the West, the city had been ransacked and ravaged.

Meanwhile, Tywin's son, Jaime Lannister, had run Aerys through with his sword, the Kingsguard betraying his oaths and killing his liege lord right there in the throne room at the same time that trusted Lannister Men had apparently hunted down and slaughtered Elia Martell and her two young children.

Robert didn't care that the Mad King was dead. He didn't care that the dragonspawn were dead either. The killing of Elia Martell was poorly done, but truth be told he couldn't even bring himself to care about that so much either.

What he did care about was the duplicity of the Lions… and the unfortunate truth that he now had to rely on them anyways. He and Jon had had long talks about the issue after Ned brought news of Lyanna's demise and left for the North but none of those conversations had been remotely satisfying.

Robert had put it off for as long as he could, really he had. He'd stalled for as many moons as he could manage… but in the end, it mattered little. The Old Lion had still gotten his way, for today… today was Robert's wedding day.

Today, he was expected to marry Cersei Lannister and name her his Queen. A joining that was supposed to secure his throne and dynasty for generations to come. He should have been excited. Cersei was certainly not ugly. He should have been thrilled. Lannisters were well known for shitting gold and always paying their debts.

… But none of it mattered without Lyanna. What was the point of being King without her as his Queen? Why did it feel like even though he'd won, he'd actually lost? What-

C-CRACK!

Robert startles, eyes widening as something strikes the window behind him. That shouldn't have been possible, this private study on the upper floors of the Red Keep was hundreds of feet above the ground. Whipping around, he freezes in place and just stares in disbelief for several long moments until finally, the person on the other side of the glass speaks.

"Either open the window or direct me to the closest balcony. Quickly now if you don't want me to just come through the glass."

It was her. The woman from the Trident… and a handful of other places besides. That first night with her had not in fact been the last. Even as nobody had been able to track her down or tell him who she was, even as Robert and his army had continued to make their way South towards King's Landing… she'd kept showing up like a bad copper star. Though a woman like her was more of a golden dragon, admittedly.

Night after night, she'd come to his bed. Night after night, Robert had felt like he was fighting for his life, even as he experienced pleasures beyond his reckoning.

Then, several moons ago… she'd stopped showing up. Vanished altogether, never to be seen again. Shortly after, he'd arrived in King's Landing and found himself too busy to pay any thought to her and the mystery surrounding her.

But now… this goes beyond mystery, because the woman is floating there outside of the window. She's hovering in the air like it's nothing… and more than that, she has a bundle nestled in one arm, pressed to her exposed chest. Robert's eyes widen as he belatedly recognizes the bundle for what it is… an infant. A child.

In the end, he has to direct her to the nearest balcony. The window in the study is too large and does not open. Though there is now a crack in its surface from the rock that she had thrown at it all too casually.

As she lands on the balcony, the young King of the Seven Kingdoms doesn't know whether to stare at her or the baby she's holding in the crook of her arm.

"Is he-?"

"You are the King now, are you not? I watched as they crowned you. You rule these lands… these 'Seven Kingdoms', yes?"

Robert's mouth opens and closes for a brief moment before he finally, hesitantly nods.

"… Yes. I do. I am… set to be married later today."

He fears for a moment that she will take that poorly, but the woman just scoffs.

"That does not matter to me. This one is for you."

Just like that, she hands over the baby. Robert opens his mouth to confirm his parentage, only for the question to catch in his throat the moment he sees the boy's tousled black locks and blue eyes. He is Robert's… beyond a shadow of a doubt, he is of Robert's blood. A baseborn bastard, but then Robert should have expected no less given just how much the woman had extracted from him.

"I don't understand. Who are you? You've never even given me a name?"

Scoffing again, the impossible woman crosses her arms over her chest.

"You do not need my name. You should not be asking who I am, but rather WHAT I am. And what I am… is a Viltrumite. I am not of your world. I come from the 'heavens' as you primitives might say."

A Viltrumite. The heavens? She's… an agent of the divine?

"You were sent by the Seven to ensure my victory then? Or to judge whether I was worthy of Kinghood?"

But the woman, the 'Viltrumite', just scoffs again.

"No. I am not of your gods. I come from beyond the stars. It is of little importance to one such as you. What matters is the boy. He is part Viltrumite."

Robert purses his lips together, looking down at his son as the weight of all of this comes down on his shoulders. In the end, he finds himself blurting out the truth, blunt honesty spilling from his lips.

"I… will not be able to claim him as my own. He is a bastard. He will not bear my family name, nor will I be able to raise him here. Perhaps you should take him back because I cannot be the father he needs."

The woman stares at him for a long moment.

"… Bastard? Family name? Father? Do you think I care about any of that? These words are meaningless. The boy is of Viltrumite blood. He will be a warrior, a soldier, a fighter. I care not where you put him. He cannot come with me. His place is here on this world, where maybe in a few decades he will be able to make something of this misbegotten and backwards planet."

She flicks her hand out almost contemptuously, a sneer on her lips.

"Send him away for all I care. Place him in the harshest environment imaginable and he will either succumb or surpass expectations. Do as you will with him so long as you neither try to kill him nor order him killed. Understood?"

Taken aback by the complete lack of maternal instincts, Robert slowly nods, his mouth opening to ask the first of a million questions. Unfortunately, he never gets a chance. The moment he signals even the barest form of assent, the woman overrides him with one last message.

"Good. I'll be back eventually to check on the boy's progress. Perhaps a hundred years. By that point he'll either have made some sort of headway or be dead, in which case I'll simply start over. Goodbye pitiful ruler of a pitiful continent on a pitiful planet."

She's gone a moment later and Robert barely registers that she's left by going straight up before she's completely out of sight. His eyes squint upwards, trying to follow her but she quickly becomes a distant dot before vanishing from view altogether.

He's still staring up at the sky when Jon's voice reaches him a moment later.

"Robert? Robert, what are you doing out there? The wedding starts soon."

… How does one even begin explaining what he just experienced? Robert's mouth opens and closes, but in the end he shows Jon instead of telling. The Hand of the King's eyes shoot wide open when he sees the infant in Robert's arms.

"Is that… is that a child? Robert, where did he come from?"

It's a good question. One that Robert has no intentions of answering lest his father figure start to believe he's gone just as mad as his predecessor. Instead, Robert swallows hard and forces a cool expression onto his face.

"He's mine Jon. My firstborn son… a bastard, of course."

Jon's face goes through a variety of expressions that might very well have been amusing if these were different circumstances. In the end though, Robert recognizes the look in the older man's eyes quite well. Before the lecture can begin, he cuts it off at the knees.

"He can't stay here, of course. The new wife wouldn't like it, I'm sure. Make arrangements to have him sent to the Vale, please. Let him be raised there in whatever manner you see fit, Jon. As for a name… call him Axel. Axel Stone, since he'll be of the Vale."

Technically it should have been Axel Waters for the Crownlands, but it wasn't like Robert really knew where the woman had given birth to him anyways. And giving him the name Stone would hopefully offer an extra layer of protection from those who might wonder about his identity.

His Hand looks poleaxed by Robert's orders as he hands the baby over. It's clear that Jon is shocked by Robert's maturity in this moment, having been expecting to have to tell the new King he couldn't possibly keep the boy by his side.

Robert wasn't an idiot though. He knew that full well. These Lions he'd been forced to surround himself with since becoming King… he didn't trust them within a hundred feet of his son.

No… Axel would be safer in the Vale. Setting aside all of the insane things his mother had said (and done), the boy would be better off there. Robert was sure of it.

"See it done, Jon."

Giving the shocked man a pat on his shoulder and a tired smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, Robert leaves his Hand behind still holding the baby and begins making his way towards his executi- err, his wedding. It's the last time he'll ever see the boy. That's probably for the best, all things considered.

-x-X-x-

It's all his fault, in the end. His death. Their deaths. As time seems to slow in the pivotal moment, Robert's last clear thought is that it's all his fault. If only he hadn't done this. If only he hadn't done that.

His first mistake was definitely allowing himself to sober up long enough to show interest in his children on that fateful morning. After decades spent in a drunken stupor, Robert Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, had come to breakfast feeling surprisingly clearheaded for the first time in longer than he could remember.

It was there, at breakfast, that Robert had asked his sons and daughter what they'd been up to of late in what even he recognized as a very rare display of interest. All three of them had immediately gone quiet until Robert had asked again with insistence and some forced levity in his voice.

That was when Tommen, sweet innocent Tommen, had piped up to tell his father that he'd been exploring recently. Adventuring, that was the word he'd used. And Robert… Robert had been intrigued enough to ask for more details.

When he found out that Tommen had started slipping his minders to go exploring tunnels underneath not just the Red Keep but even out into the greater city, Robert had been enthused. Now that sounded like the kind of trouble him and Ned had got up to back in the day!

His oldest son Joffrey just had to make a snide comment though of course, and so when Robert decided that Tommen would take him with him on the next adventure, he'd also decided Joffrey was coming as well. All three of them, along with something like half of the Kingsguard, going underground to see exactly what sort of 'treasures' Tommen had uncovered.

Cersei hadn't been happy about it, of course. His Queen had scowled and been just shy of screeching as she tried to head off what she deemed to be a foolish and dangerous expedition. Robert had brushed her concerns off though as the wailings of a weak woman. He had certainly come to regret that, hadn't he?

Tommen had led them under the Red Keep, and then into tunnels that took them further from the castle and under the city itself. Robert had been enjoying himself immensely as he bonded with his youngest son, even as his eldest made an ass of himself with every word that left his lips.

Until finally, they'd reached a strange door with a strange marking on it that was both familiar and unfamiliar at first. Through that door, Tommen had showed them the treasure he'd found… rows and rows of carefully sealed pots, each of them carrying the same mark as the door, just smaller.

Robert had picked up one of the pots before asking Selmy to come over, curious if the other man would recognize the marking. Fortunately, the Commander of the Kingsguard did. It was the marking of the all but defunct Alchemist's Guild, an organization that Robert had barely tolerated and never elevated in his time as King. Mostly because they made just one thing and that one thing was incredibly dangerous and volatile.

In the same moment that Robert had realized he was holding a pot of wildfire in his hands, he'd heard Tommen whine and Joffrey laugh, only to look over and see his eldest son tossing one of the pots up and down in the air, playing a game where he pretended like he was going to drop it and break it all over the ground at his and Tommen's feet.

Perhaps there were other ways Robert could have handled the situation. Perhaps there were ways that they all could have survived with this just being a scarily close brush with death. But in that moment, Robert reacted without thinking.

"Joffrey!"

His sharp, reprimanding tone made it clear that he wanted his eldest son to stop what he's doing. Unfortunately, Joffrey's fear of him works against them in the moment, because he jumps in fright… and drops the jar in the process.

Time slows down in that moment for Robert Baratheon as everyone starts to react far too late. Nobody can stop it. Nobody can do anything to prevent what happens next.

As bright green flames cover the tunnel and fill his vision, the last thought the King of the Seven Kingdoms has… is that it was all his fault.

-x-X-x-

A/N: So a basic summary for this would-be story is Half-Viltrumite son of Robert Baratheon and nameless Viltrumite Woman becomes King of Westeros after terrible wildfire accident in the Capital. Shenanigans ensue.

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, though if you're wondering how Axel claim jumps Renly and Stannis, you'll just have to wait for Chapter 2 to find out!

See you all tomorrow!

Chapter Text

A/N: Lord Arryn returns to the Vale on a most dire mission.

-x-X-x-

Under normal circumstances, the Vale's Lord returning after so many years away in King's Landing would be cause for celebration. Certainly there would need to be some sort of ceremony planned, and an announcement at the very least. Someone to say 'Presenting the Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, and Hand of the King'. All those fancy titles.

… As Jon Arryn rides into the Eyrie's outer courtyard, that doesn't happen. The silence is almost deafening while also being incredibly somber. But the Hand of the King is not perturbed by this in any way. After all, he'd been the one to send word ahead on how his arrival was to be treated. This was not the time for celebration, nor the time for festivities or even ceremony.

Dismounting from his horse and handing off the reins to a stable hand, Jon lets out a sigh as Lord Nestor Royce, High Steward of the Vale, steps up and bows his head.

"Lord Arryn, welcome home. The Vale is yours."

Alas, some minor amount of ceremony is impossible to avoid it would seem. Jon is grateful to Nestor for keeping it short at the very least. The other man has proven to be a capable steward of House Arryn's lands in the long, long years that Jon has spent as Hand of the King over in King's Landing. It's been more than two decades now, as a matter of fact. And it's likely he will be expected to remain High Steward for some time more, all things considered.

"Thank you, Lord Royce. I only wish my return were under better circumstances."

Nestor grimaces at that, a shadow crossing his face. Indeed, there are no smiles to be had in the courtyard on this day. Everyone will have heard the news by this point, despite Jon leaving for the Vale within days of the tragedy. Ravens fly faster than man or horse can move, this has been true since time immemorial.

"… Yes my Lord. We were all shocked to hear about the King's death. And the Princes too. Wildfire… truly?"

A shudder runs down Jon's spine. He's never considered himself a particularly weak man. The Vale might not be the greatest of the Seven Kingdoms, and House Arryn might not be the greatest of the Great Houses, but they were not known as particularly feeble or craven either. Not in his lifetime, anyways.

And yet, just thinking of the corpses and the green flames that licked the ground… Jon Arryn shuts his eyes and lowers his head for a moment in remembrance before nodding.

"Yes. The late Mad King apparently put enough wildfire beneath the city to burn the entirety of King's Landing to cinders back at the end of the rebellion. We were fortunate he never managed to make good on those terrible plans but it seems the caches of wildfire lay hidden under the city ever since. Hidden for decades, just waiting for someone to stumble upon them."

Lord Royce is not a particularly weak man either. His silence, therefore, is all the more telling as they both stand there for a moment before Jon continues.

"The excavation efforts were in full swing all across the city when I left. Hopefully by the time I return, most of the wildfire will have been discovered and removal can proceed without further incident."

Of course, that didn't exactly change the fact that Robert and his sons were still dead. Which brought Jon to the reason for this visit. The reason why he'd come here straight from King's Landing mere days after Robert's death, making his way to the Eyrie as fast as possible. Letting out a sigh, Jon gets down to business.

"I'm here for the lad, Nestor. Call for him, please."

The High Steward of the Vale doesn't have to be asked who 'the lad' is. With Jon's own son back in King's Landing still with Lysa, there's only one 'lad' in the entirety of the Vale who he could even be talking about. A somewhat affectionate grin spreads across Lord Royce's face and he ruefully shakes his head.

"He hasn't been a mere lad for some years now, Lord Arryn. A man full and truly grown at this point, I reckon."

… Yes, that was right wasn't it? Doing the numbers in his head for a moment, Arryn is almost startled to realize how old the young man would be now. How time flies…

Of course, Lord Royce isn't a fool. He might not be the most quick-witted man in the Seven Kingdoms, but he does alright. Like a candle being lit, his eyes widen slightly as he suddenly understands why Jon would ask after the young man they're speaking of.

"… I don't understand, my Lord. He wouldn't be next in line for the throne, would he? Shouldn't it go to one of the King's brothers before a bastard?"

Jon just sighs and inclines his head.

"Under normal circumstances, yes. But these aren't normal circumstances. Robert… survived the initial blast of wildfire."

The High Steward's eyes damn near pop out of his skull at that.

"What?! How?!"

Grimacing, Jon's stomach tries to rebel on him as he's reminded of how Robert had looked afterwards. Joffrey and Tommen had been reduced to truly unrecognizable states, but Robert…

"Ser Barristan Selmy is how. From what we were able to piece together, the Princes were at the center of the blast, while the King was a few feet away. The Lord Commander reacted with surprising speed despite his age and endeavored to pull the King behind him in the initial moments as the wildfire started to rage. He… partially succeeded, and the ensuing blast threw Robert through a wall where he was covered in enough rubble to avoid the flames."

For a moment, Lord Royce's eyes are filled with hope. But that's quickly squashed as he realizes how foolish such a thing would be given what he already knows.

"You said he survived the initial blast…"

Jon just nods.

"He was badly burned and the same stone that saved him from being burnt further also crushed his body in multiple places. In the end, he lived for only an hour or so after they managed to retrieve him from the rubble. Just long enough to gain consciousness. Just long enough…"

Here, Jon pauses and sucks in a deep breath before continuing on with a solemn tone.

"Just long enough to tell me he was legitimizing his firstborn bastard son and making him Crown Prince."

There had, of course, been no small amount of shock and surprise over the King's final words when Jon had shared them with the rest of the Small Council. But Stannis wasn't in the city to take issue and Renly had accepted it with his usual easygoing attitude. In the end, it wasn't as though Myrcella Baratheon was going to be taking up her father's mantle.

The moment Jon shared Robert's decree with the others, Axel Stone's legitimization had been completed. He'd become Axel Baratheon, firstborn son of Robert Baratheon… and Heir to the Iron Throne. And since Robert had died shortly after, that meant Axel was the new King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Jon still didn't know who the boy's mother was, even after all these years. That day when he'd walked in on Robert to make sure the man was prepared for his wedding only to find him holding a babe had been etched into Jon's memory for decades now. Where did the child come from? He'd checked with the serving staff and nobody could tell him of any baby being brought to the King's quarters.

Obviously, Jon had done as his King ordered. He'd sent Axel Stone to the Eyrie to be raised by his High Steward and the Castle Staff. Axel Stone had not been told that he was the son of a king or anything like that, but he'd wanted for nothing all the same, Jon had made sure of it on Robert's behalf. The young man had lived a comfortable life.

Meanwhile, Robert hadn't laid eyes on the lad again, not since the day of his wedding. However, when it was just the two of them, the King and his Hand, he would sometimes ask after Axel. Likewise, Jon had been under standing orders to check in on the boy personally whenever he returned to the Eyrie from time to time for special occasions.

Shaking himself out of his reveries, Jon looks to Royce, who seems to be just as contemplative as him at the moment.

"Nestor. The lad if you will. Or rather, Crown Prince Axel Baratheon. Where is he?"

That, much to Jon's dissatisfaction, produces a wince from his High Steward. Fortunately for his sake, the next words out of Nestor's mouth are agreeable ones.

"R-Right! Of course, Lord Arryn. Right this way…"

Frowning, Jon follows after Lord Royce. He'd intended for the other man to send a servant to retrieve Axel for them, perhaps while he rested his old bones after all that hard travel… but in the end, if the young man is close by, it's no bother really.

Except Nestor doesn't lead Jon to Axel. Instead, he leads the Lord of the Eyrie to a small balcony overlooking the majesty of the Vale. On that balcony sits a horn that Jon has never seen before.

"Nestor… what is this?"

Rather than answer him, his High Steward steps forward, takes the horn in hand, and blows into it first. Jon winces at how loud the sound is, even as it carries out across the Vale's numerous mountain peaks. It's… a decent horn, he will admit. But even still, he's growing rather irate at being ignored.

Turning to face him, Lord Royce bows at the waist.

"Sincerest apologies, my Lord. But given the urgency of the situation, I thought it best to send out the message before explaining. You see… young Axel has been ranging more and more frequently in the past few years.

Jon blinks, a sensation like curdling taking over in his gut as his voice falls entirely flat.

"Ranging."

No doubt hearing his liege lord's clear disapproval, the High Steward winces again.

"… As you might recall, Axel has always had a lot of… excess energy."

Grunting, Jon is forced to nod even as he frowns most severely. Yes, every time he'd visited the lad in his earlier years, it had been rather astonishing just how energetic he was. Axel Stone had seemed to have endless, boundless stamina and enthusiasm for just about everything. And he'd only seemed to gain more energy the older he'd become.

Both Nestor and Jon had done their best to instill proper values into the young man, even if he was just a bastard… he'd absorbed their teachings like a fish to water and proven in desperate need of more direction as time went on.

"I did… write about it in my letters, Lord Arryn? I mentioned that Axel had managed to subdue the Mountain Clans, didn't I?"

Wait, what? Jon's head snaps in Nestor's direction, his eyes widening and his nostrils flaring at such mind boggling news.

"Excuse me? When was this?"

Running a hand over his bald skull, the bearded Lord thinks for a second.

"Ah… about three moons past, I would say?"

Three moons… Jon thinks back and finds himself letting out another sigh. The last several months had been quite trying, he had to admit. Even before the tragedy with the wildfire, Jon had been kept extremely busy by his work as Hand of the King. It wasn't easy being Robert's Hand… it never had been, not in all the years and over two decades that he'd served the King in such a position.

He'd meant to get around to it eventually, but every time he'd been planning on going through his backlog of non-critical correspondence, something else had come up, some 'emergency' of some sort. Given Lord Royce's long record of loyal service, Jon was willing to accept that this one was on him.

Indeed, Jon didn't doubt that if he could somehow magically transport himself back to the Tower of the Hand right this moment, he would be able to find the exact letter that Nestor was talking about, sealed and unread even after all this time.

Making sure to keep any true anger out of his voice, Jon waves a hand in the High Steward's direction.

"Explain… please."

"Of course. You see, Lord Arryn… young Axel has been getting quite strong and quite… fast. His capabilities have only grown in the years since you were last able to slip away for a visit. And as such, his capacity for getting into trouble also started to grow."

Nestor sighs, though there's a rueful smile tugging at his lips all the same, like he can't bring himself to be mad.

"No amount of chores or duties or responsibilities could stop him. He's proven time and time again that he can do the work of five men and still be done by midday. Eventually, he asked to be allowed to… explore a little bit. I hoped that doing so might give him perspective… or maybe just tire him out for once."

Dangerous. The thought of the current Heir to the Seven Kingdoms running around the mountainous regions of the Vale, where Mountain Clans and large beasts resided… it sent a shiver down Jon's spine. But to be fair to Nestor, it wasn't like either of them had ever thought that Axel Stone would one day become Axel Baratheon and sit upon the Iron Throne.

"As I said, he managed to terrify the Mountain Clans so badly that they haven't raided us a single time in the past three moons. Nobody is sure exactly what he did to them; how many he had to kill… but there hasn't been even one attack in all this time. When asked, Axel just says that he dealt with them."

That… that didn't make sense. 'Subdued the Mountain Clans' sounded like the sort of fantasy that someone from outside the Vale might write about. Someone who didn't understand what the Mountain Clans were, who hadn't lived a single day in the area.

There were almost a dozen large, distinct clans of First Men living in the Mountains of the Moon to this day. And dozens of smaller ones besides that, though those tended to be constantly dying out only to be replaced by men splitting off from the larger ones.

The Mountain Clans were not a monolith. They weren't just some united force that you could subdue all at once. So what the hell had Axel done? How in the world had he managed to convince the clans to cease their attacks on the lowlands for three entire months?

"Do not worry, Lord Arryn. When I realized just how… flighty Axel was getting, I made a deal with him. If he hears this horn, then he is to come back immediately, no matter what he's doing."

Looking at the horn somewhat askance, Jon then stares out from the balcony at the rest of the Vale stretched out in front of them. These are his lands, the lands of House Arryn, and Jon has never felt anything but pride and satisfaction gazing out at them from the Eyrie before. This was the first time where he looked out at the amazing vista… and felt nothing but unease.

"… What if he's too far away to hear it, Nestor?"

The High Steward of the Vale is quiet for a moment before shaking his head.

"He's always answered the call, my Lord. Frankly… I'm not sure he CAN be too far away so long as he remains within the Vale's boundaries."

Jon shoots Nestor a look at that, frowning at the utter confidence in the other man's voice. Despite the incredibly outlandish things that his steward has already told him so far… somehow it feels like Nestor still hasn't told him EVERYTHING.

But in the end, the only thing that mattered was retrieving Axel and taking him back to King's Landing. Nothing else was more important at this point.

Which begged the question… where the hell was the Heir to the Seven Kingdoms right now, and what the hell is he doing?

-x-X-x-

A/N: Poor Jon Arryn. He's already gray haired, he doesn't need to have it start falling out from the stress!

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

See you all tomorrow!

Chapter Text

A/N: Finally get our first MC perspective! Axel Baratheon, or as he knows himself still, Axel Stone~

-x-X-x-

The mountains are quiet, save for the chill wind moving through the pass. A blind man might mistakenly believe the area to be empty, just from how silent and still it is. He would be wrong though. In point of fact, this part of the Mountains of the Moon are filled with men and women at the moment. So-called 'savages' of the greatest among the mountain clans. Stone Crows. Burned Men. Black Ears. Moon Brothers. Painted Dogs.

Some are greater than others, it should be said. Yet all are united in their silence in this moment. Where normally there would be violence with this many clans gathered in one place, nobody dares to raise a hand against one another. Instead… all eyes are on the man standing in their midst. The outsider.

Wearing nothing but a thin pair of linen pants that leave little to the imagination, the young man stands at over six feet tall, broad shouldered and broad chested. His black hair is carefully maintained, while his completely smooth face makes it clear he has yet to grow facial hair despite being of similar size and stature to many of the Mountain Men in the clearing… and bigger and broader than many more.

Standing there in nothing but those thin pants in direct defiance to the cold mountain weather, Axel Stone grins as he tilts his head to the side, sweeping his gaze across them all.

"Well? Are you lot just going to stand there all day? Or are you going to come at me already?!"

Finally, two men chosen from each tribe begin to take hesitant, cautious steps forward. Ten in total, they come towards Axel without weapons in hand but clad in thick comfortable furs from head to toe. They share looks between one another; old enmity set aside for a brief moment in the face of their common foe.

Axel, meanwhile, sets his stance, clenching his square jaw and lifting his arms up. Not to defend, but to grapple, his hands open and his fingers curling like claws as his grin goes all the wider.

"COME ON THEN!"

His shout spurs the ten mountain men into action. The pride of someone from the Mountain Clans is not to be underestimated. There were some who would call them bandits and outlaws, savages with shoddy weapons and armor. The lords and ladies of the Vale in their stone castles considered them no more than vermin, nibbling at their heels by ransacking local villages and raiding lowland towns.

As the ten big, burly men reach Axel, he meets their charge head on, roaring as they all slam into him only for the younger man to barely twitch in response. Of course, as large as he is, he can really only block and grapple with three or four at most. The other six quickly surround him, raining blows down for a brief moment on his seemingly unprotected back and neck, even slamming meaty fists into his skull without a care for potential injuring him.

… They should have been more worried about themselves. The ones stupid enough to aim for his skull rather than the slightly softer parts of him are rewarded with broken fingers as they let out howls of pain. Their own attacks are turned against them by the sheer hardness of his head. Eventually, the ten men are forced to simply use their combined weight to press down on Axel until they can take him to the dirt, pinning him to the ground.

What a sight it must have been from the outside looking in for a single moment. Ten huge, hulking warriors all writhing and squirming on top of one another as they dogpile a man younger than any of them.

"HRRRAAAAGH!"

And then the moment passes and mountain men go flying in every direction as Axel launches himself up at the same time as he throws them all off of him. Rising back to his full height, half are flung away in that first moment. They're the lucky ones. The others meet his fists and elbows as he knocks them flat on their asses, one after the other. One unfortunate warrior gets kicked in the chest for his troubles and goes flying back ten feet to hit the ground hard and not rise again.

In less than a minute from start to finish, Axel is the only one left standing. However… not a single man he's just fought is dead. There's definitely a lot of pained groaning and moaning, men sobbing like maidens as they roll back and forth in pain.

… But he's been careful to moderate his strength. That kick could have gone THROUGH the mountain man's chest after all, and it hadn't.

For a tense moment, silence reigns once more as the rest of the gathered members of the five mountain clans all stare at him quietly. And then…

"Bahaha! Pay up Chella! I told you he could take ten!"

"Feh! Your Stone Crows were clearly holding back, Shagga."

"Oh? You wish to say that to my face?!"

Chella, leader of the Black Ears, does not in fact want to say that to Shagga's face. Grumbling angrily, the Mountain Chieftain nevertheless hands over payment to the leader of the Stone Crows Clan, much to Shagga's immense satisfaction. At least, if the grinning from ear to ear is anything to go off of.

Axel just watches the exchange with mild amusement, before sweeping his gaze to the men he'd just gotten done brutalizing. They would all live, more than likely, but that didn't mean some hadn't been crippled by his actions. That was just the cost of doing business in the Mountains of the Moon, however. That was the cost of seeking a challenge from Axel Stone. Shaking his head, he walks over to his clothes and begins to get dressed again.

He'd developed a bit of a reputation among the mountain clans at this point. When High Steward Royce had finally accepted that Axel couldn't stay cooped up in the Eyrie any longer and had approved the first of Axel's rangings, he'd been so… eager to start cleaning up the Vale. After all, living in the Eyrie all his life, Axel had heard tale after tale of the despicable mountain clans and their raiding of poor, innocent smallfolk of the Vale.

And yet, when he brought up fixing the problem to High Steward Royce, the older man had said it wasn't that simple. He'd explained to Axel how difficult it was for proper knights to traverse the dangerous mountain paths of the Vale. Furthermore, the High Steward had told Axel about how the mountain clans had developed an entire culture around avoiding fair fights and honorable combat.

Well no more, Axel had decided. He would stop them… by himself, if he had to.

Of course, once he'd actually gotten out here, he'd quickly learned that not all was as it seemed. Sure, the mountain clans were largely savages by the standards of the rest of the Vale, let alone Westeros as a whole… but they were still people. Dumb people by and large, but people all the same.

More than that, they respected personal strength of arms above all else. One thing had led to another and… well, it turned out that Axel's crusading was also a great way of making friends with the rough mountain folk. In the end, he'd managed to beat enough of them into submission that they'd stopped their raiding at his command.

For months now, it had continued that way, with Axel making frequent trips to visit the mountain folk and keep them on the straight and narrow. Or as much on the straight and narrow as he possibly could.

"Axel Stone! You are truly worth ten men! Maybe even more! Join my Stone Crows and you will never want for women, food, or drink, ever again!"

Shagga's boastful claim is not entirely exaggerated either, given how some of the Storm Crow women were already making hungry eyes at Axel before their Chieftain offered them up… and rather than anger them, all Shagga's words do is prompt more to shoot Axel inviting looks. Strength was extremely attractive among the mountain clans, after all.

"What?! Don't be ridiculous! If he's going to join anyone, he should be joining my Burned Men!"

"Bah, Timett, what can you offer him that the Moon Brothers cannot?"

"Less fleas for one, Ulf!"

"You take that back!"

Axel sighs as a fight very nearly breaks out over his theoretical recruitment… and this isn't the first time either. They've practically been begging him to properly join them since he first beat them all down a few months ago. Frankly, he feels that their eyes are too big for their stomachs. Even if he were willing to set aside his rather cushy castle life up at the Eyrie, he wouldn't just join them… he'd conquer them, uniting them and leading them all under his banner.

They'd fall in line too, because not a single one of them was his better. Hell, Axel was pretty sure he could take upwards of fifty of them without issue, really. His strength was not that of a normal man, nor was his flesh. He could deal damage with his fists alone that a man with a sword would struggle to do. And he could take blows and strikes that would fell most normal men.

He'd been… unusual in that way for as long as he could remember. But it wasn't until more recently that Axel had truly been able to test his limits, using the mountain clans as a whetstone to sharpen his skills and see just how strong, tough, and fast he really was.

The results? He had yet to find a limit for any of the three, actually.

Seeing that the Mountain Chieftains are all dangerously close to coming to blows, Axel sighs… and brings his palms together in front of him, clapping them hard enough to make the wind pick up and blow through the area, while also creating a loud enough sound that they all cringe and cover their ears.

"ENOUGH! I'm not joining any of you, you big oafs! In fact, I can't stay much longer. I'm needed back at the Eyrie; the Lord of the Vale is due to arrive from King's Landing today."

As if to confirm his words, a distant horn suddenly sounds. Axel is the only one who hears it, his head twitching in the direction of the Eyrie as he inhales sharply. For the High Steward to be calling him back… either Lord Arryn was close by or he was already there. In the end, it didn't really matter which, he needed to-

"Bah! Lord of the Vale. He ain't my Lord! You know what I think of-gack!?"

Crossing the distance between them fast enough that some of those watching blink and miss it, Axel buries his fist in the gut of Ulf, Chieftain of the Moon Brothers. The big, burly mountain man is lifted a few inches off the ground from the blow, and when Axel pulls his fist back, he drops to his hands and knees, throwing up his breakfast. Looming over him, Axel scowls down at the Mountain Chieftain.

"Lord Arryn is a great man. I won't tolerate any disrespect directed his way."

Nobody speaks, though some of the other Chieftains are grinning cheekily down at Ulf as he suffers for his words. They're definitely a contentious, disunified bunch these mountain clans. If not for Axel, they'd all sooner kill and spit on one another's corpses rather than meet under truce like this.

"I have to go now, but I'll try to come visit again soon. Don't worry about sticking around this area. Even if you have to move, I'll just find you again."

There's a round of nods at that, everyone more than used to Axel being able to track them down no matter where they went. Unlike the Knights of the Vale, Axel was neither weighed down by armor, nor bogged down by needing a horse. He also didn't exactly need to stick to established paths either, all things considered.

Letting out an explosive breath, the young man gives everyone a nod of his own goodbye before turning to depart. However, just before he can go… a weathered, ancient voice echoes out through the area.

"You will not visit us again any time soon, young Stone. This will be the last time we see you for quite a while."

Blinking, Axel turns back as everyone else looks to the speaker. Dolf, father of Shagga, one of the oldest living mountain men, sits there in a makeshift chair of sticks and furs, his eyes clouded over with blindness while his gray beard and hair make it clear that he's lived far, far longer than most.

Shagga grunts and furrows his brow at his father.

"Eh? What does that mean, old man? What are ya seein' this time?"

Dolf's blindness came with a 'gift', though Axel had never been sure he believed in it. According to the Stone Crows, the former Chieftain received visions of the future from time to time. Ridiculous, of course. But…

"The young Stone goes to meet with the Vale Lord… and the Vale Lord comes to take him away from the Mountains of the Moon."

There's a lot of conflicted looks shot in Axel's direction at that. Many of them hate him for being stronger, faster, and tougher than them. Just as many love him for the exact same thing. Axel, meanwhile, is just plain confused. Lord Arryn was coming to take him away? Why? He was nobody. Just a lowly bastard.

Sure, he'd long since figured out that he might be the bastard of someone important, given that he'd been raised in a proper castle by the High Steward himself and the fact that he'd been given the last name Stone whereas bastards born to smallfolk were given no such recognition. But that was that and this was this.

Heh, from time to time, Axel had even privately pondered the notion that he might be Lord Arryn's bastard. The man had been… kind to him each time he'd visited throughout Axel's life and he'd thought it might be nice if secretly, they shared a blood connection. But he'd never asked. Not just because he didn't want to cause problems, but also because… by not knowing for sure, he could continue to pretend it was true.

Still, as far as he knew, Lord Arryn's visit shouldn't have much of anything to do with him. News of the King's death had reached Axel's ears, and that sounded awfully tragic… but he was just a bastard. A nobody.

Snorting in amusement, Axel shakes his head at old Dolf.

"You're going senile, old man. But on the off chance Lord Arryn does need me for something… just know that I can always come back and kick some sense into your thick skulls if I hear any of you have taken up raiding again."

He sweeps his gaze across the gathered clans and is gratified to see big, strong mountain warriors all avert their eyes one after the other. Smirking, Axel just nods and turns to leave again, this time not looking back as he leaps and grabs a rocky outcropping that's about twenty feet above his head. Then he leaps again, and another leap takes him over the ridge and out of their sight.

This was why Axel was so much better at dealing with the mountain clans than the Knights of the Vale. He could traverse the Mountains of the Moon faster than any knight or clansman who had ever lived. Leaping from rock to rock, jumping from ridge to ridge, bounding from cliff to cliff, Axel begins to make his way back to the Eyrie taking a route that only he can take.

He puts the old man's words out of his mind as he goes. Sure, Lord Arryn would probably have asked to see him while he was visiting, hence the High Steward using the horn… but taking him from the Vale?

That was utterly ridiculous. One of the things High Steward Royce and Lord Arryn had drilled into Axel's head from an early age was that he would likely never be allowed to leave the Vale. As they'd explained it, it was far better for all involved if he remained right here in the Mountains of the Moon, safe and sound.

And Axel didn't mind that one bit. The Vale was his home, after all… and there was still plenty of things for him to do here. Why would he ever leave?

-x-X-x-

A/N: Yeah Axel, why would you ever leave…

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

See you all tomorrow!

Chapter Text

A/N: Jon gets to meet our man once more as he comes in from his ranging~

-x-X-x-

Having learned that Axel was out on a ranging somewhere in the Mountains of the Moon, Jon expected to wait at least a day or so before the lad finally returned. He's therefore quite surprised when word of Axel's arrival reaches him and Lord Royce in his solar just an hour after the High Steward blew that horn.

"He's back already? He must not have gone very far…"

But Nestor just shakes his head as he sends the servant to bring Axel directly to them.

"I wouldn't count on that Lord Arryn. I've had men try to follow him before, mostly just to try and keep him safe and out of trouble. Not even my best knights have been able to keep track of him or see exactly where he goes or how far he ranges."

Jon's brow furrows incredulously, causing his steward to grin sheepishly in response.

"You'll recall how fast he was as a boy, I'm sure? He's even faster now, Lord Arryn. Faster… and far more cunning."

Whatever he might have said in response to that never gets a chance to leave his lips, because the next thing Jon knows, the door to the solar is opening once more to admit the very man they're speaking of.

… And a man he is. It's not until Jon lays eyes on Axel for the first time in several years that he truly realizes he's been away from the Eyrie for far, far too long. It hits him then, as he finds himself staring, that Robert's son is no boy anymore… not even a lad, really. He's over twenty years old at this point, and he looks it too.

Standing as tall as his father did at that age, with broad shoulders and a broad chest that out his Baratheon Blood like nothing else, Axel has a full head of Baratheon black hair and stark Baratheon blue eyes.

Truly, the only thing missing to make him a perfect copy of Robert from back in his twenties is the facial hair. By the time he was Axel's age, Robert already had a full beard. Axel, meanwhile, is completely clean faced. That isn't to say he's baby faced, however, because anyone who dared to try and call him that would have to willfully ignore the chiseled square shape of his jaw and the sheer presence he gives off just standing there in the doorway.

Axel's eyes light up at seeing him and he quickly steps forward before dropping to a knee and bowing his head low.

"Lord Arryn! It is a pleasure to see you again. I only wish it were under better circumstances."

Letting out a sigh, Jon stands up and beckons with his hands.

"Rise, Axel, please rise. And so do I… so do I."

Slowly, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms stands up. He gives Nestor a respectful nod before once again giving Jon his full attention. For a long moment, Jon doesn't know what to say if he's being honest. Where do you even start with something like this?

"… Come. Sit with us, Axel."

Axel blinks and hesitates for a moment before doing as he's told. Even as Jon retakes his seat and Axel joins them, the younger man's size is in no way diminished. He's big… very big. So much like his father back in the day.

Of course, unlike Robert Baratheon, Axel has been raised as a Stone, a bastard of the Vale. He's never known his true parentage, nor had any expectations of inheriting or becoming a Lord one day like Robert did.

As they all sit quietly for a moment, Jon finds himself realizing that this disparity has caused a key difference between Axel and Robert to develop… Robert would have already demanded to know what this was about. As he'd done in this very Solar so many years ago when Jon had to tell him and Ned what the Mad King had done to Ned's father and brother.

Axel, by comparison, is respectful and quiet to a fault, sitting oddly still and not fidgeting a bit, but also keeping his eyes down as someone of his standing should when in a room with men like Jon and Nestor. He seemed able to hold his tongue in a way Robert never could… but given he was about to become King, Jon wasn't sure if that was truly a good thing or not. Only time would tell.

"Axel… I'm sure by now you've heard the news and know why I'm here. The King and both of his trueborn sons are dead."

A jolt runs through the mountain of a young man and his eyes widen as he chokes a little.

"Ah… apologies Lord Arryn. I'd heard about the King, but I didn't know about his sons. That's… that's horrible."

Jon shoots Nestor a look, but the other man just shrugs. After a moment, he thinks he understands it. Nestor wouldn't have personally delivered the news to the young man… that would have been too suspicious. Nor did the High Steward know that Axel was going to be the new King of Westeros before Jon arrived. And the news… no doubt it would take months for all of Westeros to learn that it wasn't just the King who had died, but also both of the Princes as well.

… In the end, he couldn't rightly blame his second for Axel's lack of knowledge.

"Who's going to be King now then? It'll be… Lord Stannis, won't it?"

A smile flits across Jon's face and he finds himself chuckling a little.

"That would be the order of things under normal circumstances. Well thought, Axel."

Robert's son straightens up proudly at Jon's praise, beaming as though Jon had just given him the greatest compliment he'd ever received.

"… However, there are extenuating circumstances at play."

The smile drops and Axel's brow furrows in confusion.

"What do you mean, milord?"

Jon can't quite hide his flinch at that. 'Milord' was a smallfolk term of address. And it just passed through the lips of Robert's heir and the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. He truly had his work cut out for him.

"Axel… for the rest of this conversation, and possibly into the future… you can call me Jon, alright?"

Axel's eyes nearly bulge out of his skull at that, the younger man looking absolutely flummoxed by such an offer. Before he can respond, Jon holds up a hand and cuts him off.

"Getting back to before… what I mean is that Robert didn't die at the same time as his sons. He survived a few hours more. I was with him at his side in his final moments where he gave me his last edicts as King. He told me he wished to legitimize one of his bastards… and name him Crown Prince, making him Heir to the Iron Throne."

Jon watches Axel carefully for his reaction to these words. What he gets is… not quite what he's expecting. A small shudder runs through the giant of a young man and Axel looks confused… but with a hint of something in his eyes. Like he knows what's coming but finds it impossible to believe.

"I don't… I don't quite understand what this all has to do with me."

Letting out an explosive breath, Jon leans forward, using the table in front of him as he looks Axel in the eye.

"Robert legitimized his firstborn bastard son. A young man who had to be set aside back at the end of the Rebellion more than twenty years ago. A young man who was raised far from the King and his trueborn family all these years. Axel… did you never wonder who your father truly was?"

-x-X-x-

The blood pounds in Axel's ears as he sits there, absolutely still. Despite that, he hears everything that Lord Arryn says with stark clarity. And he understands it all with perfect clarity too, as much as he doesn't want to. He would love to play dumb. He would love to act like he didn't get it. Maybe if they thought him stupid, they wouldn't go through with it.

… But no. It's all so obvious now, isn't it? Almost petulantly, quietly, Axel finds himself muttering something he never thought he would admit under his breath.

"I suppose… I suppose I'd hoped it was you."

He flushes so hotly that the blood rushes down his neck immediately after he says that, while Lord Arryn sits back in his chair for a moment, clearly stunned. Then, after a long moment, the Lord of the Vale smiles sadly and shakes his head.

"If only, lad. If only. No… your father was Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. And you, Axel Baratheon, are now his Heir. You're the Crown Prince of the Realm and Heir to the Iron Throne, lad."

Fuck. Old Dolf had been right, that fucker. Letting out a sigh, Lord Arryn continues on.

"You're right that without you in the picture; Stannis Baratheon would be next in line for the Iron Throne as the eldest brother to the King. However, Robert survived a little longer than his sons and was able to legitimize you with his last breaths. This was his dying breath, Axel, to-"

"How did they die?"

He can hardly believe his own impudence. Interrupting a Lord of the Seven Kingdoms? And yet, Axel finds himself with a burning need to know. The King dying before was… well, it was a tragedy, but a distant one for a bastard like Axel. And then learning that both Princes had died as well, that too was disastrous, but in the same distant way.

Not anymore. Robert Baratheon was his father and he was dead. His sons were Axel's half-brothers and they were dead. A family he hadn't even known he had, wiped out before he could ever even meet them. It… hurt more than he would have expected, truth be told.

Lord Arryn pauses and then quietly explains the grisly events that had taken place in King's Landing. It's both complex and simple at the same time.

In the end, they died because an unknown cache of wildfire had been uncovered by the youngest Prince and his father had been curious enough to see what he'd found. But the complexity lay in how far back that wildfire had been placed down there, having apparently been put there all the way back during the reign of the Mad King, only to never be used.

"When I left King's Landing to come retrieve you, a citywide effort to find and remove all of the remaining wildfire caches left behind by the Mad King's machinations was well underway. Hopefully, by the time we return to King's Landing, they'll have made good progress in dealing with the problem."

Retrieve you. Return to King's Landing. Fuck. This was really happening, wasn't it? Lord Arryn had come all the way to the Eyrie for him. To take him back to King's Landing and crown him King. Axel's mouth opens and closes for a long moment as he's left uncertain of what to say. Finally… he says the obvious. He says what's on his mind.

"Surely it can't be me though, right? I mean… I'm not even properly trained for it. I've been nothing but a bastard my whole life. They can't possibly want me on the Iron Throne, can they?"

In this case, 'they' is… everyone. All the nobility. Especially the Lord Paramounts and their Great Noble Houses. Axel can't imagine they'd be very accepting of him. He's not exactly King material, after all.

But Lord Arryn just shakes his head.

"They will, Axel. They don't have any better options. Robert's final decree was clear and as his Hand, it is my duty to carry out his last orders. But more than that… there is nobody else. Even if you were to turn down the throne, it would pass to Stannis, and nobody wants that. It would likely lead to war."

Axel's eyes widen. What?! War? But Stannis Baratheon would be the next in line at that point! He would be the rightful Heir to the Iron Throne! How could it possibly lead to war?!

Seeing the look on his face, Lord Arryn offers a wan smile.

"Stannis is… not well-liked among the other Lords of Westeros, Axel. He has a reputation for being cold and unfeeling to the point that even the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms finds him largely unlikable and therefore intolerable. To make matters worse, the younger Baratheon brother, Renly, is far more charismatic and personable."

Lord Arryn shakes his head.

"Even in the short time before the King was recovered and I was able to hear his final words, I had courtiers trying to feel me out, seeing if I would side with Stannis or Renly for the throne. Lord Stannis was away from the city and still is, but Lord Renly is in King's Landing, fulfilling his duties as the Master of Laws on the King's Small Council. He himself did not approach me, but I would not be surprised if some of those courtiers came from him all the same."

Leaning forward again, Lord Arryn looks Axel right in the eyes, sending a shiver down his spine. The Lord of the Vale's voice drops to a whisper, as if he's confiding some great secret to Axel.

"The Seven Kingdoms may be able to accept Stannis as their King, but not if Renly throws his name into the mix. If the younger brother stands against the elder, then the Seven Kingdoms will fracture and war will be inevitable. You aren't perfect by any means Axel… but you're the best option we have all the same. You're a compromise that might just keep the Realm from going to war."

… He appreciates Lord Arryn's honesty. More than a little floored by the sudden lesson in the cutthroat politics that apparently surround his uncles, Axel has to take a moment just to chew on all of it and then swallow thickly. Once he's done so though… he straightens up.

"It has to be me then? I… will you stay on as my Hand at least?"

Lord Arryn blinks in surprise before smiling warmly.

"Of course I will, my Prince. I'm only getting older admittedly, but I have some good years left in me to help you find your footing if nothing else. With you as King and the peace kept, we'll have all the time in the world to make sure your reign is a successful one."

… Right. Axel lets out an explosive breath and nods.

"Then… I'll do it. I'll become King. I'll go to King's Landing with you."

Those damn mountain clans better not make a mess of things while he's gone though. He won't hesitate to flat out run all the way back to the Vale if he hears that they're making trouble at any point!

"Wonderful. We'll throw a feast tonight and then depart in the morning… if that's alright with you, Prince Axel. King's Landing and indeed the whole of the Seven Kingdoms will be better off as soon as you are sat upon the Iron Throne."

Axel blows out an explosive breath, part of him wanting to ask for a day more to get his affairs in order. But the only thing he would even do is go and find the mountain clans again… and really, he'd already said his goodbyes to them, technically.

Nodding, he just grunts.

"That's fine by me."

The High Steward rises from his seat then and heads off to make preparations for the feast, belatedly reminding Axel of his presence in the first place. Strange how a man who had seemed like such a large presence in Axel's life suddenly felt tiny in comparison to everything else.

As Lord Arryn… no, as Jon begins to tell him more about what he can expect in King's Landing, Axel feels himself finding his resolve.

If they really wanted him to be King… then King he would be.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Yeah Axel, they all totally want you to be King. One hundo P. Aaaanyways… next time we check in on a certain grieving mother over in King's Landing~

Please make sure to give me feedback either on Patreon or the Discord please! Every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Cersei is mad :v

-x-X-x-

Like hell was she going to let Robert Baratheon's bastard become King. Just the thought of it had Cersei Lannister seething as she stares off into nothing in particular. She'd shed all the tears she was going to shed at this point. So many tears that even now her eyes itched from how dry and reddened they were. In the initial days after the death of her sons, Cersei had been nearly catatonic from grief

If she hadn't been, she would have finished the deed herself the moment Robert was found under that rubble alive. She would have gone into his rooms, to his bedside, and strangled him right then and there. Alas, she'd been so out of it that it wasn't until after his final edicts and subsequent death that she'd finally come to her senses.

Only hearing it from the Hand of the King himself had gotten through to her. Robert had legitimized the bastard he thought he'd successfully hidden away from her in the Vale and Jon Arryn was leaving to retrieve him and bring him back so they could crown him King of the Seven Kingdoms.

… Over her dead body. Cersei wasn't about to let something like that happen. Her hatred for Robert burned with the passion of a thousand blazing suns at this point. He'd gotten her sons killed. Her beautiful boys, so handsome and fierce. They were true Lions, the both of them. Not Stags like Robert thought. Cersei loved her sons with all her heart and she… she wouldn't let their deaths go unavenged.

Fortunately, an opportunity had been presented to her. One that Cersei would be a fool to pass up.

"Cersei…"

Blinking, Cersei pulls herself from her thoughts and looks over to her twin. Jaime Lannister stands there with his hand on the pommel of his sword, his handsome features twisted in agony. She understands, of course. After all, it wasn't just she who lost her sons…

"… Were you even listening to me?"

Unfortunately, she didn't really have time for Jaime at the moment. Not if she was going to make everything work. They would find comfort in one another later, but right now… right now, she needed to be able to focus. Still, she knows her twin is weaker than her. More emotional. Unable to see the bigger picture. He always has been. So she plasters an attentive look on her face.

"Apologies, Jaime. You were saying?"

His mournful look of despair only grows heavier as he begins to speak again. Cersei just tunes him out though, already back with her own thoughts even as she does a better job of pretending to listen this time around. Frankly, she'd been lucky she didn't lose Jaime that day as well. Or maybe not lucky so much as… fortunate.

More than half of the Kingsguard had been down there with Robert, Joffrey, and Tommen. It made sense, the three of them had represented not just the King and his male heirs, but also a majority of the Royal Family. But Jaime, Cersei could happily say, had been with her. Small mercies, that.

It didn't make it hurt any less though. It didn't remove the gnawing, gaping hole in her chest where her heart had once been. Of her three children, only Myrcella still lived. Her beautiful, wonderful daughter Myrcella. Alas, Myrcella suffered from the same tragic affliction that Cersei did… she'd been born without a cock.

If Myrcella were male, then Cersei probably wouldn't have even let Jon Arryn and his entourage get outside of the city. The moment the Hand of the King came to tell her of Robert's last orders; she would have had him killed so that the fat bastard's words died with him. Then, her Myrcella could have ascended to the Iron Throne, a proper Lion as King of the Seven Kingdoms.

… Alas, the Lord Paramounts would not abide by a female ruler, not under any circumstances. That had been tested time and time again over the centuries. Not even a female Targaryen had been allowed to rule the Seven Kingdoms. If not for Robert's final decrees, the crown would have gone to Stannis Baratheon by the laws of succession, and Renly Baratheon after him. Disgusting. Filthy Stags, the both of them.

She would see them dead too, of course. Stannis and Renly would both have to die for her plans to succeed. Which is why Cersei was actually glad for Robert's final words to Lord Arryn. By sending Arryn off to the Vale to retrieve his bastard, Robert unknowingly gave Cersei the time she needed to plan out her next steps.

The bastard wouldn't make it to King's Landing, of course. He wouldn't even make it out of the Vale. Cersei had had such short notice to act, but she'd nevertheless managed to arrange things so that a loyal Lannister man had been inserted into Lord Arryn's retinue. The Hand of the King would unknowingly deliver her justice to Robert's bastard for her. There was something so very… poetic about that.

"Cersei, I'm trying to tell you, I knew. I knew all along and-!"

"Did you know I always knew about Robert's bastard in the Vale?"

Cersei cuts Jaime off, giving him a wolfish grin as he pauses and blinks at her in confusion.

"What? Cersei, you're still not listening to me…"

But Cersei just waves his concerns off.

"I was listening. This is just more important, Jaime. The bastard that Robert legitimized. The man who is supposed to become our new King. I've known about him for over a decade now. And oh how many times I've tried to kill him."

That causes Jaime to freeze up, going pale. Cersei notices but just scoffs and rolls her eyes. He really always had been the weaker of them. If only she'd been born the man and he the woman… everything would have been better for both of them.

"I didn't start out needlessly cruel about it you know. I just couldn't abide by his survival. The first poisons I had them sneak into his meals were gentle, meant to send him into a deep, deep slumber that he would never wake from. A kindness, I figured."

"Cersei…"

"But they didn't work, Jaime. Every poison I had my agents try on the tyke… didn't work. Nightshade, Powdered Greycap, even Basilisk and Manticore Venom. All procured at great cost from my own personal coffers. All failed. At first I thought I was being betrayed by my agents. So I sent multiple without the first knowing about the second. The first was to deliver the poison, the second was to make sure it happened."

Cersei shakes her head ruefully.

"They reported no reaction. The poisons were definitely slipped into the bastard's food. They were ingested. But nothing happened. Even when I sent a third agent to mind the first two, it was the same result. No matter what poison I concocted, the boy somehow survived it, growing all the stronger and taller and larger until he was no more a boy, but a full grown man."

"Cersei… why? He was no threat to you. To us."

Looking at her twin askance, Cersei lets out a bark of disbelieving laughter.

"No threat? Jaime, look around you! Look at the situation we find ourselves in now! Joffrey and Tommen are… d-dead, along with that fat bastard of a King! Myrcella should be the next in line for the throne, but because of her gender, it will be given to Robert's bastard instead! This never would have happened if he'd had the decency to die years ago, damn it!"

Jaime shakes his head, staring at her with big, sorrowful eyes.

"That's not… Myrcella would still be behind Stannis and Renly for the throne, Cersei."

Yes, that was true wasn't it? Cersei just smirks though, pleased to be able to explain things to her twin, her other half. Even if Jaime was weaker, well… he still completed her in a way no one else could or ever world.

"They won't be a problem, soon enough. Neither will the bastard, you see. I've sent another assassin along with the Hand's retinue. He's been given a much rarer, far more lethal poison. Robert's bastard will never sit upon the Iron Throne. And Renly and Stannis… we'll deal with them next."

"Cersei…"

But Cersei waves a hand through the air, cutting Jaime off.

"Hush Jaime. I need to think. Renly is in the city and should be vulnerable, but Stannis is all the way on Dragonstone. Removing him from the board will take a bit more effort…"

Cersei furrows her brow in thought, contemplating the issue for several long moments. Finally, she looks up to ask Jaime a question, only to blink in surprise at finding that he's gone, having left at some point. Tch. Sentimental fool. Joffrey and Tommen were dead and he was too busy getting weepy instead of getting revenge. It would have to fall on her, just like it always did…

House Baratheon thought theirs was the fury. But they hadn't seen anything yet…

-x-X-x-

She hadn't listened. Even the second time, when it looked like she was giving him her full attention, she hadn't heard a single word he said. Jaime knew this for a fact because if she HAD been listening, if she had heard what he'd been trying to tell her for days now… she wouldn't have just sat there plotting at him. If she'd actually listened to him, she wouldn't have even been able to look him in the eye.

After all… it was all his fault. Jaime knew that Cersei blamed Robert for Joffrey and Tommen's deaths, but the truth was so much worse than that. Sure, maybe that damn oaf should have stuck to his drinking and whoring and everything would have been fine. Him deciding to take Joffrey and Tommen on an 'adventure' to see Tommen's discovery certainly hadn't helped to avoid the tragedy, that much was true.

… But really, it was Jaime who had gotten them all killed. Four of his brothers in the Kingsguard, both of the Princes… and yet another King. All dead by his hand. All dead… by his inaction.

Jaime was the only man alive who had still known about the Wildfire Caches underneath King's Landing. All those years ago, when the Mad King had given Wisdom Rossart the order to set the caches alight and burn the city, Jaime had been forced to act. He'd killed Rossart and then he'd killed Aerys too for good measure.

For that, he'd been given the mocking title of Kingslayer, a fancy way of saying he was an Oathbreaker for killing the very King he was supposed to protect. Jaime had never told anyone the real reason that he killed Aerys that day. And he'd never told anyone about the wildfire either.

If only he had. If only he'd warned someone, anyone. Then… then the Princes would still live. Jaime couldn't care less about Robert fucking Baratheon. But if he'd done something, his… Joffrey and Tommen would still be alive. And that… that had been eating away at him like a hot knife carving up his insides every moment of every day since.

His hope had been that Cersei would pass judgment on him. Out of everyone, she deserved the right, Jaime had figured. But she'd been catatonic at first. Grief-stricken and inconsolable. Getting through to her in the initial day or two after the explosion had been impossible even for him.

And now, when she was finally back to herself and actually capable of holding a conversation… she still wouldn't listen to him. She still refused to hear him. No, instead Cersei was too busy plotting the death of more men. Robert's bastard. Stannis and Renly Baratheon.

Jaime couldn't care less about those men, truth be told. But Cersei's plans for them brought his twin's vile personality into stark focus. It was like he'd achieved something akin to clarity regarding his sister for the first time in his entire life. Cersei Lannister was a monster. And Jaime… Jaime wasn't sure he could abide by it, not anymore.

Once he leaves the Queen's Quarters, Jaime does not descend down through the Red Keep to the ground. Instead, his feet take him up even as his thoughts drag at him every step of the way. Until eventually, he reaches the top of the Keep, stepping out onto the ramparts. The inside of the Red Keep is kept to a certain scent through the use of a variety of techniques, but once you step outside, the stench of King's Landing hits you like an almost physical force.

Jaime rocks back on his heels for a moment but ultimately keeps going, striding forward with his eyes on the blue sky and the distance horizon in front of him.

… He'd thought about doing this the moment he learned how Joffrey and Tommen died. He'd contemplated the act the entire first night afterwards, while Cersei lay catatonic in her bed and he'd stood outside of her quarters, protecting her.

Ultimately, Jaime had told himself he had to stay alive. For Cersei and Myrcella if nothing else. He'd told himself he wasn't fit to pass judgment anyways, that it had to be Cersei. She would be the one to decide his fate once he explained his culpability.

But she refused to listen and now, all these days later, Jaime realized that his twin wasn't fit to pass judgment on him either. In the end… there was only one thing left to do.

With a heavy sigh, Jaime takes off his white cloak. He's already tarnished it enough over the years. Folding it up, he sets it aside. Then, he begins to remove his armor. Better to have less between him and the impact to ensure… what needed to happen actually happened.

Finally, Jaime climbs up onto the parapet and looks down across the city. From here atop the Red Keep, he can actually see the efforts to dig up and remove the wildfire caches left behind by the Mad King. The entire city is abuzz with such activities… its probably the most coin that has been spent on the people of Flea Bottom in years, turning them all into laborers and workers as part of the arduous process.

… This should have happened decades ago. This should have been one of the first things done after Robert Baratheon became King and Jon Arryn became Hand. It might have been if Jaime hadn't been such a tight-lipped fool. His silence had killed his brothers in the Kingsguard and… and his sons as well.

Closing his eyes tightly, Jaime feels wetness on his cheeks and knows that tears fall across his face. He wishes he were stronger. For Myrcella's sake if nothing else. But… he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"I'm sorry, Myrcella."

With those final words, the Kingslayer takes a step forward… and drops.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Welp.

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Jon Arryn is feeling really good about himself. Let's see how long that lasts.

-x-X-x-

The feast celebrating Axel's legitimization and ascension to the position of Crown Prince is a paradoxically somber but also jubilant affair. It's not quite to the level of carousing and revelry that Robert had preferred… but there are more smiles on faces than Jon has seen in any other setting since the tragedy that took the lives of the King and his sons.

Frankly, Jon feels like he's the happiest he's been since their deaths as well. Sure, it's not perfect by any means… but Axel has agreed to become King. That was the toughest hurdle and now they've passed it. There's a glimmer of hope in these otherwise tumultuous times.

On the morrow, they'll leave for King's Landing and get Axel's butt on the Iron Throne as soon as possible. Robert's death, nor the death of his sons, would not soon be forgotten, but at least it wasn't the complete and utter disaster it could have been.

Glancing over to his side, where Axel is sat next to him, Jon does a double take as he sees just how much food the young Crown Prince is putting away. Indeed, the future King of Westeros is currently consuming whatever's put in front of him and he's doing so at such a rapid speed that the servants are barely able to keep his plate occupied with each new dish before he's completely demolished the last one.

Jon shakes his head in amusement and somewhat stupefied awe at the sight. Truly, Axel is his father's son. Back in his day, when Robert was closer to Axel's age, the far younger King could have handled the same amount of food… probably. On the other hand, that hadn't served him well once the Rebellion was over and he needed to rule the peace that came after.

Kings were Kings and therefore allowed to do whatever they wanted to a certain extent, especially to themselves. Robert had drowned himself in wine and whores and ate enough food that he quickly went from the towering, imposing warrior of a man he'd been in his youth to the large, fat king he'd become in his later years.

… But it hadn't been Jon's place to tell him off for that. Or at least, that was what the Hand had always thought. Such thoughts had only been solidified by his first few attempts to do so back at the beginning of Robert's reign. The King had rebuffed him each and every time, and Jon had learned quickly to hold his tongue on such matters.

Axel was different though, or so Jon hoped. The similarities between the young Crown Prince and how Robert had been at his age stopped at the physical. Mentally, Axel and young Robert couldn't be further apart, mostly because of the difference in their upbringings. So perhaps he would listen to Jon a bit better. Perhaps watching his weight and slowing down a little bit was the first of many pieces of advice that the Hand could give his new King and actually have it listened to.

However, just before Jon can lean over to tell Axel he might want to slow down with the meat pie he's currently consuming… the Heir Apparent of the Iron Throne begins to choke. Jon's eyes widen a bit as Axel's hand goes to his throat, the younger man coughing and going a bit purple in the face.

Alarm bells begin going off in Jon's head as others begin taking notice of Axel's distress.

"Axel? Axel, are you alright?"

Rising to his feet, Jon reaches for the younger man… only to pause when Axel suddenly recovers with a large gulp, the color in his face swiftly returning in what feel like some of the longest moments of Jon's already long life. The future King slams a fist into his chest a few times… and then laughs.

"Hah! Spicier than I'd thought it would be!"

There's some scattered laughter at that from those who had noticed the choking, but most are confused more than anything. Jon shares their confusion, though relief is the greatest thing he's feeling as he slumps back down in his chair. That incident might have just taken years off of his remaining lifespan.

… Still, it's a little strange. Spice… wasn't something that was often used in dishes made in the Vale. The kinds of spices that Axel was talking about was more the domain of further South, mostly in Dorne with some creeping up into the Reach and the Stormlands. But the Vale tended to keep to the honest seasonings like salt and nothing else, usually.

Things calm down… until Axel takes another bite of the meat pie. Then, he starts choking again. Jon is nearly as alarmed as last time, except the younger man recovers faster this go around, coughing some more and hitting his chest to make the food go down. Staring at the meat pie in question, Jon is just about to suggest that Axel should maybe move on to something else when the lad goes for yet another bite!

Its after the third bout of choking that there's a sudden commotion down the length of the hall.

"MONSTER! He ain't human! It ain't right!"

Blinking in stupefaction, Jon watches as a man, one of his retinue from King's Landing in fact, comes rushing up the length of the hall, pointing a shaking accusatory finger at Axel. The Crown Prince pauses in his meal and stares nonplused at the man in question, who looks like he's seen a ghost.

"S'not possible! You should be DEAD! I put enough o' the Strangler in that pie to kill a hundred men! You shouldn't be BREATHING!"

What?! Jon rises to his feet again, words on his lips… but the Captain of his Guard is already moving. Ser Vardis Egen kicks off of the far wall and is halfway across the hall before the man in question is done speaking. By the time he draws a dagger from his belt and tries to lunge up the steps to the high table at Axel, the Captain is there to grab him and disarm him, forcing him to his knees in a swift and efficient motion.

Silence falls over the hall as everyone stops eating and stares at the unfolding situation. Jon, meanwhile, looks between the half-demolished pie and the kneeling man, his heart in his throat.

"… What did you say? The Strangler?"

Looking up at Jon almost plaintively, as though Jon would somehow vindicate him, the self-admitted poisoner whimpers.

"A-Aye milord… I poisoned the bastard with the Strangler, I swears I did! He should be dead! They'll kill me if they find out it didn't work but it's not my fault! He ain't human! He can't be human!"

There's a pause as everyone looks over to the future King at that accusation. Axel looks remarkably calm for having just found out he survived a poisoning attempt. In fact, his face is expressionless as he stares down at the kneeling man without a hint of pity.

Finally, in the midst of the silence, Axel reaches down, grabs a handful of the meat pie… and puts it in his mouth. Slowly, in front of the entire hall, he chews and swallows. The reaction is still there, but it's greatly diminished at this point. He barely even chokes and his face goes pale for a brief second rather than fully purple.

A grunt from Ser Vardis has Jon whipping back around just in time to see the poisoner has managed to break free of the Captain's grasp and lunge up the steps in the middle of everyone's shock. He's not armed anymore though, and in the end… his target isn't Axel anyways.

Thrusting his own hand into the center of the meat pie, the assassin stuffs it into his mouth and down his throat as fast as he can. His intentions become obvious a moment later as he immediately starts to choke far more violently than Axel did.

"No!"

Sweeping around the high table, Jon curses as he reaches the man just in time for him to fall onto his back, his entire body convulsing from the poison coursing through him. The Strangler… Jon has heard of it before. It was a rare poison, and an extremely deadly one to boot. It killed swiftly by doing exactly what its name implied, making anyone who consumed it unable to breathe.

"Who paid you?! Who hired you to try and assassinate the King?!"

Blood pours out of the assassin's nose as drool trickles from the corner of his mouth. He looks up at Jon, a flicker of recognition in his eyes… but it's already too late. He can't speak. He can't muster the strength to get the air from his lips.

A few moments later… and he's gone.

Ser Vardis stands at the top of the steps, looking pale himself as Jon straightens up and sighs.

"Lord Arryn, I'm sorry I should have had a better grip on the knave. I can only offer my sincerest apologies for my failure."

But Jon just shakes his head. He knows why the Captain of his Guard let the other man escape… he was stunned by Axel's continued consumption of poison, just like everyone else. And now that it was confirmed that the meat pie WAS indeed poisoned Jon had to run damage control. For a long moment, he doesn't know what to do or say… and then it hits him.

"… The Seven Who Are One watch over our new King!"

People jolt and shift in their seats as his voice carries through the hall. Gesturing from the assassin's corpse and then to a wide-eyed Axel, Jon doesn't bother with anything less than laying it on as thick as humanly possible.

"A miracle! The Father and Mother have blessed Axel Baratheon. They would not let him be taken on this day! They would not let the Stranger have him! Praise be!"

There's a brief pause and then Ser Vardis, perhaps in the hopes of making up for the blemish on his otherwise sterling record, cries out at his side.

"Praise be to the Seven! Praise be to King Axel!"

The cry is taken up throughout the hall, everyone joining in now. Even the clergy in the hall, the Eyrie's own Septon and Septa, are forced to join in. Though Jon can feel the Septon's eyes practically burrowing into the side of his head. The Faith did not mind being co-opted by the Nobility from time to time, and in general they were more than happy to lay claim to anything that could potentially be construed as a 'miracle' by the Seven.

… However, on a more personal level, the men who lay claim to the title of Septons within the Church did not appreciate being co-opted without being consulted first. And yet, the Eyrie's Septon was not about to stand up and deny a Lord Paramount's words. All he could do was sit back and let it happen.

Which was good, because this… this wasn't something they could let fester. Not before Axel had even sat upon the Iron Throne.

-x-X-x-

"Why did you tell them all that I was blessed by the Seven?"

Jon sighs, resisting the urge to rub the bridge of his nose. Its an hour later, the feast done and him and Axel back in his solar for a little talk. The young man had the good sense not to try and say anything at the feast itself, but now that they were alone together, he had questions.

Rather than answer him directly, Jon asks a question of his own.

"Why did you think that the meat pie was merely spicy the first time the poison tried to strangle you to death? You've lived in the Vale all your life Axel, you of all people should know we don't spice our foods very much here."

The young man furrows his brow at that, tilting his head to the side.

"Truly? But I've been given spicy foods from time to time for as long as I could remember."

Jon goes still, silence falling for a long moment as he parses that statement.

"… How so?"

Axel just shrugs.

"Sometimes my food has not been agreeable, though it's never been rancid or anything like that. When I was younger, it wouldn't always stay down… and sometimes, it went through me too fast if you know what I mean."

A shudder runs down Jon's spine because he knows exactly what he means. And if Axel is telling the truth (and for what reason would he lie about this?!) then that meant…

"Axel, I have reason to believe that someone has been trying to poison you all your life."

The younger man blinks at that, looking baffled.

"What? But why would they? Until today I was just some bastard! A Stone of the Vale among dozens!"

Yes. Yes he was. To most of Westeros, pretty much everyone, Axel Stone was nobody special. However, there was the possibility that in recent years as he got older, Axel's familiar appearance had been noticed and those who realized whose son he might be had spread the information. But that wouldn't explain the poisoning attempts when he was just a tyke. No, that spoke of greater knowledge… and greater hatred as well.

Jon finds himself thinking of only a handful of people who might have had the resources to learn of Robert's bastard firstborn long ago… and the resources to try to do away with him as well. Many of them share the same house name, and one of them stands out among the others as particularly petty and vindictive.

… But he could also be wrong and given the circumstances, the Lord of the Vale doesn't necessarily want to whisper potentially misplaced venom into Axel's ears before they even make it to King's Landing. For the time being, Jon swallows his suspicions and moves the conversation along, giving Axel a somewhat dry look as he sighs.

"You must have a particularly powerful constitution, Axel. To be able to handle the Strangler like that… but did you truly have to keep eating the damn pie after everything?"

Axel has the grace to look a little sheepish even as he shrugs.

"Eh… it was pretty tasty, poison notwithstanding."

Finally, Jon gives in to the urge to cover his face with his hand, rubbing his palm against his forehead. It would seem that Axel was planning on being just as much of a headache as Robert had been… albeit in new and 'exciting' ways.

Still, one thing was absolutely certain. At least one person with powerful connections and deep pockets wanted the new King dead. Getting Axel to King's Landing and the safety of the Red Keep as fast as possible had become all the more important now.

Once Axel was sat upon the Iron Throne and acknowledged as Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, everything would be fine. They wouldn't dare try anything after he was coronated by the High Septon and officially crowned King.

Until then… they would just have to be doubly careful from here on out. No matter what, Axel could not be allowed to die.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Still think you got over the biggest hurdle to crowning Axel as King, Jon?

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Back to King's Landing for yet another person who wants Axel dead!

-x-X-x-

The dim, candlelit chamber is filled with soft, feminine moans of pleasure. The air is thick with the scent of incense and the musky aroma of arousal. In the center of the room sits a large bed, illuminated by the flickering light of numerous candles.

There, two women lay entwined in a passionate embrace, their naked bodies glistening with recently applied oils as they move their hands up and down one another's curves. One of them is a petite brunette with porcelain skin, a Northerner and a rarity this far South. The other is a raven-haired beauty with dusky skin marking her as Dornish, sporting a figure that would make any man weep with desire.

The first is all over the second and it wouldn't be surprising for an unpracticed eye to appraise the situation and assume the brunette was in charge. This couldn't be further from the truth, however. In fact, the Northern woman is the student here, and the Dornish woman is the one gently but firmly providing guidance to her junior.

Across the room, sitting in shadows with a wine glass in hand, is Lord Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin and well known whoremonger. Truth be told, for as many brothels as he owned these days, Petyr couldn't be there for every audition at every whorehouse spread across the city.

… But he made time when and where he could to ensure quality control and the coin continued to flow. And in this particular case, it amused him greatly to do so. The northerner, a woman named Lyra, reminded him vaguely of the long departed Lyanna Stark. The similarities were admittedly quite distant, but there was a certain pleasure in watching any woman from the North debase themselves for his entertainment given his history with the region's men.

Rotating his wrist to swish the wine in his goblet too and fro, Petyr brings the rim to his lips and takes a small sip, even as he continues to watch Lyra's education in using that supple body of hers for the delicate arts of debauchery and depravity. At the same time, the Master of Coin is multitasking as well, contemplating the recent plans he's set in motion.

Life… was made up of opportunities. Even when Petyr was younger, he'd understood this well enough. From an early age, he'd believed nothing mattered except for finding your next opportunity and seizing it with both hands. Born to House Baelish, in such a minor holding that it had neither a name nor a maester, Petyr had spent his early years in a small tower on the rocks of one of the Fingers, bereft of such opportunities.

Until finally, he was given a chance. Petyr owed much to his father for the opportunity to eventually leave that place. To be fostered at Riverrun under the auspices of Lord Hoster Tully was not something that most lesser houses could ever hope for. It had been a great honor… but more than that, it had been a greater opportunity, one that Petyr had tried his best to grasp onto and not let slip away.

However, back then he'd only really understood the true nature of the world on a surface level. The younger Petyr Baelish had grasped that life was simply a collection of opportunities, but he hadn't yet comprehended that there were many more layers to it than just that.

Opportunities were not just about the benefits one could gain from them. They were not a singularly positive thing every time they cropped up. Sometimes opportunities came with costs. Sometimes… they came with consequences.

A young Petyr Baelish had learned this the hard way when he'd tried to win an equally young Catelyn Tully's hand. It had seemed like a golden opportunity to him at the time. Here he was, a young man who had grown up alongside the Tully Children. Sure, the Lord's Heir, Edmure Tully had saddled him with the rather insulting nickname of Littlefinger, one that had stuck all the way to present day. But in stark contrast, Petyr had bonded quite closely with Lord Hoster's daughters, Catelyn and Lysa Tully.

So closely in fact, that he'd truly believed he'd fallen in love with Catelyn, even though she never once returned his affections. In the end, Petyr had convinced himself that all he had to do to win Catelyn's heart and hand… was defeat her betrothed in a duel. An opportunity to both have the love of his life AND raise his station farther than ever before. How could he resist?

… Brandon Stark taught Petyr a valuable lesson that day about opportunities and costs. He'd thought he could win through simple pluck and courage, but the Wild Wolf had defeated him easily and only spared his life after Catelyn begged her betrothed not to finish Petyr off.

After that, Petyr had been cast out of Riverrun for daring to try to rise above his station. He'd been sent back to that nameless tower in the Fingers in disgrace, where his father had fortunately already passed away by that point of time. Petyr had been left as nothing more than a minor lord of the most minor holding in all the Vale.

A lesser man would have let that be the end for him. A lesser man would have withered away in that tower and let himself die forgotten and alone. But Petyr Baelish was different. He had taken the lesson he'd received that day to heart. He'd been far more careful going forward, looking at every opportunity that came his way with far more… caution. But he hadn't given in. He hadn't given up.

In the end, all he really had to do was wait. Brandon Stark and his father died at the Mad King's hand, sparking a rebellion that ended with the Targaryens deposed after nearly three hundred years and a new Baratheon Dynasty on the Iron Throne.

Catelyn had wound up marrying Brandon's younger brother Eddard Stark… but more importantly for Petyr's purposes, Lysa Tully had been wed to Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale.

Lysa had always carried a torch for Petyr, something he'd pretended not to notice in the same way he imagined Catelyn pretended not to notice him. But now that Catelyn was out of reach and Petyr was without any other options… Lysa Arryn became his route back into power.

Through her, he connected with her husband Jon Arryn and made himself indispensable to the Lord Paramount. First in Gulltown, where he managed to increase the port's revenues by tenfold, and then on to King's Landing, where the Hand of the King had made him Master of Coin.

What an absolute fool. Arryn thought Petyr loyal simply because he was smart and useful and owed him for his benevolence. Little did he know that all the while, his handpicked Master of Coin was cucking him behind his back. Lysa might have taken Jon Arryn's name, but she far more regularly took Petyr's prick.

Admittedly, Petyr held no great attraction towards the lesser of the Tully Sisters. Lysa was… adequate for his sexual needs. However, she was instrumental to his long term plans. Her use to him came not from carnal pleasure, but from the way she whispered his words into her husband's ear, allowing Petyr to get away with all sorts of things right under the unsuspecting Hand's nose.

He might have managed the port at Gulltown perfectly with a spotless record, but Petyr had been far less judicious when it came to his time as Master of Coin. Everyone underestimated him simply because he was a 'nobody' in their eyes. He was from no Great House, nor any particularly old noble lineage. He could not trace his lineage to the blood of any Kings or Queens.

But Petyr had long since realized that true power didn't lie in one's blood or birthright. True power… lay in one's wealth. For someone like him, the only way to rise was to accrue money and as Master of Coin, that was… quite a simple undertaking. Especially with a King like Robert Baratheon spending so frivolously on his many sources of entertainment and distraction.

Truly, Robert Baratheon had been Petyr Baelish's greatest accomplice in all these years that he'd held the post of Master of Coin. Embezzling the amount of money he had from the Crown would have been impossible under a calmer and more levelheaded monarch. Especially with a man like Jon Arryn as their Hand.

But with Robert spending and spending and spending, Lord Arryn had his hands full. Between trying to prevent the King from bankrupting them and juggling the numerous creditors that wished to have their loans repaid, Arryn was stretched too thin. Whenever Petyr could work his financial 'magic' and alleviate some of the workload from Lord Arryn, the older man was grateful instead of suspicious, all because Robert's antics didn't give him the time to be suspicious.

… Really, it was a shame that the King had died the way he did. It was just so sudden. Even now, it felt almost like a dream. But then, even he with his expansive network of informants using the whorehouses of the city… had no clue that they were all sitting atop that many caches of wildfire all this time.

To know that all it would have taken is one incident to set the city aflame and kill them all… well, it gave Petyr a healthy appreciation for the chaotic nature of the world, certainly.

That said, Robert dying was one thing. His sons dying with him… that was something else entirely. All of the sudden, Stannis Baratheon was seemingly next in line for the throne for a moment there, and that was something that nobody wanted, least of all Petyr.

Fortunately, he'd known that Renly, the younger brother, would never let Stannis be crowned without some sort of a fight. However, before any plans to… stimulate the coming war between brothers could be put into place, the Hand of the King had brought everything to a standstill with his announcement.

Robert Baratheon had survived the initial explosion only to die a little while later, but before he did… he'd legitimized his bastard in the Vale with his dying breath and made him Heir to the Iron Throne.

Petyr believed it, to be fair. Some people had all the fucking luck and Robert Baratheon had most definitely been one of them. Likewise, while everyone's lives were built on opportunities, there were some who received opportunities of a far higher quality than others. Again, Robert Baratheon was one of those men, despite how much he'd wound up squandering those same opportunities throughout his life.

Not to mention, as foolish as Lord Arryn was for trusting Petyr, he was an honorable, honest man all the same. If he said the King's last words were to legitimize his bastard and crown him, then that was almost certainly what had happened.

Alas… it didn't quite line up well with Petyr's plans. That's why he'd taken the opportunity presented to him and hired a group of bandits to make sure that Lord Arryn and young Axel Stone never made it out of the Vale.

It truly wasn't anything personal, at least for him. Petyr recognized full well how much he owed Jon Arryn even if he felt no true loyalty over it. If there was a world where he could let the older man die of age in his sleep without ever finding out just how much Petyr had used him, then he would have preferred it.

But at the same time, Lysa has been begging him to kill her husband for YEARS now, ever since she gave birth to that sickly brat of hers. After all, if Jon Arryn were to suffer an accident, then Lysa and Petyr could rule the Vale together in all but name until the boy came of age. And if the boy NEVER came of age, well, wouldn't that just be tragic?

But Petyr had been putting Lysa off all this time for some very obvious reasons. First and foremost among them was that he hadn't been entirely sure how the King would take the death of his Hand. Even if it could be masked as an illness, Petyr didn't know what Robert would do next.

This opportunity though… was simply too good. With the King dead, there would be nobody left to truly call for an investigation into the circumstances surrounding Lord Arryn's own tragic death at the hands of bandits. The fact that the King's bastard would die with him, well that was just the icing on the cake wasn't it?

After all, if the Hand of the King along with Robert's bastard never made it to King's Landing, it would give Renly Baratheon all the ammunition he needed to accuse Stannis of arranging the incident. If he didn't think of it himself, Petyr would be sure to put the idea in the younger Baratheon's head sooner or later.

And that accusation would be more than enough to spark a war between the two men, especially with the implied stain on Stannis' honor. No Great Council to decide who should be King, no peaceful transition of power. No… it was only in war that Petyr could continue his climb up the ladder.

Plus, Lysa would finally stop nagging him all the time and that… that alone was almost worth the price of those bandits without everything else he stood to gain from this.

"Lord Baelish."

Pulled from his thoughts, though he'd never allowed himself to be fully distracted, Petyr Baelish returns the full focus of his attention to the whores on the bed in front of him. Lyra, he decides, has not disappointed. Rising from his chair, he walks over to the bed with wine glass in hand, watching in amusement as they both tense up on his approach.

Taking his time letting his eyes drift up and down their naked, oiled, sweaty feminine forms, Petyr hums for a moment as if in thought. Finally, he smiles thinly.

"Acceptable. Begin taking her with you for clients starting tomorrow. Do not let them know she is still in training unless they ask outright. Otherwise, simply advertise it as a two-for-one special."

The more experienced of the two whores bows her head at that in easy acceptance. Meanwhile, the northerner blushes hard, her pale skin going bright red even in the dim candlelight. Petyr chuckles at her reaction.

"You'll want to work on learning to control that blush, my dear. It betrays your inexperience. Some men will enjoy that, while some will not. In the end, you will make more coin if you can cater to both."

"… Y-Yes Lord Baelish."

Left unsaid is that she would also make HIM more coin if she learned to cater to both. But Petyr simply turns and leaves the room. He spends a brief time speaking with the Brothel Madam, before eventually heading outside where his carriage awaits to take him back to his quarters in the Red Keep.

Truthfully, he didn't have all of his eggs in one basket, of course. There was every chance that his bandits would fail to kill Lord Arryn, or the King's bastard, or even both. Petyr would have preferred to hire the mountain clans to do the deed, knowing they would have gone above and beyond to kill the Lord of the Vale… but alas, there simply hadn't been enough time to contact them and arrange the attack.

He would hope that the bandits he did manage to hire wouldn't fail him, but even if they did, nobody would be able to trace their actions back to Baelish. Every opportunity came with as many costs and consequences as it came with boons and benefits. Part of playing the game was learning how to lessen those costs while magnifying the benefits.

And Petyr Baelish was nothing if not a master at playing the game by this point.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Littlefinger scheming away, having no idea what he or the rest of Westeros are now dealing with~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Axel is finally leaving home for the first time, how quaint~

-x-X-x-

He's spent his whole life in the Vale. The Eyrie had been his home for as long as he could remember, and he'd enjoyed exploring the Mountains of the Moon as he'd gotten older and more adventurous. Truth be told, he'd never really thought he would leave the Vale behind. After all, he'd been told from an early age that he wasn't allowed to.

Yet here Axel was, riding on horseback alongside Lord Arryn as the Bloody Gate steadily vanished in the distance behind them. He'd never been on this part of the High Road before. In fact, in the far off distance, he thinks he can already maybe make out the town of Darry, which will be their next stop as they go from the High Road to the Kingsroad on their way to King's Landing.

Truth be told, Axel still doesn't know how to feel about becoming King. But he knows even less how to feel about the attempted poisoning. If Lord Arryn was correct, it wasn't just this one time either. Supposedly, someone… or maybe even multiple someones, had been trying to poison him all his life.

But why? Was it because they knew who his father was? That was really the only thing that made sense to Axel. Someone who knew he was the King's bastard wanted him dead. Alas, their greatest efforts hadn't succeeded. But he doubted that would stop them.

Still, even the Strangler had been a passing struggle at best. Sure, he'd choked a little bit and damn did it make his nostrils burn like nothing else, but ultimately it wasn't anything too difficult to stomach. For him, anyways.

Maybe Lord Arryn was right. Maybe he shouldn't have kept eating the meat pie like he did, especially after the assassin had literally killed himself on the poisoned food in front of everyone. He didn't want people to think he was a witch or a freak or a monster after all. He definitely didn't want them thinking he was a demon.

Especially since… Axel himself didn't quite know what he was. He just knew he was different. Always had been. Though, it'd definitely gotten more obvious in recent years. He was strong enough to fight off ten mountain men without breaking a sweat, and apparently hearty enough to handle a poison that could kill a regular man in less than a minute.

Hell, if he weren't concerned about how people would react, he could have probably gotten off this damn horse and ran the rest of the way to King's Landing in a fraction of the time this journey was going to take otherwise.

… Axel didn't know why he was special. Maybe Lord Arryn was right and it was the Seven. Maybe they'd blessed him and he just hadn't ever realized it. If that was the case, Axel probably needed to visit the Sept more once he was in King's Landing.

Though there it would actually be the Great Sept of Baelor, wouldn't it? Heh, that should be quite the sight, Axel figured. And as King of the Seven Kingdoms, they surely wouldn't begrudge him frequent visits, right?

"A copper star for your thoughts, Axel?"

Blinking, Axel looks over to Lord Arryn, who rides beside him as their group travels down the length of the High Road, leaving the Mountains of Moon behind. Processing the older man's words, Axel lets out a slightly derisive snort.

"Funny you should mention stars, Lord. I was just thinking about the Seven. Perhaps they did bless me… perhaps that's why I was able to survive the Strangler and the other poisons like it."

Lord Arryn hums but Axel continues on before the Lord of the Vale can muster a response.

"I was just thinking that maybe once we're in King's Landing, I would make a point to visit the Great Sept of Baelor regularly. To say my prayers and show my devotion to the Seven."

Slowly nodding, Lord Arryn chuckles in amusement.

"I imagine the Most Devout would like that very much, Axel. It has been quite some time since we had a King who focused on such things."

Really? Axel brow furrows in curiosity at that. Was his father not very religious? Obviously the Mad King was the Mad King but-

Thwip. Thwip.

Just as Axel is about to ask Lord Arryn to clarify what he means by that, his head twitches and his hand lashes out. Two arrows, fired from behind the nearby rocks on the side of the descending mountain road, try to find purchase in his and Lord Arryn's chests.

He catches the one meant to pierce the Hand of the King, while the second glances off of Axel and falls to the side. Even as Jon is still processing what just happened, Axel is already calling out.

"AMBUSH!"

The Vale Knights around them begin to react at the same time that their attackers do. All of them are moving… much too slow in Axel's frustrated opinion. Ser Vardis barely has his sword drawn as many of the men hiding behind the rocks come racing out armed with swords, spears, and other types of weapons.

None of them are Mountain Clan at least, Axel is relieved to note. However, that doesn't change that they're coming right at him and Lord Arryn all the same. More than that, the archers behind the rocks haven't stopped yet either.

Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.

More arrows lance out, this time aimed not for them… but for their horses. Cursing, Axel does the only thing he can think to as the arrows strike each of their horses in the chest and cause the massive beasts to rear back. As Lord Arryn becomes unseated, Axel leaps from his own saddle and tackles the older man off of his horse.

Recognizing full well that a man of Jon Arryn's age should not be slamming into the ground at such forceful speeds, Axel twists himself and the Lord of the Vale midair, forcing his body under Jon's so that when they both land on the ground a moment later, he absorbs most of the blow with the older man held to his chest like an infant.

The air is barely knocked out of Axel's lungs as they hit the ground together, which is good because the next moment he sees Lord Arryn's horse falling towards them and has to once again twist around, putting the older man under him this time to protect Jon from the falling beast's weight.

A grunt leaves Axel's lips as the dead horse lands on him, but truth be told… it's no worse than having ten mountain clan warriors all try to pile on top of him to pin him down. The weight distribution is a bit more awkward but given they obviously can't just stay here and hope for the best, Axel quickly begins working them both out from under the horse.

At the same time, the Lord of the Vale looks pale, his eyes wide as his mind catches up to everything that's just happened. Worrying for him, Axel frowns as he pulls them out from under the horse's body.

"Lord Arryn, are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere?"

Blinking rapidly and finally realizing the danger they're in, Lord Arryn thankfully comes back to his senses.

"Attack... we're under attack!"

Axel nods, even as he checks the other man for any obvious injuries. Thankfully he seems fine enough. His breathing is panicked but relatively steady and Axel sees no blood anywhere.

"Yes Lord Arryn. We've been ambushed."

By this point, they're out from under the horse and thankfully able to use it and Axel's horse, which had also collapsed after taking an arrow to the neck, as defensive positions. No more arrows come their way either, but Axel makes sure to keep Lord Arryn behind the horses anyways just in case.

"There were archers in the hills, Lord Arryn. You must stay here while I see if it is safe."

As befuddled as he is, the older man doesn't react to that immediately. When he finally does, it's much too late.

"What? No, you mustn't-!"

But Axel is already up on his feet and assessing the situation. Immediately he sees that Lord Arryn's entourage is still engaged with their attackers, though a glance around shows way more enemy bodies on the ground then there are Vale Knights.

It makes sense really, because when Axel finally gets a good look at the sorry lot who have tried to ambush them, he quickly realizes they're little more than bandits. Earlier he'd noticed they weren't mountain clan at least, but now he recognizes from their poor armor and shoddy weaponry that they aren't much of anything, really.

Those archers though… with a growl, Axel bounds across the battlefield as fast as he dares without being too… unnatural. His sword leaves its sheath a moment later as he reaches the rocks where all of the previous arrows had come from. There, he finds two men with bows hastily notching fresh arrows, though when they see him they go for daggers at their waists instead.

Axel doesn't let them make it to their blades, however. His sword flashes out faster than their eyes can follow now that he's out of sight of the rest of the fighting and he relieves them of their heads, ending their attempts at assassinating him and Lord Arryn.

By the time he returns from this, the battle is mostly over. The bandits have either fled or died to the Knights of the Vale. More than a dozen dead men lay on the cold unforgiving ground of the High Road, and only one of them is a Vale Knight. The rest are their enemies.

At Axel's approach, Lord Arryn rises from behind the horses they'd used for cover, looking quite cross with him.

"Axel! Where in the world did you run off to? You should not have risked yourself for even a moment, your life is the most important one here!"

Wordlessly, Axel tosses the two bows he'd taken off of the archers to the ground, before nodding over to the rocks where he left their headless bodies.

"The owners of these bows are over behind those rocks. They were aiming for us specifically, so I knew we needed to take care of them before they got off a lucky shot."

Lord Arryn's eyes fix on the bows for a moment as Axel's explanation washes over his ears. Slowly, the older man reaches up and rubs his chest… right where the arrow would have taken him if Axel hadn't caught it midair.

Axel grimaces a little as the Lord of the Vale looks over at him with wide eyes.

"You saved my life. That arrow…"

He'd hoped that Lord Arryn wouldn't have noticed the arrow thing. It was definitely the strangest part of everything that just happened, Axel was aware. Before he can come up with an excuse of some sort, however, they're interrupted by Ser Vardis.

"Lord Arryn, Crown Prince, are you both alright? The bandits have been routed, but I wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to attempt to ride the ones fleeing down or not."

His eyes lingering on Axel for a moment longer, Lord Arryn eventually shakes his head.

"Both of us are unharmed. Young Axel even took care of the archers who initiated the attack. Their bodies should be over there somewhere. As for riding down the ones fleeing… no, I think not. How many of the initial pack survived, would you say?"

Puffing up with pride, Ser Vardis grins savagely.

"Less than a quarter, my Lord. If that."

Nodding at that information, Jon just grunts.

"Then they won't try again. Especially not without the archers. No, rather than split our forces in an attempt to chase them down, we will instead redouble our pace and make for the town of Darry with all remaining haste."

Looking over at the men and the number of horses they have left, Ser Vardis considers things for half a moment before beginning to bark out orders. The death of one of the Vale Knights means that his horse is available for either Jon or Axel, but seeing as they want to make haste, doubling up is out of the question.

To be fair, someone has to journey back to the Bloody Gate to tell them what happened here and send back a force to collect the bodies… its just that under normal circumstances, you would want that particular person to do so on horseback.

These are far from normal circumstances though, and so soon enough Ser Vardis has picked one unlucky Vale Knight to give up his horse and begin trekking back up the mountain road to the Bloody Gate on foot so that the rest of them can continue onwards without further delay.

It's not ideal by any means, but as far as ambushes go, having only one casualty and being down only two knights in total… well, it wasn't bad.

Meanwhile, Axel is just glad that they immediately take up a faster pace down the High Road after getting everything situated, because it keeps Lord Arryn from questioning everything Axel had done during the fight for the time being.

It's not that he wants to lie to the Lord of the Vale, nor does he want to keep secrets from the older man… but he doesn't really have any good answers to the questions Lord Arryn might wish to ask. In the end, all he can really do at this point is fall back on those earlier assertions about being blessed by the Seven.

… He was going to have to visit the Great Sept so many times once they finally made it to King's Landing. Axel just hoped that the rest of the journey would be far smoother. This was more than enough excitement for him, that was for sure…

-x-X-x-

A/N: I'm sure now that they've dealt with Cersei and Petyr's machinations, it'll all be smooth sailing from here. After all, there's no one else in King's Landing who might have their eyes set on the Iron Throne… right?

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Renly Baratheon has thoughts.

-x-X-x-

As the last of their number finally arrives to the Small Council Chambers, Renly can't quite help but needle him a little bit.

"Grandmaester Pycelle. How kind of you to finally join us."

His dry tone and sharp smile cause the bumbling old fool of a Grandmaester to stiffen and stammer out some excuses, but Renly just waves a hand at him dismissively before looking around the rest of the table.

He sits at the head of it of course, as is his right as the current Third in line for the Throne. Of course, if the Hand of the King were here, then Renly wouldn't dare take such liberties… but he's not here. Nor is there a King around either. Indeed, the Small Council has definitely seen better days and its current state is indicative of the rest of King's Landing at the moment.

For the moment at least, their number has been reduced to a mere four, with the Hand of the King away in the Vale, the Master of Ships off on Dragonstone, and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard dead along with his King.

Shame, that. If Renly could have chosen one man to survive the wildfire between Barristan Selmy and Robert Baratheon, Renly would have picked Ser Selmy every time despite Robert being his brother. Alas, he didn't get that choice, seeing as both men were now dead… and those at this table were left behind to pick up the pieces.

Once Pycelle has finally taken his seat, Renly looks at the other two men who were already in attendance. Petyr Baelish and Varys the Spider. Tch. At least Baelish was technically a Lord, though nobody could even tell Renly what the other man was the Lord of, save that it was some holding out on the Fingers.

Varys though… what a disturbing individual the foreign eunuch was. Why Robert had kept Varys around when he'd ascended the throne, Renly would never understand. He should have been replaced like all of the others.

But Renly doesn't let such thoughts display on his face, instead affecting a warm smile as he looks at the Master of Coin and Master of Whispers respectively.

"As you well know, the Lord Hand asked us to continue meeting in his absence to make sure that things in King's Landing continued running smoothly. Most importantly of all, he wished for us to work together to make sure that the numerous caches of wildfire left behind by the Mad King were dug up and removed to the last before anyone else could suffer such a grisly fate as my brother and nephews."

Here, Renly lets his smile become toothy, his eyes sweeping across them all but focusing on Varys. He might not go out of his way to express his inner dislike for the other man, but he was certainly willing to point out that this particular mess was at least partially Varys' fault.

After all, what good was a Master of Whispers who didn't even know about such a massive threat to both the King and the city all these years? Varys claimed he truly hadn't been aware, but Renly didn't believe it for a second, not really. The other man was just too… slippery by half.

Letting his gaze on Varys linger for just a second, Renly claps his hands together, startling Pycelle quite badly as the aged Grandmaester jolts in his seat.

"Well? How go the efforts? Is the coin still flowing? Are the laborers content with their work? Are we using the most efficient methods of removal for such a… volatile substance?"

Each of these questions, Renly directs to a different man at the table. Even if he intends to replace most of them once he becomes King, he's not about to let them get away with slacking off before then.

As the first question was directed at him, Baelish also answers first, inclining his head agreeably.

"Payment has yet to be an issue. The Royal Treasury had just received a new loan from the Iron Bank. The influx of coin was intended for King Robert's Nameday Tourney next month, but seeing as that will not be taking place, we've been able to divert funds towards the wildfire cleanup effort instead."

Renly narrows his eyes at that.

"I hope you have not diverted ALL funds towards the cleanup. We will still have need of revelry after all of this. Especially with the coronation of my nephew coming up."

Or rather, his own coronation, but Renly can't exactly say that out loud. Not yet anyways.

Raising a single brow, Baelish smiles apologetically.

"Before his departure, Lord Arryn made it clear that the coronation was to be a minor affair. I've already set aside the coin for it, along with the festivities surrounding our new King's ascension to the Iron Throne. As per his instructions, I've kept things… smaller than usual."

That… irritated Renly quite a bit. Where did Jon Arryn get off, exactly? Sure he was the Hand of the King and technically he had all the authority in the world to make such decisions… but it wouldn't be that way for much longer.

Any day now, they would receive word of the tragic deaths of both Lord Arryn and Robert's bastard. And then it would be Renly who would be King. Not Stannis… the Realm would never accept Stannis. No, they would pass him over for Renly… he'd make sure of it.

Unfortunately, until that news arrived, Renly had to keep playing these foolish games. Smiling thinly, he simply gives Baelish a nod before turning his eyes towards Varys. The Spider smiles at him blandly, giving none of his own inner thoughts away, just like always.

"There have been small pockets of panic here and there, but nothing too serious. Fortunately for our purposes, the vast majority of people here in King's Landing have nowhere else to go. While some have fled the city for fear of it blowing up under their feet, most seem to have joined hands in a rare act of… community-focused effort and are working together under the watchful eyes of the Goldcloaks to continue the cleanup efforts."

The Goldcloaks. An organization largely in the pockets of the Lannisters at this point. But no matter. Renly would reform them as well once he was King. At least Varys had no bad news for him. In truth, King's Landing was overpopulated anyways, so if a small portion of its population wanted to escape, he couldn't really bring himself to mind. Maybe it would help with the stench a little bit.

Finally, Renly moves his eyes to Pycelle. The Grandmaester perks up.

"Ah! I've been, ah, looking through my records, seeking out methods of… handling wildfire safely. Alas, I haven't been able to find much. I would once again suggest that we pilfer the Alchemists' Guild for their secrets and force their members to tell us everything they know about their precious 'substance'."

… What a fool. Pycelle was the epitome of a man without a lick of sense in his head who would spout whatever nonsense he could to try and sound smart. Even if fellow Small Council members both take issue with his suggestions.

"That seems inadvisable, given that the Alchemists' Guild have already agreed to work with us and so far have managed to keep another incident like the one that took the lives of the King and his sons."

"Indeed, their acolytes have been of great help on the ground as well from what my little birds tell me."

Pycelle puffs up at Baelish and Varys' words, but before he can start an argument, Renly cuts in.

"Then it would seem that things are proceeding just fine even without the help of the Grandmaester."

That leaves the old Grandmaester sputtering, but Renly just continues on unabated.

"While we certainly would have hoped that Citadel would be of more assistance in this trying time, I suppose we can only be happy with what we have… and wait for a more stable time to consider… other options going forward."

Pycelle looks aghast at that but doesn't try to raise a protest. Perhaps because he believes that he will be just fine in the long run, since Renly's position as head of the Small Council will not last much longer. Little does the old man know… Renly intends to be sitting at this table with a crown upon his head by this time next month.

For now though, plastering a smile on his face that doesn't reach his eyes, the Lord of Storm's End rises to his feet and claps his hands together again.

"Well then, from the sound of things we're all doing our part until the Hand returns with our new King. Hopefully we hear something about that in the coming days but for now… dismissed."

None of them say a word as they all file out of the room. Frankly, Renly is confident that all three of the other men are just as happy to get away from him as he is from them. The difference is, he's going to be the next King of the Seven Kingdoms. And they're all about to be… irrelevant.

Making his way back to his quarters, Renly steps inside and lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he takes a load off, so to speak. It was hard not saying what he truly thought, difficult to keep his feelings to himself. But fortunately it would only be a little while longer. And as it so happened, he'd had a lot of practice hiding his true nature. All his life, in fact.

"Renly."

The first honest smile of the day spreads across Renly's face as he turns to meet his lover. Loras Tyrell steps up to him and they embrace, their foreheads touching as they enjoy a moment of solace in each other's arms.

Eventually though, Renly has to pull away, eager to loosen his formal clothing so he can breathe a little easier.

"I just came from the Small Council, Loras. They are as… barely competent as ever."

The Knight of Flowers laughs at that, his eyes twinkling in amusement even as he watches Renly remove his shirt and roll his shoulders.

"That's high praise coming from you… especially for that sorry group of men."

Grinning wickedly, Renly winks at his lover.

"I suppose when it comes to all of this dreadful wildfire, they're united in wanting the shit out from under our feet if nothing else. It's certainly not something I want still there when I finally start my reign."

It was still insane to even think about it, truth be told. One day, everything is as it was, completely normal. The next moment, Renly hears the explosion and sees the green flames off in the distance. He's pretty sure everyone in the Red Keep could see it from anywhere in the castle.

Only a little later had Renly learned what that explosion signified. Not just a blast of wildfire, which he'd vaguely recognized from that signature burning green… but a blast of wildfire that had killed Robert Baratheon and both of his sons.

In an instant, the world had been turned on its head and Renly had been faced with the horrifying thought of his other brother Stannis becoming King on the Iron Throne. But that thought had very quickly been replaced by another, far more heartening thought… what if he became King instead?

Stannis wasn't in the city, after all. He was back on Dragonstone, where the Master of Ships spent most of his time sulking because Robert had made Renly the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands instead of him. Even if Stannis had been in the city, Renly was far better liked by every Baratheon Knight he'd ever met and certainly every Baratheon Knight he had with him in King's Landing.

With Robert, Joffrey, and Tommen all dead, as tragic as it was… Renly had quickly realized that he could be King of the Seven Kingdoms. He just needed to convince everyone that it should be him instead of Stannis, and given his brother's disposition, that should have been easy!

But then, just as Renly was starting to make plans, they'd been dashed across the rocks by the announcement that Robert had survived the blast. Survived it… only to die a little while later. However, he hadn't died before legitimizing his bastard and naming him heir.

Renly couldn't help but wonder what his eldest brother was thinking in those final moments. Probably that he didn't want Stannis to be King after he was gone anymore than anyone else did. But had he spared Renly a single thought? Had he considered telling Jon Arryn to pass over Stannis and crown Renly King for even a single moment instead of his bastard?

… In the end, it didn't matter. Robert had done what he'd done and Renly was left to pick up the pieces, like always. For a brief moment he'd almost despaired… but then he'd found his resolve. Why should he let some bastard whelp of his brother's become King? Why shouldn't it still be him?

Dressed down to just his breeches, Renly pours himself a glass of wine and sits down, taking a long drink before glancing over at Loras.

"… Have you received word back from your father yet?"

Loras shakes his head, frowning slightly.

"Not yet. Though… I did as you asked and sent the letter by rider using my most trusted man. It'll probably take a little longer than it would have by raven."

That was fair. The contents of that letter and Renly's offer to House Tyrell were… well, they were treasonous until they weren't, basically. So long as neither the Hand nor Robert's bastard made it back to King's Landing alive, then Renly's offer to Loras' father was only… slightly presumptuous.

And it would be less so once he convinced the High Septon to back his bid for the Iron Throne. Stannis would either bend the knee seething… or be put down.

"… Are you certain that the force you sent out will be enough, Renly?"

Blinking, Renly looks over at Loras, feeling a little insulted.

"Of course they'll be enough. Lord Arryn made no secret of how large his escort would be. I sent twice the number of knights to intercept him on his way back to King's Landing. Each and every one of them is a loyal Stormlander and they know what's at stake here. None want Robert's bastard on the Iron Throne more than they want me here."

Funny how that worked. When it came to ranking the love that the Stormlands had for the three Baratheon Brothers, the rest of the Seven Kingdoms might have foolishly put Robert ahead of Renly (after putting Stannis firmly in last place where he belonged, of course).

The problem with that was, Robert had never really had the chance to rule the Stormlands. He'd been fostered in the Vale from an early age and grown into a man there. Then, the Rebellion had kicked off and before you know it, Robert is successfully leading their armies to victory against the Mad King. Following that, he was swiftly crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Despite being the technical Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Robert had never ruled in the Stormlands specifically. Not like Renly did. Renly had grown up in the Stormlands. He knew the Lords of the Stormlands better than either of his brothers. He'd broken bread with those men more times than he could count and done everything in his power to lift them up to ever greater heights.

The Stormlands knew what the rest of the Seven Kingdoms were about to find out. Renly Baratheon was the best damn ruler they could possibly hope for… and no one, not Jon Arryn and certainly not Robert's bastard, was going to get in his way.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Poor Renly, his eyes are too big for his stomach…

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Jon is on edge after the ambush on the High Road, but hey, maybe they're finally going to catch a break!

-x-X-x-

Thank the Seven for loyal, stalwart Knights. And thank them as well for Axel Baratheon. Even days later, having made it to the Kingsroad where they'd stayed the night in the town of Darry, Jon is still a bit… tense. That bandit ambush on the High Road had come out of nowhere and Jon knew, even if the young man was trying to downplay his part in things, that he would be dead right now if it wasn't for Axel.

That arrow had been mere inches away from his chest when Axel had reached out and caught it right out of the air. More than that, the way he'd tackled Jon off of his horse as the second volley had flown was like nothing the Lord of the Vale had ever experienced before.

Jon should have at least broken a bone or something, especially at his age. But instead Axel had somehow managed to cushion both the fall AND the collapse of Jon's horse, taking what should have been Jon's injuries for himself.

For a brief moment, Jon had been afraid that the young King had sacrificed his life for him, or at the very least his good health. But what would have been potentially fatal injuries for Jon seemed to be nothing of consequence for a younger man like Axel. He hadn't even seemed winded when all was said and done.

Jon had tried to talk to Axel about the experience in the days since, but the younger man had been evasive to say the least. In the end, the most he'd been able to get out of Axel was more talk about being blessed by the Seven and a promise to visit the Great Sept of Baelor every day to pay his respects and give thanks if need be.

Which, frankly, seemed like a very good idea at this point. Jon didn't think too many of the Vale Knights accompanying them had seen the things he'd seen with quite as much clarity as he had, thankfully. Even still, there was something very strange about the new King of Westeros and it was likely only a matter of time before rumors started to abound, especially after what happened up in the Eyrie.

They would need to get the High Septon and the rest of the Faith on Axel's side sooner rather than later, lest they give his enemies, whoever they were, another way to undermine the young man's rule.

And Jon knew for a fact that Axel had enemies at this point. The poisoning was one thing, but the bandit ambush? That was suspicious. Maybe if their attackers had been from the mountain clans Jon could have simply written off as them being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but these bandits were decidedly not mountain clan warriors. Something Axel had agreed with when Jon had brought it up at one point.

No, these were bandits from outside of the Vale who for some reason had traveled up the somewhat treacherous, exhausting High Road. All to set up their ambush along a road that saw a bare fraction of the travel and wealth that passed along somewhere like the Kingsroad.

Their presence on the High Road just as Jon was coming down from the Eyrie with Axel at his side was no coincidence. Especially since there'd been no warning about bandits on the road at the Bloody Gate, and Jon himself had used that exact same road to get to the Eyrie in the first place mere days before. No… someone had tried to have him and the young Crown Prince killed… and if not for Axel's 'blessings' they might very well have succeeded.

Needless to say, this all means that Jon is still very much ready for another attack to come even as they travel down the final stretch of road from Darry to King's Landing. They would probably stop one more time at either the Ivy Inn or Brindlewood before finishing the journey to King's Landing on the morrow, but in the meanwhile, they were currently on the largest stretch of the Kingsroad left between themselves and their destination. The perfect place for another bandit ambush to take place.

They'd already passed by Harrenhal at this point, and if the trees weren't in the way they would likely be able to see the southern edge of the God's Eye to their right within the hour. But for as long as they were on the road and vulnerable, Jon would be tense as a strung bow, waiting for the next boot to drop.

… Which admittedly is why he's so relieved when they see a group of knights on horseback crest the ridge up ahead and come down the road towards them at a canter. Why? Because he immediately recognizes the heraldry on their tabards.

At his side, Axel stiffens up but Jon shoots him a reassuring smile.

"It's alright, Axel. They're on our side. Those are Baratheon Knights."

The young man blinks in surprise, though he doesn't quite lose his frown. Jon understands, the situation these past few days has likely been as rough for Axel as it's been for him. More so even, given the young man didn't even know he was the King's son until a few days ago.

Still, it looks like they've finally had a turn of good luck. As the group of Baratheon Knights slows down upon approach, Ser Vardis moves to greet them, taking point as the Captain of Jon's Guard to make sure they don't get too close to Jon himself.

"Ho there! Identify yourself, please!"

Coming to a stop, one of the Knights moves a bit ahead of the rest of the pack and lifts his faceplate.

"Ser Emmon Cuy of Sunflower Hall!"

Ah, Jon recognizes him as one of Renly's men. It would seem Robert's youngest brother had sent them reinforcements, something that Ser Emmon confirms a moment later.

"Lord Renly sent us ahead to intercept and escort you back to King's Landing!"

Smiling now, Jon lets out a sigh of relief.

"I suppose news of the attempted poisoning has reached the city by raven at this point, though I don't imagine news of the bandit attack on High Road would have gotten there yet. Still, your assistance is much appreciated Ser Cuy."

The Baratheon Knight blinks in surprise before slowly nodding his head.

"… Aye, that's right. Heard about the poisoning, we did. Didn't hear about a bandit attack though. Everyone alright?"

Sighing, Jon frowns as he thinks to their one casualty, a loyal man of House Arryn who hadn't deserved such a death.

"One loss, but beyond that we are all uninjured, hearty, and whole."

Reaching over, he clasps Axel by one of his broad shoulders.

"This here is Axel Baratheon, Crown Prince and Robert's Heir. He will be your new King."

Something flashes across Emmon Cuy's face, but he nevertheless bows his head in Axel's direction with the rest of the Baratheon Knights following suit.

"Your Majesty."

Axel looks discomfited by the display, clearing his throat after a moment of awkward silence.

"Raise your heads, all of you. I'm not King quite yet."

Chuckling, Jon shakes his head.

"No but you are their Crown Prince already, Axel. Don't forget that."

Robert's son frowns but slowly nods, accepting Jon's words. He really is a good man with a good head on his shoulders. Hopefully Jon would be able to help him become a good king as well. At least now that Renly's men are here, he's a lot more confident in their chances of getting to King's Landing without further incident.

Looking back to Ser Emmon, Jon's smile returns.

"As I said, your assistance is sorely appreciated Ser Cuy. Please, have your men fall in with us and let us pick up our pace towards King's Landing. With this many knights, not even the bravest of bandits will seek to strike at us, so we no longer need to move with any caution."

"As you command, Lord Hand."

The Baratheon Knights intermingle with the Knights of the Vale at that, though there are twice as many of the former, making it almost feel like an encirclement rather than a merging. Jon doesn't mind too much though. In fact, after how the last few days have gone and the two attempts on Axel's life, he finds himself warmed by the level of care Renly Baratheon is showing for his nephew.

The Master of Laws would surely be a stalwart ally for Axel once they reach King's Landing and the young man has been coronated. Someone who Axel can lean on even as everyone else tries to manipulate and-

"FOR RENLY!"

"Urk!"

Jon's eyes widen as he's cut off mid-thought by an unexpected battle cry. Ser Emmon Cuy's words are in turn repeated by every Baratheon Knight as the sound of swords being unsheathed fills the air. Before any of the Knights of the Vale can react, Ser Emmon has already stabbed his blade deep into Ser Vardis' gut, taking the older knight clean off of his horse and sending him to the ground.

From there… pandemonium. And betrayal most foul.

"Treachery! Knights of the Vale, rally!"

To their credit, not all of Jon's knights fall to ambush. Some are able to block or dodge the blows sent their way, with some blows simply failing to land properly. The fact that they're all on horseback and were all nearly at a standstill makes things every bit as awkward for their attackers as it is for them.

But in the end, Jon can quickly tell that it probably won't matter. They're outnumbered and surrounded and even those who survive the first blows don't all survive the second. And those who manage to survive the second still find themselves dealing with two on one odds at a minimum.

Of course, then there's Ser Emmon. As soon as he's dealt that death blow to Ser Vardis, Ser Emmon turns and tries to swing his sword at Jon. Tries being the opportune word, because it never reaches the Lord of the Vale. Instead, it stops dead in its tracks when Axel grabs it by the blade barehanded and holds it still.

Ser Emmon's eyes widen in disbelief, even as his attempts to tug his weapon free are met with failure. In the momentary lull, Jon finds himself meeting the Baratheon Knight's eyes.

"… Why? Why would Renly do this?"

Gritting his teeth, Ser Emmon growls as he struggles to free his blade and slice through Axel's fingers in the process.

"Lord Renly is the King that the Seven Kingdoms need right now. Not the bastard of a King who lost himself in wine and whores for the last twenty years… nor the Hand who let him do so."

Jon lets out a low breath at the sheer vitriol and venom in Ser Emmon's voice. He doesn't get a chance to respond though, because the tug-a-war between Axel and the Baratheon Knight comes to an abrupt and sudden end. Not because Axel finally lets the other man have his sword back… but because he finally stops playing around, rips it out of Ser Emmon's hand, and then swings its pommel across his face like a cudgel.

C-CRACK!

The Baratheon Knight goes flying from his horse as his head turns with a sickening snap, landing in a limp sack-like manner that long experience says he's already dead before he even hits the ground. Unfortunately, as satisfying as that is to see… it doesn't change the direness of the greater situation.

All around them, the battle is going bad fast. Seeing just how many of his knights are already on the ground, Jon reaches over and grabs Axel by the arm.

"You must flee, Axel. This is not a battle that can be won, but you of all people need to survive at any costs. Someone has to tell the Lords of Westeros of Renly's base treachery!"

For a long moment, the younger man just stares at Jon blankly and Jon fears that Axel might be in a state of shock. Sure, he'd killed those two bandits back on the High Road, but this was… but no. The blankness drops away after a moment and Robert's son lets out a shuddering breath.

"… Please do not think too poorly of me for what I am about to do, Lord Arryn."

Jon opens his mouth, but Axel doesn't wait for a response. Winding back his arm, he throws Ser Emmon Cuy's sword from his hand, somehow having not cut himself even slightly on the Castle Forged Steel. Slicing through the air almost too fast for Jon's eyes to track, the sword slams into the back of a Baratheon Knight harrying one of the few living Knights still on their side and punches right through his armor and out the front of his breastplate, killing him on the spot.

From there, Axel draws his own sword from its sheath and leaps from his saddle, forcing Jon to hastily take the reins of his horse so it doesn't go galloping off.

… What follows is a monstrous display of strength and speed. Renly's men, who had been mere moments away from carrying the battle with their superior numbers and the element of surprise on their side… now have the tables turned on them completely. Their numbers might still be superior, but that's the only thing they have going for them. Meanwhile, the element of surprise now rests with Axel Baratheon.

In the confusion, it takes a minute for the enemy knights to realize they're being slaughtered by one single man. Some of them jump down from their horses to group up and face him on the ground… while others turn coward and break from the rest upon registering Ser Emmon's body and seeing what Axel is doing to their number.

The latter group are the only ones to survive the ensuing massacre, causing Jon to press his lips together into a thin line as he watches a few of them ride back down the Kingsroad towards King's Landing at a full gallop. He wishes that he had the knights left to go after them, but at this point in time, aside from him and Axel… the remaining Knights of the Vale number just two.

By the time Axel is through however, the number of Baratheon Knights left on the battlefield numbers even less than that. The young man falls upon them like the Stranger itself, crashing into men in full armor and sending THEM tumbling every which way as his sword flashes out and takes life after life.

When it's finally over, Jon can only stare, open-mouthed, along with his two living knights at the bloody scene. Axel, standing there with the blood of over a dozen knights covering him but none of his own, looks around for a long moment before looking to Jon with wide, trepidatious eyes.

It seems strange to see fear in the eyes of a man capable of killing so many without even breathing heavy. But Jon… Jon thinks he understands. Axel doesn't fear death. He fears rejection. He's shown himself to be… beyond a normal man should be. A monster. And now he worries that Jon will turn on him.

… He may not understand what exactly Axel is, but there's one thing the Hand of the King knows for sure. If he had been anything less than this, they would all be dead right now.

Slowly, Jon dismounts while calling for one of his still-living men to collect the reins of the nearby steeds and make sure they will still have four able-bodied mounts to take them the rest of the way to King's Landing. Then, he walks through the bloody battlefield that this stretch of the Kingsroad has become, striding right up to Axel.

"... Kneel, Axel."

Blinking, Axel furrows his brow in confusion. Still, after a moment of awkward silence, he follows Jon's orders and kneels. Drawing his own sword from his side, Jon lets out a shuddering breath. He's an old man at this point. Not much of a fighter anymore.

But he's lived a long life… and part of that life gives him the right to do this. Not just as Lord of the Eyrie and Lord Paramount of the Vale, nor just as Hand of the King… but also as a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Even if, admittedly, it's been a long time since Jon last swung a blade.

"For showing extreme valor in a battle thought to be lost, for defending against renegade knights who have forsaken their vows… I knight you, Axel Baratheon."

Bringing the sword up, he places it on Axel's right shoulder.

"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave."

Moving the sword to the left, he continues.

"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."

Moving the sword to the right again, he finishes up.

"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent."

Pulling his blade back, Jon smiles softly.

"Arise, Axel Baratheon, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms."

The words hang heavy in the air. It might seem pointless, given that Axel was bound for kinghood if they ever managed to make it to King's Landing… but sometimes pointless rituals were exactly what they needed. As Axel stands up to his full height, Jon can see the gratitude in the younger man's eyes and knows that he's done the right thing.

Whatever Axel might be, he is first and foremost the next King of the Seven Kingdoms. That's all that matters in the end. Everything else… is secondary.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Well now, Axel is a Knight, that's lovely. But more than that, he had to reveal his… 'true nature'. Dun dun duuuun~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: The Spider spins his web.

-x-X-x-

Even after all these years, there was something so… fascinating about watching everybody scurry about, playing their games and scheming to their hearts' content. Each and every last one of them thinking themselves smarter than all the rest. All of them convinced that they and they alone could fool everyone else into dancing to their tune.

Personally, Varys knew full well that he didn't know everything. That was half the reason he sought out as much knowledge as he could. His thirst for secrets, his hunger for information… it had served him well in the decades he'd spent in King's Landing. Quite well indeed.

… But things weren't always perfect. And Varys could acknowledge full well now that looking back, he'd made his fair share of mistakes.

When King Aerys II had first brought Varys to Westeros, the much younger Spymaster had still been a creature of avarice and ambition like so many others in the King's Court. He had used copious amounts of the crown's coin to build his a spy network on the continent, sending out his little birds in every direction to bring him scraps of information that he could take and use for his own purposes.

In turn, Varys had served the King faithfully and loyally as his Master of Whisperers, believing that it was only the right thing to do when Aerys was so willing to fund Varys' endeavors. Only now with so much time and so much distance could he look back and acknowledge the mistakes he'd made.

The Mad King was already mentally unwell even back then, but Varys hadn't cared. Newly arrived in King's Landing and drunk on his own skill, he had only really been interested in proving himself. No more, no less. Heh, if Varys the Younger could see him now, he dared not think what he might say.

Varys the Elder, or rather, Varys of the Present, was a far different man having seen what his folly and hubris brought the world. These days, he was far more discerning about just who he gave his true loyalty.

Back in the days before the Rebellion, Varys the Younger had turned Rhaegar's plans over to his father, counseling to Aerys that his own son was planning to overthrow him. If he could go back and do it all over again… he would have chosen differently. Rhaegar would have been a much better ruler than Aerys after all, and likely a better ruler than Robert Baratheon as well.

But alas, what's done is done and crying over it was futile. In a similar manner, Varys also had to eat crow regarding the wildfire caches hidden all over the city. He hadn't known about them… but he should have. A humbling experience, to say the least.

Still, to be humbled was to be human. And Varys couldn't help but feel that there were many more people in King's Landing that could do with a good humbling at this point in time. Everyone had their plans in the wake of the King's death. Everyone had their schemes.

The Queen, for instance. Word of the attempted poisoning of the recently legitimized Axel Baratheon had reached Varys' ears by this point, his little birds up in the Vale sending the information along before it had even reached King's Landing.

Varys didn't need to know anything more than that the attempt had been made to know who had tried to kill Axel Baratheon with the Strangler, of course. After all, Cersei Lannister had been trying to kill young Axel since he was a babe. Her attempts to poison Robert's oldest bastard were well documented, at least as far as Varys' network was concerned. As were her failures.

This latest effort had been a failure as well, though the stories left Varys more than a little curious to how it had been done. He'd received such fanciful tales… and his little birds were not known for their creativity nor their imagination.

Likewise, there was Littlefinger. The minor lord of a minor holding who had managed to raise himself up to greater and greater heights through cuckolding the very patron who had brought him to King's Landing and made him Master of Coin. Varys doubted that Petyr even suspected he knew about his long running affair with Lysa Arryn, otherwise the man would have almost certainly tried to have him killed by this point.

Just as he'd tried to have Lord Arryn and Axel Baratheon killed on the High Road just a few days ago. Bandits… such a messy tool to be sure. The whole thing smacked of general incompetence and opportunistic greed, both things that Varys had long come to associate with his so-called 'rival' over the years.

Of course, any rivalry between him and Lord Littlefinger was entirely in the other man's head. Varys didn't have rivals. To put it in a way that Petyr would understand, he had assets and he had liabilities, though the two could certainly be interchangeable. Varys didn't always protect his assets nor did he strike down his liabilities.

At the end of the day, Baelish was useful enough to Varys in his own way that he would keep the other man's secrets for the time being. Besides, it would be amusing to see what Littlefinger would do next now that his initial opportunistic attack on the Hand and their new would-be King had failed.

… And then there was Renly Baratheon. Varys can't help but smile a little as he stands in the shadow of an entrance to the Red Keep's many hidden passages. Situated on the outside of the keep itself, this particular exit gives him an excellent view of the Southern Gate, even this late in the evening. Especially when he's able to track the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and his men via their torches as they make their way through the street towards the gate.

Earlier today, the knights that Renly had sent out to intercept Jon Arryn and Axel Baratheon had returned through the North Gate and made a beeline for Lord Renly's chambers in the Red Keep. Or rather… what was left of them anyways.

Out of the dozens of Baratheon Knights that Renly had tasked with making sure the Lord Hand and their new King never actually made it to King's Landing, a mere three made it back alive. They'd immediately gone to inform their Lord of their failure of course, and in response Renly had, for once since this whole mess began, made a smart decision. He was running.

What else could he do? He didn't have control of the Goldcloaks, they were mostly loyal to the Lannisters. He wasn't particularly well loved or respected by the Faith, not with his sword swallowing something of an open secret among the nobility of Westeros. And above all else, he'd spent most of his actual military strength in the city on the failed attempt on his nephew's life.

Put simply, Renly hadn't finally made the right decision because he'd somehow become smarter than he was yesterday. No, he'd made the right decision because it was the only decision he had left.

What the Lord of Storm's End would do once he fled all the way back to his lands; Varys wasn't sure. He had plenty of little birds that would inform him of Renly's plans as soon as they could find them out though. One thing was certain, however… Varys did not think that Renly was the right fit to sit upon the Iron Throne.

Varys the Younger might not have cared, but Varys the Elder cared a bit too much after all these years. In his old age, the Spider found himself caring about stability. About good, honest sense. About calm and rational leadership. Robert Baratheon might not have been the best King they could have had these past twenty or so years, but he was better than his predecessor, Varys had to give him that.

At the same time, his sons… his sons had worried Varys. The eldest, Joffrey, had been incredibly cruel and downright monstrous, reminding Varys more of the man that Robert had successfully dethroned than anything else. Meanwhile, the younger one, Tommen, had been terribly shy, a consequence of being a target of his elder brother's sadism for so much of his life.

Neither was what Varys considered a fitting King for the Seven Kingdoms and that mattered a lot more to him these days. At some point in the last few decades he had come to care about this damn continent and the people on it. That the Princes had died with their father, while a terrible tragedy, might also turn out to be a blessing in disguise.

Stannis Baratheon might make for a good king… no, actually, by Varys' standards he would make an excellent king. The only real issue was that everyone else did not share Varys' standards. Stannis was so universally disliked by his peers that his own younger brother had immediately began plotting to take the Iron Throne after Robert's death.

Renly… Renly would ultimately make for a mediocre King. Better than Robert but not as good as Stannis in Varys' humble, completely unbiased opinion. And yet, he couldn't help but get ahead of himself.

If he truly wanted to be King, he should have tried calling for a Great Council openly. He should have questioned the veracity of Robert's final words coming on his deathbed when the man was half-burned to death and demanded that the Great Houses of Westeros gather to have a say in who should be the King after Robert. If he really thought he had a chance, put himself before them all as the best possible option.

But of course, Renly knew what Varys knew. His proclivities were enough of an open secret among the Lords of Westeros that no Great Council would ever be likely to make him King. Maybe if it was just him and Stannis and nobody else, but that was where things got so messy, wasn't it? Because it wasn't just Robert's brothers anymore. It was also his hastily legitimized bastard son.

A woman's scream suddenly splits the night air, causing Varys to glance up above him through the stone to where it comes from. The scream was not one of fear or sadness or horror, but rather… anger. Raw, furious rage. As such, Varys knows that Cersei Lannister has just found out that Renly fled the city.

Ser Jaime's death had sent the Queen Dowager into another tailspin. At first, she'd screamed that it was murder… but all signs pointed to the man throwing himself off of the highest ramparts of the Red Keep. There were no signs of a struggle, everything from his sword to his armor to his white tabard had been neatly set aside before he jumped.

The death of one of the three remaining members of the Kingsguard had thrown the city into quite the tizzy. Varys himself suspected he knew why Jaime had done it, even if nobody else seemed to have put two and two together. From what Varys knew though… it seemed likely that they'd finally uncovered the real reason that Jaime Lannister killed the Mad King all those years ago.

After all, it hadn't just been Aerys that Jaime killed that day. It had also been the latest Hand of the King, Wisdom Rossart of the Alchemist's Guild. Who could have commissioned so much wildfire from the Guild? Who could have ordered it all buried beneath the city? And how in the world could the knowledge of its existence died such a quiet death that it took more than twenty years for it to be discovered?

Everyone else tended to forget who the Mad King's last Hand was. But not Varys. Varys didn't forget things. Jaime's death had been the last piece of the puzzle he needed to be absolutely certain of what must have happened. The Kingslayer had broken his oath to save the city from Aerys and Rossart's madness. And then he'd kept it a secret for more than two decades.

In doing so, he'd gotten half of the Royal Family killed. He'd gotten his sister's sons killed. The guilt must have eaten poor Jaime Lannister alive, because in the end, he'd taken his own life.

Funny how fate works sometimes. Cersei had come out of another bout of catatonic shock over Jaime's suicide still under the impression that her latest attempt at poisoning Axel Baratheon up in the Eyrie would have succeeded. When she'd then heard about Renly sending so many of his knights out of the city, she'd decided it was the perfect time to kill him and do away with one of the Baratheon brothers.

Alas, Cersei's intelligence network wasn't nearly as good as Varys', nor had the widowed Queen thought to consult the Master of Whispers. If she had… Varys isn't sure what he would have told her in all honesty. But it mattered not because at the end of the day, Cersei Lannister thought herself a player and not a pawn.

She'd been outmaneuvered by her target though… completely by accident. Renly's flight from the city just so happened to allow him to dodge Cersei's would-be assassination attempt entirely. Judging by the moving torches heading for each of King's Landing's gates, the Queen has now given orders to have the city put in a state of lockdown.

Nobody in or out. Perhaps she hopes to catch Renly hiding somewhere in King's Landing. Or perhaps she fears he discovered her plot (he hadn't) and now tries to cover up her actions and hide the attempt. In the end, it matters little, at least to Varys.

The Queen believes Axel Baratheon to be dead. Littlefinger has yet to hear back from his assassins and perhaps believes much the same. Renly knows that Axel and Lord Arryn still live and are heading towards King's Landing, but he's fled before he could tell anyone.

Only Varys knows everything to do with this truly sordid mess. Only he has all of the pieces of this particularly ghastly puzzle.

And yet… he's told nobody anything. For one, none of them have asked. For two, none of them are his King.

It's a delightfully messy situation they all find themselves in. And yet, Varys' humor is tempered a bit by the strange tales that have begun to surround their would-be King. Axel Baratheon is said to have survived the Strangler, a rare and extremely deadly poison, without breaking a sweat. Likewise, Varys has heard rumors that he saved Lord Arryn's life and did not take a single injury during the ambush by Littlefinger's bandits.

And now there are the strange tales from Renly's surviving men, picked up by Varys' little birds and dutifully written down exactly as they were spoken by those panicked, unmanned knights. Tales of Axel Baratheon moving faster than any man should be able to. Tales of him being a demon who killed half of them before they could even blink.

… Tall tales no doubt, to hide their failure when they should have had twice as many men and the element of surprise to boot. But at the same time, Varys couldn't be sure. He knew better than most that magic was very real. He'd experienced the horrors of magic firsthand, in fact.

He just… wasn't sure where an orphan like Axel Baratheon would have come upon the chance to learn magic, sequestered as he'd been up in the Vale all his life. Even the stories Varys had heard about Axel making in roads with the mountain clans didn't explain it.

Those brutish men who made the crevices and crags of the Mountains of the Moon their home did not have a reputation for profane rituals or dark magics. They were savages who relied on strength of arms and viciousness to carry out their raids on the more civilized people of the Vale, not blood sacrifices or anything like that.

Still, there was an old saying that came to mind as Varys slipped back from the shadowed alcove and back inside, making his way back into the bowels of the Red Keep's hidden passage network. Once was happenstance, twice was coincidence. But three times… three tales regarding Axel Baratheon's strangeness now… that bore further investigation.

Of all the current candidates for the throne, Axel Baratheon held the most esteem in Varys' eyes at the moment. Not because of anything the young man himself had done, but because he had the backing of Jon Arryn. And for all his numerous failures to rein in Robert, as well as his perpetual blindness to Littlefinger's machinations, Lord Arryn had proven to be a somewhat capable administrator.

… But if Axel Baratheon turned out to be a young, aspiring sorcerer, then Varys wasn't sure he would be able to accept that. Not even if it was for the good of the realm.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Next time, Axel and Jon make it to King's Landing at long last. Just a couple more chapters and then we'll be done with the first Arc of the story!

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: King's Landing at long last!

-x-X-x-

Lord Arryn has them ride straight on through the night following the backstabbing and knighting. For Axel, this isn't a problem. But for Lord Arryn, the remaining two Vale Knights, and all of their horses, it's a bit of an issue as the harsh pace wears on them. In the end, they're forced to stop at Hayford Castle for new mounts, where Axel watches on tensely while Lord Arryn throws around his authority as Hand of the King.

Axel is primed and ready for the men at Hayford Castle to betray them as well. If they force him to once again defend the Lord of the Vale with his inhuman strength, then that's what he'll do. But fortunately his uncle's treachery doesn't appear to extend this far.

But then, if Lord Arryn is correct, it might not even extend to all of King's Landing. To hear the older man explain it, he doesn't actually believe Renly has the resources or the men to take control of the city. If he did, he would have already done so and simply had Axel and Jon thrown into prison cells or executed on the spot the moment they arrived.

On top of that, with the death of so many Baratheon Knights on the Kingsroad, Renly will be in an even worse position supposedly. Axel can only hope that Lord Arryn is right. At the very least Lord Hayford seems appropriately shocked and appalled by all the treachery and backstabbing they've had to deal with.

In the end, once Lord Arryn has had the time to explain everything that's happened, they're not only given fresh horses but also a detachment of Hayford men to carry them the rest of the way to King's Landing and make sure they arrive safely at the gates.

After what happened before, Axel is quite on edge around said men, but thankfully they don't seem to have any ill intentions. And so, only a couple hours after leaving Hayford Castle behind, they come into view of their ultimate destination. The sprawling city of King's Landing looms in the distance… and as they get ever closer, so does it's smell.

"By the Seven, that stench…"

From beside him, Lord Arryn lets out a mirthless bark of laughter.

"Apologies Axel, but you'll get used to it eventually. Fortunately, the Red Keep is kept… isolated from the rest of the city's unique aromas."

Axel just wrinkles his nose, privately thinking that he'll never get used to this kind of smell. Though at least he'll have some respite if Lord Arryn is to be believed.

Finally, after another full half hour of riding, they reach the city's outer wall and the Northern Gate. Which… is currently closed, Axel notes with narrowed eyes and budding suspicion.

One of the two remaining Vale Knights rides forward and shouts at the top of his lungs.

"Open the gate! Lord Arryn returns! Open the gate and make way for the Hand of the King!"

There's some shuffling atop the wall before a voice comes back down.

"The gate is to remain closed by order of the Queen! Nobody is to come in and out of the city, no exceptions!"

… The Queen? Axel shoots a curious look over at Lord Arryn. The older man has a deep frown and a shadow cast over his features as he pushes his horse forward. Axel moves with him, staying at his side just in case another archer decides to try to put an arrow in his chest.

Stopping beside the first Vale Knight, Lord Arryn is the next to call out.

"The Queen does not have the authority to shut the gates of King's Landing! Even if she did, the orders of the King's Hand would supersede them! For what reason does the Queen lock down the city?!"

It's a good question, though Axel thinks it would be better to ask it after making them open the gates. Especially since all of this hard riding and now heavy shouting can't be good for Lord Arryn. Even setting aside Axel's… unnaturalness, the Lord of the Vale is much older than him and it's clear that their journey, as well as the incidents along the road, have taken their toll on the man.

"Not rightly sure, truth be told! They say that Lord Renly fled in the night two days past. City was locked down shortly after! And how do we even know you ARE the Hand of the King, eh?"

… Seriously? As Lord Arryn looks increasingly done with this whole conversation, Axel leans over and whispers to him.

"I can scale that wall and have the gate open in less than a minute. Just give the word."

Blinking, Lord Arryn looks over at him, all of his anger flowing away after a moment. Axel hadn't intended his words to seem humorous, and yet the older man lets out a chuckle all the same.

"I'm sure you could, Axel. But… let's shelve that idea at least for the moment. I still have something else to try."

Axel simply raises an eyebrow, watching in silence as Lord Arryn reaches into his clothes and pulls out a small metal brooch in the form of a hand surrounded by a crown, holding a sword. Lifting the brooch up into the sky and letting the sun reflect off of it, the Lord of the Vale tries again.

"I am Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, and Hand of the King! You will open the gate and make way or I will be forced to order you apprehended and put in the Black Cells for a fortnight!"

Silence falls over the area, a heaviness in the air that leaves even Axel shifting in his saddle. He waits with bated breath, feeling like he's ready for anything and everything. If they try to kill Lord Arryn, he will stop them. If they force him to scale the wall and open the gate himself, he'll do that too.

… Funny, he's so ready for them to make a mess of things and force his hand that Axel is actually caught a little off guard when the gate suddenly makes a heavy clunking sound and begins to slowly open up. Blinking, he glances over to Lord Arryn, watching the other man smile and carefully pin the brooch to his chest as he lets out a sigh.

"Very good. It seems good sense has carried the day for once."

Axel snorts in amusement at that, even as they enter the city with the men from Hayford Castle at their back. Inside, they're confronted by a number of men wearing Goldcloaks. Chief among them is a stout man with a bald head, his eyes widening when he catches sight of Lord Arryn in person.

"L-Lord Hand! You have truly returned!"

"Commander Slynt. You sound… surprised."

A commander. Axel narrows his eyes, watching the two men converse. Commander Slynt seems to be sweating just a bit, even as he shakes his head.

"No my Lord, of course not… it was just… there have been strange reports from both the ravens and the road. Some said you were dead. Some said you were waylaid. When we heard tell of a man bearing your brooch, we weren't sure what to believe."

Judging by the thin smile on Lord Arryn's face, there's no love lost between these two men. Axel surreptitiously drops his hand to the sword sheathed at his side, even as he looks over the Goldcloaks that this Commander has brought with him. None of them look like they're about to attack, but then Axel hadn't been able to tell the Baratheon Knights were about to attack either.

He's ready this go around either way. Axel refuses to be caught off guard a third time, not after the two encounters on the road.

"Believe this then. An assassin attempted to poison my charge in the Eyrie. Bandits tried to ambush my charge and I on the High Road. And Renly Baratheon's knights turned and stabbed my men in the back on the Kingsroad not three days ride from here. All of them failed and now here I am with my charge safe and sound at my side. All hail Crown Prince Axel Baratheon, Heir to the Iron Throne!"

Axel tenses up as all eyes fall upon him. Immediately, the remaining two Vale Knights repeat Lord Arryn's final words and only a moment later do the men from Hayford Castle do the same.

"Hail the Crown Prince!"

"Hail King Robert's Heir!"

"Hail!"

"Hail!"

"Hail!"

Even some of the goldcloaks get caught up in it, calling out as well as Commander Slynt looks… poleaxed to say the least. Eyes wide, the bald man looks at Axel in shock for a moment before a flicker of recognition enters his beady eyes.

"Ah… Y-Your Majesty… you have the look of your father about you."

And then, as though the initial tension hadn't happened at all, the Commander immediately falls all over himself.

"Lord Hand, Crown Prince Baratheon, please allow me and my men to escort you to the Red Keep! The city is in disarray and while the removal of the wildfire continues unabated, everyone is in need of proper leadership once more! Please, right this way!"

Axel still isn't sure he trusts it… but in the end he's not going to start something based purely on feelings. He'll finish anything anyone else wants to start, but for now… there's nothing to do but follow the Commander.

Along their way through the streets of King's Landing, Axel learns several things. One, he learns from the quiet whispers of Lord Arryn that the Commander's full name is Commander Janos Slynt and he's the current leader of the City Watch, or as Axel knows them, the Goldcloaks.

Two, he learns that while it was Lord Arryn who promoted Janos Slynt to his position in the first place some years back, he'd also uncovered proof of bribery and wanton corruption a little while later. Unfortunately, the proof had fallen through and Axel's father had ultimately decided to retain Slynt rather than have someone potentially worse take the man's job.

Third, separate from Lord Arryn's whispers, Axel learns that the smell of the city actually gets worse the deeper you get into it, until it feels like it's permeating not just your nostrils, but also your senses of seeing, hearing, and tasting. Indeed, Axel's eyes water a little bit from how… pungent the aromas get.

Fourth and finally, he learns that despite the needed removal of those wildfire caches Lord Arryn had told him about, there are still quite a lot of smallfolk in King's Landing with entirely too much time on their hands.

"The Hand O' the King's returned!"

"They say that's the next King beside him!"

"Looks just like his father, he does!"

"The King's son!"

"Your Majesty, over here Your Majesty!"

"A new ass to sit upon that spiky throne, bahaha!"

Its… a lot. Fortunately he has Lord Arryn at his side, and the man advises him to ignore the smallfolk by and large. Many of them clamor for his attention, pulling his eyes in all directions. Many more just seem to clamor for the sake of clamoring. A few even jeer and throw insults at him, relying on the safety of the crowd to protect them.

If he was of a mind to take issue with their words, it wouldn't of course. He picks out each of the more belligerent smallfolk with ease, catching them with his eyes one after the other. Many of them are incredibly drunk though, so he pays them no mind. Those that aren't drunk… well, they tend to freeze the moment he makes eye contact with them, shutting up and looking like they've pissed themselves as he rides past.

In the end, between the Hayford men and the Goldcloaks, they reach the Red Keep unmolested despite the smallfolk that appear from the roads all around them and follow behind them in a huge growing mass. Ascending a road at a steep incline, Axel looks back and blinks, able to see not just all the way to the back of that huge grouping of smallfolk, but also most of the city from up here.

The higher they climb, the better the smell gets too, almost as though there's a literal ocean of stench filling King's Landing and by moving up the hill, they were escaping said ocean. As they come to a stop in front of the Red Keep, Lord Arryn leans over to him and clears his throat.

"Might be good to say a quick word, just so they disperse easier."

… Right. That was probably fair. The only problem was, Axel had no fucking clue what to say. Swallowing thickly, he turns his horse and looks back over the gathered crowd. All of them fall silent once they have his full, undivided attention.

Seriously though, what the fuck was he supposed to say? In the end, Axel just decides to speak from the heart. Words that have honestly been swirling around in his head for days now come bubbling to the surface.

"… People of King's Landing! The tragic deaths of my father and my brothers will not soon be forgotten! I grieve for them and I'm sure all of you do as well! But I swear on my father's name, I swear on the crown soon to sit upon my brow, and I swear upon the Seven Who Are One that I will be the best King to all of you that I can be, from this day until my last!"

There's a brief pause as Axel worries he's sounded more ridiculous than kingly. But then… a cheer erupts from the crowd, buoying his spirits and bringing a broad smile to his face. Beside him, Lord Arryn chuckles and grabs him by the shoulder, giving it a good squeeze.

"Well said, Axel. Well said."

He's feeling good about himself after that, even as they dismount from their horses and dismiss the Hayford men back to their lands and the Goldcloaks back to their duties in the city. In the end, it's just Lord Arryn, Axel, and the last two of Lord Arryn's knights who enter the Red Keep's courtyard.

They find… quite the sorry reception waiting for them there. There's a bald, rotund man that Axel recognizes from Lord Arryn's descriptions as Varys the Spider, the Small Council's Master of Whispers. Then there's a tall, weedy looking man with a smile that reminds Axel more of a rat than anything else who can only be Lord Petyr Baelish, aka Littlefinger, the Small Council's Master of Coin.

Tellingly, however, there is no sign of either of Axel's uncles. Stannis Baratheon, Master of Ships, is off on Dragonstone, where he has been since just before the King's death. Renly Baratheon, Master of Laws, has fled the city after trying to have Axel killed on the Kingsroad.

Even more tellingly, Axel sees no sign of the Queen Dowager, Cersei Lannister, or the Princess Myrcella, his half-sister. Both women are completely absent from the courtyard, leaving Axel and Lord Arryn to be greeted by the tattered remains of the Small Council and nothing else.

As Lord Varys and Lord Baelish step forward to make their introductions and pay their respects, Axel is gratified when Lord Arryn does most of the heavy lifting with the other two men. It allows him to take a step back and really… recognize where he is, how far he's come.

He's made it. He made it to King's Landing. Distantly, he hears Lord Arryn making demands for his coronation to take place as soon as possible, so he supposes that will be done swiftly too. Soon he'll be King of this place… no, not just of this place, but the entire Seven Kingdoms.

Except, of course, it wouldn't be that simple. Not with a treacherous Uncle in the wind and multiple people trying to have him killed. Funny, Lord Arryn had convinced Axel to become King specifically because he said it was the only way to prevent a war breaking out. He'd made it sound like everyone would accept Axel because all of the other options were worse.

… As he stands there in that rather empty courtyard, the adulation of the smallfolk already fading into the back of his mind, Axel can't help but wonder if anyone really wants him on the throne at all.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Poor Axel. But hey, at least he finally got to King's Landing! Tomorrow's chapter will be the last of Arc One, and then we get into Arc Two~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: The coronation through the eyes of one of Axel's enemies~

-x-X-x-

"We stand here today in the Great Sept of Baelor to see a new King crowned."

It takes every fiber of her being not to throw a fit right then and there. This whole coronation was a ridiculous farce. It should have been her Joffrey up there. Failing that, it should have been Tommen. And failing THAT, it should have been Myrcella. Never mind the line of succession, better her Myrcella than another fucking Baratheon.

… This was the second coronation that Cersei Lannister had attended in her life. The first one had been Robert's. She'd been younger then, so much younger… and so much more excited for what her future held. After all, Robert Baratheon immediately after the rebellion had still been a handsome man and a renowned warrior.

He was no Rhaegar of course, but he had seemed like a good match all the same. Her father had promised her Rhaegar when she was even younger still, but given that the man was dead, Cersei had magnanimously decided not to hold it against him. After all, she was still going to be Queen and marrying Rhaegar's killer wasn't a half-bad consolation prize.

… Or so she'd thought. Oh what a fool she'd been. Robert had turned out to be a failure in every way that mattered. A failure of a king, a failure of a husband, and a failure of a father. And now here Cersei was, having to watch his bastard be crowned by the High Septon when it should have been one of her sons standing in his place.

"Many are the perils that tried to stand between him and this moment."

Of course, even as the High Septon drones on, Cersei reflects that if either of her sons were still alive, they wouldn't be coronated here of all places. The Great Sept was for Royal Weddings, NOT coronations. Coronations were supposed to take place in the Red Keep before the Iron Throne. The High Septon was supposed to come to the new King, not the other way around.

But apparently Robert's bastard was pious to a fault. He'd specifically asked for the coronation to take place in the Great Sept, citing his Faith and the fact that the Seven must have been watching over him as reasons why he simply had to be crowned beneath their gaze in the place of their worship.

As such, the towering statues of the Seven surround them on all sides while the Great Sept is packed to the brim with nobility and the Most Devout.

Ugh, it was enough to make her sick. It was enough to make her want to rage at the injustice and unfairness of it all.

"Yet here he remains all the same."

Though at the same time, she had so many damn questions. Like how HAD he survived the Strangler? It would have been one thing if he'd simply avoided the poison in some way, perhaps with Jon Arryn employing a taste tester as a sensible precaution or the like.

But no. The stories out of the Eyrie, as outlandish as they might be, were quite clear and all surprisingly uniform. Robert's bastard definitely ate the poisoned meat pie. It had an understated but universally agreed upon effect on the young man. And then in front of the entire hall, her assassin had also eaten some of the pie and it had killed him in less than a minute, as the Strangler was supposed to!

The man she'd hired to poison Axel Stone was a smart one. Killing himself so she couldn't get to him and punish him for his failure… he'd made the right move. Obviously, she wouldn't have let him off lightly after he'd failed so spectacularly, whether Robert's bastard was somehow immune or not.

"May the Warrior grant him courage and protect him in these perilous times."

Her breath hitches and Cersei barely contains her flinch at the mention of the Warrior. It wouldn't be good to react too strongly, given that she and Myrcella were placed in the front row of this coronation, effectively being used as trophies in the wake of Renly's defection and treachery.

In her mind's eye, for as long as Cersei could remember, she'd likened some of the Seven to people in her life. The Father was her father, the Mother was her mother and she was the Maiden. The Crone, of course, was that damnable witch from the woods.

Meanwhile, the Warrior… the Warrior was her brother. Her twin. Her other half. Even now his loss ate at her. She hadn't wanted to believe it when the news first reached her. Jaime? Dead? It wasn't possible. Even when she saw the body, she felt like she couldn't trust her own eyes. And yet… it was him.

More than that, they claimed he did the deed himself. That he took his own life. There was just no way, but none of Cersei's attempts at investigating had turned up answers. She couldn't figure out who had murdered her brother, but the thought of him committing suicide just didn't make sense.

And yet… he was dead and she was still alive and it… it didn't feel real even now. How could one side of the same coin perish while the other side persisted? Shouldn't she have been struck down the moment he drew his final breath?

But no. The real world wasn't nearly so romantic. Jaime was gone and Cersei continued to exist and that was all there was to it.

"May the Father show him the most just and righteous path forward through the early days of his reign."

Well, not all there was to it. There was still the matter of revenge. It mattered little whether or not truly Jaime took his own life. Even if he had, his death was still something that had to be avenged. A Lannister always paid their debts and the only way Cersei knew to do so was to double down and kill the Baratheons who had caused her family so much grief and heartbreak in such a short time.

Alas, Renly had inadvertently escaped the noose when he'd fled in the wake of his failed treachery. It was almost enough to make Cersei laugh, thinking about it now. She had it all planned out. Commander Slynt and his Goldcloaks had been paid off. Her Lannister men had been ready to raid Renly's quarters and do away with him. And if they killed the Knight of the Flowers while they were at it, so be it. A simple sacrifice all things considered.

… But then the sword swallower had fled! Her men had reported back hastily emptied chambers and no sign of Renly. She'd reacted swiftly, having the city shut down on her orders, but to no avail. By the next morning, Cersei had learned that the Baratheon Lord and all of his men had managed to flee the city just before she'd sent the order for them to take his head!

At the time, Cersei had been infuriated that her prey had escaped her grasp. She'd raged at how he'd somehow found out about her plans. Only later had she learned the truth. Renly didn't even know Cersei was aiming to end his miserable life. No, he hadn't been running from her… he'd been running from his own nephew.

"… and may the Smith grant him the strength he needs to carry the heavy burden of leadership."

It seemed Cersei wasn't the only one that wanted Robert's bastard dead. Renly had designs on the crown and thought to remove Jon Arryn and his charge from the board so that he could usurp the Iron Throne from Stannis. Given how little love was lost between Stannis and the rest of Westeros, and the fact that he'd happened to be out of the city when Robert died, it wasn't a half bad plot.

Truth be told, Cersei wished Renly's plot had succeeded where hers failed. Alas, it seemed that Axel Stone had the same luck as his damn father if he was able to survive so many attempts on his life in such a short amount of time. After all, if Renly's plan to kill Axel had worked, then he wouldn't have fled King's Landing when he did and Cersei's plan to kill him in turn would have gone off without a hitch.

From there, the only other man who she would have had to kill was Stannis Baratheon and her vengeance would have been complete.

But no, Renly was too incompetent. He clearly didn't send enough of his men. And now… now he had fled to the Stormlands and nobody knew what he was going to do next. Cersei couldn't imagine that the Storm Lords would stay loyal to him once word of his treachery reached their ears from King's Landing. He would have to spin quite the fanciful yarn to explain away his base treachery.

All the while, Jon Arryn and Axel Stone managed to slip into King's Landing despite Cersei's orders for the city to be sealed. And once the Hand of the King was officially back with Robert's blasted heir at his side, there was no stopping any of this, as much as she might have wanted to.

"In the Light of the Seven, I now proclaim Axel of the House Baratheon, First of His Name to be King of the Andals and the First Men and Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms! Long may he reign!"

"""LONG MAY HE REIGN!"""

Cersei, of course, calls out with the rest of them even as Myrcella stammers out the words at her side. Her daughter has seen better days and Cersei wishes she had more time to spend with the last of her children, truly she does.

… But as she watches the crown be placed down upon the brow of Robert's bastard, Cersei knows that she doesn't have that luxury. Not in the slightest.

She could still make this work, after all. Axel 'Baratheon' was as handsome as his father had been back in the day. He was also, as the reports said, far more polite and mild mannered than Robert ever was, despite sharing Robert's size and past stature.

There was no doubt in Cersei's mind that Axel's good looks and calm attitude would rally the people of King's Landing and the Crownlands to his side. Meanwhile, Jon Arryn's place as his Hand would ultimately cause the other realms to fall into line as well.

But Renly… Renly wouldn't give up so easily, or so Cersei hoped. If he told the right lies, maybe he would even turn the Stormlands against their new King. She wasn't holding her breath, but at the same time, she was watching carefully to see what happened next.

After all, if she could get the Baratheons to war with one another, then that would help her out quite a bit in her plans for revenge. Axel could kill Renly or Renly could kill Axel, she didn't care which. And then Stannis could be brought in perhaps to kill the other one or be killed in turn.

Finally, whichever of the three was left would die by Cersei's hand… or at least the hands of one of her men. A perfect ending to the male line of House Baratheon.

Of course, she couldn't make sure diplomacy failed and war was inevitable from the safety of Casterly Rock, now could she? Which was why, as unfortunate as it was… she'd ignored her father's letter when it finally arrived yesterday.

The Lord Paramount of the Westerlands had bade her to return home and even told her to smuggle Myrcella out of King's Landing with her if she could. Jaime's death seemed to have shaken him quite badly because the Tywin Lannister that Cersei had grown up fearing would never make such a politically disadvantageous move.

No, this Tywin… he was scared, Cersei could tell. He wanted her to flee King's Landing and to bring her daughter, the Princess, with her. For what? Their protection? Their safekeeping? Cersei knew better. Their new King would never let her or Myrcella go that easily. Better to not even try so as to not invoke any suspicion.

No… Cersei needed to find the right opportunity to whisper into the new King's ear. She needed him indebted to her. The exact way she was going to pull this off, Cersei didn't fully know yet. After all, just days before she wanted him dead more than anything in the whole world.

She still did wants him dead of course, but not before she's wrung every last drop of use out of him first. There was a lot Cersei could do with a more mild-mannered version of Robert Baratheon. An awful lot.

With the coronation complete, everyone begins the long trek back to the Red Keep. Normally, were the coronation to take place in front of the Iron Throne as it should have, they could have simply started the festivities right then and there while everyone paid their respects to the new King.

Instead they are all forced to make their way back through the city first. Cersei and Myrcella have their own carriage, at least, where they have a moment of time to themselves. Offering her daughter a smile, Cersei glances out the window at all the watching smallfolk.

"You did well today, Myrcella."

"… T-Thank you, mother."

Cersei sighs.

"Almost over now. We'll be at the front of the line to bow and pay our respects to the new King once we get back to the throne room. Then, if you would like, you may retire to your rooms early."

Myrcella jolts at this, before ducking her head.

"… Yes. I would appreciate that very much."

Much too timid. But to be fair, Cersei couldn't really blame her. Her poor daughter had lost… so much in such a short period of time. And now some stranger sat his ass upon the Iron Throne. She was still a Princess, still Myrcella Baratheon… but her position at this point was questionable all the same.

Hm. All the more reason to get the ear of their new King as quickly as possible, Cersei supposed. For all that she wanted him dead, she still needed to keep Myrcella safe from him or his uncles until every last one of them was in the ground.

With that in mind, Cersei reaches up and loosens the top of her dress a little bit, letting out a heavy sigh when Myrcella glances over at her curiously.

"A hot day. And being crowded by so many people in the Great Sept didn't make it any better, did it?"

"Ah… n-no, mother."

Myrcella loosens her own dress, but unlike Cersei, when they finally arrive back at the Red Keep, she makes sure to fix up her appearance before leaving the carriage. Cersei… does not. Instead, she leaves traces of her cleavage showing, even as she walks with regal purpose alongside her last living offspring into the Red Keep.

As she'd told Myrcella, they are among the first to pay their respects to the new King. In fact, as the Queen and Princess, they ARE the first. The Small Council will come after them, but at this point, Cersei and Myrcella are the highest ranking nobility in the city aside from their new King.

Once young Axel has taken his seat upon the Iron Throne and Jon Arryn has taken his place at his side as Hand of the King, Cersei makes her way forward, walking up the steps until she's standing right in front of Robert's bastard.

Meeting his eyes, the Queen bows low and makes sure he gets a hint of a view as she does so. Skilled as Cersei is, she's not sure even Lord Arryn notices what she's done, but from the flash of recognition and interest in Axel's eyes, she knows that their new King has.

Giving him an ever so slight smile, Cersei rises to her feet and steps to the side. Behind her, Myrcella mimics her actions much more jerkily before quickly joining her. Cersei sends her off to her quarters with orders for the Lannister man accompanying her to retrieve food from the kitchens for the Princess once she's safely back in her rooms.

But Cersei… Cersei lingers and watches as the tired and sad remains of the Small Council in the form of Varys and Baelish pay their respects next, followed by all of the nobility currently residing within King's Landing.

Cersei watches all of them with her head held high and the poise, grace, and bearing of a Queen. She knows how they see her, of course. She's merely a prize at this point. No longer truly the Queen since Robert died, and not even the mother to the new King.

If it weren't for the name 'Lannister', she would be nobody to them, likely set aside and forgotten about. But because she is of House Lannister, she is a trophy, an interesting thing to look at as she haunts the new King's Court like a ghost.

But that's exactly what Cersei wants them all to think. Let them underestimate her. Let them disregard her.

And most of all… let the games begin.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Cersei is going to fuck around and find out, lmao.

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: The start of Arc 2 Don't worry guys, Renly has a plan!

-x-X-x-

"You reek of desperation, Lord Baratheon. It's not a good look for you."

"Mother!"

Renly chuckles in the face of Lady Olenna's cantankerous attitude and Mace Tyrell's exasperated reaction as they all sit together in the Reach Lord's solar. Fortunately Loras had prepared him well for dealing with his father and grandmother. In fact, his paramour had told him exactly how to handle both the Queen of Thorns and the Lord Paramount of the Reach.

"It's fine Lord Tyrell, more than fine. What is the point of experience if you are not allowed to voice it, no?"

He flashes a grin in Lady Olenna's direction, causing her to narrow her eyes at him. He can tell she doesn't like him but Renly doesn't mind. He's used to old women disapproving of him and his nature at this point. Besides, in Lady Olenna's case, he knows it comes from a place of love. Love… and fear, both on behalf of her family.

It won't be just Mace that Renly intends to convince here, but also the Queen of Thorns. Even though Mace Tyrell is technically the ruler of the Reach and Lord of House Tyrell, it's well known that his mother has an outstated impact on his decision making. Case in point…

"Mother, he wishes to make my Margaery his Queen. This is what we wanted, is it not? Surely you must see the benefits of allying ourselves with Lord Baratheon."

Yes… even Lord Tyrell was already in his corner on this. But then to be fair, Renly has offered Mace everything he wanted. Not only a marriage to Lady Margaery Tyrell, but also the position of Hand once Renly sits upon the Iron Throne.

Olenna lets out a loud harumph, scowling at her son as though she thinks him an idiot. She probably does if Loras is to be believed.

"And how exactly will he put a crown upon my granddaughter's head when he doesn't even control the throne yet? Well boy? What is your plan for taking King's Landing? You aren't even the next in line for the throne, your brother is. How exactly do you intend to not only overthrow your nephew, but also claim jump your brother?"

Renly smiles politely, effecting an air of patience and civility as he looks Lady Olenna right in the eye. Can't afford to show weakness here and now, not in front of a woman like her. Old she might be, but nobody would ever mistake the Queen of Thorns as weak.

Unfortunately, she raises a very good point. None of this should have had to happen. If all had gone according to plan, Renly would already be sat upon the Iron Throne and it would be House Tyrell that would be coming to HIM instead of the other way around.

… He likely would have still have made Margaery his Queen and Mace his Hand in those circumstances given his connection with Loras, of course. However, it would have been up to the Reach to make the deal as sweet as possible. Instead, Renly was forced to come personally to bring the Reach on-side so that he could make this somewhat haphazard plan of his work.

"I'm sure you'd rather we not mince words, Lady Olenna. My brother Stannis is not a well-liked man. Nobody is going to back him in a bid for the Iron Throne, least of all the Lords of the Stormlands. Each and every one of them has chosen to support me instead. That alone should tell you who has the stronger claim between us."

Olenna's eyes narrow.

"All of them?"

Heh, he's definitely caught her off guard there. The incredulity in her tone is palpable and Renly understands why even as he smirks and slowly nods.

It even had the benefit of being mostly the truth. Of all the Lords in the Stormlands, a good majority of them had fallen in line. Only a couple had raised issue with Renly's actions, but they had been easily silenced through intimidation and if that wasn't enough, force. At this point in time, Renly already had the entirety of the Storm Lords behind him.

The Queen of Thorns eyes narrow even further and she scowls.

"How?"

Raising an eyebrow, Renly sits back in his chair.

"I am Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Lady Tyrell. My men are loyal to me. From the Lords to the Knights, all the way down to the Smallfolk."

Scoffing, the old woman shakes her head.

"You just told me you weren't going to mince words, Lord Baratheon. So tell us how you've managed to rally the Storm Lords at your back so quickly or I will be forced to name you a liar."

"Mother!"

But even as Mace groans at his mother's words, Renly can tellthe somewhat simple Lord of the Reach is just as curious as his mother at this point. After all, even someone as dull and affable as Mace Tyrell can see the strangeness in what Renly is saying. It beggars disbelief to think none of the more important Lords in Renly's lands would take issue with ignoring the rightful line of succession.

However… that's where Renly has come up with something rather clever if he says so himself. Smiling brightly, he claps his hands and a moment later a young woman in a maid's uniform is let into the room. Both Mace and Olenna look at the woman curiously, even as she clutches at her dress and looks at the floor, refusing to meet any of their eyes.

Rising from his chair, Renly moves over to the young woman, placing his hands on her shoulders and giving them a good rub.

"It's alright Sara. Lord and Lady Tyrell aren't going to hurt you, nor will they be upset with what you have to say. Please… tell them what you and your sisters told me."

Haltingly, slowly, the woman does exactly that.

"F-Forgive me milord, milady. Me and my sisters… we was assigned to the Red Keep, we was. A-and when the King was… found after the big blast o' wildfire, he was brought back to… to the keep. We looked after him. T-Tended to him in his… final moments."

As she speaks, Renly carefully watches his audience for their reactions. Mace has a look of pity and secondhand disgust on his face as he no doubt imagines what the maid had to go through, what state Robert had been in by that point.

Olenna though… Olenna is clearly intrigued, leaning forward and pursing her weathered lips together.

"And? Get to the point, girl!"

Sara jolts at the older woman's sharp tone, but Renly just whispers soothing words in her ear, still massaging her shoulders. Until finally, she manages to stammer it out.

"T-The King… milady, the King's lips were m-melted together! His face were half burnt off, it was, and he couldn't make any noises! His fingers were crushed; he couldn't write any letters! Milady, milord… t-the Lord Hand lied! He lied about the King legitimizing his bastard, he did!"

Mace sits back in his chair floored by this reveal, eyes wide in disbelief and yet… he also believes it immediately. Olenna is more reserved in her reaction, humming even as Renly pulls Sara back a step and turns her to face him, smiling at her as he looks her in the eyes.

"Very good, Sara. Very good. Please, step out now. Thank you for your time, you've done very well."

Lower lip wobbling, the maid nevertheless manages a tepid smile as she nods and leaves the room. Once she's gone, Renly takes his seat once more… and smiles broadly.

"Both of her sisters will tell the same story. Robert may have survived the initial blast of wildfire thanks to Ser Semly's truly heroic sacrifice, but my brother did not survive in a state that left him capable of speech or indeed any form of communication. I'm afraid to say he died in pain and agony, unable to voice his last thoughts or his final will as King."

Letting his smile drop, Renly leans forward and slams a fist on the table in front of him.

"Lord Arryn is a liar hiding behind a reputation as an honorable and just Hand of the King! I won't deny that Axel Stone is Robert's bastard, everyone knew he had one in the Vale. But that's just it. Axel was raised in the Vale. Raised by Lord Arryn and his men. With this maneuver, the Hand of the King has put his own puppet on the throne. The True Baratheon Dynasty will end with my brother if I don't do anything about it."

Looking between Mace and Olenna, Renly lets out a shuddering breath. Straightening up and squaring his shoulders, he smiles thinly.

"That is why I've already sent letters by raven to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms detailing what you both just learned. That is why I cannot simply stand aside. That, Lady Olenna, is why the Stormlands stand behind me. And that is why… with or without you, we will march on King's Landing within the fortnight, before Lord Arryn can convince the rest of the realm to ride to their defense. If we can remove his puppet from the Iron Throne before anyone else can react, then we still have a chance of salvaging things. Nobody will truly object if I take the Iron Throne. Not once they hear what Jon Arryn has done."

"Here, here!"

Mace Tyrell, of course, is completely sold on the whole story. The Lord Paramount of the Reach has a wide grin on his face, his passions enflamed by Renly's words… just as intended. His mother the Queen of Thorns, however… is less swayed.

"Well. I hope if you have to parade that girl out to tell her story again, you'll have coached her to tell better lies. And I suppose we'll have to hope the rest of the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms are too blinded by their own greed to read between the lines of those letters you sent out."

"Mother!"

This time, Mace stands from his chair, looking shocked and appalled by his mother's drawled, acidic words and acerbic tones. But Olenna is unfazed by her son's grandstanding, instead staring Renly down directly. Renly… just smiles and decides to change tact.

"Your Margaery has recently reached her twentieth year, hasn't she?"

Mace flinches and Olenna narrows her eyes. Renly just shrugs.

"Rather old to still be unwed and without child. But then, we all know why that is. You'd hoped to wed her to Joffrey, no? But Cersei stonewalled you at every turn and Robert let it happen."

It was probably one of the biggest topics of gossip in King's Landing these past few years before the tragic loss of the King and both of his sons. Renly, of course, knew more about the Tyrell side of thing than most thanks to Loras, but he also knew about other parts as well thanks to his place on the Small Council and what not.

Put bluntly… a combination of factors had kept Joffrey Baratheon from being wed to any of the realm's many eligible maidens for years past the time when it normally would have happened. First, there was Cersei Lannister. The Queen had been quietly but intensely opposed to her son marrying anyone for any reason whatsoever.

Then, there was the King himself. From what Renly knew, Robert wanted Joffrey to marry Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard Stark's eldest daughter. But even though Sansa was almost twenty years of age herself and still unwed even at this point, the marriage had never materialized due to the long chill in Robert and Lord Stark's friendship.

Many, many Lords had put forward their daughters to wed Prince Joffrey over the years. All had found their efforts to find a way into the Royal Family stymied by this or that. Most had given up and married their daughters off to others… but a few remained even now.

There were the two most obvious contenders, of course. One was Margaery Tyrell of House Tyrell, twenty years of age. The second was Sansa Stark of House Stark, nineteen years of age. And then there were a pair of even odder ducks.

Arianne Martell of House Martell down in Dorne was twenty-two years old. Her father wasn't hoping to marry her to Joffrey though, instead she was said to be rather… willful and that had chased away any would be suitors. Though the Prince of Dorne might try to marry her off to Axel if Renly didn't manage to seize the Iron Throne, seeing as he knew for a fact that Axel had no Lannister Blood in him.

And finally, both last and probably least, there was Asha Greyjoy over on the Iron Islands. She was the daughter to a Lord Paramount and unwed despite being twenty-three years of age. Of course, she was almost certainly not still a maiden given that she was said to be Captain of her own ship. On top of that… she was Ironborn.

The Ironborn did things differently to say the least, but even Balon Greyjoy might be tempted to throw his daughter at Axel Baratheon if he thought he had a chance of getting an in with the untested King. Either that or he would start another rebellion, but Renly doubted that given how badly he got smacked down on the last one.

Regardless, all of this was to say… despite being the daughter of a Lord Paramount, Margaery Tyrell really only had two options left to her at this point in time. Him… or Axel. Every other outcome would be subpar at best, and a stain on House Tyrell's honor at worst. Smiling at Olenna, Renly gives the Queen of Thorns a knowing look.

"You could perhaps try to get my illegitimate nephew to marry Margaery of course. But you have to wonder if Lord Arryn will allow that or if he'll push for Sansa Stark given his close ties to her House. Meanwhile, if the Reach chooses to back my claim to the Iron Throne, I'm guaranteeing your daughter a crown. I will happily marry her before we even take King's Landing and once I sit upon the Iron Throne, she will rule by my side… as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Sitting back in his chair, Renly spreads his arms apart.

"The choice is yours, really. Gamble that you can somehow slip Margaery in under Lord Arryn's nose or take the sure thing and side with me."

Olenna frowns at him and Renly can tell that she's not entirely convinced. And yet… she doesn't stop her son from speaking up either.

"Well, when you put it like that, it seems obvious doesn't it! Besides, this isn't simply about what House Tyrell gains out of all of this… this is about righting a wrong and correcting an injustice! I've always thought of Lord Arryn as an honorable, stalwart man… to find out that he would lie like this all in an effort to seize more power for himself… unthinkable! We can't let this stand!"

Renly smiles as he and Mace both stand and shake hands. All the while, Olenna looks on with an unhappy, sour expression on her face. But for all her influence, sharp wit, and acerbic tongue… she's still just an old woman grasping at relevance. He would have liked to have convinced her to give her full support, but even just making the Queen of Thorns hold her tongue was a win in the end.

Fortunately for Olenna, Renly has no intentions of losing. He'll do everything he's promising to do. He'll marry Margaery and make Mace his Hand. He'll elevate House Tyrell further than they've been elevated since Aegon's Conquest turned them from stewards into Lords!

All the Queen of Thorns has to do is sit back and not interfere and her House will rise farther than ever before.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Well, I didn't say he had a good plan, did I?

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Axel is settling into his new role as King~

-x-X-x-

A few days have passed since his coronation, but it all still feels so surreal to Axel. Every day he wakes up not just as a Baratheon instead of a Stone, but also as the King of the Seven fucking Kingdoms and the Protector of the goddamn Realm!

Not everything was perfect though, unfortunately. His uncle Renly was still at large and none of the ravens that his Hand has sent to the Stormlands about bringing their Lord Paramount to justice had received an answer yet. Might just be a matter of time, but it felt a little ominous to Axel despite Lord Arryn's assurances that the Stormlands would not all side with Renly against him.

Or rather, not Lord Arryn but Jon. That's what he'd been told to call his Hand with increasing frequency over the past few days. Now that Axel was King, apparently the old rules didn't apply to him anymore.

Instead of 'Lord Arryn' denoting respect like it would coming from anyone else, it denoted a distance and gap between the new King and his Hand that shouldn't exist. Basically, Axel wasn't just allowed to call him Jon, he was pretty much required to for the good of the Realm.

On top of Renly's bullshit, Axel also had issues that were closer to home. Like his Kingsguard for example. The Kingsguard were a long and storied cohort, an elite group of seven knights who were supposed to be the greatest and strongest warriors in all of Westeros. Their duty was simple… protect the Royal Family, but most importantly the King, from all harm.

Given that three out of five members of the Royal Family had been down there in the catacombs when the wildfire had gone off, four out of seven of the Kingsguard had been with them as well. Ser Mandon Moore, Ser Boros Blount, Ser Preston Greenfield, and last but certainly not least, Ser Barristan Selmy, the Kingsguard's Lord Commander.

All four knights had perished in the same wildfire that ultimately took the lives of the King and Princes. Afterwards, though nobody could quite give Axel an explanation of why, the infamous Kingslayer Ser Jaime Lannister had also thrown himself off of the highest point of the Red Keep.

This left the Kingsguard down to just two men, Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Meryn Trant. Axel had sparred with both knights after being crowned King and while he hadn't said it out loud… he found Ser Trant's skills quite lacking. Ser Oakheart wasn't half bad, but he also couldn't really do anything to overcome Axel's inherent advantages.

Axel could tell that neither man had been too happy to be bested by their King. However, they hadn't tried to argue with him when he assigned them to look after Queen Dowager and Princess instead of himself. Meryn for Cersei Lannister and Arys for Myrcella Baratheon.

They were better placed there anyways, because obviously Axel didn't actually need their protection.

Though it still wouldn't do to have the Kingsguard depleted for too long, at least according to Jon. That was why Axel had spent the mornings since his coronation sparring with other knights who were staying in either the Red Keep or King's Landing at large, basically 'interviewing' to fill the five empty slots.

He didn't quite know how he was going to decide yet. But between that, making sure he prayed at the Great Sept of Baelor each day, and holding court for a couple of hours here and there with Jon at his side, Axel certainly had a far more structured schedule than he'd had back in the Eyrie.

It's as he's coming off of one such sparring session, barely having broken a sweat and frankly not even winded, that Axel finds himself approached by one of the Red Keep's staff.

"Your Majesty, a moment if it pleases you."

Raising an eyebrow, Axel stops and nods.

"Speak."

"… The Lord Hand has requested your presence in the Small Council Chambers, my King. He is with the other members of the Small Council as well."

Huh. Alright then. Jon had told Axel that his father didn't attend many meetings of the Small Council during his reign and at first he'd thought that seemed rather silly. That is, until he'd attended the first himself. Maybe it was because they were missing the Master of Laws and Master of Ships at the moment, but Axel just did not have the patience for Pycelle's stuttering and stammering, Baelish' slick wordplay, or Varys' needless obfuscations.

He didn't even think it was their fault necessarily… it was just how the three men were. Jon assured him they were the best men for their roles too, so in the end all Axel could really do was tell Jon to handle the Small Council in his stead but call for him any time it was really important.

Like now, apparently.

"Of course, lead the way."

The young King follows the servant through the Red Keep's halls, girding himself for more not-so-subtle bootlicking from Lord Baelish, probing from Lord Varys, and the ramblings of a doddering old fool from Grandmaester Pycelle.

However, what he doesn't prepare himself for… is Jon Arryn the angriest that Axel has ever seen him. Indeed, the moment Axel steps into the chamber, his Hand looks up at him with an expression of pure wrath on his face, snarling.

"Before anything else, know that this is a pack of lies, Axel. Lies and slander."

Axel just blinks, a little confused as he moves further into the room. Baelish is the one to provide an answer to the burning question that Jon's words provoke.

"Your uncle Renly has sent a message by Raven, your Majesty. And from the looks of it, he's sent it to everyone in the Seven Kingdoms."

That… well, that didn't sound good. Axel snorts derisively as he moves and takes his chair at the head of the table.

"I suppose it's too much to hope he confessed his crimes and begged for forgiveness and clemency in this letter?"

Varys gives him a condescending smile at that, though honestly Axel thinks the Spider's default facial expression is just like that really.

"I'm afraid not, Your Majesty. The Lord of Storm's End has… well, he has made some rather damaging accusations. About Lord Arryn… and your claim to the throne."

Axel furrows his brow and looks to Jon. Letting out a sigh, his Hand runs a hand down his face before finally explaining properly.

"Renly is claiming that he has three maids from the Red Keep who saw Robert on his deathbed after he was retrieved from the rubble. He doesn't dispute that your father survived the explosion thanks to Ser Selmy's sacrifice, but these maids of his… he claims that all of them tended to Robert and are willing to testify before the Seven Who Are One that the King was incapable of speech or writing in his final hours."

Before Axel can fully process this, Pycelle decides to speak up, unfortunately, stroking his long beard all the while.

"W-Which means… I'm afraid… t-that he claims the late King did not in fact legitimize you and name you heir. And that Lord Arryn lied in order to put you on the throne ahead of your two uncles."

Throwing the Grandmaester a glance, Axel looks back to Jon… and frowns harder. Actually, he thinks he feels something igniting in his chest at those words. Anger. Rage. Fury.

"… How dare he."

The members of the Small Council all tense up as Axel rises from his chair, hands curling into fists at his side.

"It… it would be one thing for him to come after me. But to disparage Lord Arryn's honor like that?! After decades of leal service to the Realm? The Lord of the Vale is above reproach! He would never lie about something like this! This… this slander cannot stand!"

Funnily enough, in the face of Axel's indignation… some of Jon's own fury seems to fade away. Instead, the older man just looks tired as he offers a wan smile.

"Thank you, my King. Your words mean quite a lot. But this does not surprise me. He had to do something after his rather blatant attempt to have us killed on the Kingsroad failed so spectacularly. Still, this unfortunately explains why there has been no response from the Stormlands to our missives regarding their Lord's crimes."

Varys nods at that.

"Mm, yes. My little birds have been hunting for answers, but I'm ashamed to admit that there wasn't enough time to find out what was going on before this letter arrived. Still, it explains quite a bit. Lord Renly, for all his treachery, is well-liked by the Lords of the Stormlands. With this lie, he has given them a reason to rally behind him and work to put him on the Iron Throne. I imagine what few dissenters there might have been have already been dealt with accordingly and more loyal men have been put I their place."

Hmph. Just more for his uncle to answer for. Axel honestly wants to march out there right now, run down to the Stormlands, and find Renly Baratheon. Then, he'd beat the older man black and blue with his fists before taking him into custody. He wouldn't want to stoop to kinslaying, but by the Seven it would feel good to be able to put his hands on Renly right now and demand to know why his uncle was such a traitorous bastard.

Unfortunately, he can't do that. Not without inviting more questions than he or Jon wants to answer at this point in time.

Clearing his throat, Lord Baelish speaks up.

"There's a matter of how the rest of the Seven Kingdoms will respond to this, of course. The coronation was a bit… rushed, so we haven't even received many vows of fealty by raven just yet, save for those of the Crownlands. Renly is clearly hoping to preempt the news of our young King's coronation with this letter, trying to sew discord and rebellion against the Crown by giving everyone a reason to put him on the throne instead."

Frowning, Axel grabs the back of his chair, voicing his own opinion.

"He'll be disappointed, won't he? The Storm Lords might rally behind him, but who else would come to his side?"

When the members of his Small Council, including even his Hand, all share looks at that… Axel's stomach drops. Jon had told him people wanted him as King, for fuck's sake! Why was he here if everyone, even his own family, were going to be so fucking disloyal?!

After a moment of silence, Varys speaks up first.

"Well… at the very least, I do not believe Stannis Baratheon will accept Renly's bid for the throne. Even if Renly's lies were to be believed, Stannis would be next in line for the throne. Not him. The only question will be whether Lord Stannis supports you or decides to… stay out of it."

Jon slaps his hand down on the table.

"You can count on the Vale without question at the very least, Your Majesty. As well as the Riverlands and the North besides. There isn't a doubt in my mind that Lord Tully and Lord Stark will recognize your claim and not only bend the knee but also answer the call when they find out what Renly is trying to do!"

Petyr Baelish clears his throat at that.

"Unfortunately, that becomes a matter of time and resources. The North is far away despite the men Lord Stark could call to arms. The Riverlands is a fair distance as well. And the Vale, for all that it is my home as much as its yours Lord Arryn, does not match the number of men that the Stormlands can call upon. Especially not if the Reach joins them."

Axel jolts at that, even as a shadow falls over Jon's face.

"The Reach? You think House Tyrell will side with my uncle against me?"

Offering an awkward smile, Baelish shrugs.

"Well… I'd say it's a safe bet, Your Majesty. Everyone knows of the… deep and lasting friendship between Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell. If the Knight of Flowers has any pull over his family at all, then they are likely to let your uncle worm his way into their good graces. Especially with these… claims of his.

At his side, Varys nods along.

"Lord Baelish speaks true, I'm afraid. It's safest to assume that the Stormlands and Reach will join together on this. And even if nobody else joins their cause, they are the closest to King's Landing and will have something of a head start in gathering their levies."

Well shit. Axel frowns, thinking for a long moment.

"… What about the Iron Islands and Dorne?"

The Small Council all share looks at that, until finally a tired sounding Jon answers the question.

"They're likely to take a 'wait and see' approach, no matter how craven such a decision would be. The Ironborn have long detested us so-called mainlanders and Dorne is forever the thorn in the sole of the Seven Kingdoms. They won't support Renly at least, but they also won't be moved to try and stop him."

Well damn. That… tracked with what Axel knew about those two 'Kingdoms' he supposed. But then wasn't there also-

"A-Ahem… there is, of course, House Lannister to be considered. Lord Tywin will almost certainly voice his support, given that his daughter and granddaughter still reside within these walls."

For once, Pycelle's interjection isn't a total waste of time. Axel nods thoughtfully.

"Yes… and the Westerlands are fairly close to King's Landing as well, aren't they? If anyone is going to be able to reinforce us in time, it will be them."

Admittedly, he had yet to talk with the Queen Dowager since arriving in King's Landing and being crowned King. It had only been a few days though to be fair. But even still, Cersei Lannister had been conspicuously absent whenever she might have been present.

Hell, he'd even met the Princess once by this point. Myrcella Baratheon was an incredibly quiet, shy young woman who was clearly still grieving the deaths of her father and brothers. Axel had kept their conversation brief, deducing that she was a little afraid of him for some reason and not wanting to cause her any more pain than she was already in. He'd been avoiding paying her too much attention to give her time to breathe ever since.

But Cersei… Cersei could be the key to all of this. A letter from her was sure to sway Lord Tywin far more than a letter from any of them, right?

"… I will go speak with Cersei Lannister."

A ripple of shock runs through the Small Council, eyes widening even as Jon is the one to voice their apparent concern.

"I'm not sure if that's the best idea, Your Majesty. The Queen Dowager can be… prickly at the best of times. And she and Robert had something of a contentious relationship as well. She might not appreciate a personal touch from you."

Frowning, Axel shakes his head.

"I am the King, aren't I? I have to at least try. Even if it means getting down on my knees and begging, I'll do it."

Jon looks even more alarmed by that, but Axel's mind is already made up. Without another word, he turns on his heel and strides out of the chamber, heading straight for the Queen Dowager's quarters.

He's not really worried for himself or even his Kingship. But he'll be damned if he's going to let Renly get away with this shit unopposed. And maybe if he can get the Lannister Armies to King's Landing fast enough, they combined with the forces from the Crownlands can hold Renly at bay long enough for the Vale and Riverlands to reach the city as well.

From there, the numbers will start to fall in their favor and maybe they can even end this without too much bloodshed if Renly's lords see the writing on the wall and turn on him.

All Axel has to do to make that a reality is convince his father's widow to help him. How hard can that be?

-x-X-x-

A/N: How hard indeed! Heh, in the interest of setting expectations now, Cersei will only be a major part of the second Arc of this story. She won't stick around forever for those who can't stand her, and sorry to those who would want her to!

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Cersei and Axel have their first real conversation.

-x-X-x-

The visit comes without warning and Cersei is left wondering whether she needs to get better servants. It used to be that she was one of the first to know of anything important that happened in the Red Keep. But ever since Robert's death, Cersei had begun to feel… isolated.

As such, when the knock at the door of her chambers comes, Cersei is caught somewhat flat footed.

"Yes? What is it?"

Opening the door, Ser Meryn Trant looks in on her.

"The King is here, Your Grace. Says he wants to talk to you."

Yes, she would very much have appreciated a heads up before such a visit. Narrowing her eyes, Cersei thinks fast.

"Tell him I'm not decent."

Of course, if he's anything like Robert, that won't matter to him. But Cersei has heard interesting things about their young King so far. Things like how pious and polite he is, despite his newfound power. So she's not that surprised when Ser Trant comes back a moment later with a nod.

"He says he'll wait, Your Grace."

Of course he will. Cersei's nostrils flare as she rises from her seat and prepares herself. She can't be too upset that Axel is here to be fair. After all, she's been hoping to get some time alone with him for a few days now. She'd just been struggling to figure out a way to do it that wouldn't come across as too desperate on her part.

But if he was coming to her… well that changed things didn't it? Soon enough, she's as prepared as she can be. Only once she's sure she's finally ready, does Cersei call out.

"Enter!"

The door opens a moment later. Their new handsome young bastard of a King steps into the front room of her chambers and Cersei calls to him from the next room over where she's waiting.

"In here, Your Majesty."

When Axel first lays eyes on her, he tenses up and stares for all of a moment before looking away. As he strides forward, he keeps his gaze off of her, being very careful not to look in her direction. Why? That's very simple really. Cersei hadn't used the intervening time to get decent… rather, she'd used it to dress down.

Wearing nothing but an open night gown and lounging on a couch in her bedchambers, the Queen Dowager smiles as the young King tries and fails to contain his blush.

"… I thought you needed time to get decent, Your Grace."

Cersei raises an eyebrow and lets her smile grow even as she affects an innocent tone.

"Did I say that?"

An awkward silence falls over the room for a moment and Cersei waits for Axel to give in and take another glance at her. Despite being on the other side of three births, she's still a very beautiful woman… and an experienced one too. That experience lets her know precisely how best to flaunt her beauty, just as she's doing now.

Yet to her surprise, Axel doesn't look. Instead, he pulls a folded up letter from his shirt and holds it out to her.

"There's been a letter from my uncle. One we believe has been copied and sent across the whole of Westeros."

Curiosity piqued, Cersei takes the letter and unfolds it, quickly digesting the contents. When she's done… she's not quite sure how to feel. It's what she wanted of course, but at the same time, she can hardly believe the audacity. Truly, Renly Baratheon is playing right into her hands and she's barely had to do a thing. Now if only she can get Axel dancing to her tune as well…

"Hmm… this letter reeks of desperation. Renly must be quite afraid of facing justice for his actions if he's resorting to telling lies about a man as honorable as Jon Arryn."

Judging by the flex of Axel's jaw, she's managed to hit the nail on the head there. Their young King is angry that Renly would dare to disparage Lord Arryn's name. Useful information, that.

"Lord Arryn and the rest of the Small Council believe that the Reach will side with him and the Stormlands. That could put us in a tough spot given how badly they outnumber the forces of the Crownlands."

Ah… yes, Cersei quickly sees what's going on here and why Axel came to deliver this new to her personally. The poor dear is afraid. And he should be, shouldn't he? His greatest allies are the Vale, the Riverlands, and the North. But the Vale has a rather small population due to its geography and the Riverlands and North are both much farther away from King's Landing than the Stormlands and the Reach.

Renly's only hope if he truly wants to sit on the Iron Throne, is to take King's Landing and do away with Axel before the young King's allies can rally their own armies and make the journey South. If Axel is dead and Renly is sat upon the Iron Throne by the time say, Lord Stark arrives at King's Landing, then maybe the Lord Paramount of the North will turn his armies around and go home.

Or at least, that's what Renly is counting on anyways. Cersei, unfortunately, had to listen to her late husband wax on poetically about Eddard Stark more than most. Just from what Robert had always said about Lord Stark's honor, she suspected that even if Axel died, Lord Stark would fight Renly and his armies just for the sake of putting Stannis on the throne if nothing else.

Hm. Now there was an idea. If Renly won King's Landing, the war would likely continue even past Axel's death and there would be more chances for Renly and Stannis to fight and kill one another as well.

Tempting… but there was one problem with that plan. Cersei couldn't say for sure what Renly might do with her and Myrcella once he had control of the city. It would probably be fine, but she didn't like the idea of risking her last child's life on a 'probably'.

Still, it's rather obvious why Axel is here.

"You want me to convince my father to raise his levies and march on King's Landing so that he can reinforce the Crownlands before Renly's armies get to the city."

The young King nods.

"I'd hoped you might write him a letter, yes. The Westerlands are in the best position to support us against my treacherous uncle."

That they were. Cersei hums consideringly for a long moment… before smiling. This entire time, Axel still hasn't looked at her. Not even once. She's not even showing anything too scandalous. Just a bit of skin~

"You can look you know."

The young King stiffens, his eyes remaining for above the couch.

"… It wouldn't be proper."

Cersei scoffs. For all that he looks like a young Robert, he really is quite different from the man, isn't he? Hmph.

"You're the King now, darling. You decide what is and isn't proper."

A frown flits across Axel's face for a moment.

"Then… it still wouldn't be proper."

A huff leaves her lips and she rises from the couch, the gown she's wearing falling open further to reveal… more. To his credit, Axel's gaze don't drift below her neck, even as she walks forward.

"Why? Because of whom my husband was? Meaningless. You and I… we're nothing to each other Axel Baratheon. This is our first time so much as having a conversation."

Reaching out, she trails her fingers down his chest.

"I've been… so cold ever since…"

Trailing off, Cersei lets out a shuddering breath.

"Won't you warm me up?"

He looks her in the eyes and Cersei looks back, smiling coyly and seductively. She knows she has him as a shadow passes over his face. But at the same time, a shiver she can't even begin to describe runs down her spine.

-x-X-x-

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

"Nnngh f-fuck! Don't stop… keep going! H-Harder!"

Axel's hands are on her naked body as her flesh ripples beneath his onslaught. One on her shoulder, the other on her hip to hold her steady. The gown discarded, Cersei Lannister is naked on her bed on all fours, getting taken from behind by the young King. He's rutting her like an animal… not that she minds. She'd told him too, after all.

His cock slides in and out of her at rapid speeds and even though Cersei had started this as nothing more than a manipulation to get on Axel's good side, she finds herself enjoying everything far more than she anticipated. Her folds are slick with arousal, her insides clenching and squeezing around his pistoning prick even as he drives forward into her depths again and again.

She can't even begin to say how long they've been going at it either. Hours, maybe? Cersei has never been with a man with so much stamina and that even includes… her previous lovers. Between the sizable member and the willingness to keep going again and again, Axel has managed to completely up end her initial plan.

Originally, Cersei was just going to tease him a bit. Maybe give him a single fuck to tide him over before she agreed to do as he asked. She was going to make him think he earned it. Instead… it just kept going… and Cersei had yet to call for it to stop.

Cersei did not consider herself a particularly lustful woman. She'd always prided herself on intelligence and cunning above all else. Certainly, she knew she was beautiful… but her beauty was simply a tool in her arsenal. It did not define her.

But right now… right now it's hard for her to think about anything but how thick and large Axel feels inside of her as he drills her from behind on her hands and knees. Clutching at the bedding beneath her, Cersei cries out in an ugly fashion yet again, a shudder running up and down her sweaty, naked form as he fills her with his shaft over and over.

Suddenly, Axel pulls out and spins her over. Cersei grunts, the wind knocked out of her for a moment as he puts her on her back and spreads her legs apart. By the time she recovers, he's already inside of her again, hammering away with his throbbing mast… and leaning in for a kiss.

Obviously, Cersei turns her head away, not wanting such intimacy from the younger man. She still hated him after all. She still wanted him dead. And die he would… just as soon as he'd killed Renly and Stannis for her.

Fortunately, Axel doesn't take issue with her defiance. Not like Robert would have. Far from making her kiss him, he simply lowers his lips to her sensitive neck instead, sucking away at her flesh and driving Cersei even wilder as she hisses beneath him.

Before she knows it, her arms and legs have started to wrap around his powerfully built body. Her legs lift up into the air, her toes curling from ecstasy as every thrust he makes brings new waves of pleasure. Her hands meanwhile… they claw at his back, her nails scratching but finding no purchase in his flesh even as she gnashes her teeth.

She wants to make him bleed, but unfortunately she can't quite seem to break the skin. She's tempted to bite down on his shoulder instead but doesn't want to give him any ideas. In the end, Cersei endures. She endures the pleasure. She endures the ecstasy. She endures the big, throbbing member thrusting in and out of her at speeds she's never felt before and never knew she would enjoy quite this much.

Until finally, with one last grunt, Axel yanks himself out of her while she's mid-orgasm and reaches for the closest thing to use as a rag. It just so happens to be her gown, which he wraps around his cock just as he cums, jerking off into the garment and coating it in his seed.

Still, better that than her insides or her skin. Cersei lays there, trembling from a strangely satiated exhaustion, even as Axel comes down from his release and looks at exactly what he used to… contain himself.

"Ah… apologies. I didn't want to make a mess."

Plastering a smile on her face, Cersei lets out an airy sort of giggle.

"You have nothing to apologize for, my King. As I said before… you decide what is and isn't proper."

Indeed, even if he'd decided to cum in or on her, Cersei would have simply pretended to be happy with it. She's glad she doesn't have to, but one way or another, she wants to make Axel believe that she's on his side. Of course, if this doesn't convince him… she doesn't know what will.

"I'll pen a letter to my father immediately, Your Majesty. I'll make sure to emphasize the critical nature of all of this and insist that he moves as fast as possible. You will be able to count on House Lannister in this coming war."

And she was even telling the truth too. She would indeed send that letter, because at this point Cersei had decided that Axel was the best suited for winning the upcoming battles. She would continue to use him until both Renly and Stannis Baratheon were dead… and then she would kill him herself if she had to.

Her revenge wouldn't be complete until Axel Baratheon drew his last breath, but until that time came… she wouldn't be against using him for her own satisfaction every once in a while. He was certainly built for it.

Speaking of Stannis…

"Do be careful though, my King."

When Axel furrows his brow in confusion, Cersei smiles more 'earnestly'.

"You don't just have to worry about Renly Baratheon. He might be the most obvious threat at this point, but his lies… you should expect them to be parroted by his elder brother as well. Stannis Baratheon is unlikely to side with Renly, but he will almost certainly try to swoop in and take the Iron Throne for himself the moment that he thinks you're distracted."

Frowning, Axel grunts.

"I was under the impression that Stannis was the honorable one… to a fault, even."

But Cersei is quick to shake her head.

"No, that's just what he wants everyone to think. Do you really think a man who was slighted all his life by Robert Baratheon will settle for letting you have the Iron Throne? He might pretend to be loyal, he might try to convince you that he's on your side… but when you're at your weakest, when you and Renly have spent your strength against one another… that's when Stannis will strike. You should consider removing him as a threat as early as possible, before he's able to betray you, Your Majesty."

For a moment, Cersei wonders if she might be able to convince the young King to send an assassin in Stannis' direction right then and there. But alas… no. Axel eventually just shakes his head and sighs before beginning to reach for his clothes.

"… We'll see. I won't act without reason. Stannis will have a chance to bend the knee. He hasn't betrayed me yet… Renly has."

Watching him get dressed, Cersei hums but doesn't try to push any harder than that. Eyes lidded, body too sore and satisfied for her to even want to move, Cersei remains where she is, a contented smile on her lips.

"As you say, Your Majesty."

One way or another, all three remaining Baratheon Men would die. By their hands, or by hers. Cersei refuses to let it be any other way. But that would come with time. For now… she was content with having nudged things in the right direction.

-x-X-x-

A/N: "I'm so clever and smart. Nobody can possibly comprehend my machinations" – Cersei probably

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Axel in the yard getting sweaty with some other men :V

-x-X-x-

"Come on then. All five of you now! All at once!"

Clad in armor and holding his blunted training sword with one hand, Axel beckons to the five men in front of him with the other. The five knights, all dressed in their own armor and wielding their own blunt swords, share a look before lunging forward to strike at him from all different angles in a mildly impressive display of coordination and effort.

As Axel dodges, ducks, and weaves while blocking and deflecting at the same time, he finds his mind wandering even as not a single one of the five knights manages to land a single blow on him.

The worst part is the waiting, Axel has decided. He's King of the Seven Kingdoms and yet all he can do is fucking wait. It's been some time since Renly Baratheon all but declared war with that damn letter. Time spent waiting for letters to travel back and forth across Westeros by raven. All to find out where everyone stands with one another, and more importantly where everyone stood with him specifically.

Axel has done his best to keep busy, of course. He's continued to spar with anyone willing to cross blades with him and in doing so he's gathered a fine selection of passable knights who might one day become members of his Kingsguard. He hones them each and every day, pushing them to their limits and then a little bit further with every bout, just as he is right now.

Going on the offensive for just a moment, Axel moves into one of his opponent's swings and grabs his sword arm by the wrist before solidly thumping his chestplate with his sword. The man goes down on his back and doesn't get up, all of them knowing that such a blow would have been fatal if Axel weren't holding back and had live steel in his hands.

Everyone tenses up, even as Axel's mind wanders once more. There's also the Great Sept, which Axel has made a point to visit on the daily, speaking with the High Septon or one of his subordinates whenever possible. He's was always a faithful devotee to the Seven Who Are One back in the Vale of course, but never as much as he's become now.

But then to be fair, Axel isn't just doing it to keep up appearances. He himself wants to believe that the Seven have blessed him. The alternative is that he's some sort of monster or demon, an inhuman thing wearing the skin of a man.

Eventually, he might not be able to hide his true nature anymore, especially if it really does come to war with Renly. Axel isn't sure he can hold back just to hide his true nature while thousands of men die for him. When that time came, Axel wanted to be on the Faith's good side, no matter what.

The remaining four knights pull back for a moment and regroup. Axel lets them do so with an approving nod, even as some squires scurry onto the training field from the side and help the defeated knight get out of the way. Pretending not to listen in as the four plan out a joint attack in whispered voices from a dozen paces away, Axel prepares himself for their charge.

Of course, if everyone were to find out about Axel's other… activities, then his rapidly developing reputation as a pious and vigilant King would probably be put to the test. After all, even if there was no relation between him and Cersei Lannister, it still probably wasn't a very good look for the new King to be fucking the Queen Dowager on the regular.

… Axel couldn't seem to help himself though. It wasn't really a matter of self control, but more that Cersei had proven to be far too seductive by half. She was a very beautiful woman despite her age, and Axel had found himself drawn into her games before he could really stop and think.

It wasn't like he was a virgin or anything like that. No, there had been plenty of women back in the Eyrie who Axel had taken to bed. Not to mention the women among the mountain clans who had proven fierce and all the more enjoyable for it.

Cersei though… Cersei was a cut above the rest. She knew it too, and the cunning woman wielded her beauty like a fine scalpel. Jon had warned Axel about her more than once at this point, but Axel found himself going back for more time and time again all the same.

And when he didn't go to Cersei, she tended to come to him, showing up in his chambers and in his bed more times than he could count at this point. He was always careful not to cum inside of course, and she wholeheartedly agreed that such a thing was in neither of their best interests. Even still, she'd become something of a presence in his day to day life.

Finally, the four knights break apart and begin moving in. Perhaps they think that his patience has limits. Perhaps they really are just done planning. Either way… it doesn't really matter. They come at him and while Axel is careful not to show his true strength or speed, he also isn't about to let any man knock him on his ass. He just doesn't have it in him.

Ducking under a swing from one knight, blocking the blow from another, Axel again picks his target from the four. He meets the man's eyes and sees the moment that the knight recognizes himself as Axel's prey, his pupils dilating and his entire body freezing up.

… Not exactly Kingsguard material, but Axel can't exactly blame the man for recognizing when he's outmatched. Still, another clang sounds out as Axel strikes him in what would have been a mortal fashion and he's subsequently taken out of the fight.

At least the news from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms has been good… mostly. Almost all of the Lords of the Realm outside of the Stormlands and the Reach have now sworn loyalty to Axel by way of raven. Meanwhile, the Lords of the Crownlands have all managed to make the trip to King's Landing at this point and sworn their loyalty in person.

Even Axel's other uncle, Lord Stannis Baratheon, sent a letter announcing his imminent arrival in the city by boat, as well as swearing loyalty and decrying Renly's words as nothing more than power hungry lies. Despite Cersei claiming that Stannis was almost certainly going to betray Axel eventually, Jon had advised him that Stannis was trustworthy to a fault. The man didn't have a capacity for subterfuge.

Of course, Cersei just said that was what Stannis wanted everyone to think, but Axel was getting better at… reading between the lines with her. She was a very opinionated woman, but that did not mean her opinions were always correct.

Straightening up, Axel looks to the three remaining knights and smiles.

"This is where I would normally advise you to surrender. But it's not much of a spar if we don't fight until the last, no? Come on. Remember, this isn't about comparing yourself to me. This is about comparing yourselves to the you of yesterday."

That was the philosophy he had been trying to instill into his sparring partners here in the Red Keep. It wasn't about beating him. It was about beating your past self. Continue improving, continue growing stronger, and there was nothing anyone with brains could say about you or your skill.

Axel can see a sense of resigned determination and grim resolve wash over the three remaining knights in front of him. They all know how this ends. But sometimes it's about the journey, rather than the destination. With a series of shouts and battle cries, they throw themselves at him from three different directions.

Smiling, Axel meets their charge, staying on the defensive for a moment to allow them to practice their technique against a far superior opponent.

Meanwhile, he finds himself thinking about the Reach and the Stormlands. Just as he'd been advised would happen, the Reach had not only failed to swear loyalty by raven, but they'd also gone and sworn for Renly instead. Lord Mace Tyrell had penned his own set of letters signaling that he believed Renly's claims and naming Renly as the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Never mind that Stannis still lived… it didn't seem like that mattered too much to Mace, because apparently his daughter Margaery was to marry Axel's traitorous Uncle and he himself was to be Renly's Hand.

Even though Renly held neither the Iron Throne nor King's Landing, he seemed intent on making an ass of himself anyways. They said he wore a crown upon his head with stag antlers, and that he styled himself as a King with Margaery Tyrell as his Queen.

Frowning at the thought, Axel sweeps the legs out from one of the three remaining knights, sending him to the ground. Unlike the first two however, he doesn't deliver a killing blow. Instead, he holds himself back and to their credit, the other two knights who are still standing immediately leap to their comrade's defense, blocking him off and pushing him back. He lets them do so, of course, even as the one on the ground begins to struggle back to his feet.

It was all just a little bit infuriating for Axel. Here he was with all of this power and all of this strength and all he could do was wait. The temptation to just… go and nip the problem in the bud with his own two hands grew stronger every day, but Jon cautioned patience and Axel knew he was better off listening to the older man.

If he wasn't careful, he could easily be exposed as an inhuman monster in the eyes of the people. And then his only choices would be to rule as a tyrant and rely on fear to keep everyone in check… or abdicate altogether. And Axel didn't want to rule by fear if he didn't have to, so for the time being, he would continue to lean on Jon. There was a reason that Robert had made Jon his Hand and kept him in that position for more than twenty years after all.

Although… that was another thing that Axel had been learning a lot about since becoming King. His predecessor. Robert Baratheon was his father after all, even if he'd never gotten to meet the man. He was also King of the Seven Kingdoms for more than twenty years, a feat that Axel felt had to be acknowledged, right?

Only, from everything Axel had learned, the successes of Robert Baratheon as King of Westeros could be far more easily laid at the feet of Jon Arryn instead. If it wasn't for Jon's stewardship as Robert's hand, Axel isn't really sure that the Realm would have survived his father's leadership.

Whoremongering. Excessive Drinking. Excessive Eating. Robert Baratheon might not have been as bad as the Mad King, but that wasn't to say he was very good either. Axel could read between the lines quite easily. Robert… was a failure as a king.

Soon, its three on one again. Axel doesn't push, allowing his remaining opponents to make the big moves instead. They're trying their best of course, but Axel is like a wall before them. And… they're all getting tired. That's the thing about fighting against him. Even when he's sandbagging, even when he's holding himself back as much as possible… he never slows down. He never gets exhausted.

Frankly, Axel can't remember the last time he's been tired. And it certainly won't be today as he blocks a shaky sword with his own and sends the man who swung it stumbling backwards. They're all doing everything to try and take him down. They're pulling out all the stops. But none of them are anywhere near his level, even when he's holding back.

… Needless to say, Axel didn't intend to follow in his father's footsteps. He was already trying to do everything in his power to be different from Robert. He took daily lessons with Jon Arryn, and while he knew he was leaning on the aging Hand as much as Robert did, at least Axel had a good excuse in that he'd been nothing more than a bastard just a short time ago. More than that… he fully believed he had an awareness that he feels like his father lacked.

Jon wasn't getting any younger and stewarding Robert's Kingship had already taken some of the best decades of the Lord of the Vale's life. Axel wanted to learn to be the best King that he could be as fast as possible so that eventually, Jon could retire to the Vale and live out the rest of his years presiding over his own lands, as any noble lord should be able to do.

With a grunt, Axel finally starts moving towards ending the spar. And once he decides that sort of thing… well, the spar ends. He sweeps the same man's legs out from under him and this time the knight doesn't get up. He slams an armored fist into the chest of another man and he goes down as well. And finally, his sword smacks into the helm of the third just hard enough to send him stumbling backwards to land right on his ass.

In barely a handful of seconds, he ends the spar, standing there breathing evenly as he looks down at the five men he's just fought singlehandedly.

"You all did well. You should be proud of your progress, each and every one of you."

Since he's the King, they all find the strength to mutter some form of polite thanks to him before he turns and leaves the training field behind.

Of course, before Axel could learn everything Jon had to teach him and then let the older man retire to the Eyrie… they had to deal with Axel's treacherous uncle and the Reach. Which brought him right back to his previous thought about the worst part about being King so far. Waiting.

The Lords of the Crownlands were gathering their levies of course, but it was a paltry sum compared to the rest of Westeros. The Vale, the Riverlands, and the North were also calling up their levies, but they would probably be too late to matter given the rate at which the Stormlands and the Reach were said to be moving.

Unless, of course, the Westerlands arrived in time. Lord Lannister had sworn loyalty and even said he would start gathering his forces, but he had been rather vague on when his armies would reach King's Landing, making no promises and offering no guarantees.

If Renly and Lord Tyrell made it to King's Landing before anyone else could, they wouldn't simply win out of hand… but it also wouldn't be good for Axel's side either. They would lay siege to the city and begin starving King's Landing. And given the city had a population that still seemed unbelievable to Axel, people would suffer greatly from such tactics.

He hated that he wasn't able to just go out and handle it himself like he had back in the Vale with the Mountain Clans… but for now at least, he needed to keep his true capabilities under wraps. It was one thing to be able to best five men by himself in the training yard… it was another entirely if he went and fought an entire army.

Did he think he could win if he tried such a thing? Maybe… and part of Axel ached to find out. But even if he did win, everyone would know at that point. They would know what Axel was truly capable of, and they might not believe him to be blessed by the Seven at that point.

If the people of Westeros decried him as demon, it wouldn't matter how strong he was. He would be shunned, disavowed, and hunted. Axel didn't fear the steel of a thousand men, truth be told. But Jon had been teaching him the strength of mere words and what they could potentially do.

… Fuck it, he was going to go visit Cersei again. He needed to take his mind off all the waiting… and if nothing else, the Queen Dowager was very useful for that.

-x-X-x-

A/N: I definitely tried to do things a little bit differently with this chapter. Not sure I quite succeeded, but ah well, here we are all the same lol.

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Margaery POV~

-x-X-x-

It was rather unusual for a Queen to travel to war with her King. But then, it was equally unusual for a King to be without his throne as well. And Margaery Tyrell refused to be sidelined any longer.

For years now, Margaery had gotten older and older, well past the normal age for a maiden of her lineage and pedigree to be married off. To be fair, it wasn't like she was chomping at the bit to be wed to just anyone or anything like that. No, she'd always been fully on board with her father's plan to try to have her marry the Crown Prince.

But Joffrey Baratheon was dead now, as were his father and younger brother to boot. In the wake of such tragedies… opportunity had presented itself. And House Tyrell had not gotten to where it was today by refusing to seize such opportunities.

Now here they were, moving up the Roseroad having just passed over the Mander River and through the town of Bitterbridge. They'd be within sight of the Kingswood soon enough, where the Stormlands Armies would meet up with them before they moved on towards King's Landing.

Looking out the window of her carriage as they travel down the road, Margaery finds mounted knights and soldiers on foot in both directions, as far as her eyes can see. The men of the Reach, answering her father's call to war.

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, of course. That was part of how she'd convinced her father that she should be allowed to come along. They were moving fast… extremely fast. And between the Reach and the Stormlands, they had a combined force that would have beggared most other kingdoms.

The Reach was Westeros' breadbasket, a fertile and heavily populated land with both food and men aplenty. Meanwhile, the Stormlands were said to produce some of the finest knights in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms.

Together, they were unstoppable. And if their enemies knew what was good for them, they would realize that swiftly enough once they all arrived at King's Landing. Or so Margaery hoped. She had to admit, she was still a little nervous about all of this. Oh, it was far too late to back out now… but when she sees her brother nearby on his horse, she can't help but call out to him.

"Loras!"

The Knight of Flowers, now promoted to Lord Commander of the Rainbow Guard, Renly's version of the Kingsguard, looks over with a smile spreading across his comely face. Maneuvering his horse over to the side of her trundling carriage, he gives her a nod.

"Sister. How are you? Is the road treating you well?"

There's some concern in his voice at the end there. Margaery titters and shakes her head.

"The road is treating me just fine, brother. I'm in a comfortable cushioned carriage, after all. If I couldn't handle this much, then I had no right persuading father to let me come along in the first place."

Loras just smirks at that.

"Let you? You're the Queen now, Margaery. Our Lord Father doesn't let you do anything anymore. Only our King can tell you no at this point. But then to be fair… our father didn't really have the ability to say no to you before all of this either, now did he?"

Margaery smirks right back, sharing a moment of amused appreciation for how easy their father was to bend to their will. Then, she bites her lower lip and gives Loras her most plaintive look.

"Brother… do you think you could ride with me for a time and keep me company in my carriage?"

The long suffering look that Loras gives her makes it obvious he knows exactly what she's doing. And yet, despite that… he breaks all the same. Margaery doesn't just have their father wrapped around her finger, after all.

With a weary sigh, Loras looks around for a moment before calling over a nearby squire to take his horse for him. After dismounting and handing over the reins, he climbs up into Margaery's carriage, armor and sword and all. There's just enough room for the two of them thanks to all of that, but also thanks to Loras' slight figure and the fact that his armor is less bulky than most. It's made to look pretty after all… just as pretty as he is.

Once they're both fully ensconced in her carriage and the carriage itself is moving down the road again, Loras sits back and raises an eyebrow at her.

"Alright sister, what did you want to ask?"

Margaery playfully pouts a little bit, folding her hands in her lap and acting every bit the prim and proper lady for a moment.

"Do I have to have something I want to ask, dear brother? Can't I just want your company for a time?"

But Loras isn't having it. He simply raises an eyebrow silently, making his intentions to wait her out abundantly clear. Finally, Margaery lets out a huff and rolls her eyes.

"Fine. I wanted to talk to you about Renly's plans. We're moving rather fast, aren't we? He's rushing to reach King's Landing before anyone else."

Loras hesitates but ultimately nods.

"It's the only way we're going to win the Iron Throne without bloodshed. Our King clearly sees the path to victory. We're on it right now."

Margaery resists the urge to roll her eyes at Loras' instinctive ass kissing.

"It's just us, Loras. I'm Renly's wife and Queen. And you… you are his closest friend and Lord Commander to his Kingsguard. You don't have to be so formal about things. Tell me though… what will we do if the rest of Westeros unites against us? What is the plan if we can't take the city in time, or even if we take the city and then they come to take it back?"

Again, her brother hesitates. Margaery doesn't take it personally though. She loves her brother and she knows he loves her back, but Renly and Loras… well, they're a bit more than 'close friends', as she well knows. But she's not the enemy here.

In fact, in the same way that Loras is Renly's sword and shield against physical threats, Margaery is their shield against other types of threats. By marrying Renly and eventually producing an heir for him, there will be nobody who will be able to call their King a sword swallower any longer. Not if they know what's good for them anyways.

Finally, Loras just sighs.

"Sure, Renly's claim to the Iron Throne might be tenuous at best on paper, but when he shows up at the city gates with all the men of the Stormlands and the Reach at his back… well, that will change things dramatically."

Margaery nods to show she's following along.

"The Crownlands simply don't have enough people to field a force capable of repelling us. And the Vale, the Riverlands, and the North are all a bit too far away to get to King's Landing in time to make a difference."

That all lined up with what Margaery knew as well. However, there was one fly in the ointment she couldn't stop thinking about.

"But what about House Lannister? The Westerlands are the same distance from King's Landing as us. While we have a head start, the city could hold out long enough for them to arrive. And then from there, they would just have to hold out until the others arrived. And the last I heard, Lord Tywin has sworn for Renly's nephew, no?"

Far from looking worried or concerned, Loras' smile just grows as he nods.

"He did, yes. However… the Old Lion is a smart man. Think about it Margaery. Sure he could call his levies, rally his men, and march on King's Landing. He could set himself up as a bulwark between us and the city and force us into costly battles to boot. We'd win those battles of course; we would still outnumber the combined forces of the Westerlands and the Crownlands by almost twice their number… but it would be a lot of dead men on both sides."

Margaery narrows her eyes, noticing how Loras is… well, not all that upset by the idea. Seeing the look on his sister's face, the Knight of Flowers laughs.

"It won't happen, Margaery. Remember what I said at the beginning? Tywin Lannister is a smart man. More than that, he's a selfish man to boot. Yes, he swore allegiance to Axel via Raven, just like the rest. And yes, he's uniquely positioned to help out the enemy. But in doing so, all he would do is harm his own lands. The Lannister Armies would be bled dry just to weaken us so that the Vale, Riverlands, and North could sweep in after the fact to clean us up. And Lord Tywin would never stand for something like that."

… Huh. Her brother had a point, didn't he? Tywin Lannister had not gotten his House to the prominence it was today by being reckless or foolhardy with the lives of his knights and smallfolk. He had a reputation as a strategic and cunning lord and while he COULD rush in and save the day for their enemies… it could cost him everything in the process. So why would he? Well, Margaery could think of two reasons…

"What about Cersei Lannister and Myrcella Baratheon? Won't Tywin have to act for their sake?"

But again, Loras just shakes his head and grins.

"Renly has made sure that the Old Lion won't be feeling that desperate. He sent the one letter detailing Jon Arryn's lies and Axel Stone's illegitimacy to everyone, including Casterly Rock. But he sent a second, more personal letter to Tywin Lannister. One that made it clear that if Tywin dragged his heels, Renly would make sure no harm came to Queen Cersei or Princess Myrcella in the taking of the city."

Looking quite pleased with his lover's cunning, Loras leans back again and shrugs.

"After all, Myrcella is Renly's precious niece and Cersei Lannister has nothing to do with Jon Arryn and Axel Stone's plot to usurp the Iron Throne. Why would he be any threat to them? All the Lannister Lord has to do is slow down a little bit, pretend like he's going as fast as he can… and let us finish what we have to do before he ever reaches King's Landing."

Narrowing her eyes, Margaery tilts her head to the side, giving her brother a pointed look.

"And will he?"

Rolling his own eyes back at her, Loras huffs.

"Our scouts say that's exactly what he's doing. The Lannister Armies haven't even left the Westerlands yet. Sure, they didn't have as much warning as we did, but they could have moved faster if the Old Lion really wanted them to. He's dragging his feet, sister. Once we arrive at King's Landing and that poor bastard that Jon Arryn has stuck on the Iron Throne sees how large our armies are, he'll surrender."

Pausing, Loras grimaces.

"… Hopefully he'll do so without us having to kill any of the Crownlands men in the process, given that they're just doing what they're told to do. But if blood must be shed… let it be our enemies, not our own."

Yes, that much Margaery could agree with. She was confident in her brother's skills, but she would still rather he not have to fight if it wasn't necessary. Especially since up until this point, pretty much all of Loras' battles had been in tourneys. He'd never been in a real war, but of course Margaery wasn't going to bring that up. Loras still had his pride as a knight, after all.

"Thank you for speaking with me brother. You've done a lot to settle my worries."

Loras graces her with a broad smile, reaching out and placing a hand over hers for a moment.

"Of course sister, anytime."

They stop the carriage again soon after and let Loras off so he can retrieve his horse and they can continue on their way. As Margaery is left alone with her own thoughts once more, she can't help but purse her lips together.

It's a good plan, she thinks. Probably the best plan they have at this point. Even with all their strength, the Reach and the Stormlands alone cannot hope to stand against four other Kingdoms united. But if they reach King's Landing early enough and can starve the city out, then they can claim the Iron Throne without having to fight anyone.

And as her grandmother always liked to say, if you could take possession of something, you've already won half the battle.

All the same, Margaery does find herself with some regrets. For one, as eager as she was to be acknowledged as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms by the whole of Westeros… she was well aware that Renly would never truly be able to perform with her in bed. They would make sure he had an heir eventually of course, but it was rather telling of the state of things that they hadn't even consummated their marriage yet.

She'd been promised that she could take a lover of her own once Renly's position as King was truly secure, but Margaery didn't really care too much about that. Oh, she would certainly take her new husband up on that offer eventually because she wasn't about to let him and Loras have ALL the fun… but it definitely wasn't at the forefront of her mind.

Still, even now a part of her can't help but wish they didn't have to crush young Axel Stone like this. She's heard rumors that Jon Arryn's puppet king is quite handsome and looks a lot like his father before the years started to add up. Privately, in the sanctity of her own mind, Margaery thinks to herself that it might have been nice if she could have married Axel instead.

… But life is not a fairy tale, obviously. And she would do her duty, both to House Tyrell… and to the Seven Kingdoms.

-x-X-x-

A/N: More of the enemy's plan is laid out now. But can it really work out like they hope for?

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: A Small Council Meeting. Also the Mannis finally arrives~

-x-X-x-

Yet again, they find themselves waiting for the Grandmaester to make his way to the Small Council Chambers. Yet again, Jon finds himself considering whether it might be time to send another letter to the Citadel and see if they would finally retire Pycelle and send someone younger to replace him.

The man had been Grandmaester for over forty years now and served more Kings than most people alive had ever even seen. Whether his service was worthwhile or not was debatable, but there was no denying that he'd been around for a long time. Too long.

Unfortunately, given the current climate, Jon knew he couldn't waste time trying to get Pycelle replaced at the moment. Maybe after this whole mess with Renly was handled… but maybe not even then. After all, once Renly was dealt with, there would be a dozen other things the Realm had to handle first before they tried to force the Citadel to make any kind of decision on a reasonable time table.

As the aging Grandmaester finally makes it to his seat, Jon looks around the room, huffing to himself. They were still missing a Lord Commander of the Kingsguard as well as a Master of Laws. To be fair, the Kingsguard was still reduced to just two men after all the deaths, both of whom were effectively assigned to the Queen and Princess full time at the moment.

At least Stannis Baratheon had finally arrived in King's Landing. The stoic and ever-frowning man is in his seat at the table, looking like he'd rather be continuing his rallying the Royal Fleet at the moment rather than sitting here.

Knowing full well that Stannis wouldn't want him to make a big deal about his presence, Jon just gives the Master of Ships a single nod, which he returns.

As for the position of Master of Laws… the position should probably have been refilled by now, but there'd simply been no time with everything that was going on. At least Varys, Petyr, and Pycelle are all in attendance each time he calls a meeting. Small mercies, that.

"… Let's talk good news first. As of today, it is believed that the last of the wildfire caches left behind by the Mad King have been removed from King's Landing. I think we can all rest a little easier now, no longer having to wonder if there might be green flames just lying in wait beneath our feet."

There are nods from the other four men at that, the relief in the air palpable. Stannis perhaps a little bit less so given he'd been gone for so long, but he'd still lived in the city for most of the past two decades. After a moment of silent appreciation, Jon continues on.

"Furthermore, the Lords of the Crownlands have finished rallying and now wait at Hayford Castle for further orders. They can be to King's Landing within hours if we call for them."

Of course, one might wonder why they hadn't called for them yet… but the answer there was simple. The Crownlands were not a true Kingdom, and thus did not have a true Kingdom's strength. The amount of men gathered at Hayford Castle numbered just over ten thousand… but while that was a paltry sum compared to the numbers that some of the Kingdoms could field, it was still ten thousand more mouths to feed than King's Landing was ready for.

Jon had done what he could to prepare as soon as Renly's first letter had arrived and the true depth of his treachery was understood. King's Landing had been on rations for weeks at this point, and they'd been stockpiling what food they could in preparation for a siege.

More and more, it was looking like they would need it… because the ten thousand men of the Crownlands currently garrisoning at Hayford Castle would not be nearly enough to fight off the combined forces that the Stormlands and the Reach were said to have gathering in the Kingswood. As well…

"From what our Master of Ships has told me, the Royal Fleet is also coming together quite swiftly and more ships are being built to reinforce it as fast as possible, yes?"

Stannis simply nods his head.

"Indeed. I have rallied my vassals on the Narrow Seas and had them turn their able-bodied smallfolk to either crewing or construction. We will have naval superiority over my treacherous younger brother if nothing else."

"Oh? What about the Redwyne Fleet? Are you not worried at all?"

Baelish cutting in and asking such an antagonistic question makes Jon want to sigh. But at the same time, it IS a question they need an answer to. That's something even Stannis himself seems to understand as he scowls at the Master of Coin across the table.

"… It will take time for House Redwyne to get their fleet mobilized and all the way from the Arbor to here. As well, while the Stormlands have harbors, they are not as large as the Arbor and will not be suited for resupplying and repairing a fleet as large as the Redwyne Fleet. Furthermore, my foolish younger brother has rushed things to such an extent that I'm not sure if the vast majority of the Redwyne Fleet has even left the Arbor yet. When they do finally come, the Royal Fleet will be ready."

Relieving to say the least, but Jon can't help his shoulders slumping slightly.

"Unfortunately, that may be where the good news ends. While my men in the Vale and Lord Tully's forces in the Riverlands expect to meet at Darry soon enough… the North will be further behind them due to the sheer distance involved. And the less said about the Westerlands, the better."

That was a matter of no small amount of frustration to their young King, all things considered. Frankly, Jon didn't understand it. He'd seen some of the letters Cersei had written to her father. He'd sent them by raven himself, even. And from what he'd heard, Tywin Lannister WAS calling his levies and gathering them together at Lannisport.

However, there was simply no denying that the Old Lion was dragging his feet. It reminded Jon of the last time around, with Robert's Rebellion. Tywin had taken his time there too, calling up his banners, marshaling his armies, and marching on King's Landing. To reinforce it? Some certainly believed that, but in the end he'd been the one to take and sack the city before Robert, Jon, and the other Rebel Lords could even arrive.

The difference this time around was that the Lannister Lord's daughter and granddaughter were both in the city. One would think, all things considered, that Tywin would have been considered their safety of the utmost importance and moved faster to help them.

Admittedly, even if he had… well, the Lannister Armies alone, even reinforced by the forces from the Crownlands, would not have been able to defeat the combined armies of the Stormlands and the Reach in open combat. However, they could have held them off long enough for the Vale, Riverlands, and even the North to eventually arrive and put an end to this farce.

Tywin Lannister delaying his departure from Lannisport and taking his time could quite literally mean the difference between victory or defeat, though Jon would be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to make sure that wasn't true.

Clearing his throat, Varys speaks up with an apologetic smile.

"To add onto the bad news… my little birds whisper that Renly Baratheon and Mace Tyrell's forces have made contact in the Kingswood at this point. They will be upon the city any day now."

Jon grunts, giving the Spymaster a nod. Yes, what scouts they'd sent into the Kingswood had reported the same thing… those who had managed to come back alive anyways. Unfortunately, they'd all but lost control of those woods at this point. The last confirmed news that Jon had heard was of the massive caravans the Reach used to transport their armies reaching the edge of the woods from their end of things.

"… It might be worth considering whether we can hold the city at all at this point. Perhaps a retreat North would allow for us to meet up with the armies forming there. Then, we could come back and retake the city with overwhelming numbers."

Lord Baelish's suggestion hangs in the air for a long moment, silence falling as the other men at the table all pause to look at him. Stannis in particular looks disgusted with Petyr's perceived cowardice. But the truth is… his idea isn't a bad one on the face of it. However, when one looks just a layer beneath the surface, it quickly becomes untenable.

Jon shakes his head with a sigh.

"No. Logically, your plan is a good one Lord Baelish. But the Lords of Westeros are not always logical creatures. Losing King's Landing and the Iron Throne would shake the confidence that the Lords of the Great Houses have in our new King. Allowing Renly to take the city would be ceding him far too much ground. We would be giving him legitimacy he does not deserve."

Not to mention, it might be exactly the sort of thing that would cause Tywin to doubt their ability to deal with these traitors. So far, this technically wasn't much of a war yet. There'd been no battles and the only blood shed at this point was nameless scouts lost in the Kingswood.

But fleeing from King's Landing would be like losing a battle that they didn't even try to fight. It would give Renly the sort of victory he needed to push forward his claim on the crown. And of course, it would give him the Iron Throne.

None of that could be allowed to happen, but most importantly of all… Jon knew that Axel would never go for it. Even disregarding what the Lords of Westeros might think of him for what would appear to be cowardly rather than smart, the young King would rather throw himself at Renly's army alone than flee in the opposite direction.

Indeed, Jon had found himself forced to talk Axel out of any… unannounced trips into the Kingswood multiple times at this point. He'd made the mistake of letting the King know about the deaths of their first scouts, and ever since Axel had been gnashing his teeth over those men dying for him. They'd died in his place, at least in his eyes.

"No… fleeing is out of the question. This is King's Landing. The capital of the Seven Kingdoms and the heart of Westeros. We will make our stand here and-!"

Before he can finish his sentence, the door to the Small Council Chambers suddenly opens, a young guardsman completely out of breath rushing into the room. There's some alarm from the others, even as Jon Arryn rises to his feet.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion? Report!"

Catching his breath after a moment, the young man swallows thickly and lifts his head, showing wide, fearful eyes.

"T-They're here, milord. The Stormlanders, the Reach… t-they're here!"

… Damn.

-x-X-x-

The Small Council ends rather quickly after that, which is good because Petyr has so many things to do he doesn't even know where to begin. He had not expected Renly's forces to arrive quite so soon. In truth, he'd thought he had a few more days before they would come pouring out of the Kingswood.

But no, they were here… and they were quickly moving to surround the city and cut off all traffic. King's Landing was officially under siege.

This in and of itself was not necessarily a bad thing. Petyr had been preparing for a siege for weeks now. In fact, in one way, it was a very good thing indeed. Before Robert's death, the primary way in which Petyr had siphoned funds from the Royal Treasury was via the grandiose banquets, feasts, parties, and tourneys that the fat King had insisted on hosting.

After Robert's death, all of that had stopped… but paying for the removal of all those wildfire caches underneath King's Landing had made for an excellent way to continue siphoning more coin for himself out of the Red Keep's coffers. After all, it was so very easy to pay a cleanup crew one sum, say he'd paid them another larger sum, and pocket the difference for himself. Especially since he was in charge of the books.

Now with the wildfire caches removed however, Petyr was once more in need of a suitable distraction to keep Jon from looking too closely at said books. This siege would be perfect for that, as would the opportunities it brought with it.

In truth, he had known Lord Arryn would reject his proposal that they run away. After all, it was the most obvious and rational choice at this point. Sure, they had King's Landing… but they didn't have the men to hold it. Renly did. Giving it to him, going and joining up with their allies up North, and then coming and taking it back… well, it just made sense.

Which was exactly why Petyr knew Jon wouldn't go for it. And the man even understood that it was a good idea, heh, just as he understood all the reasons it was also a bad idea. It was almost enough to make Petyr respect the Hand of the King. Almost.

Regardless, this siege might be a little bit ahead of schedule, but Petyr would be damned if he wasn't going to still take advantage of it as much as possible. And that meant getting a move on, because those opportunities weren't going to seize themselves.

-x-X-x-

Varys watches on as Littlefinger scurries out of the Red Keep like a rat fleeing a sinking ship. Or maybe more like a rat trying to sell that sinking ship to some unsuspecting rube. His so-called rival was almost certainly going to do everything he could to make coin off of this siege. Meanwhile, Varys… still isn't entirely sure what side he's on.

Oh, he's more on Axel's side than Renly's at the moment, of course. All of his previous reasons for not wanting Renly as King continued to remain true. Meanwhile, studying Axel Baratheon over these last several weeks had been… interesting to say the least.

So far, the young man was a better King than his father had been. Some might say that wasn't a very high bar to clear, but given Axel's youth and inexperience, it was still impressive. That didn't mean he wasn't without his faults though. The sexual relationship with Cersei Lannister was… most definitely not advisable. It might not be quite as bad as whoring and drinking the nights away like Robert had done, but it was still pretty up there.

Axel had most definitely inherited Robert's love for fine women at a minimum.

There was also his strength of arms. Many would be aghast if they ever found out that Varys considered Axel's immense strength and speed to be a flaw… but in his eyes, it was highly suspicious. Certainly, the young King did his best to hide his power, to merely come across as an exceptionally talented young warrior. But Varys knew better.

The claim, of course, was that he was blessed by the Seven. The problem with that was a matter of faith, Varys supposed. On the one hand, he knew for a fact that magic was real. On the other hand… he'd spent the last thirty years on Westeros, serving under three different Kings. And not once in all that time had Varys seen a single sign that the Seven Who Are One were real.

He'd seen no miracles; he'd seen no awe-inspiring events. As far as he was concerned, the Faith of the Seven was built upon a shared belief in certain values… the gods themselves had never been very relevant, at least from Varys' perspective.

Even if the Seven had blessed Axel with inhuman strength, speed, and constitution… that raised another question. Why? For what reason or purpose would the Seven lift up Robert Baratheon's bastard son in such a way?

No… magic seemed more likely. The question then became if Axel was the practitioner… or the victim. This too might seem strange to anyone else if they could hear Varys' thoughts. How could someone like Axel be a victim?

But Varys knew better. And so far, their young King hadn't done a single thing to make him seem like a sorcerer. There had been no profane rituals, no blood sacrifices beneath the Red Keep, nothing. Prisoners hadn't gone missing from the Black Cells, and their new King hadn't performed a single act of magic beyond his unnatural physical capabilities.

In a lot of ways, Varys wanted to like Axel Baratheon. If this whole mess with Renly Baratheon could be handled without too much death, then maybe Axel could even be the King that Westeros deserved.

… But Varys refused to serve a sorcerer. So above all else, he would find out the secret to Axel Baratheon's power. One way or another.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Renly's forces are here and Jon has Axel scared of showing his true nature. Not to worry though everyone, Axel will have a plan for just how he's going to deal with Renly by the end of next chapter!

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Axel finds the solution to all of his problems in the most unlikely of places. From the mouth of Cersei Lannister.

-x-X-x-

"King's Landing is starving and your father continues to drag his feet!"

Cersei isn't surprised when Axel comes barging into her quarters with a snarl on his face and hands clenched into fists at his sides. A consequence of becoming intimate with the young King was that there wasn't any real distance between them anymore. There couldn't be if she wanted him to think she was entirely on his side.

Of course, her father was making that rather difficult for her, all things considered. It had been over a week now since Renly Baratheon and his army had arrived outside of King's Landing and laid siege to the city. To say that the whole of the city was starving would be something of an overstatement though.

Between Lord Arryn's prescient rationing and the unfortunate intervention of one Stannis Baratheon turning the Royal Fleet towards supplying King's Landing by sea, the city was only just starting to feel the bite at this point. House Redwyne should have been blockading the city, but Renly had rushed to start the siege by land as early as possible and that left the Redwyne Fleet trailing behind.

Which was quite frustrating for Cersei, because it made it all the harder for her to turn Axel against his other uncle when Stannis was currently doing everything he could to support Axel's hold over the Iron Throne.

Still, the Queen Dowager was nothing if not adaptable.

"Peace, Your Majesty. I've recently received word from my father… the situation isn't as clear cut as it might seem."

Moving over to Axel, Cersei places a calming hand on his arm and with a disarming smile plastered across her face, she guides him over to a nearby chair, gently directing him to sit down. For a moment the King looks mulish… but finally, he sits. It doesn't stop him from glaring up at her though.

"We've received no word. What could Lord Lannister have to say to you that he couldn't say to his King?"

Smiling softly, Cersei runs her hands down Axel's front, reaching his crotch. There, she swiftly undoes his breeches and pulls out his cock, wrapping her fingers around his shaft and beginning to stroke it. Axel isn't so easily placated though, barely grunting as he continues to stare her down.

"I'm afraid it's quite embarrassing for our House. And my father is quite the prideful man. This isn't the kind of thing that he would want anyone outside of House Lannister to find out about… but you deserve to know all the same."

Axel narrows his eyes, but in a way that shows he's intrigued, not suspicious. Cersei can tell he's hanging off her every word as she lets out a sigh and shrugs… a calculated motion that causes her barely covered breasts to bounce within the confines of her open gown.

"My father is dealing with sabotage, Your Majesty. No doubt Renly has sent offers to all the Lords of the Westerlands telling them that if they can slow my father down, then he will promote them above House Lannister if he takes the throne."

Axel grunts, while Cersei strokes up and down his cock, breathing in slowly for a moment before continuing.

"… This rebellion among my father's vassals is insidious and cloaked in shadow, and it has taken my father all his wits and cunning to find and stamp out the traitors. That is why House Lannister has moved so slowly to gather its forces. But rest assured, once they're finally able to set out, once they arrive… they will be the finest army you could possibly hope for."

All lies, of course. Cersei is making it all up on the spot, though if her father knows what's good for him, he'll go along with it if needed when all is said and done. But the truth is, the letter she'd received from Tywin had said nothing about sabotage or traitors.

Instead, the letter that had reached her hands and then burned merrily in her fireplace had been quite clear about things. Tywin was doing his best to play both sides, to try and make sure that it was House Lannister and the Westerlands who came out on top no matter who won, just as he'd done during Robert's Rebellion over twenty years ago.

Her father had also confided in Cersei that Renly had promised no harm would come to her or Myrcella if he did manage to take the city, so by doing nothing and merely feigning loyalty to Axel, her father truly was coming out ahead, like always.

Of course, Cersei could read between the lines. This was at least partially punishment for her refusal to take Myrcella and run back before Axel's coronation. Tywin had ordered her to do so, to get them out of harm's way, but Cersei had ignored that order. Now he punished her by making it seem like she couldn't keep her promises.

Not to mention Jaime's death… Tywin would never allow Tyrion to inherit, and Cersei knew that her father had long wanted to find a way to extract Jaime from the Kingsguard so he could become Heir to Casterly Rock once more. Instead, he would now have to rely on her or Myrcella to get him a proper heir that he could set Tyrion aside for. He wanted her scared so that Cersei would come running to him with Myrcella by her side, should the opportunity present itself.

No matter. As previously mentioned, Cersei was nothing if not adaptable. And she easily saw through her father's schemes. Of course, she doesn't want Axel to think too hard about what she'd just said regarding sabotage in the Westerlands. Best to distract him before he could spend too much time ruminating over her words.

That's why, without any further hesitation, Cersei shucks her gown off, letting it drop to the floor behind her and climbing right into the young King's lap. Surprised but not really caught off guard, Axel's hands immediately go to Cersei's ass, gripping and squeezing her buttocks as she positions herself above his cock.

Smiling coyly down at him, the Queen Dowager guides his throbbing member up inside of her and slowly sinks down upon the sizable shaft, moaning heartily all the while. He's as big as ever, his hot pulsating prick scraping against her insides and stretching out her walls in all the right ways. Cersei shivers in very real delight, even as she tosses her head back in exaggerated ecstasy.

There's no denying that Axel is everything Robert should have and could have been to her, at least physically. Back in the day, when she was still young and newly Queen, Robert had been handsome enough in her eyes. He was no Rhaegar, but that was fine.

Except then it wasn't. Robert turned out to be nothing but a whoremonger and a drunkard, losing himself in other women and the drink practically as soon as they were married. Cersei knew why, of course. He couldn't see past the fact that she wasn't the Stark Bitch he was originally betrothed to. It killed any chance of happiness they might have had together in the end.

Axel was very different from Robert in that regard. He was neither a drunk nor a whoremonger. He was still a man, meaning that Cersei had not struggled one bit in leading him around by his very large prick, but as far as she was aware, he had yet to take a single other woman to bed aside from her.

Given he was still an unmarried King, that sort of restraint was unheard of. If only he wasn't a Baratheon. If only he and she had been born at different times. If only he'd been her first husband instead of Robert…

As she bounces up and down on his cock, Axel Baratheon leans forward and takes one of her tits in his mouth, his teeth nibbling down on the nipple in particular. Tossing her head back, Cersei cries out again, even as she clings to his shoulders and gyrates her hips.

Yes, Axel was much better than Robert had ever been to her. Not that it would stop her from eventually finding a way to kill him though. This… attraction that she'd developed to the young King was purely physical. She still hated him with all her heart. Him… and his uncles too. Cersei would kill the remaining male members of House Baratheon even if it was the last thing she did. There was a blood debt owed to her for the deaths of her sons and Cersei would see it paid in full.

The problem, of course, was how best to make it happen. She had nearly everyone right where she wanted them. Renly Baratheon was at the gates of King's Landing, a traitor trying to wash away the treason he'd committed through the age old method of winning. After all, so long as you won, it didn't matter HOW you won. That was a rule as ancient as history was long.

Unfortunately, they were on a bit of a time crunch. King's Landing was suffering, but not nearly enough. The smallfolk down in Flea Bottom were starving, but they were always starving. Time was on Axel's side, even if he didn't really seem capable of accepting or understanding that fact.

If Renly couldn't take the city soon, then the forces of the Vale, Riverlands, and North would make it to King's Landing. And as soon as her father heard they were heading South, he would almost certainly pick up the pace as well and pick the winning side, which at that point would likely be Axel's.

But if Axel won… Cersei wasn't quite sure how she would convince him to kill Stannis for her on top of Renly. However, if Renly were to win, then the likelihood of Stannis bending the knee to his usurper of a little brother was next to none.

Bouncing up and down on Axel's lap, moaning throatily as he sucks at her teats while gripping her ass firmly, Cersei realizes that she needs… she needs Renly to win. She needs him to kill Axel for her so that he will also kill Stannis. And then, she can have Renly killed at her leisure.

It's an audacious plan perhaps, but it's the best one Cersei has. And while she'll certainly miss Axel's big fat cock and youthful enthusiasm, her need for revenge will accept nothing less than the best plan she can come up with.

The question then becomes… how to go about ensuring that Renly wins and takes the city before Axel's allies come South? Finding a way to let Renly's forces into the city seemed the most obvious option, but it came with too many risks, specifically to herself and Myrcella.

Sure, Renly had promised her father that he wouldn't let any harm come to them, but Cersei knew all too well what could happen to noblewomen during the chaos of a sacking. Even to Princesses and Queens. She would not let herself and Myrcella be the next Elia and Rhaenys.

No, she needed a way to convince Axel to leave the city and die to Renly outside so that the Lord of Storm's End could be let in without any sort of pitched conflict happening within the city itself. Nice and tidy, that would be for the best.

But how? How would she- and then it hits her. Specifically, the orgasm hits her. Cersei cries out, tossing her head back and shuddering as she climaxes all over Axel's cock. Her whimpering moans are muffled by her shoving her face into the crook of his neck, mewling all the while from how sensitive she feels down below, his member still buried inside of her.

And then, in that moment, as she's coming down from the buildup of pleasure, the solution to all of her problems actually comes to mind. Gasping, Cersei shoots up, her eyes widening as she looks down at a blinking Axel. She almost starts to smile, but she manages to hide her grin and look somber instead.

"… You're right, my King. The people of King's Landing are starving. And I know a man like you is a man of action. You can't sit easily and just wait Renly out, can you? It's simply not in your blood."

Axel grits his teeth and shakes his head.

"No. Jon keeps saying we'll be fine, that we have enough food between the rationing and the Royal Fleet's deliveries to last until our allies arrive… but I know that's not entirely true. Those of us here in the Red Keep might be okay, but others in the city are far less fortunate. And it's only going to get worse before it gets better once the Redwyne Fleet has arrived on this side of Westeros in full…"

Smiling now, Cersei gyrates her hips as she runs her fingers along Axel's chiseled jaw. He truly is far too handsome for words. It's almost unfortunate that she's about to trick him into walking a path that will lead right to his own death.

"What if there was a way for you to end all of this sooner rather than later? What if there was a way to settle this without letting the people of King's Landing starve… a way to handle things without there being any bloodshed, any battles. Or rather... a small amount of bloodshed. A single battle between two very small groups of men."

Blinking up at her, Axel furrows his brow.

"… What are you talking about?"

Cersei finally allows herself a coy, sultry little smile.

"Have you ever heard of a Trial by the Seven, my King?"

Frowning, Axel shakes his head.

"I can't say I have…"

Ugh, of course not. He'd been raised a bastard after all. Not letting her annoyance show on her face, Cersei keeps smiling.

"Well, have you heard of Trial by Combat?"

That, at least, causes Axel to slowly nod his head.

"Aye. Any noble or knight who has been accused of a crime can demand a trial by combat at any time, where they or their Champion will fight another to allow the gods to determine the guilt or innocence of the accused."

Heh, he sounds as though he's reciting that from memory. He probably is. Grinning toothily, Cersei drapes her arms over Axel's shoulders and leans in close.

"Well, Your Majesty… a Trial by the Seven is much the same, except it's seven champions versus seven champions. It's considerably rarer, but also considerably more sacrosanct, as our ancestors among the Andals believed that such a battle honored the Seven Who Are One and made them more likely to ensure that those who deserved to win did so. It is often considered to be above even nobility… in fact, some say only those of royal blood can call for a Trial by the Seven."

Licking her lips, Cersei looks right into Axel's eyes. She's heard tales of his martial prowess. He's spent every day since becoming King sparring in the Red Keep's training yard. This, she knew, would appeal to him more than anything.

“Challenge Renly to a Trial by the Seven, Your Grace. If he doesn’t accept, his own vassals will begin to think of him as nothing more than a coward. As well, time is on your side… he will agree, because it is the best shot he has for taking King’s Landing before the other Lords and their armies arrive to put a stop to his warmongering.”

For a long moment, Axel is quiet and Cersei fears she might have overstepped. Admittedly, she recognizes that she's going out on a limb here. If Axel were wiser to her tricks, he would almost certainly realize she's manipulating him and doesn't have his best interests at heart.

"You're right."

Fortunately, he's quite foolish when it comes to a beautiful woman. Cersei lets out a giggling little yelp when Axel suddenly pulls her off of his cock without even reaching his own release. Before he can stand, she places a hand on his chest and sinks to her knees between his legs.

"Hold, my King. At least let me take care of this before you go running off to challenge your uncle to a fight to the death~"

Oral sex is not something Cersei enjoyed doing that much. She preferred to be on the receiving end, rather than giving. But in this case, she's in a good enough mood to take care of Axel with her mouth, leaning forward to wrap her lips around his cock and begin sucking him the rest of the way to his release.

She did so love it when a plan came together, after all.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Cersei really does think she's the most brilliant woman to ever live. But hey, stopped clocks and all that.

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Axel summons his Small Council to hear their advice… but really, he's already made up his mind.

-x-X-x-

Axel is trying his damnedest to be a better king than his father was, but one way in which he found himself mimicking Robert was the fact that he had no love for Small Council Meetings. As such, he knows it surprises all of them, including Jon, when he calls for such a meeting of his own initiative.

Sitting at the head of the table, he waits until everyone is seated before dropping the announcement on the lot of them.

"I intend to challenge my uncle Renly to a Trial by the Seven. I've already brought the idea to the High Septon to make sure that he and the Faith would be on board with such a thing and he was extremely supportive. However, I will not do anything without at least hearing the advice of my Small Council first. You have until the end of this meeting to convince me that this is a bad idea."

Its heavy handed and Axel knows it. Especially since everyone in this room probably knows that he barely gives two shits about the opinion of most of the men on his Small Council. Pycelle was a doddering old fool who should have been replaced ages ago, Baelish was a weaselly penny pincher, and Varys was only as good as the information he rarely seemed to manage to bring to the table.

In truth, the only two men Axel actually wants to advise him in this moment are Jon as his Hand and Stannis as his Master of Ships. No doubt the others all recognize this, because they all look between the two men for a moment before settling on the Lord of the Vale and quietly waiting for him to speak first.

Silence reigns as a result, because poor Jon Arryn looks absolutely gobsmacked by Axel's declaration.

"A Trial by the Seven… Axel… my King, that would be the height of foolishness! I know it may not look like it, but we have the advantage right now! Despite certain Lords dragging their feet, despite the unfortunate geography of the situation, we are nevertheless in a winning position! It would be foolish for us to give that up!"

The thing is… Axel knows that. Just as he knows Cersei Lannister doesn't have his best intentions at heart. He's not an idiot. Sure, he's weak to a pretty face and weaker still to a beautiful body, but he can tell when he's being manipulated. Jon himself has told Axel that Cersei wasn't trustworthy, and while she has yet to prove to be as much of a snake as the Lord of the Eyrie claimed, he trusts his Hand more than he trusts his bedwarmer.

… However, just because Cersei is manipulating him for some selfish reason Axel doesn't quite comprehend yet does not mean this is a bad idea. Fixing Jon with a look, Axel tries to convey his feelings to the older man.

"I travel this city every day, as you well know. I journey to the Great Sept of Baelor each morning to pray before the Seven and ask for their guidance. When I leave, I tend to take unconventional routes back to the Red Keep. To let myself see the city as it truly is."

Gesturing to the window behind him, through which the whole of King's Landing sprawls into the distance, Axel growls.

"I've seen the smallfolk starving in the streets already! If this is what a winning position looks like, I don't want to ever see what it looks like to lose, Jon!"

His Hand grimaces but nevertheless persists.

"… There are over five hundred thousand people in this city, Your Majesty. There will always be those who are worse off. Starving, even. Especially during a siege. But Lord Stannis has made sure we've continued to retrieve shipments of foodstuffs by sea. Even with the Redwyne Fleet finally arriving to start to harrying our ships, we're doing alright. We have enough to survive this siege, at least until our allies can make their way down the Kingsroad and reinforce the Crownlands army waiting at Hayford Castle."

The thing is, Axel can tell that it pains Jon just as much as him. The suffering of the smallfolk that is. But unlike Axel, his Hand has been alive for a long time. He's seen too much, becoming inured to the grief. He's had to weigh the cost of different types of lives against one another one too many times and its made him jaded.

Axel respected Jon's opinion, but he would sooner march out alone and take on Renly's entire army by himself than he would allow the current state of affairs to continue. At least this Trial by the Seven offered him the possibility of concealing his true nature a little while longer.

"We'll survive Jon. But how many smallfolk must die just so I can continue hiding behind these walls like a coward? How many babies must wither away, leaving their mothers in despair? How many mothers and fathers must starve, leaving their children orphaned?"

Silence falls when Jon opens his mouth but can't seem to find the words. After a moment, Axel looks to Stannis next.

The Master of Ships has done as much for his reign so far as Jon in Axel's mind. Not only has he stayed loyal where Axel's other uncle turned treacherous, he's also been the city's only source of new food throughout this siege.

But the recent arrival of the Redwyne Fleet in the Narrow Sea might soon change that, even if Stannis is a proud man and not the type who likes to admit defeat, let alone a disadvantageous situation. So in the end, his response is to be expected.

"… You risk much by offering Renly a way out, Your Majesty."

His disapproval evident in his tone, Stannis has a frown on his face as he sits there at the table. Unlike Jon, he doesn't know what Axel is capable of. He doesn't know that this Trial would only end one way… in Axel's favor. Still that ignorance has allowed Axel to think up a way of hopefully placating him.

"Well… to be fair, all I'd be doing is sacrificing my own claim to the crown. If I lose, then you become the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, not Renly. Even if I have to take the Black, then the Vale, the North, and the Riverlands should still come to your aid and make sure you take your place as King."

"They will, I'll make sure of it."

Jon's words seem to give Stannis some pause, the Master of Ships looking as surprised as Axel has ever seen him. Even Axel is a little caught off guard by how quickly the older man backs him up. Finally though, Stannis simply inclines his head in acceptance and falls quiet.

Looking at the others sitting quietly at the table, Axel waves his hand in an almost dismissive gesture.

"Speak your minds."

Of the other three men, Pycelle speaks up first, talking in his stumbling, stuttering manner.

"W-Well Your Grace… it would seem to me that you have your h-heart set on this. And if the High Septon believes it to be a worthy endeavor…"

Pycelle trails off for a moment, in that way of his. Then, he seems to come back to himself, smiling what he probably thinks is a grandfatherly smile.

"I am sure the Seven Who Are One will b-bless the worthiest side of such a Trial."

Empty platitudes at best, but then Axel expected nothing less from the ancient Grandmaester. Though he doesn't fail to notice that Pycelle makes no mention of Axel himself being the worthiest of the two sides. Old man is hedging his bets, isn't he?

No matter. Axel sweeps his gaze to Varys and Baelish next. Smiling rather smarmily, the Master of the Coin speaks first.

"There is much to be said about ending this war as swiftly as possible, Your Majesty. It seems you've found the best way to go about that. I can find no fault in relying on such an ancient tradition."

Hmph. Lord Baelish makes all the proper noises, saying all the right things… and yet, every time Axel hears the other man speak, it sounds less and less sincere. Does he actually believe the things he's saying? Or has he just become a master at saying what he believes others want to hear?

Lord Varys, meanwhile, clears his throat.

"Ahem. The Lord Hand is right; it should be pointed out. Renly Baratheon is already living on borrowed time. We have the supplies to outlast this siege while the armies of the Vale, the Riverlands, and the North make their way down to us. While House Redwyne might start to cut us off at sea, one could argue that they are too little too late. However, there is some question of how things would go from there."

Axel raises an eyebrow, gesturing for Varys to continue. The Spider does so with a small apologetic smile.

"Tywin Lannister has sworn fealty to you but takes his time putting action to his words. There is still a possibility that the Lannister Armies might join forces with the Reach and the Stormlands when they finally arrive at King's Landing, putting things on a more… even footing. Three Kingdoms against three, and with the more populous, prosperous Kingdoms arrayed against us."

Grandmaester Pycelle sputters.

"P-Preposterous! The Lord of House Lannister would not side against our young King under any circumstances, not after swearing loyalty! What a ridiculous assertion!"

His small smile remaining on his face, Varys just hums as he looks between Pycelle and Axel.

"Perhaps not. But it's about the implication, isn't it?"

Blinking, Axel frowns in confusion.

"… The implication?"

Nodding, Varys shrugs.

"Indeed, my young King. If we wait for all the Great Houses and their armies to finally reach King's Landing, then the most advantageous position will go to Lord Tywin. Rather than having bled his army via protecting against the siege by arriving earlier, he will instead arrive just in time to play Kingmaker… as he's done once before."

Pycelle lets out another gasp of outrage, but Axel holds up a hand, cutting the Grandmaester off. Truth be told, he found Varys' words more compelling than he would have thought. And now he's irritated, because while he had just been thinking that he wasn't letting Cersei's manipulations get to him… he actually had believed her when she'd said that her father sent a letter speaking of sabotage and treachery in his lands.

Was that a bold-faced lie? Tch.

Varys just dips his head.

"To get to my point, Your Grace… all of this is to say that there is wisdom in ending things before Lord Tywin is allowed such an advantageous position. A Trial by the Seven is one such route to doing so, even if waiting for our allies from the North might ultimately be… safer. And as you've already pointed out, even if you were to fail, Lord Stannis would still have the most prominent claim to the throne."

… Perhaps he'd misjudged his Master of Whispers. Smiling at the bald man now, Axel nods.

"Thank you, Lord Varys. I have now received all of your counsel. Leave us so that I might speak with my Lord Hand alone for a moment."

Pycelle, Baelish, and Varys all look like they each might want to stay a little while longer. But Axel's tone is final and Stannis doesn't hesitate to rise and begin walking out of the room, causing the other three men to stand up and follow after him as well.

Soon, it's just Axel and Jon sitting at the table. Looking at his Hand, Axel raises an eyebrow. He feels a little guilty for blindsiding Jon with this. But at the same time…

"Do you think I'll lose?"

Jon flinches at that, inhaling sharply. Because they both know the answer to that question… no. No, Axel will not lose. Not in a Trial by the Seven. After taking a moment to let out a long, shuddering breath, the older man fixes him with a hard gaze.

"No, I don't. But do you think you can win without giving too much away?"

Axel grins. Jon is coming around; he can feel it.

"Yes, I do. I've been practicing with the knights in the Red Keep's yard every single day since I was crowned King. I've been training myself as much as I've been training them. I've been learning how to hold back just enough to not seem… too unnatural."

Jon huffs.

"You've only partially succeeded at that, Axel. Rumors abound about your martial prowess. Perhaps if you wanted not to seem unnatural, you shouldn't have begun regularly trouncing five fully armored knights at a time."

That… Axel's grin drops, replaced by a frown. He'd needed the challenge, and even then five armed men in full armor hadn't been much of one.

"… I'll hold back even further in the Trial. Seven versus Seven… I'll only double up on my opponents if I absolutely have to, otherwise I'll just take on one at a time and deal with them carefully."

Humming for a moment, Jon seems to think before coming to another question.

"And where will these six brave men fighting alongside you come from? The Kingsguard is still vastly depleted. Need I remind you that you have yet to name a single new brother to the Order meant to safeguard your life."

Axel just rolls his eyes at that.

"You and I both know I don't need Kingsguard protecting me day and night. I'm more than capable of protecting myself. Still… the Trial would be the perfect time to handle some tryouts, would it not? Ser Oakheart and Ser Trant will stay out of things and continue guarding the Queen Dowager and the Princess. Meanwhile, I'll pick six of the men I've been sparring with to fight alongside me. If we win, any survivors will be inducted into the Kingsguard. Kills two birds with one stone."

Jon nods, seeming to find no issue with that. Well, almost no issue.

"If you have no casualties, you'll wind up with six new members of the Kingsguard when there are only five vacancies."

This time, Axel resists the urge to roll his eyes. But he can't help the slightly derisive scoff all the same.

"Whoever Renly fields couldn't possibly be so bad that all six of the knights on my side will survive. Especially if I'm holding back and only going after one of my opponents at a time."

Inclining his head to concede the point, Jon grimaces, coming to the final issue at hand.

"… All of this is predicated on your enemy making the utterly foolish decision to accept your challenge in the first place, Axel. Renly Baratheon should be the only one who has an inkling of what you're truly capable of, given those men of his who survived their failed ambush on the Kingsroad and managed to make it back to the city. He fled on their word. How can you be so sure he'll agree to this?"

That was an issue, admittedly. But…

"He'll have to agree. Not just because we'll hold out until our allies reach King's Landing if he doesn't. But also because the High Septon will spread word of the sanctity of this would be Trial. If he rejects it, then all will know he's afraid of being judged by the gods themselves."

Jon still doesn't look entirely convinced. Sighing, Axel shrugs.

"Not to mention, if my uncle has any sort of heart whatsoever, he'll recognize that this is the option that ends this stupid war with the least bloodshed. Maybe it's too much for me to hope for, given he's the one who started this insanity in the first place… but all the same, with how fast he's moved, its clear he was hoping to handle things before it came to open, pitched battle. On the surface, this seems to allow him to avoid that altogether, as well as avoid facing the armies coming for his head."

Finally, the Lord of the Vale sighs and nods his head in defeat.

"Very well. I imagine you wish me to draft up the challenge for you."

Perking up, Axel smiles, unable to help but teasing Jon just a little bit.

"That would be within your duties as my Hand, yes."

When Jon just gives him a long suffering look, Axel chuckles.

"Look, if Renly wins the Trial and proves himself more worthy in the eyes of the Seven, I'm more than willing to give up the throne and take the Black if I survive. And then he'll be facing Stannis and his claim, along with whichever Kingdoms back him. But… I think we both know it won't come to that. We both know who's going to win this damn thing."

Huffing, its Jon's turn to roll his eyes, though Axel note that he does so good-naturedly, fighting to hide a smile.

"Indeed my very young King. Indeed."

-x-X-x-

A/N: Will Renly do the smart thing and reject the challenge? But then where will he be if he doesn't accept? Hmmm~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: The challenge comes to Renly Baratheon.

-x-X-x-

He'll never admit it out loud, of course, but Renly Baratheon isn't really a martially minded person. He finds the thought of hauling himself down to the training yard to spar day after day thoroughly exhausting. Fortunately, as a Lord Paramount, he's never really had to worry too much about that.

Oh certainly, there are appearances to be kept up. He knows how to put his armor on and how to hold a sword both in a sheath at his side and in his hands. But beyond that… well, he preferred not to bother.

In fact, one might even say he's a bit rusty… but it doesn't matter because you don't need to be the greatest knight in the realm in order to lead an army… or even to lead the realm itself.

Still, for all that Renly himself didn't much like crossing swords of the steel variety with his fellow knights, he had to admit that he was a sucker for watching others do it instead. He'd always loved how much Robert enjoyed tournaments, because it allowed him to indulge that favored pastime to his heart's content.

Of course, there were no tourneys right now… they were at war after all. However, they were also quite frustratingly in a stalemate at the moment. Renly's forces had put King's Landing under siege, but for now he couldn't take the city. Meaning he was forced to sit on his ass and wait for something to change.

Hence sitting on a slightly raised wooden stage with his Queen seated to his right and Loras stood to his left as all three of them watch two of his Rainbow Guard, Lady Brienne of Tarth and Ser Parmen Crane, duke it out for his pleasure.

Renly knew that many, even among his own men, questioned Lady Brienne's appointment. The woman was… everything a noblewoman should not be. She was tall, muscular, and altogether homely. Her mouth was too big and her nose crooked from being broken and set more than once.

He still remembered the first time he'd met the large woman, all those years ago. Even back then, Brienne had bucked every trend imaginable, and she hadn't remotely comported herself as a noble lady should. This, in turn, had led to no small amount of scorn being heaped on her by her peers, especially when her ugly appearance was combined with her caustic attitude.

… But what did Renly care what others thought? He was the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, and she was as much one of his vassals as anyone else. Besides, even at that point Renly had known he was just as different as she was. His 'affliction' and 'abnormality' was merely easier to hide than Brienne's.

So yes, he'd treated her with courtesy… and in turn, she'd apparently fallen in love with him. Brienne did not know that Renly knew this, of course. She'd been sent to Storm's End by her father, Lord Selwyn Tarth, with a sealed letter for his eyes only that she had never read.

Lord Selwyn's letter had been clear… Renly was the only man who Brienne had ever loved and she would likely never be wed due to not just her appearance, but also her unwillingness to put down her sword and comport herself as a proper noblewoman.

The Lord of Tarth had begged Renly to take Brienne into his service as an extra sword, and to treat her with the same respect that he'd treated her the first time they met.

Here they were, all these years later, and Renly had to admit… Brienne was probably one of his most loyal, steadfast warriors. She wasn't a knight of course, because women couldn't be knights… but she was still a member of his Rainbow Guard, and she'd more than earned her title 'Brienne the Blue' in Renly's eyes.

Case in point, the fight in the grass comes to an end as Brienne manages to knock Ser Parmen Crane in his ass. Renly makes sure to smile and clap and Margaery does the same at his side, even as Brienne offers Ser Crane a hand to help him stand. It pleases Renly when the knight actually takes the hand and lets Brienne assist him.

Before he can speak up and congratulate both warriors on a hard fought battle, however, there's a commotion from off to the side that draws his and everyone else's attention. Renly blinks as a good half dozen of his men escort what looks to be a messenger into the clearing. He leans forward with interest when the messenger is then announced to be from King's Landing.

Bowing at the waist, the messenger straightens back up and clears his throat.

"I bring word from Axel Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."

Loras takes a step forward, no doubt to say or do something inadvisable, but Renly cuts him off with a raised hand that stops him in his tracks and keeps him quiet. Smiling gently, feeling the weight of his crown upon his brow, Renly tilts his head to the side.

"And what word does my bastard nephew have for me? Is he ready to meet and discuss the terms of his surrender?"

There's a flash of anger in the messenger's eyes… mm, completely loyal to his nephew then. A shame.

"No, my Lord. The King-!"

A blow to his back from an angry Brienne sends the messenger to his knees. Unfortunately, the Maid of Tarth had been too close and moved too fast for Renly to step in like he had with Loras.

"You will address His Grace as King, not Lord!"

Sighing, Renly shakes his head.

"Brienne, please. We don't harm messengers. We're better than that. And the man can hardly deliver his message if we're smacking him around."

Eyes widening in surprise, Brienne steps back and bows her head in shame.

"I… forgive me, Your Majesty. I acted without thinking."

Renly just smiles and nods.

"All is forgiven. Right, my friend?"

The messenger slowly pushes himself back to his feet, eyeing Brienne with narrowed eyes and no small amount of derision. He doesn't bother acknowledging Renly's words either. In the end, he just straightens up and looks back up at the wooden stage.

"King Axel does wish to meet with you. But he does not intend to surrender, nor does he ask for you to surrender either. He has sent me here today to issue a challenge, Lord Renly."

Renly's brow lifts as those in the clearing stir.

"A challenge, you say?"

"Yes your lordship. The King challenges you to a Trial by the Seven."

The stir turns onto a full on rippling as everyone in the area reacts to those words, each in their own way. Plenty of wide eyes, a couple of sharp intakes of breath, and several shifting from foot to foot. Renly himself barely reacts at all outwardly, though inwardly his mind is racing as the messenger continues on, barely hesitating.

"It is King Axel's most fervent belief that no great amount of blood should be shed for what he calls a pointless war. That is why he offers you this opportunity to have your conflict settled before the Gods themselves. Let the Seven Who Are One see justice done."

At his side, Loras scoffs under his breath. Renly, of course, does not. But he does share his paramour's sentiment. He's never really cared much for the gods. Obviously, as a Southern Lord with Andal and Targaryen blood flowing through his veins, he'd been raised on the Seven Pointed Star and taught the Faith from an early age.

It just… hadn't really stuck. He knew better than to piss off the Faith, so of course he paid lip service to the Seven… but the idea that they would bless a Trial by Combat or a Trial by the Seven to make sure the ones most worthy of winning came out on top was… ridiculous to him.

No, such things were always won by those with the strongest sword arm. There was no question about that.

At his side, Margaery leans in close to him, whispering in his ear.

"They're desperate. They must not have enough food stores to last out the siege now that the Redwyne Fleet is coming into play. We have them right where we want them, a Trial by the Seven would only risk everything we've achieved so far."

The only one besides him to hear Margaery's words is her brother. Leaning in from his other side, Loras whispers into Renly's other ear.

"If you wish to accept, know that I would win the Trial for you beyond a shadow of a doubt. With Selmy and Jaime dead, I am the best swordsman on either side of this conflict. No matter who your nephew fields, they don't stand a chance."

Margaery, of course, hears her brother's words and sucks in a sharp breath before scowling mightily and whispering heatedly right back.

"But what is the point of risking it? For glory? Glory is no use to any of us if you die, Loras!"

Loras scowls right back, the two siblings basically having a heated discussion right over the top of Renly at this point as everyone else watches but can't quite hear what they're saying.

"It's not just about glory, Margaery. If Robert's bastard has sent this challenge, it means he's probably consulted the High Septon at this point. And if the High Septon has signed off on it, then all of King's Landing will have heard about it. From there, news will travel throughout the entirety of Westeros. Everyone will call our King a coward if he turns down a Trial by the Seven that has the Faith's backing."

Now that…that was a fair point. Cutting Margaery off from responding with a raised hand that causes both of the Tyrell siblings to pull back into their previous positions, Renly looks down to the waiting messenger. Why worry about 'what ifs' when they can just ask directly?

"Tell me… what does the High Septon say of this challenge? We are, all of us, devout adherents to the Faith after all."

Grinning, the messenger juts out his chin as he responds.

"The High Septon's been preaching that it's a blessed idea, your lordship. He says it's the best way to end this with the least amount of bloodshed and that the Seven will surely look down favorably on whichever side wins it."

And just like that, Renly is trapped. It's a beautiful maneuver on the part of his nephew, he has to admit. Either he rejects the challenge and further ruins his already somewhat tarnished reputation in the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms' Great Houses, or he accepts and gives Axel a chance to end this war without having to wait for the rest of his forces to arrive.

But then to be fair, this is also a boon for Renly, in a way. What Margaery doesn't know because she hasn't been told is that Renly's latest scouts report his brother Stannis used the Royal Fleet to sail multiple shipments of food into King's Landing's harbor before the Redwyne Fleet could arrive. From all up and down the Narrow Sea, Stannis had brought in supplies to keep King's Landing safe.

Now, even a fleet of ships aren't enough to feed the entire population of King's Landing forever, especially with House Redwyne finally making it to the party… but they might allow Axel to hold out until the Vale, Riverlands, and North are finally able to make their way down South. At which point, Tywin Lannister might choose to stop dragging his feet and come join the winning side… which would no longer be Renly's.

In a way, Renly appreciated this offer because it took the power away from the Great Houses and put it squarely in the hands of him and his nephew. Only one side would emerge victorious, and the other would be forced to concede because to do otherwise would be tantamount to blasphemy in the eyes of the Faith.

And while Loras could be a bit boastful at times… Renly was inclined to believe that his Knight of Flowers was correct in his assessment of the relative skill level between their two sides. With Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister both dead, Loras truly was the best knight left in the region, if not the best knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

Not to mention the last Renly had heard, Axel hadn't even refilled his King's Guard yet. Meanwhile, Renly fully believed that his Rainbow Guard was made up of the best seven warriors in his entire army. With all of that in mind…

"I accept."

Loras grins a vicious grin while Margaery slumps a little in her seat. Leaning forward, Renly laces his fingers together as he gives the messenger a smile.

"Return to my bastard nephew and let him know I agree to his challenge. If the High Septon himself believes that a Trial by the Seven is the most blessed way to end this conflict, than who am I to refuse? Let it be known that I, Renly Baratheon, Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, will humbly accept whatever outcome the Gods deem most just."

The messenger bows and backs away. Renly watches him go, knowing that the actual details such as day and time will have to be hashed out through either letters or more messengers over the next few days. But one way or another, this is happening now. It's been set in motion and can't be taken back anymore.

As soon as the messenger is out of sight, Loras places a hand on Renly's shoulder.

"I won't let you down, my King."

Placing his own hand atop Loras', Renly smiles up at him and nods.

"I know you won't, Loras."

From his other side, Margaery lets out a disgruntled, unladylike noise.

"Please just tell me that you won't be so foolish as to fight in the Trial yourself."

Letting out a laugh, Renly shakes his head.

"Of course not, my Queen. Why would I when I have seven of the greatest warriors that the Seven Kingdoms have ever produced right here in front of me!"

Every member of his Rainbow Guard hears his boisterous words, just as intended. All of them straighten up, square their shoulders, and preen a little at his praise. Brienne in particular looks absolutely gobsmacked before a beaming smile spreads across her face, only matched by the one she'd had the first time they met.

Renly meets her eyes and the eyes of each member of his Rainbow Guard, smiling and nodding at them individually to show his faith in every single one of them.

It would hopefully help to quiet the discontentment among the Storm Lords when they themselves heard that he wasn't taking part. Renly knew his vassals well and while he had carefully cultivated their affection all his life, he also knew some of them would think him craven for not fighting in the Trial himself.

But if he framed it as him refusing to sideline any of his 'noble' Rainbow Guard, than they might be willing to accept it. No, they would accept it, especially when the Rainbow Guard won the day in the Trial and showed themselves all to be some of the best warriors that the Seven Kingdoms had to offer.

Of course… he wasn't JUST going to be relying on their skill at arms to carry this Trial by the Seven. No, even as he settles back into his chair and gestures for another sparring match to begin, Renly's mind drifts to a letter back in his tent. It's a letter he'd received over a week ago now… one he had honestly thought to ignore. But now that the entire war will be decided on one battle between seven of his champions and seven of Axel's, Renly can't help but think about it.

Is he really going to do it? Can he truly afford the cost of such a thing? But then again… can he afford the cost if he doesn't take the offer and his champions lose? If Loras died in this upcoming Trial, Renly would never forgive himself. No… he had to do whatever it took to make sure Loras came out on top.

-x-X-x-

A/N: And so the Trial is confirmed and Renly is scheming to make sure his side wins. But what does he have in mind? And what's this about a letter? Hmmm…

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: A multi POV showing the true feelings of Axel's Small Council to the news of a Trial by the Seven.

-x-X-x-

With Renly agreeing to the challenge, a date for the Trial by the Seven is pinned down in just a few more messages and like that, it's confirmed.

Truthfully, Jon doesn't know how to feel about it. Part of him can't help but wonder where Axel got the idea in the first place. Had the Most Devout whispered it in the young King's ear during one of his daily visits to the Great Sept? Or was it someone else with even worse intentions than the High Septon?

Frankly, the Lord of the Vale doesn't know whether to be relieved or worried now. At this point Renly has already lost, he just doesn't know it yet. By agreeing to let things be decided by a Trial by the Seven, Renly has effectively forfeited his claim to the Iron Throne.

After all, it's not like Axel is going to lose. Jon still remembers in vivid detail what Robert's son had done to those treacherous Baratheon Knights that day on the Kingsroad. He'd barely seemed human with how fast he'd moved and how strong he'd been. Cutting men in half with his sword, punching jaws clean off with his fist.

None of their enemies had been safe that day. Only those who had fled the moment they realized the tide was turning had survived and Jon suspected if Axel hadn't had to look after him, they too would have been run down and killed. He'd seen how swift the younger man was after all. Jon didn't doubt that Axel could have run down even the fastest horse in Westeros.

But that brought up the issue of what came next. Renly would lose and either surrender to take the Black or be executed for his traitorous actions. That part was all but set in stone now, with the only thing left to choose being the men Axel would fight with on the day.

But that was Axel's choice, not Jon's. More than a dozen knights staying in the Red Keep had been helping Axel hone his skills with a sword ever since his coronation. All of them had volunteered to participate in the Trial by the Seven once it was announced.

Even after Axel had told them he would be naming the survivors of the Trial to the Kingsguard, no one had retracted their offer. To be fair, being a member of the Kingsguard was one of the greatest honors a knight could strive for, regardless of how restrictive their vows were.

As well, much like Robert before him, Axel was capable of inspiring great loyalty in people. His stature, his strength of arms, and his personality had led to the men he'd been training with all wanting to follow him to the ends of the earth and back.

The young King would know who the best of those knights were, so Jon left it up to him to decide who would stand by his side the day of the Trial. Jon himself was far more concerned with what would happen afterwards.

For instance, there was House Tyrell to be considered. Renly would either die or take the Black, but as frustrating as it was, Jon would not be advising Axel to remove House Tyrell from their seat in the Reach. It wasn't like there was anyone else in the Reach who had stayed loyal to elevate to their position, to be fair. The Reach Lords had sided with their Lord Paramount to a man, leaving them with little options.

However, Margaery Tyrell had apparently traveled with Renly on this war for some reason, so once the Trial was won, they would at least have her as a hostage. Jon would suggest that Axel keep Margaery in King's Landing for a time, to make sure that her family stayed in line.

On top of that, the Reach would almost certainly be forced to pay reparations for a good long while for this. At least a decade, perhaps more if Axel was feeling particularly vengeful. That might even be able to help them start working on the Crown's debt too.

Frankly, Jon wished that they could do the same with House Lannister, especially since so much of the debt was owed to the Lions of Casterly Rock. Unfortunately, Tywin had threaded the needle and remained just shy of being blatantly disloyal.

If nothing else, that was another thing Jon liked about this Trial by the Seven… it took all the power out of the hands of opportunistic men like Tywin Lannister and put it back where it belonged, in Axel's hands.

But speaking of Axel's hands… well, Jon couldn't truly prepare yet for that part. They would have to wait and see just how much of his true nature Axel had to expose in the Trial before Jon would know what damage control he needed to run. Fortunately, the Faith was still on their side for now… and the somewhat open secret of Renly's preferences should keep the Faith and the Most Devout on their side once Axel won.

Still, it was only going to be as clean as Jon made it. So even though the war was pretty much already over… the work was only just beginning.

At least Jon could rest easy knowing that Renly had seemingly ignored the tales from those survivors on the Kingsroad and had absolutely no idea what the fuck he'd just agreed to…

-x-X-x-

Stannis Baratheon knew what people thought of him. He knew that he was not a well-liked man. A combination of being a hard man with a strong sense of pride had led him to run afoul of many people over the length of his life.

That, together with what he believed to be a completely reasonable sense of duty and justice, made him a pariah among the nobility of Westeros. No more so than with his late brother, Robert too.

Stannis had done everything that was asked of him and more. During the Rebellion, he'd successfully held Storm's End against Mace Tyrell's siege, even as he and his men had starved. Following the Sack of King's Landing, he'd built a Royal Fleet at Robert's behest to seize the Island of Dragonstone, the last stronghold in the possession of House Targaryen.

Through events outside of his own control, the Mad King's last remaining children had escaped Dragonstone even as Stannis had taken the island castle. But even though it wasn't his fault, Robert had blamed him all the same.

He'd gone on to name him Lord of Dragonstone, while Renly had been given Storm's End. To make matters worse, Renly had been made Lord Paramount of the whole of the Stormlands, a position that should have been Stannis' by birthright.

Even still, Stannis toiled at Robert's behest all these years. Decades of service as his brother's Master of Ships. Not a single ounce of appreciation in return.

Unlike Renly, since Stannis was away from the city at the time, news Robert's death had come with the news of his bastard's legitimization. Truth be told… it hadn't surprised him, not really. One last knife in the eye before his older brother finally met the Stranger.

If anyone had a right to be angry about being supplanted, it was Stannis. With Joffrey and Tommen dead, Stannis should have been Robert's Heir. Sure, Myrcella technically had a claim as Princess… but the Lords of Westeros would never abide by a Queen upon the Iron Throne and Stannis doubted that even Tywin Lannister would have tried for such a thing. Not that it had wound up mattering in the end. Instead, his fat oaf of a brother had made sure with his dying breath that Stannis would never sit on the Iron Throne.

Funny then that his legitimized bastard, Stannis' new king, was giving him a a chance at the throne anyways. If Axel Baratheon lost the Trial by the Seven, then Stannis fully intended to push his claim. He certainly wouldn't let Renly have the city or the throne while he still drew breath.

… But even if Axel won, Stannis didn't think he would mind, much to his own surprise. His nephew had shown more gratitude and affection towards Stannis in the short time since he'd arrived in King's Landing than Robert had all of his life. And sure, part of that was because the Royal Fleet was bringing in food that was keeping the city going through the siege. But even still, Axel seemed to truly appreciate that Stannis was loyal where Renly was not.

It was his duty, in the end. He would serve his new King just as he'd served the last, regardless of his own personal feelings in the matter. And if Axel should fall, than it was also Stannis' duty to make sure that his traitorous little brother never got the chance to sit on the Iron Throne.

Duty and justice. These were principles that Stannis had lived by all his life, no matter how difficult it was at times. But he had to admit… recently, it had been far easier.

x-X-x-

At the Small Council meeting, Petyr had of course said what he felt needed to be said… but his true feelings were a different story altogether. A Trial by the Seven was the last thing Petyr needed to happen at this point in time, and now that a date had been set and the Trial confirmed, Petyr was left scrambling against the sands of the hourglass he'd just been saddled with.

Even though the Master of Coin would have preferred more of an actual war and a whole lot more bloodshed, the siege had been extremely lucrative for his side businesses all the same. Specifically, Stannis turning the Royal Fleet towards supplying King's Landing from the water had given Petyr a rather massive opportunity.

Every single ship in the Royal Fleet that was currently transporting foodstuffs from other ports over to King's Landing was one less ship that was patrolling the Narrow Sea looking for pirates, smugglers, and other clandestine sailors who might be on his payroll.

In fact, a few of those ships from the Royal Fleet were now on his payroll as well, though their Captains didn't really know it. With some coin in the right hands and a few words in the right ears, it wasn't always just food that the ships were transporting into King's Landing. Nor did they always leave with cargo holds that matched their documentation either.

However, just when Petyr felt like he was really starting to gain momentum, it was all going to have to come to a crashing halt. If only the siege had lasted a little longer… or even graduated into a full blown war outside of the city once the armies from the Vale, Riverlands, and North arrived. If that had happened, then Petyr could have continued making golden dragons hand over fist.

But no. No, one way or another, the show was over and Petyr would be damned if he would be the one left holding the bag. It would probably require burning a few of his smuggler contacts in the process, especially with the speed that he had to move to get it all done in a timely manner, but that was just how the game went sometimes.

As soon as the Trial was over and a victor was decided, things would start to go back to normal. And that would mean a lot more scrutiny of… just about everything. Bribes would still work, but they would almost certainly go up in price and not be as effective as they were before. And ultimately, Petyr wasn't willing to risk any of it. No matter who won, he needed to be ready to take advantage of what came next.

There was, of course, some difference in the two outcomes. If Renly won, Petyr wasn't sure whether he would manage to keep his position or not. He was technically Lord Arryn's appointment, after all. At the same time though, if he could manage to stay on as Master of Coin, then the new Hand of the King would be Mace Tyrell and that utter buffoon would be perfect for Petyr's purposes.

On the other hand, if Axel won, then while Petyr was confident he would remain Master of Coin, things would be… much less perfect. In that scenario, he would have to tread carefully once Jon's focus was no longer caught up in a starving city and an army on their doorstep.

There were benefits and costs to both outcomes. And either way, there would be opportunities for Petyr to weigh when the time came. He just had to be ready for them... and make sure that he was playing the game to the fullest of his abilities.

One way or another, Petyr Baelish would weather the coming storm, no matter what form that storm took.

-x-X-x-

Varys had to admit, this Trial by the Seven… was precisely what he wanted. Oh sure, he'd been careful to give a somewhat neutral response in the Small Council Meeting, but the instant he'd heard the words from their young King's mouth, the Master of Whispers had been absolutely elated.

Not only would this limit the bloodshed drastically, but it would also give Varys a chance to see Axel Baratheon in a live combat situation. With men actually trying to kill him, the young King would no longer be able to hold back quite so much, Varys hoped.

After all, having watched Axel spar each day, he's noticed several oddities about the young man that others seem to be ignoring. Such as the fact that Axel has never received a single injury in the yard. He's never been winded, nor knocked down. Not even once.

Now on the face of it, one might assume that part of this was because of Axel's position. He was the King of the Seven Kingdoms after all. That, combined with his powerful physique and youth made him not just a formidable opponent to fight, but also a dangerous one. Nobody wanted to be the knight who put their King on his ass. Nobody wanted to be the knight who drew blood from their new King so soon after the last King had died.

However, that wasn't what was happening. Oh sure, initially some of the knights that Axel had sparred with had very clearly held back. But just as Varys had noticed, so had Axel. And he'd quickly disabused them of their belief that they couldn't go full strength with him.

No, instead, over the weeks, Axel Baratheon had begun pushing the men he fought harder and harder, dragging them up with him as he steadily learned from them, and taught them some things in turn. Varys wasn't much of a fighter, but even he had to admit that there was something awe-inspiring about watching the young King do battle. Like poetry in motion, really.

However, was it poetry in motion… or sorcery in motion? Because Varys hadn't just noticed that Axel was never injured, winded, or knocked down. He also noticed that the young man never seemed to even break a sweat. Oh, he made an effort of pretending to of course. Wiping his brow when necessary, even pretending to pant from time to time.

But Varys' little birds were often able to get ahold of Axel's clothes after a long sparring session once he'd stripped them off in order to take a bath. Those clothes told the true story. They weren't soaked through even a little bit. Either Axel Baratheon didn't perspire at all… or he simply hadn't encountered a tough enough fight to push him to that limit yet.

So yes, Varys was very, very interested in seeing Axel in the upcoming Trial by the Seven. Especially since the correspondence between the two Baratheon Kings had allowed him to slip a few of his little birds into Renly's camp… and deeper still, into Renly's tent. Varys had received copies of all of Renly's correspondence, and was kept up to date on what sort of letters the man was sending out.

One of those letters was quite intriguing. Not just the contents, but the recipient as well.

It would seem that Renly Baratheon was intent on arming his paramour and Lord Commander with a secret weapon. Loras Tyrell was already bound to be one of the stronger combatants in this upcoming Trial by the Seven. It would be quite interesting to see just how he might fair against Axel Baratheon… especially when armed with Valyrian Steel.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Dun dun DUUUUUN!

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Axel visits the Great Sept to see one of his favorite women, before going and visiting his other favorite woman.

-x-X-x-

Axel finds that he most prefers to visit the Great Sept of Baelor in the mornings, just as the sun is rising over the city. If he goes any later in the day, then he risks displacing other worshippers with his mere presence, since of course as King he absolutely needs to have the main chamber of the Great Sept all to himself for some reason.

He had tried and failed to convince the High Septon that this wasn't necessary, and that he didn't really want anyone to inconvenience themselves on his behalf. But the leader of the Faith had in turn explained to him that nobody was even under orders to clear out when he appeared. Instead, they were doing so of their own accord out of respect for both their pious King and the Seven Who Are One.

Axel wasn't sure if he believed the somewhat corpulent man, but outside of starting to interrogate everyone who fled the moment he showed up, he didn't really have a way of finding out for certain.

And of course, if he went even later still, after the day was over, than while the Great Sept might be emptied out, it also became a little… disturbing. Dark, really. Oh sure, it was still lit by plenty of candles scattered all over the place, but it felt somewhat eerie, if Axel was being honest.

Not that he was afraid of ghosts or anything like that. Or maybe he was. Specters were the one thing Axel couldn't just punch to death, after all…

Regardless, coming in the morning not only ensured that he would both be largely undisturbed while at the same time not BE a disturbance himself, it also had the benefit of giving him the best lighting. With the rising sun coming through the upper balcony of the Great Sept's main chamber, the whole place was awash in that beautiful morning light. It really was wonderful.

Moving from statue to statue, Axel prays in front of each of them, as is his usual preference. He always starts with the Smith, a statue of a man holding a blacksmith's hammer. Tall and proud with a strong back and a bald head, he represents ingenuity and craftsmanship.

Axel then skips the Stranger, as is tradition. Of the Seven, the Stranger is not meant to be worshipped, which is why his statue faces away from the center of the room and over towards the wall.

After the Smith, he goes to the Crone, a visage of an old woman holding a lantern. From her, he comes to the Warrior, an armored knight holding swords crossed over his chest. From the Warrior, he comes to the Mother, her dress tantalizingly revealing and her arms held open, her hands empty. The Mother is then followed by the Father, who holds the scales of Justice aloft as he towers over Axel just like the others.

Finally, last but certainly not least… is the Maiden. Axel moves in front of her statue and stares up at her in wordless silence for a time, pretending to pray as he… enjoys the view.

Technically, there are better 'routes' for particularly pious individuals to take across the six inward facing statues of the Seven. And most of the time, visitors to the Great Sept don't even bother praying at each statue, preferring to focus their time on one or two of the Seven that they most need guidance from on that day.

As a young King who needs to be seen as particularly pious, Axel doesn't have that sort of privilege. And so, every single day, he comes to the Great Sept and starts his route with the Smith… because if he starts with the Smith and works his way around the circle, spending several minutes gazing up on the visage of each of the statues, then it's not particularly strange if he spends an extra few moments staring up at the Maiden.

The Maiden… is Axel's treat, one might say. Because the Maiden's statue within the Great Sept of Baelor depicts her as completely in the nude. She's quite shapely too, with full breasts and curvy hips and a tight cleft right between her thighs. Truly, whoever sculpted her was a visionary of a man.

… Yes, the Maiden is definitely not the least of the Great Sept's statues… and she always leaves Axel feeling a certain sort of way as he ends his circuit of the Great Sept and leaves to head back to the Keep. A certain sort of way that he carries with him for a time, until he can get things… taken care of.

-x-X-x-

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

"F-Fuck! Yes! H-Harder! Fuck me harder!"

Hands on her shoulders, squeezing down but not so hard that he bruises her flesh, Axel slams his cock into Cersei Lannister from behind time and time again. The Queen Dowager is no maiden, yet her body, even after giving birth three times, could certainly give the Great Sept's statue of the Maiden a run for its money.

His hips crash into her ass as he plows her from behind, his prick pistoning in and out of her gushing wet cunt with seemingly reckless abandon. Obviously, he doesn't go hard enough to harm her. If he used his true strength, Axel isn't sure there's a woman alive who could survive him. Certainly not Cersei.

So instead he holds back a considerable amount, even as he lets her think that she's getting everything she can out of him. The Queen Dowager certainly seems to like it rough during these experiences, always egging him on, always goading him further.

"Pull my hair! Smack my ass! Or are you not MAN enough to do what your-gah!"

SMACK!

Like that. Sometimes Cersei tried to bring Robert up, just to piss Axel off. He's gotten good at interrupting her though, laying a palm strike across her ass that makes her choke on her own spit. Of course, to make sure she doesn't try again, he then reaches for her hair, gathering it into a fistful and pulling her head back roughly.

Cersei groans and moans in equal measure as Axel redoubles his pace, driving in and out of her cunt with powerful thrusts. Her pussy walls try and fail to squeeze the life out of his pulsating prick, even as she cums for him, time and time again.

Finally though, he can feel himself getting close. However… their relationship has evolved since their initial encounters. Oh, he still doesn't cum inside of her. But these days, he also doesn't cum in the nearest rag he can find either.

"Here it comes."

As he warns her, Axel pulls out of her cunt and uses his grip on her hair to help bring her around. Cersei doesn't resist him, the Queen Dowager spinning on her hands and knees until she's facing his rock hard cock. Staring up into Axel's eyes, Cersei takes him in her mouth, sucking in her cheeks and swirling her tongue along the head of his shaft.

With a heartfelt groan, he tips over the edge and delivers his load into the Lannister woman's waiting maw. She swallows greedily, drinking down his seed like there's no tomorrow. She's an excellent cocksucker, though most of the time he can tell that she prefers he just fuck her. However, ever since the first time she'd dropped to her knees for him, she's at least taken to having him do this at the end of each and every one of their… encounters.

His balls empty down the Queen Dowager's throat, preventing the possibility of any unwanted accidents as she guzzles his cum like a Flea Bottom Whore. Finally though, it's done and Axel releases his grip on her hair. Watching her pull away for a moment, he eventually drops down onto the bed, laying on his back.

Cersei joins him of course, curling up beside him and pressing her bosom into his chest. Her breasts might sag a bit more than those of the Maiden's statue, but to be fair… one is marble and the other is flesh. And despite Cersei's age, her tits have held up extremely well, maintaining their heft and size quite admirably.

He certainly finds himself enjoying the way they feel pressed against his bared skin, even as Cersei leans in close, her lips tracing a handful of kisses along his jawline for a moment before she finally speaks.

"The Trial by the Seven fast approaches. Do you think you're ready, Your Grace?"

Axel resists the urge to derisively snort, instead smirking a little bit as he wraps an arm around the Queen Dowager.

"Worried for me? It was your idea, you know."

Cersei rolls her eyes at that, lightly slapping his chest.

"I merely wish to make sure that your head is in the right place. You know you cannot show the traitor any mercy, right? If you leave Renly Baratheon alive, he will only find a way to weasel out of things and come back later to continue being a thorn in your side."

Axel keeps his face carefully composed, hiding the frown that wants to stretch across his features. It was always the same thing with Cersei. They fucked and then she tried to whisper honeyed words into his ear. Once in a while she had excellent ideas… such as the Trial by the Seven. But most of the time, she seemed oddly focused on making sure he killed his uncle. Or rather, his uncles.

"And Stannis… he's only biding his time, Axel. You can't let your guard down, not with either of them. They want your throne… and they will stop at nothing to get it."

Now Axel does frown, because while he has absolutely nothing good to say about Renly Baratheon, he can't help but want to defend Stannis' honor.

"I'm not sure you're right about Stannis. Everyone else says he doesn't have a single subtle bone in his entire body, and that he's lawful to a fault. Frankly, having spoken to the man myself several times now, it sounds like he should have been Master of Laws instead of Renly all along!"

In fact, there's a reason the Master of Laws position has remained vacant all this time. For his loyal and leal service, Axel intends to make Stannis both Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Master of Laws once this is all over. He also plans to let the man choose his own replacement as Master of Ships, because Stannis should know better than them who the best of his subordinates are.

Axel has already discussed this idea with Jon and his Hand has agreed that it sounds wise. Sure, Stannis might not be well liked by the Lords of Westeros… but he'd performed admirably in this war that wasn't a war. His loyalty, along with the way he turned the Royal Fleet towards shipping in food to King's Landing, had saved countless lives and deserved recognition and reward alike.

Of course, they're not planning to tell Stannis any of this until after the Trial is won. And Axel's certainly not about to tell Cersei either. Especially since even his lukewarm defense of the man provokes her into pulling away from his arms with a huff.

"Be careful not to be blinded by fools and sycophants, my very young King. They will all tell you what you want to hear, and make sure to reinforce what you want to believe. Someone like me who has nothing left to prove or aim for will tell you the truth. Keep that in mind."

Axel makes a face behind Cersei's back as she turns away from him, climbing off the bed. Really… did she think he didn't see through her? Sure, maybe the Queen Dowager didn't have anything left to prove, but it was obvious she still had things she wanted.

Her hatred for his uncles was especially clear, even if Axel didn't fully understand it. Still, she couldn't think that he would just execute Stannis on nothing but her suspicions… could she?

"You should prepare yourself for Renly to not take direct part in the Trial by the Seven as well."

Wait, what? That catches Axel off guard and makes him sit up, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"What do you mean? Of course he'll take part, his honor is on the line."

Cersei just scoffs, giving him a disappointed look.

"You think after everything that he's done, Renly Baratheon cares about his honor? The man is a sword swallower who, despite having never had any thoughts of being in line for the Iron Throne, clearly started plotting to take it for himself even before Robert was fully dead. More than that, he is soft and a coward. He won't fight because the Trial does not demand it of him. He'll have this 'Rainbow Guard' of his fight in his stead, the seven of them against you and whoever you pick."

That… hm, once again Axel is reminded that not EVERYTHING Cersei says is completely brainless. Certainly, it's almost all venomous, but she has SOME good ideas. And the more he thinks about it, the more Axel thinks that Cersei might be right. Of course, she's not done explaining exactly what she believes will happen tomorrow.

"When all is said and done, once you've won, Renly will either try to find a way to declare the Trial a farce and continue pushing for the Iron Throne, or he will surrender and offer to take the Black in exchange for his miserable life. You must gird yourself for either outcome, Axel. And no matter what, you must take his head. You cannot allow him to escape your clutches or he will only come back later, as I said before."

Right. One tidbit of useful information, followed by more insistence that he absolutely needs to make sure his uncles die by his hand. That was Cersei to the hilt, wasn't it? Truthfully, if it were in the Trial itself, Axel wouldn't mind killing Renly in one-on-one combat for the headache that the other man has given him with all this nonsense.

But afterwards? If Renly does surrender, if he does swear to take the Black… Axel would allow it. To do otherwise would be too close to Kinslaying for his taste.

His silence is telling apparently, because after a long moment Cersei just scoffs.

"It feels like nothing I say seems to get through that thick head of yours. If you're not going to listen, you might as well leave. You've already had your fill of me, clearly."

Well… she's not wrong. In the end, Axel wordlessly gets up and gets dressed, leaving Cersei's chambers with one final lingering glance in the Queen Dowager's direction.

On the one hand, he's grateful for the warning she's given him. Much like suggesting the Trial in the first place, he's pleased now that he can prepare himself for the likelihood of his uncle's cowardice. This way he won't be too surprised, nor will he make a fool of himself if Renly truly doesn't participate in the Trial on the day.

But on the other hand… Axel was beginning to think the deaths of the Queen Dowager's loved ones had done more damage to her mind than he'd previously suspected. Her sons, her husband, her brother. Too many deaths too close together had left her spiteful and lashing out.

Axel didn't know what to do about it, but now wasn't the time anyways. He had a Trial to win, after all. And with that victory… this entire damn war would finally come to an end. Hopefully ruling the peace would be easier.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Axel continues to have Cersei's number. Poor Cersei, she just wants him to murder his uncles for her, is that really so much to ask in exchange for copious amounts of MILF pussy?

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: The day before the Trial, Renly has a gift for Loras while Margaery watches on.

-x-X-x-

"Are you truly not even a little bit worried?"

Loras looks over at her from where he's making sure his gear is ready, preparing both his armor and weapon for the Trial by the Seven happening tomorrow at midday.

"Should I be? We already know from our spies just who the bastard intends to bring with him to the Trial. None of them are a match for me. Sure, I doubt we'll win without casualties… but I don't think for a second that they have a chance of victory."

Margaery wasn't so sure. In fact, she was more than a little afraid for her brother, especially since she'd been doing some digging of her own ever since Renly accepted the challenge.

"What about Axel himself though?"

Furrowing his brow, Loras sets down his breastplate and gives Margaery his full attention.

"… Have you been chasing rumors, sister?"

Flushing just a tad, Margaery huffs and rolls her eyes in response.

"I've simply been doing my own research, brother."

With a scoff, Loras waves a hand dismissively as he returns to his work.

"I'm sure you've heard the same thing that everyone else has. That the bastard's prowess in the training yard is second to none and he's been tearing through his sparring partners at an insane rate. They even say he routinely has three to five knights challenge him, only to beat them all without suffering a single scratch."

Loras turns and spits on the ground, making it clear what he thinks of all of that. It's a bit of a crude thing for the Knight of Flowers to do, but they're alone right now and for all that her brother is a very beautiful man, he can be a bit crasser than most think of him as.

"Hogwash, all of it. They're letting him win, Margaery. There isn't a man alive who can take on five fully armored knights and come out the victor without at least taking a few bruises here and there. It's all part of the myth that Jon Arryn is trying to build around his puppet, see? Don't let yourself fall for it."

But Margaery isn't convinced.

"That's all well and good, but what about the reports from our own men?"

Loras furrows his brow in confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

Really? Was he just playing dumb or… no, he wasn't playing dumb. He'd probably just completely forgotten about it. Typical of her brother. His head could be so empty sometimes. Huffing, Margaery throws her hands into the air.

"The survivors from the ambush on the Kingsroad, Loras! Did you think I wouldn't find out? Did you think Grandmother wouldn't hear about it and warn me?"

Her brother's face goes pale and he opens and closes his mouth for a moment before hissing and shaking his head.

"Don't talk about that, Margaery. And honestly, those men were craven… nothing that came from their lips can be trusted."

She wasn't so sure about that.

"They're the only ones on our side who have seen Robert's bastard fight for real though, Loras! They had twice the numbers and still lost somehow. Doesn't that lend some credence to their words? Sure, it's hard to believe that he moved like a demon and slaughtered half of them faster than they could blink, but its equally hard to believe they lost with such an overwhelming advantage!"

Loras rolls his eyes and fully turns to her, placing his hands on his knees as he looks her straight on.

"Sister, you will never understand battle the way I do. You're simply not built for it. Those knights… its obvious that they gave the game away somehow. For instance, perhaps Ser Emmon Cuy considered the idea of an ambush dishonorable so he initiated a disastrous charge the moment that they came into sight of Lord Arryn and his forces. Whatever tactics they employed were clearly such a failure that they felt the need to make up a fanciful story about one man managing to turn the tide and force them into retreat."

Sneering, the Knight of Flowers grits his teeth.

"Frankly, they're lucky that Renly showed them any mercy at all after their failure. The only reason I didn't counsel him to take each and every one of their heads was because their cowardice is the only reason he was able to escape King's Landing unscathed."

Shaking his head, Loras' tone gains a distinct note of finality.

"Their words, beyond the part where they confessed that they failed, were nothing but gibbering panicked nonsense. Neither Renly nor I have given them any weight and you shouldn't either, dear sister. Axel Stone is only a man… and after tomorrow, he'll either be a dead man or bound for the Wall. There is no other possibility."

"Well said, Loras! Well said!"

Margaery flinches and Loras straightens up as Renly suddenly steps into the tent, a jovial smile on his face. She definitely hadn't intended to voice her concerns anywhere where Renly could hear them, despite technically being his Queen. But admittedly, Loras would probably have just told him anyways over pillow talk later on.

Looking between the two of them, Renly just grins.

"Not to worry. I share your concerns about the battle tomorrow, my Queen."

Blinking in surprise, Margaery sits up a little straighter.

"Y-You do?"

Nodding, Renly lifts up what he's brought with him… a long package that even Margaery can tell is clearly a sword wrapped in cloth.

"Indeed. That's why I come bearing gifts. Something that will make sure the tides of battle tomorrow turn decisively in our favor. For you, my loyal Lord Commander."

Loras flushes as Renly gives him a wide grin and a wink, striding over and holding out the package across his palms. Rising to his feet, Loras steps forward and takes the wrapped sword from Renly, furrowing his brow in curiosity and intrigue.

Renly steps back as Loras begins to unwrap the thing, quickly doing away with the cloth and rope to reveal that it is indeed a sheathed sword. A beautiful, sheathed sword by Margaery's estimation. The pommel is unadorned but nevertheless gorgeously crafted, and the sheath has stags running through flowery meadows all along its length.

"Unfortunately, I couldn't get the pommel itself finished before tomorrow, but the sheath is a rush order. I hope you like it."

"I love it. It's beautiful, Renly."

Margaery watches Renly grin as he in turn watches Loras look over the sheath, running his fingers along the designs covering the leather.

"And what do you think of the blade itself?"

Humming, Loras carefully pulls the sword a few inches free of the sheath… only to freeze in place, his eyes widening and his jaw dropping open in disbelief. Margaery furrows her brow at that reaction, craning her neck to see what he's reacting to.

Interestingly, the sword itself looks strange. It's hard to tell from where she's sitting, but she thinks she sees rippling patterns in the metal. What did that mean?

"Renly this is…"

"Valyrian Steel, yes. Only the best for my Lord Commander."

Wait, what?! Now it's Margaery's turn to be shocked, her jaw dropping open as she jumps from her seat and all but rushes over to see the sword Loras is holding more closely. Her brother pulls back at her approach.

"Whoa there, sister. This isn't the kind of sword to pull out too close to a lady. I'm going to have to ask you to step back so I can fully unsheathe this beauty."

His teasing tone and the dancing amusement in his eyes make it clear he's at least partially having a laugh at her expense. At the same time though, he makes it clear he's serious when he beckons for her to back up a few steps. Gritting her teeth, Margaery does as she's told by whirling around and advancing on Renly.

"It can't possibly be real Valyrian Steel, can it? Where would you even get something like that?"

The sound of a sword being drawn from it sheath causes Margaery to turn back before Renly can answer, her eyes beholding the incredibly beautiful sword with its distinctive ripples all along every inch of its surface. Renly chuckles from behind her.

"It's very real, I assure you. It had better be, given what it cost me."

That… this was insane. Margaery may not be a knight or anything like that, but even she knew the value of Valyrian Steel. Especially a full Valyrian Steel Sword. They were said to be lighter, stronger, harder, and sharper than even the best Castle Forged Steel. They never dulled either, with people claiming that Valyrian Steel Swords hundreds of years old were as sharp as the day they were forged.

They were also ludicrously, prohibitively expensive given that the place where they'd originally been forged hadn't existed for hundreds of years. It was in the name. Valyrian Steel came from Old Valyria, which had fallen long ago to the Doom. These days, as far as Margaery was aware, there was nobody left who knew how to forge more of the stuff. Instead, there were just a handful of blacksmiths in the whole world who even knew how to rework Valyrian Steel.

To put it into perspective, the only Great House in all of Westeros that had a Valyrian Steel Sword was House Stark up in the North. Even Margaery had heard about Ice, the ancestral two-handed greatsword of the Dire Wolves. Just as she also knew about Tywin Lannister's obsession with obtaining a Valyrian Steel Sword for his own House.

The Lord of House Lannister was said to have offered amounts of coin to smaller houses that would damn near beggar even most of his peers, but to no avail. People weren't selling and while one might assume that a Great House would just be able to take one of their vassals' Valyrian Steel Swords if they wanted one, it wasn't quite that simple. In the end, there was such a stigma of dishonor around the concept that even the greedy Lord Tywin hadn't gone that far yet.

All of this was to say… where the fuck had Renly gotten a Valyrian Steel Sword? And what exactly had he paid for it?

His words about what it had 'cost him' hang in the air and even Loras, for all that her brother's head can be so empty at times, pauses and tears his eyes away from the sword he's holding to give Renly a look.

"… What did this cost you, Renly?"

Raising an eyebrow, Renly lets out a bark of laughter.

"Oh? How quickly the gratitude fades!"

Loras flushes at that, looking ashamed of himself and ducking his head.

"Apologies my King, I… I am extremely grateful for this gift. I don't know how I can possibly repay you."

Renly just scoffs, waving a hand through the air.

"Repay me? You are my Lord Commander, Loras. You are sworn to protect my personhood until the day you die. Shall I ask my crown to repay me as it sits upon my brow? Shall I ask my clothes to repay me as they rest upon my body? You are as much a part of me as anything else. All I've done is make you more useful."

Margaery tries not to wrinkle her nose at Renly's words. She supposed they were supposed to be romantic, and given the way Loras is now making eyes at Renly, it seems that they might even have landed with her martially inclined brother.

Still, she doesn't think she would be nearly as enthused about being compared to garments of all things. And… even if Loras wasn't going to press the issue, Margaery felt like someone had to.

"This is truly a Kingly gift, Your Majesty. Fit for the Lord Commander of your Rainbow Guard. And as his sister, I fully believe that Loras is worthy of this trust…"

Loras puffs up at her words, even as Renly lifts a single brow and smirks, waiting for the 'but' to drop.

"… However, I do have to ask where this sword came from. On such short notice too…"

After all, it's obvious that Renly had gotten Loras this sword for the Trial by the Seven. How though? How had he managed to source Valyrian Steel in such a short amount of time when neither House Baratheon nor House Tyrell had had an Ancestral Valyrian Steel Sword between them for ages at this point.

Not to toot her House's own horn too much or anything, but House Tyrell was easily one of the wealthiest, most powerful Houses in the Realm. Sure, the Lannisters were said to shit gold, but when winter came and bellies growled, it was the Reach that supplied food, and that could be worth far more than gold.

Meanwhile, House Baratheon had been ascendant since the Conquest, having long had connections to House Targaryen that saw them elevated even above the other Lord Paramounts from time to time. And yet, the Baratheons also could not claim to have an Ancestral Valyrian Steel Blade.

Renly's smile becomes a little bit fixed as he shakes his head.

"Ah, that is where your confusion stems from, my Queen. You see, it was not on short notice that I procured this blade for your brother. No, I've been working on this for quite some time. As for the cost… do not worry too much about it. I will tell you both more once we win tomorrow. Until then, it is best that we focus on the Trial ahead. And, of course… naming this fine blade."

Loras' eyes widen all over again as he looks down at the Valyrian Steel Sword in his hands.

"It doesn't have a name yet?"

Grinning, Renly shakes his head.

"Not one that matters, no. I leave it's naming up to you, Loras. You are it's wielder, after all."

Wielder… not owner. Margaery catches it, even if Loras doesn't. Perhaps Renly thinks that the sword will one day revert back to House Baratheon but doesn't want to say as much right now. Her lips purse, but she's not about to ruin the moment by accusing him of such a thing.

Loras hesitates for a long moment, staring down at the nameless blade reverently. Finally…

"Rosethorn. It will be called… Rosethorn."

"Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful! Shall we go see what it can do, hm? I'm sure we have some surplus or already damaged armor lying around to outfit a wooden post with so you can give it a few swings before tomorrow!"

With that, Margaery watches as Renly leads Loras out of the tent. She bites her lower lip as the two men depart. Truthfully, she's been left with more questions than answers… and was more uneasy now than ever before. For Renly to deflect not once but twice… just how much had that Valyrian Steel Sword cost?

Or rather, how much would it cost them down the road once the throne was secured? Because Margaery wasn't stupid. She knew full well that Renly didn't have access to the coin needed to buy such a thing. So what exactly had he offered instead?

And… even if Loras said it was all just cowardice and lies, Margaery can't help but wonder about Axel Baratheon and what he's truly capable of. One way or another, they'll all find out tomorrow… but that doesn't exactly give Margaery any peace of mind.

She could only hope everything would work out tomorrow. It had to, or they were all ruined.

-x-X-x-

A/N: It seems like Margaery is the only smart one in the enemy camp. But what DID Renly promise for that sword? And to who? Hmmm…

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: The Trial begins.

-x-X-x-

The day of the Trial arrives at long last. Axel won't deny that he's been chomping at the bit for this. But Renly insisted on pushing it back an entire week for some reason. Hell, they'd just received word that the North's armies had reached Greywater Watch, while the armies of the Vale and the Riverlands waited for them at Darry.

Even Tywin Lannister's forces had left Casterly Rock by this point and were said to be venturing down the Gold Road. No matter what happened today, everyone would soon be arriving at King's Landing one way or another.

Though obviously, there was only one outcome to all this madness. Axel was going to win the Trial by the Seven, no matter the cost. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he would come out on top either. He would try to conceal his true nature as best as possible, but he refused to lose, even if it meant revealing that he was something other than a man.

His Uncle's armies have moved back from King's Landing, while the location where they'll be holding the Trial has been placed far enough outside of the city's walls that they're not within range of any bowmen on Axel's side who might try to take an opportunistic shot.

Each of them have been allowed to bring fifty knights along with the Champions who will be fighting in the Trial. On top of that, Axel brings the majority of his Small Council as well as the High Septon with him… but leaves Stannis behind in the city.

Perhaps it's a little bit too on the nose, but if the impossible does happen today, then Stannis will become King of the Seven Kingdoms. He is, after all, the next in line for the throne no matter what Renly and his faction might think.

On Renly's side of things, it would seem he's brought his own 'Hand', Mace Tyrell… as well as his Queen. In fact, the moment Axel lays eyes on Margaery Tyrell; he feels something towards Renly that he's never felt before… jealousy.

Truly, Renly's Queen is a beauty among beauties. She's even more gorgeous than Cersei, Axel can't help thinking, his eyes lingering on her figure for a moment as the two groups approach. And she's entirely wasted on Renly too, if the rumors of his sword swallowing are true.

The fifty men that each of them have brought form a half-circle perimeter on either side of the location where the Trial will take place. Jon and the rest of the Small Council stay back, while Axel and his chosen champions stride forward.

The six men that he's brought with him from King's Landing are the best of his sparring partners. They're the knights who never held back when they fought him, nor did they give up when it seemed like he was an insurmountable challenge. Each and every one of them continued to try long past the point where a sane man would have stopped… and indeed, the point where many of their compatriots had stopped along the way.

Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Meryn Trant had been left behind in King's Landing to continue looking after Myrcella and Cersei. By leaving the Queen Dowager and Princess in King's Landing as well, Axel imagined Stannis would have the bargaining power he needed to make sure Tywin fought on his side… if it somehow came to that.

Meanwhile, any of these men who survived the Trial would be immediately elevated to his Kingsguard. It would be rather awkward if all six of them survived, but Axel didn't think that very likely. After all, surely Renly would pick similarly skilled champions, right?

… Looking over his uncle's fighters, Axel suddenly has his doubts. While he and the six knights on his side of the field are all adorned in full plate armor without much differentiation or independent identity beyond the crown atop Axel's brow, the same cannot be said for Renly's men.

Axel had heard that Renly called his version of the Kingsguard the 'Rainbow Guard', but he hadn't really thought it was literal. And yet, here they were. Each of Renly's knights wear armor dyed in a different color of the rainbow, save for the one who must be his Lord Commander. Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, is the only one wearing normal armor, though he still has a rainbow cape hanging off his back.

It's all very colorful, Axel has to admit. Perhaps a little too colorful. In the end, he just tries to ignore it and focus on the matter at hand… as well as the man who played the biggest role in bringing them all here and making this all necessary in the first place.

But of course, just as Cersei had warned him… Renly hangs back. In fact, he has chairs brought forth for him and his Queen, taking a seat with a smile on his smarmy face even as his Rainbow Guard all stride forward to meet Axel and the six knights at his sides.

Admittedly, he's far less angry than he would have been if he hadn't had the chance to prepare for this eventuality. That's what allows Axel to force a smile across his face as he calls out to his treacherous uncle.

"Not going to take part, Uncle?"

Renly's Rainbow Guard parts for a moment to give their liege unrestricted line of sight to Axel. The seated self-proclaimed King just smiles as though this is all some game to him.

"I am a King, young Stone. I did not appoint these brave warriors to my Rainbow Guard just to leave one of them on the sidelines."

The casual disregard for Axel's legitimacy and Kingship prompts no small amount of bristling and shifting from the six men at his side. Axel holds up a hand to keep any of them from saying anything though. He looks his uncle in the eye from across the field. And he asks the question that's been burning in his mind since the moment Ser Vardis died.

"Why did you do this, Renly? My father made you Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. He named you Master of Laws. You had everything you could have possibly wanted… and you threw it all away and spat on his final wishes. Was it worth it? Was all of this worth it? Truly?"

Now it's the Rainbow Guard's turn to bristle. Loras Tyrell in particular is scowling most furiously at Axel. Renly though… Renly reacts rather strangely, letting out a low sigh and shaking his head in regret.

"This wasn't what I wanted, no. I'm afraid something got… lost along the way. The knights I sent after you and Lord Arryn on the Kingsroad were only supposed to take you into custody. But I suppose you fought back and so the point is moot. Still, if you want someone to blame, if you're looking for a villain in all of this… look no further than the man who has put lies in your head, Stone. As regrettable as this all is, it remains my solemn duty as Robert's brother to make sure Jon Arryn doesn't get away with defrauding the Seven Kingdoms."

Axel's teeth grind together for a moment before he snarls.

"What proof do you have that Lord Arryn lied?! What evidence gives you the confidence to besmirch the name of a man who's honor is known far and wide across the whole of the Seven Kingdoms?!"

Renly smiles sadly, looking almost like he pities Axel for his 'confusion'. Axel isn't confused, to be clear. He's angry. And maybe part of him wants to force at least some of Renly's men to be forced to consider the idiocy on display here.

"I have the three servants who tended to my brother in his final moments. Three sisters who have all told me the same thing… Robert was in no state to pass on any message to anyone before he died. Jon Arryn is indeed a liar. And you are his puppet."

"Then produce these women! Where are these women that you claim know the truth about my father's death!"

A flash of anger appears in Renly's eyes as Axel raises his voice. But then he just shrugs rather flippantly.

"I cannot. They're back in Storm's End, where they're safe from any would-be assassins. But really… it doesn't matter at this point, does it? We're not here to debate or argue what is and isn't true. We're here to settle this once and for all with a Trial by the Seven."

Renly smiles cheerily, though Axel senses something fake in his uncle's eyes.

"The Seven will determine who is telling the truth and who is lying. After all… the Seven Who Are One wouldn't let a liar prove triumphant over an honest man, would they?"

Axel can tell that Renly's words are intentionally mocking the Faith. And while Axel himself might not be nearly as devout or pious as he's tried to appear, it still angers him somewhat to hear the other man act so… two-faced.

Straightening up, Axel squares his shoulders and solemnly nods.

"You're right. This will be decided here and now on this field with this battle. Let this be the first and last battle of this ridiculous, pointless war."

Finally, that gets under Renly's skin. Axel can see the other man bristling a little bit. But he maintains his cool all the same, even as the High Septon carefully and gingerly steps forward with some guards employed specifically by the Faith flanking him on either side.

"Ahem. T-Today we are gathered for a Trial by the Seven, a most ancient holy rite. Today we stand at the crossroads of justice and mercy, where the Will of the Seven will be made manifest through mere mortal hands. Let us remember that this is not a Trial of Vengeance, but of Justice. This is a Trial of Divine Judgment and Heavenly Adjudication. M-May the Seven guide the blades of all the Champions, so that their Will might be done this day."

As the High Septon speaks, Axel and his men prepares themselves, watching Renly's Rainbow Guard do the same opposite of them. This prompts the High Septon to stammer just a little bit as live steel is bared on either side, the portly man sweating a tad as his eyes flick back and forth.

Finally, taking a step back, he clears his throat.

"L-Let the Trial commence!"

As the High Septon and his guards pull away, Axel moves forward and so do the men on either side of him. Likewise, Renly's Rainbow Guard strides forward as well.

For a brief moment, Axel had considered aiming for Loras Tyrell first. The Knight of Flowers was said to be more than just Renly's Lord Commander… he was also apparently the man's lover.

It went against the Faith of the Seven taught in the Seven Pointed Star, but truth be told, Axel didn't much care beyond wondering how the hell Renly ever expected to produce an heir, or why someone as beautiful as Margaery Tyrell would be happy playing the cuckold.

Still, Axel doesn't immediately go for Loras because taking the man out too early might turn this into a one-sided slaughter and not only does Axel only have five open slots in his Kingsguard, he also doesn't want to win too easily. It needs to look like it was at least a little challenging.

Fortunately, Loras also doesn't make a beeline for him, allowing Axel to instead choose the biggest man on the enemy side to approach. Wearing dented steel armor dyed a deep blue cobalt color, the knight turns to face him, wielding a sword in his hands.

Axel grins viciously, even as he lifts his own sword. The sounds of battle begin to ring out all around him, signaling that each of the seven on either side has found their first opponent. This early in the trial, it would be one on one until someone lost, at which point things would eventually begin to grow lopsided one way or another.

But for now, it was seven separate duels… just the way Axel wanted it.

"You're a big one, aren't you?"

His taunt is met with the giant in blue scoffing heatedly from beneath his helm.

"You've caused King Renly enough headache, bastard. You should have stayed in the Vale."

Not bad in terms of banter. Not bad at… wait a second… Axel's brow furrows, even as the giant lunges forward and he makes a show of barely dodging out of the way of the sword thrust. He's distracted, though not nearly enough to let any of the subsequent blows land.

Still… that voice hadn't sounded particularly masculine. In fact, if Axel didn't know any better…

"Hold on, are you a woman?"

The blue giant freezes up and Axel could have taken advantage of that… but he doesn't. Because he knows he's hit the nail right on the head. This massive warrior in blue armor is no 'he' at all. It's a she. Finally, she snarls and sets her stance, holding her sword before her as she introduces herself.

"… I am Lady Brienne of Tarth. I am Brienne the Blue of King Renly's Rainbow Guard. Underestimate me at your own risk, bastard, for I shall show you no mercy."

Well shit.

-x-X-x-

A/N: "Hang on a second, nobody said anything about having to hit a girl!" – Axel, probably.

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: The Trial by Seven continues!

-x-X-x-

Now he just feels awkward. He'd gone for Brienne because of her size and because he didn't want to go for Loras first, but he hadn't expected her to be a woman. Frankly, finding out that Renly has a woman in his Kingsguard leaves him more than a little baffled. Even as he trades blows with the woman, he finds himself furrowing his brow in consternation.

She's not a bad fighter, this 'Brienne the Blue'. Her skill with a sword is passingly good and she would probably have found a place among the six who were fighting with him today if she were born with a cock and weren't on the wrong side of the battle.

Of course, she's nothing compared to him. And Axel knows he can't let this drag on forever. He's just… loathe to kill a woman, he supposes. It's not very chivalrous, is it? Not very knightly…

Well, nobody said everyone involved in a Trial by the Seven has to die, right? He'll just… disarm her and force her to surrender. It's not even particularly hard once he sets his mind to it. Their swords lock and a moment later Axel wrenches Brienne's blade out of her hands, causing the armored woman to gasp as the steel goes flying. Simple as that.

Pointing his sword at the now unarmed woman, Axel inclines his head.

"You've lost, Lady Brienne. It's time to retire the field."

"NEVER!"

However, he's not expecting the giantess of a woman to lunge at him like she does. Axel has to hastily pull back his sword so she doesn't skewer herself on it, only to find himself drifting to the side to dodge out of the way of her tackle. She's surprisingly fast for her size… but he's faster, even if it means revealing a bit more of his inhuman speed than he'd intended to.

As well, her charge has left Brienne thoroughly imbalanced so really all he has to do is snap out his foot, clip the back of her greaves in just the right way and…

SLAM!

Axel winces a little bit as the warrior woman crashes into the ground, armor and all. Before she can recover, he takes a few steps forward, turns his sword over in his hand, and smacks her helmet with the pommel to knock her out. Fortunately, he's become quite good at nonlethal blows through all that sparring and she slumps bonelessly to the ground a moment later.

Flipping his sword back around, Axel turns away from Brienne to see how the rest of the Trial is going… only to find that his allies have won most of their fights at this point. Most of the brightly colored knights of Renly's Rainbow Guard are on the ground, having lost their duels to the knights that Axel had been honing into weapons for weeks now. Some dead, some not, but all of them are soundly defeated.

For a moment, Axel despairs that this is the state of his Uncle's so-called Champions… but then he sees that all is not lost for Renly. The Knight of Flowers still stands and he's already killed two of Axel's men from the look of things. The other four are trying to encircle him, but all of them seem rightfully weary of Loras Tyrell's skill… and the strange sword he's wielding in his hands.

Axel's eyes narrow as he peers at the rippling patterns across the length of Loras' blade. They're not like anything he's ever seen before, truth be told. Still, he's not too worried. At this point, the Trial is all but won… but even if Axel should probably let his remaining allies hem Loras in to make it a sure thing and hide most of his skill, his pride as a warrior and a knight simply won't allow it.

"Hold!"

All eyes turn towards him as Axel strides forward, beckoning for the four remaining knights on his side to all take a step back. Loras straightens up, glaring at him balefully even as they face off against one another. Grinning toothily, Axel inclines his head in the pretty man's direction.

"I'll deal with him myself."

Axel tunes out the cries from the sidelines at his declaration, Jon's surely among them. Sure, it might seem a little bit foolish when he's already all but won… but unlike Renly, Axel is a King who believes in leading from the front.

Loras' jaw sets as a modicum of respect appears in his otherwise hate filled eyes. He gives Axel a nod, which Axel returns with one of his own. For a moment, everything is still as they face one another… and then the Knight of Flowers lunges forward, his strange-looking sword flashing out.

Axel blocks it easily, though he makes sure to pretend that it's anything but. Although, even as he's holding himself back and matching Loras' strength and speed, he notices that his own sword isn't holding up as well as Loras' is.

Hang on a second… is that Valyrian Steel? Axel had only heard of the miraculous metal to be honest. He'd never gotten the chance to witness it with his own eyes so he's not sure what it's supposed to look like but the way its chipping his own sword while taking no discernable damage reminds him of what he'd been told about the stuff.

But House Tyrell didn't have a Valyrian Steel Sword. Neither did House Baratheon. So where the fuck had Loras Tyrell gotten one? Was it on loan or something? Seeming to notice Axel's building confusion, Loras flashes him a cheeky, smug grin.

"I see you've finally realized what this sword is, bastard. My King gifted me this Valyrian Steel Blade specifically so that I could kill you with it and put an end to this farce once and for all."

That just left Axel with more questions. Where had Renly Baratheon found a Valyrian Steel Sword? They were said to be some of the rarest, most valuable things in the world.

Not that it matters too much. Axel will still win. He just needs to spend a little bit more time making it look close before he-

White-hot pain lances through him as Loras does something Axel isn't expecting and then strikes low with his sword, a maneuver that even Axel doesn't fully see coming, perhaps because he's not taking this seriously enough. The Valyrian Steel Sword in the Knight of Flowers' grasp lances out in that single moment of inattention and cuts upon Axel's inner thigh.

To be fair, Loras managing to land a blow isn't that surprising. He's easily the best swordsman that Axel has ever sparred. Even if he doesn't have Axel's speed or strength, he clearly has experience and skill to make up with it. Or rather, he does when Axel is holding back as much as he is, trying not to be too blatantly obvious about his unnatural nature.

The surprising part, however… is that Loras Tyrell draws blood. Axel has been cut at by other men before. He's been slashed, smashed, and bashed at. Indeed, he's had all manner of injury attempted upon his person. But the key word there is 'attempted'.

Maybe when he was younger, he bled a few times. Got some scrapes and bruises. But truth be told, those times are so far in the past that he barely remembers them. In the last several years, no blade has been able to cut Axel's skin. No mace has been able to bruise his flesh or break his bones. Nothing has managed to hurt Axel Baratheon… until right now.

He drops to a knee, grunting as he feels something hot traveling down his inner thigh. Not piss, he finds himself thinking… but blood. He's bleeding. For the first time in as long as Axel Baratheon can remember, he's bleeding. Profusely at that.

Surprisingly, Loras Tyrell doesn't capitalize on the successful strike. Instead, he stands there looming over Axel, smirking down at him.

"Rosethorn always finds her mark, I'm afraid. It's over, bastard."

"He's right!"

Renly's voice calls out over the sudden silence, everyone frozen in shock at what's just happened.

"It's over, Axel! That sort of injury… you'll bleed out in minutes if you're not treated. Even if the rest of your men take down my Lord Commander, you'll still be dead. Surrender and swear to take the Black and on my word as King, I will make sure that you survive!"

He really is losing a lot of blood, at least for a bit there. Axel's vision swims for a moment… before stabilizing. And the flow of hot liquid coming from the cut on his thigh… begins to slow to a crawl. Both Loras and Renly sounded so sure of themselves too. Perhaps they were just mistaken. Or perhaps this is just another way in which Axel is unnatural and inhuman.

At the same time, he can't help but find Renly's words ridiculous. Sure, he might die here… but if his remaining knights beat Loras, then Renly's claim to the throne is also forfeit and Stannis would become the King of the Seven Kingdoms, as was his right. The thought that Axel would be so craven as to surrender in such a scenario, just to save his own life… it made him want to laugh.

It shouldn't surprise Axel that Renly sounds as though he would continue fighting even in the event that he lost the Trial but Axel died. And yet, it still does surprise him, just a little bit. However, it also doesn't matter, does it? Because Axel isn't dying. Not today.

"I refuse."

He bats Loras' blade away from his face with a gauntleted hand, catching the Knight of Flowers off guard as he staggers to his feet. Loras' eyes widen even as he tightens his grip on his sword and takes a quick step back, clearly surprised by Axel's sudden recovery. All around them, wide eyes make it clear that everyone else is similarly shocked, including Renly.

Grinning toothily, Axel lifts his blade up and cocks a single brow, pretending to sway for a moment as though he's still hurt. But the truth is… while the wound to his inner thigh still pains him, he can already tell it's no longer life-threatening. Or rather, it never WAS life-threatening. Something like that… isn't going to kill someone like him.

Renly buys Axel's little swaying act though, hook, line, and sinker. Feigning sadness, he sighs and waves his hand.

"End it, Loras."

Loras prepares to do so, only to pause when Axel's remaining knights all take a step forward as if to assist him. But Axel wards them off with a held up hand.

"Stay back. This is still my fight to win or lose."

To win, more like. Because… he's not fucking playing around anymore. After making sure he wasn't about to fight five on one, Loras clenches his jaw and moves in again, that Valyrian Steel Sword of his ready to try and do damage once again.

But this time around, Axel is ready for it. This time around, Axel knows that thing can hurt him and he's not about to let that happen a second time. Dodging rather than blocking, Axel ramps up his speed… and becomes untouchable. He imagines it must appear rather amazing from the outside looking in, though even now he's not using his full strength or speed. Even now, he's still holding back.

Loras Tyrell really is a phenomenal warrior. For all that he looks like a woman, for all that he's on the wrong side of this conflict, Axel can nevertheless respect his skill with the blade. Unfortunately for him, simple skill isn't enough when up against whatever Axel was.

That beautiful Valyrian Steel Sword, named 'Rosethorn' of all things apparently, swings through the air again and again, but Axel is never where it lands. He dances around Loras with ease, always ahead of the other knight. He's reading Loras' movements now, seeing where he's going to be before he's even halfway there.

Despite landing first blood, the Knight of Flowers gets more and more frustrated as nothing he does works. More than that though, he begins to get exhausted. It's no surprise. He fought and killed two men even before getting to Axel, and a normal man like Loras could only fight for so long before his stamina began to ran out. He was getting more and more tired by the moment. And a tired man is a man who makes mistakes.

Axel waits for the right opportunity… and when it comes, he relieves Loras of both his Valyrian Steel Sword and his sword hand. The Lord Commander of the Rainbow Guard overextends, one hand leaving the sword's hilt as he throws out a desperate thrust with all of his body behind it. And Axel is there to take advantage.

His own sword, nicked to all hell from trading blows with Valyrian Steel, flashes out and separates Loras' hand from his body. Both his hand and 'Rosethorn' go flying through the air as a result, but Axel is there to catch them, much to the shock of the crowd.

Peeling Loras' fingers off of the handle of the Valyrian Steel Sword and tossing the hand to the ground is slightly grisly work, admittedly. Axel nevertheless has it done by the time Loras crashes to his knees in shock, his mind just starting to catch up to what's been done to him.

As blood spurts from the stump and Loras kneels before him in a stupor, Axel places both his sword and the Valyrian Steel at cross sections on either side of Loras' neck. He's more than ready to cut the man's head from his body… but pausing all the same to look past the Knight of Flowers.

There, half-risen from his chair with horror in his eyes, Renly Baratheon looks downright horrified by what's just happened. His Queen, Loras' sister, looks just as distraught… and its Margaery's expression that solidifies an idea Axel has been playing with even as he played with Loras Tyrell.

"I give you the same offer, Uncle. The Trial is won. By me. Surrender, swear to take the Black along with Ser Loras here, and I will spare his life as well as the lives of those who fought valiantly for you and still yet draw breath."

Axel isn't sure how many of the Rainbow Guard are still alive admittedly, but he makes the offer all the same, knowing full well that the only one that Renly even remotely cares about is on his knees in front of him.

"… Y-Yes… yes, I accept your offer. I surrender. I will take the Black, I-I… I…"

As his treacherous uncle stutters and stammers, Axel feels nothing but disgust for the man. His Queen on the other hand… once Renly has agreed, Margaery jerks up from her own seat, rushing forward to Loras' side. Axel pulls back the swords he's holding in each hand to give the beautiful young woman room, watching as she uses her own dress to cover Loras' stump and try to staunch the blood flow.

He would… probably live. Axel would ask whoever was in charge of things to try and make sure of it. Meanwhile, with this, the war was over. Men were dead, but far fewer than would have been otherwise if not for this Trial. And Axel Baratheon… had won.

The High Septon comes forward once more to make it official, flanked by his guards just like before.

"This Trial by the Seven is concluded! Axel Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm… stands victorious! All Hail King Axel Baratheon!"

The four remaining knights who fought on Axel's side don't hesitate to take up the cheer… and so does everyone else, soon enough. The only ones not to are Renly, Loras, and Margaery, the former slumping back in his chair in defeat and the latter two more focused on Loras' injury.

Axel, meanwhile, stares down at the rippling pattern of the Valyrian Steel Sword he's currently holding and can't help but wonder at it. After so long of feeling like he wasn't human, he'd finally found something that could hurt him.

… He's not sure how to feel about that fact, truth be told. But at least Renly's rebellion was over. It had ended not with a bang, but a whimper. And Axel was perfectly alright with that.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Renly is defeated and the war is over. Three chapters left in Arc Two and then it'll be time for Arc Three~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Dealing with the bureaucracy~

-x-X-x-

Jon Arryn sits and waits, holding in the weary sigh that he would almost certainly have released by now if he were alone.

Renly's war is over at least and thank the Seven for that. Deciding everything with a Trial by the Seven had made it perhaps the cleanest war that Westeros had ever seen as well, though Jon wasn't a Maester and couldn't be certain. All the same, the fact that so few men had to die for peace to be achieved… that was a blessing to be sure.

Still, it's said that the bureaucracy never sleeps. Not entirely accurate, given that Axel's Small Council is meeting a day later, not the very same day as the Trial. However, Jon himself had barely gotten any sleep given how much work he had to do, so in a way it was true.

Seated at the head of the table in the Small Council Room, the exhausted Hand of the King smiles politely, even as Pycelle arrives last like usual and takes his own seat at the table. Stannis, Varys, and Petyr are all already in attendance of course… as is Ser Arys Oakheart, standing there looking nervous but also anticipatory.

Clearing his throat once Pycelle is sitting down, Jon taps the table as all eyes turn towards him.

"This should hopefully be a relatively quick meeting. Everything has already been decided by the King, this is mostly just so that we all understand his Will in these matters."

Nods are had all around for a brief moment before Jon continues.

"First things first, the King is in good health all things considered. He would be here, but he needs a bit more time to heal up first. Grandmaester Pycelle has provided a number of tinctures and poultices to help the King along, so I imagine he'll be up and raring to go in no time."

The Grandmaester coughs at that, speaking up in his usual doddering tone.

"Y-Yes well, if I were allowed to i-inspect the young King's wound, I would most likely have b-been able to render a more… specific judgment on what sort of remedies he needed."

Smiling plainly, Jon shakes his head.

"It was a simple sword wound. Nothing worthy of your time, Grandmaester."

That obviously wasn't quite true. Axel was the King after all, even the slightest unsettling of his stomach was worthy of the Grandmaester's time. The truth was, there was actually nothing keeping Axel from being here today. Nothing at all. In fact, he'd likely made a full recovery before they even left the battlefield.

It was… strange in a way. On the one hand, seeing the impossible young monarch bleed for the first time had been terrifying for Jon. But on the other hand, all that Loras' single blow had managed to do was reveal to both Jon and Axel just how quickly he healed even when they did find something that could harm him.

Jon himself had recognized the wound Loras had managed to deal to Axel as well, and much like Loras and Renly, he'd thought for a heart stopping moment that Robert's son was a dead man walking. But no… while a gouge along the inner thigh like that would have killed any normal man, it had barely slowed down Axel.

"Secondly, onto the matter of Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell. As our King agreed to, Renly will be allowed to take the Black. Until such time as he can be transported North, the King has decreed that he will stay in the upper levels of the Black Cells. Similarly, Loras Tyrell has survived the loss of his hand and demanded to take the Black as well in spite of his father's protests, so he too will be confined to the Black Cells until he and Renly can be taken to the Wall."

There are nods all around the table at this. If Stannis is upset that Renly won't be executed for his crimes, he doesn't really show it… his face is as stoic and inscrutable as ever. The others don't seem to rightly care one way or another.

Unfortunately, this next bit of news was something that would probably cause a few scowls. Even Jon wanted to scowl just thinking about it. But in the end they would all just have to stomach it. Letting out his weary sigh at long last, Jon delivers the bad news.

"Thirdly, House Tyrell will remain the rulers of Highgarden and Mace Tyrell will remain Lord Paramount of the Reach."

That curdles Stannis' expression in a way that the news of Renly taking the Black did not. To be fair, Jon isn't happy about it either.

"There will be consequences, however. For the next three summers and winters, the Reach will be required to supply food to the Crownlands, including King's Landing, for a minor fraction of the usual cost. On top of that, Lady Margaery Tyrell will be remaining here as a Ward of the Red Keep for the foreseeable future, joined by her grandmother, Lady Olenna Tyrell."

Margaery and Olenna would be hostages in all but name to ensure that Mace didn't step out of line again. Jon would have liked to send Mace Tyrell to the Wall along with Renly. Hell, he would have loved to attaint House Tyrell and see them replaced as Lord Paramounts of the Reach as well. There was just one major issue with that unfortunately. Namely, the fact that every single noble house in the Reach had answered their liege lord's call to war.

Not a single one of them had balked at Mace Tyrell's orders, or at least not openly enough to see them replaced. Even the likes of House Florent, who had married one of their women to Stannis, or House Oakheart, of which Ser Arys was a member, had not tried to deny Mace's call to arms.

Put bluntly, all of them were complicit in the same way that the Storm Lords had all been complicit in following Renly into treason. And if they went about punishing every single lord who played a role in this stupid, insipid war, than while the Night's Watch might thank them for the influx of recruits, the Southern Kingdoms would no doubt harbor resentment for years and years to come.

No, in the end, the ultimate responsibility for this mess lay with Renly. In the wake of his defeat, he'd at long last confessed to making up the story of Jon Arryn's dishonor and lies, as well as convincing the three servants he had stashed away in Storm's End to support his lies as well.

All three sisters would have to join the Silent Sisters for their crimes, and Renly and Loras would be taking the Black. But everyone else was going to get off relatively easy, allowed to fall back on the claim that they'd been hoodwinked by Renly's deception. Of course, the Reach was still going to be paying their debt to the Crown for a long time to come. And the Stormlands…

"Fourthly, by order of the King, Lord Stannis is hereby granted the seat of Storm's End, where he will now rule as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. He will also keep custody of Dragonstone in the King's name for the foreseeable future."

Stannis brightens up considerably at this, rising from his seat and giving a stiff backed bow that Jon returns with an indulging nod. The man still doesn't smile, but he nevertheless manages to look the happiest that Jon has ever seen him… until the next thing.

"Furthermore, if you will accept the position, the King wishes for you to be made Master of Laws as well, Lord Stannis."

Freezing up in surprise, Stannis furrows his brow for a moment in confusion, allowing Jon to continue on with explanation.

"It is the King's opinion that a man with your sense of duty and honor is far more suited for the position than your brother was… and given your long and robust history as Master of Ships, he also wishes for you to put forward your recommendation for your successor if you choose to accept this new role."

That causes a bit of a stir around the table, even as Stannis sits there looking dumbstruck for several long seconds. After all, while its unusual for a Small Council Member to switch positions while remaining on the Small Council, it's not unheard of.

However, the King allowing that same person to publicly choose their replacement, as Jon is implying here, is somewhat unprecedented. Kings didn't often like to give up their power, after all. But as Axel had told Jon, there was simply no one better than Stannis himself to figure out his successor. He was the man with the most experience in the role after all, and therefore he should know best.

In the end, Axel felt that Stannis needed to be rewarded beyond just becoming Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Those were titles he would inherit simply by being the only Baratheon left for the role, after all. It was expected that he would be given such things with Renly bound for the Wall.

Axel had wanted to do more though, to make it clear to both Stannis and the rest of the Realm that he was valued and appreciated for his service to the crown. Especially given how rocky and fraught with danger the early days of Axel's reign had been.

Much like Tywin Lannister had done, Stannis could have sat back and waited for the dust to settle to see who would come out on top here in King's Landing. Instead he hadn't hesitated to swear his fealty to Axel and help keep King's Landing from starving any worse than it had due to the siege.

Jon is just about to tell Stannis he doesn't have to decide now when the stiff backed man suddenly speaks up.

"… I will accept the position of Master of Laws. My recommendation for the position of Master of Ships is Ser Davos Seaworth."

From across the table, Petyr Baelish lets out a choked-off laugh.

"The Onion Knight? Isn't that the one you cut fingers off of for smuggling food to Storm's End during King Robert's Rebellion?"

Stannis' gaze sharpens as he jerks his head in a nod.

"Yes. Ser Davos took his punishment without complaint and put his smuggling days behind him. He has proven to be a loyal subject to both the crown and myself ever since. He is also one of the best sailors I know and would be perfect to succeed me as Master of Ships."

Baelish looks bemused while Varys just smiles. Pycelle, meanwhile, looks as lost as ever by the exchange. Jon just sighs and nods his head.

"I will take your recommendation to the King, Lord Stannis. I have no doubt that he will weigh your suggestion quite heavily against any other would be options."

Translation, they would almost certainly be going with Ser Davos given what Axel had told him. This leaves Stannis looking pleased as he nods in satisfaction, while Petyr looks almost like he's bitten something sour. Perhaps he had his own idea for who could take over as Master of Ships, but alas, it wasn't meant to be.

With the matter settled, Jon turns his attention to the final bit of business, his eyes moving over to where Ser Arys Oakheart stands near the door.

"Ser Arys, come forward please."

Straightening up, the Kingsguard strides up to the table, stopping with his hands clasped in front of him.

"The Kingsguard has remained at a mere shadow of its former self since the wildfire tragedy and the suicide of Ser Jaime. You and Ser Meryn have done your duties to the best of your abilities in that time, and the King has decided you are to be rewarded for staying true to your oaths and protecting the Queen Dowager and Princess. With that said, you are now Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Take a seat."

Looking appropriately honored by this, even if he had to have suspected it was coming, Ser Arys, now Lord Commander Arys, pulls out the chair normally reserved for the head of the Kingsguard and sits down after pulling his white cloak to the side.

"The four Champions who fought alongside our King and survived the Trial by the Seven will be sworn into the Kingsguard in the next day or two once the King is recovered enough for such things. A seventh will eventually be found to fill out your number as well."

Inclining his head, Arys clears his throat.

"As you say, Lord Hand."

Sweeping his gaze around the room, Jon moves his eyes from the newly appointed Lord Commander to the newly appointed Master of Laws, and then on to the Master of Whispers, Master of Coin, and the Grandmaester. After so long, they were almost whole again, with only one empty seat left at this point. And that would soon be filled by Ser Davos.

Finally, Jon gives a single sharp nod.

"That will be all for now. Dismissed."

As the rest of the Small Council leaves the chamber, Jon remains seated, leaning back in his chair and letting out a sigh of relief. It was over. Renly's insipid war, the question of his honor, and Axel's claim to the throne… all of it.

Sure, part of Jon would have preferred that Axel play things a bit safer in the Trial and not take quite so many risks or showboat as much as he did. But he'd already spoken with the High Septon and the rotund man was more than happy to spread word of Axel's piety and faith carrying the day for him.

To be fair, if there was any public setting in which it was perfect for Axel to come across as a little abnormal, it would be a Trial by the Seven. After all, such Trials were blessed by the Seven, right? It was said that the Seven would not let the honest party lose such a thing, and even if it was only the smallfolk and the most pious of nobles who believe such trite things, it was still good enough in the end.

Yes… at long last, everything has worked out for the best. At long last, the Realm is at peace. Though that did not mean the work was done. Far from it. The Lord Paramounts, who had all already been on the road to King's Landing would continue to come, albeit without most of their armies. Everyone would soon be gathered in the city to swear fealty to Axel Baratheon in person.

And of course, now that things were settled with Renly… Axel needed a wife. He needed a Queen and he needed proper heirs. Only once that was settled did Jon think he would finally be able to truly rest easy.

But if nothing else, at least the violence was over and done with.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Thank the Seven that the violence is over and done with!

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Axel gets a visitor while he's 'recovering' from his 'grievous injury'.

-x-X-x-

Slowly, ever so slowly, Axel brings his thumb down on the rippling metal blade in front of him. He watches curiously as his skin splits along the impossibly sharp edge, blood welling up from the cut. Pulling his thumb back, he looks at the injury for a moment, watching the blood stop seeping out and the flesh repair itself in real time over the course of the next minute or so.

Technically, he's supposed to be resting right now. He's not allowed to do most of his normal day to day activities because he's still 'healing' and 'recovering' from the Trial. After all, it's one thing for him to miraculously survive what should have been a death sentence to any normal man. It would be another entirely for him to not need any recovery time whatsoever.

That's the truth of the matter in the end though. His thigh is completely healed and has been since before he even walked off the battlefield back at the Trial. The Valyrian Steel had been able to cut him like nothing else ever had before, but the wound it left hadn't lasted long at all.

Funny, Axel had never been hurt badly enough before now to find out just how quickly he healed. Now he knew… it was pretty damn fast.

Wiping his bloodied thumb on a cloth, Axel doesn't even bother looking to know the skin comes away completely pristine and blemish free. Instead, he only has eyes for the Valyrian Steel itself. Rosethorn, as Ser Loras had named it.

Terrible name, honestly. He was definitely going to have to rename it as soon as possible. After all, it was his now apparently. Renly wasn't being entirely forthcoming about where he'd gotten it and nobody else could tell Axel either. Somehow, his uncle had just happened to 'find' a Valyrian Steel Sword to gift to his paramour on the eve of battle.

… Yeah, Axel wasn't buying it either, but frankly, he also found he didn't really care. Since they could at least be sure Renly hadn't borrowed it from any of the lesser houses in Westeros, that meant there was nobody in the Seven Kingdoms who was expecting to have it back any time soon either. And that meant it was Axel's by rite of conquest.

His very own Valyrian Steel Sword. The first Ancestral Valyrian Steel Blade for House Baratheon in living memory as far as he knew. Exciting stuff, to be sure, and naming it something better than Rosethorn was high on his priority list, to be sure. But also… he was terribly bored.

Cutting himself with Valyrian Steel and testing his newfound vulnerability could only really entertain Axel for so long. Being cooped up and confined to his quarters for hours on end… it left him at his wit's end.

Hmm… maybe it was time to sneak out. Nobody would expect him to leap from his balcony at the back of the Red Keep. Get a proper grey cloak, and he was sure he could blend in fairly well.

He could find out how the smallfolk were taking his victory. He could see how his people were doing now that the siege was over and everything could hopefully return to some semblance of normal.

Yes… yes, that sounded good to Axel. Jon might be cross if he found out, but that was only IF he found out. Rising from his chair, Axel quickly sheathes his new Valyrian Steel Sword and sets it aside. However, just as he's going for the plainest cloak he can find… there's a knock at the door that makes his shoulders slump and draws a quiet groan of disappointment from his lips.

"… Yes? What is it?"

"The Queen Dowager, Your Majesty. She wishes to see you."

Ah. Well damn. Now he's even more tempted to flee via the balcony, hah! But… no. There's no hiding from this. He might as well take his lumps and get it over with.

"Send her in."

The doors to his chambers open and Cersei Lannister comes sweeping in only to stop dead in her tracks with wide eyes when she sees him standing there. To her credit, she recovers swiftly enough, approaching him at a sedate pace with her hands hidden away in the voluminous arms of her dress.

"I heard you were injured in the Trial. I thought you'd be in bed resting. Should you be up and moving quite yet?"

Axel grins and shrugs.

"What the Grandmaester doesn't know can't hurt him."

He makes sure to give her a cheeky wink too, to really sell the idea that maybe he's still weak and injured but just can't stand lying around. Cersei bites her lower lip and then reaches out, placing a hand on his chest.

"They're saying you should have died. That the Seven protected you, blessed you, saved you."

Hmm, she must have martially minded sources then. Even Axel hadn't known that the wound Loras dealt him was almost always fatal to a normal man. Apparently, there were places on a man's body where if a sword cut, then the blood would flow and flow so fast and so vast that the man would die in mere minutes.

Such a wound COULD be treated, but only if done so immediately and in the right manner. Continuing to fight in such conditions was tantamount to suicide. Especially since everyone knew how fighting made one's blood pump all the more fiercely, and that would in turn make the injury bleed you out all the faster.

That was why, when Loras managed to bring him to his knees, both the Knight of Flowers and Renly had assumed Axel was done for and offered him the chance to surrender. To anyone with years and years of experience in battle, it was apparently obvious that the fight was over right then and there.

Of course, then Axel had gotten back up and proceeded to win, disarming Loras (literally) and surviving what shouldn't have been survivable.

Letting his grin turn into a softer smile, Axel reaches up and takes the hand Cersei has on his chest, winding his fingers through hers.

"Is that a note of concern I hear in your voice, Queen Dowager? Honestly, I thought you were going to be furious at me."

She gives him a confused look, prompting Axel to explain.

"I know how much you wanted me to kill Renly. I know you counseled me to make sure he died time and time again."

Really, he'd thought that Cersei had come here to scream at him. The Queen Dowager certainly had the lungs for it, and the disposition too. He'd expected her to be quite wrathful over him allowing Renly and Loras to take the Black. Instead, she seems more worried about his health than anything else.

Blinking, Cersei shakes her head and steps forward, pressing herself against him.

"Oh that… I don't care about that. I suppose finding out you'd been hurt helped me put my priorities in order."

Huh. Axel finds himself moving his hands to the Queen Dowager's hips, grinning a little as she smiles up at him and lifts herself up to find his lips. Well now. He really shouldn't be partaking in any strenuous activities to sell the illusion that he wasn't fully healed… but to be fair, he wasn't supposed to be fucking Cersei anyways.

It should be fine just so long as nobody else found out~

His hands move from Cersei's hips to her ass, squeezing her buttocks through her dress as they kiss. She surges forward, wrapping one arm around his neck and pushing her lips insistently against his. Meanwhile the other arm…

Axel furrows his brow as he feels something oddly pointy poking into his side. It's nothing more than a little irritating, but it's still distracting enough to make him break his lip lock with Cersei and look down to see what's gotten between them.

He's expecting some piece of Cersei's jewelry to be pushing against his chest. What he's not expecting is to see Cersei wielding a rather sizable dagger (at least for her) in her free hand and trying to slip it up under his ribs and straight into his heart. Only, while she's cut through his shirt and left a hole in the cloth, she's finding it impossible to penetrate his skin. The dagger is just normal Castle Forged Steel, after all.

For a long moment, they both stare down at the dagger in disbelief. Axel is having a hard time processing, truth be told. The Queen Dowager… was trying to kill him?

Cersei, meanwhile, goes from shocked to her face twisting into a hateful, angry expression in moments. With a scream, she pulls free of his (admittedly loose) grip, taking a step back as his hands fall to the sides, only to then come in again with the dagger held up in an overhand grip.

Axel takes a step back as the first blow lands on his chest to no avail… but the he stops and stands his ground. Screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs, Cersei Lannister attempts to drive the dagger into his chest over and over again… with no effect except to continue perforating and damaging his shirt.

Finally, with a cracking sound, the blade shatters against his impenetrable skin. Metal shards clatter to the floor as Cersei is left holding nothing but a hilt. Her and Axel both stare at it for another long moment, before she tosses it to the ground and comes at him with her hands like claws.

"You B-BASTARD! How dare you wear that c-crown! How dare you stand where my sons should have stood! You should have had the decency to die from the poison!"

What follows is Cersei trying to scratch him to death, which doesn't really work any better than her attempts at stabbing him in the heart. It's only when one of her nails hits one of his eyes that Axel actually feels some measure of pain and finally breaks free of his stupor. He catches Cersei's wrists in his hands in moments, holding her fast even as she tries to break free in her maddened attempt at killing him.

Then, it hits him that she just admitted to being the one who had him poisoned. And if she was behind the Strangler, she was probably behind every other attempt too, throughout his entire life.

… He's never been so thoroughly repulsed by anyone than in this moment. As she continues to fight him and struggle in his grasp to no avail, Axel clears his throat.

"Guards!"

The doors to his chamber open and two of his new Kingsguard step into the room, only to stop and blink at the sight before him, their eyes going from their King to the hysterical Queen Dowager still shouting about how he should be dead and how she'd tried to poison him for years, to finally gaze down at the shattered dagger on the ground.

"… The Queen Dowager has just admitted to trying to have me poisoned. After attempting to assassinate me with her own two hands. Take her back to her quarters and lock her in. Put her under secure guard. Nobody visits her and she goes nowhere until I say otherwise."

Cersei howls as the Kingsguard move forward to take her off of his hands. She shrieks and screams, struggling in their grasp, but her nails find no more purchase in their armor than they did in his nigh impenetrable flesh.

Axel watches her go even as the irritation in his eye quickly goes away, the minor injury she'd actually managed to deal him healing rapidly. His eyes weren't as impervious as his skin it seemed. Though this was… he looks down at the metal shards and discarded hilt in disbelief, not quite sure how to feel in this moment.

… Jon. Jon would know what to do.

-x-X-x-

"This is a mess."

Huffing, Axel shakes his head in dry bemusement.

"I'm well aware of that, Jon."

His Hand grimaces, even as he looks down at the remnants of Cersei's murder weapon, moved from the floor over to the table.

"That's through no fault of yours, my King. Perhaps you shouldn't have allowed her to see you privately, but even if you'd sent her away, she would have just tried some other way. I… I had my suspicions about her and the attempt on your life up in the Vale, but I didn't want to make an accusation with no evidence. I'm sorry, I should have still said something."

Axel waves a hand dismissively.

"You did say something. You told me not to trust her from the very beginning. Multiple times at that. And I didn't listen, or at least I didn't listen closely enough. I'd figured out that she had some strange hatred for my uncles, but I didn't realize how deep that hatred went… or that it extended to me."

Wincing, Jon nods.

"Yes, going off of what the Kingsguard have said about her ranting and raving since the failed attempt… she desires the end of the Baratheon Male Line. You, Stannis, Renly… she wants you all dead as 'justice' for Robert getting her sons killed."

Sighing, Axel rubs at his forehead.

"You said it. This is a mess. What do we do now, Jon?"

Sitting down at the table, the Hand of the King grunts.

"Well, she's confessed her crimes to multiple people at this point, so at least there's no shortage of witnesses to her crazed ramblings. She tried to kill you after trying to have you assassinated all throughout your life. As King, you have every right to execute her… but she is the daughter of a Lord Paramount and the Queen Dowager besides.

Axel nods, gesturing for Jon to continue.

"… The normal answer for someone of Cersei Lannister's stature having committed such grave crimes would be the either the block or the Silent Sisters… but given just WHO she is the daughter of, I doubt either option would be tolerated."

That draws a snarl to Axel's face and he leans forward with bared teeth.

"I'll be honest with you Jon, I'm not sure I care what Tywin fucking Lannister finds tolerable at this point. If he has a problem, I'd be glad to go and take it up with him personally if I had to."

Chuckling, Jon shakes his head.

"I'm sure you would, Axel. But… there might be another way. The Old Lion is coming here to King's Landing, as are Lord Tully and Lord Stark. They'll send most of their armies back home now that the war is settled, but given they were on their way already, they'll almost certainly come themselves still to finally bend the knee to you in person. That gives us an opportunity to meet with Tywin Lannister in private. No letters to be intercepted, no go-betweens, no courtiers to overhear us."

Jon pauses before tilting his head and giving Axel a meaningful look.

"This might be a blessing in disguise, Axel. The concessions we could get out of the Old Lion for this… might be on par with the concessions we've wrung out of the Reach for their part in Renly's war."

Axel's brow raises at that, surprise entering his face before his expression becomes one of furrowed contemplation. Finally, he slowly nods.

"Make the arrangements then, Jon. Let's see what we can extract from Tywin Lannister for this… incident."

At least he never made the mistake of cumming inside of the crazy bitch. Small mercies, that.

-x-X-x-

A/N: As I mentioned long ago, Cersei did not last unfortunately. The more I write this Arc, the harder it became to imagine a world where she stuck around. In the end, she wrote herself out of the story lmao.

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Tywin Lannister arrives in King's Landing at long last. He's not thrilled about it.

-x-X-x-

Oftentimes, being invited to a private meeting with the King and his Hand just after arriving in the Capital might be construed as a good thing. It could be taken to mean you were being given special consideration and that you had more pull and influence with the King than others.

… Tywin Lannister would certainly be doing everything in his power to imply exactly that after this meeting was over and done with. He would also do everything in his considerable power to keep the true nature of this meeting away from the gossiping busybodies of the King's Court.

A lesser man might say that he brought this on himself, all things considered. Admittedly, Tywin had taken something of a gamble when he'd gone about things the way he'd had. And sure, perhaps he hadn't been… thinking clearly at the time.

Fine. In the privacy of his own thoughts at least, he could admit to being quite upset when the news from King's Landing had first reached his ears.

The fact that Robert had gone and gotten himself killed mattered little to Tywin. However, that the oaf had gone and gotten both of his male heirs killed as well… that was infuriating. Joffrey and Tommen represented Lannister Blood on the Iron Throne, something that Tywin had been working to make happen for decades. And in just a moment, that had all gone up in green flames.

That the Mad King was said to have been involved, that he'd apparently covered the entire underside of King's Landing in caches of wildfire… well, that made it even worse. Even from beyond the grave, Aerys was spitefully managing to keep Tywin from what he was owed.

Hearing that Robert had legitimized his bastard on his death bed… that meant a lot less to Tywin. Myrcella wasn't going to inherit the Iron Throne anyways. The other Great Houses would never allow it and Tywin wouldn't waste time or energy trying to fight that uphill battle. So whether it was Robert's bastard son or one of his brothers who wound up sitting upon the Iron Throne, in the end it meant little.

News of Jaime's death though… that had shaken Tywin to his core. And ultimately, it had caused him to freeze up at a critical moment. There were so many things Tywin could have done differently. So many ways he could have gone about things. But Jaime's death had left him in a state of inaction.

Tywin had always prided himself on being a strong man, on projecting a certain image to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. His father had provided him of an example of what not to do and Tywin had spent his entire life doing the exact opposite.

But Jaime… why? Even now, Tywin didn't have answers. He'd hoped to look into the issue now that he was finally in King's Landing and could see if anyone could tell him why his eldest son had thrown himself off the top of the Red Keep… but first he had to deal with this mess.

What the hell was Cersei thinking? His daughter had long been a headache for Tywin, though once he'd finally managed to marry her off to Robert and send her away to King's Landing, that headache had lessened considerably with time and distance.

Being allowed to meet with her for a few minutes before he'd been escorted to this meeting had brought that headache back in full force. His daughter had been quite mad, talking about the King being a monster with impenetrable skin, how she'd fed him every poison imaginable and he still refused to die. How he couldn't possibly be human.

Tywin knew full well that Cersei considered herself to be quite the intelligent schemer. He also knew that she thought herself the closest thing to an heir that he had, not in the literal sense, but in the metaphorical one. She believed herself to have inherited his intellect and his cunning, and she prided herself on always being the twin with a plan between her and Jaime.

Unfortunately for her, almost none of that was true. In the end, for all that Cersei was smarter than Jaime, she was still a woman at the end of the day. And women were passion-driven, flighty creatures who often made the wrong decisions if they were not guided by the right man.

Case in point… his daughter had ignored his order to leave King's Landing and bring Myrcella to Casterly Rock back when Renly first declared Jon Arryn a liar and himself King. As a result, House Lannister had been in a less advantageous position for the entirety of this war. And now… now he arrives in King's Landing to this mess.

"As you can imagine, we find ourselves in a bit of a quagmire of sorts, Lord Lannister. Your daughter is the Queen Dowager and that comes with certain allowances… but she tried to assassinate the King and then ranted about a prolonged effort to poison him all throughout his life in earshot of numerous people. She has furthermore expressed her fervent belief that every single man carrying the name 'Baratheon' should be killed immediately on her orders because she is 'the Queen'."

… The pity is the worst part, Tywin decides. Sitting there with Jon Arryn looking at him apologetically and sympathetically while their new young King watches them both from the side, Tywin can only keep his back straight and his shoulders squared as he processes this information.

It sounded like Cersei had snapped and was throwing the tantrum to end all tantrums. What Tywin didn't fully understand is why she waited until now to snap, instead of back when her sons and brother died. He can only imagine that she had some sort of scheme in place that fell through, leading them to the current situation. Still… he at least has to try to make something of this situation.

"My daughter is a grieving mother, Lord Arryn. She also lost her twin sibling at the same time that the Princes perished. This… hysterical state will pass with time and the King's mercy on these matters will be remembered far longer than anything she said in overwrought condition."

Axel Baratheon's brow raises at that and Tywin finds himself once again noting just how much he looks like his father, albeit without the beard. The King of Westeros is a handsome young man and Tywin only wished that he had some maiden to throw at him to secure the Lannister hold on the throne.

Alas, at this point he was forced to run damage control, reduced to just trying to get out of this with his daughter's life intact.

Jon Arryn nods sympathetically at Tywin's words… but then pauses and grimaces. A practiced motion, Tywin can tell, but he doesn't dare call the other man out on it.

"... The extenuating circumstances certainly must be taken into account before a judgment can be rendered. However, there is still the matter of the other crimes she's confessed to. Her numerous attempts to poison Axel date back almost twenty years, long before the tragedies that rocked the Realm and your family more recently. That, on top of the assassination attempt, speaks to a premeditated desire to murder our King."

Yes. Though Axel wasn't really the King back then, now was he? If any one of these purported poisoning attempts had actually worked and Axel had died as some nameless bastard in the Vale, none of this would have mattered. And even if she'd been caught, Cersei would have suffered little more than a slap on the wrist at most. It would have been just a bastard, after all.

It was only now that Axel was King that Cersei's numerous incompetent attempts on his life mattered so much. It was only retroactively that her efforts to poison him became attempted regicide instead of just cleaning up her husband's indiscretions.

Of course, Tywin doesn't say that. He's not stupid. Nor is Lord Arryn. The man is… frustratingly competent, all things considered. Smiling, the Hand of the King dips his head and shows his hand just a little bit.

"I think we all agree that execution is off the table."

Tywin doesn't let himself feel relieved, even as Axel nods and finally speaks up in a quiet yet strong tone.

"Yes. I don't want her dead."

That was good. But it wasn't enough, as evident by Jon Arryn's next words.

"If she were a man, then the option for her to take the Black would be on the table. However, since she's a woman… the most obvious choice would be for her to join the Silent Sisters."

His lips thin out at that. Truth be told, if things weren't so dire for his House, Tywin wouldn't have minded sending Cersei to the Silent Sisters. His daughter had made a right mess of things; there was no denying that. However… she was also the solution to the mess he found himself in back in the Westerlands. So no, the Silent Sisters weren't an option.

"A daughter of House Lannister is too good for the Silent Sisters. Remand her into my custody instead. Allow me to take her back to Casterly Rock and I can assure you that she will never leave the Westerlands, nor scheme against you ever again. I won't give her the time to even think about such things."

Both of Axel's brows raise at that, the younger man clearly finding it difficult to believe Tywin's words. Lord Arryn, however, already has a look of understanding in his eyes.

Leaning forward, their young King frowns.

"And how do you intend to make sure of that?"

Looking to Axel, Tywin speaks rather blandly.

"I am in need of an heir and Cersei is still of the right age. I will remarry her to a loyal man of the Westerlands and their firstborn son will be the next Lord of House Lannister. She will be far too busy with her new duties to plot against you, Your Grace. I personally guarantee it."

Axel's brow furrows harder at that.

"Don't you already have an heir? I thought you'd had two sons."

Tywin resists the urge to scoff derisively. Instead, he keeps his tone even as he slowly shakes his head.

"Tyrion is a dwarf. He cannot inherit."

From the way the young King blinks, nods, and sits back in his chair, he probably doesn't fully understand. A bastard like him wouldn't. He's might even be taking Tywin's words at face value, assuming that there's some law he doesn't know about that says Tyrion literally cannot inherit.

This isn't the case, of course. If Tywin were to die tomorrow, Tyrion might very well inherit Casterly Rock, though he likes to think that Kevan would never allow it. However, so long as Tywin drew breath, he would personally make sure that his deformed son never became Lord of House Lannister. Tyrion might be a Lannister, but he would always be the least of the Lannisters so long as Tywin had a say in things.

With that said, Tywin's only other option was to drag Cersei back home and put her to work getting him an heir of sound mind and sound body so he could replace the Imp in the line of succession. It was what he'd wanted from all the way back when he'd sent that first letter, but of course his willful daughter hadn't taken anything into account but her own desires, like always.

The King and his Hand exchange a long look before Lord Arryn clears his throat.

"… The Crown is not opposed to releasing Cersei Lannister into your custody on the understanding that you will swear on your honor to keep her in line, Lord Tywin. However, there are other considerations that must be addressed first. Especially regarding the balance of influence and power in the Realm."

Tywin's eyes narrow at that. He didn't quite understand what the Lord Hand was talking about. Fortunately, the King seems to grow tired of all the wordplay and suddenly speaks up.

"You're going to forgive most of the Crown's debt to your House and cease all interest on the remaining amount. In exchange, we'll give you Cersei."

Jon Arryn sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose as the King just outright says it… but truth be told, Tywin isn't as insulted as he would have thought. After everything he's had to deal with, Axel Baratheon's bluntness is rather refreshing… even if it is still a little infuriating.

The Crown owed House Lannister three million golden dragons at this point in time. Tywin had always considered the numerous loans that made up that sum to be an investment, of course. If Joffrey or Tommen had been the one to sit on the Iron Throne after their father, he would have eventually been paid back and not just in gold either.

But now here he was, being extorted out of the larger share of that investment all because they knew he was desperate. He was basically being sold back his daughter for a princely sum, the same amount of dragons he'd offered some of the lesser houses for their Ancestral Valyrian Steel, only to be soundly turned down.

Before Tywin can decide how he wants to respond, however, Axel continues on.

"I was saddened to hear about all of those saboteurs you dealt with back in the Westerlands, Lord Lannister. I'm glad that your disloyal bannermen didn't stop you from finally arriving in King's Landing after all this time. Of course, if the problem persists even now… I would be happy to come deal with it myself at any time."

… Ah. Now Tywin begins to understand. Perhaps he'd underestimated young Axel Baratheon. This isn't just about selling him Cersei back. This was also about the gambit he'd taken during this most recent conflict. This was about punishing him.

Very well. He would not forget this, but right now it wasn't like he had much of a choice except to take his lumps. Looking the King right in the eye, Tywin inclines his head to show he understands. Even then though, he can't help but reach for just a little bit more than he'd been offered.

"I will forgive two thirds of the Crown's debt to my house, as well as having the last third of the debt cease accruing interest… in exchange for having both Cersei and Myrcella turned over to me."

"No."

It was a long shot but Tywin still has to admit to being somewhat surprised by just how quickly the offer is shut down. Axel looks quite stone-faced as he does so too.

"You will be given Cersei in exchange for all of that, but Myrcella is a Baratheon. She will go to Storm's End, where she will be fostered and raised alongside Shireen Baratheon."

Tywin frowns and tries a different tack.

"It will be easier to keep Cersei under control if her daughter is close by…"

But Axel isn't having it.

"My decision is final. Cersei's hatred for all things Baratheon leaves me questioning if even Myrcella would be safe around her at this point. I won't risk my half-sister to that woman's madness. You have already staked your honor on being able to keep her under control… if you don't think you can do so without Myrcella's help, then say the word and she'll be sent to the Silent Sisters."

Hm. They had him by the balls and they knew it. Tywin knew he could control Cersei even without Myrcella's presence. But Myrcella was a Lannister as much as she was a Baratheon, and a Princess besides. Having her would open up so many other options for him… which is why it was so infuriating that Cersei had ignored his original orders back at the start of all of this.

"… Very well. But I must demand that a few good Lannister men be allowed to journey to Storm's End to supplement her honor guard. She's not just a Baratheon Princess, but a Lannister one as well after all."

The King hesitates for a moment… before finally nodding. Tywin just accepts that that's the best he's going to get for now. He'd taken a calculated risk when he'd decided to hold back his armies and allow Renly to besiege King's Landing. It hadn't paid off, but to be fair, how could he have ever seen the Trial by the Seven coming?

All of his plans for how to make the most of the war had gone up in smoke the moment that Axel and Renly handled things through such ancient rites. And then his fool of a daughter just had to go and make everything even worse.

It was frustrating, but there was nothing else to be done. That said, as he's dismissed from the King's presence, Tywin is already contemplating his next moves. Lannister Blood might not sit on the Iron Throne in his lifetime, but in the end, all of this… was merely a setback.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Being Tywin Lannister is suffering. Couldn't happen to a better guy! Also this marks the end of Arc 2! Next time, we start Arc 3~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Oaths are sworn, Axel continues to be freakish, and Jon broaches the topic of matrimony.

-x-X-x-

Axel sits upon the Iron Throne, idly tapping the sheathed 'Rosethorn' against his knee as the herald announces each of the Great House Lords before they come up to swear fealty to him directly.

It was more than a little overdue, but that was just how things worked out sometimes. Frankly, that six of the seven Heads of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdom were all in the throne room at the same time was in and of itself a bit of an occasion.

Lord Tywin Lannister comes first, a small consolation prize after how badly Axel and Jon had wrung him dry a few short days ago. After him is Lord Eddard Stark, a somewhat dour looking man who was supposed to have been his father's best friend once upon a time.

Next up following the Warden of the North is Lord Edmure Tully of the Riverlands. He's younger than the others, but still older than Axel. In fact, Axel still recalled when old Hoster Tully had died a few years back, resulting in Edmure's ascension.

Finally, last and most certainly least, is Mace Tyrell. The Lord Paramount gets the frostiest reception from Axel's court, something even a buffoon like him can't possibly miss. His position at the back of the line despite having been in King's Landing the longest of the four Great House Lords was no mistake either.

Tywin Lannister might escape this visit to the Capital with only a slight marring to his reputation, but Mace Tyrell was effectively under house arrest until his mother arrived to take his place at her granddaughter's side.

Only then, once Lady Olenna and Lady Margaery were both secured in the Red Keep, would Mace be allowed to return to his lands and begin paying his penance to the Crown for his foolishness. And everyone knew it too.

Meanwhile, Jon and Stannis had long since sworn their oaths in person, so with Mace done, that's the end of the Great House Lords. Technically, Balon Greyjoy should have made his way to King's Landing by now as well, but the Iron Islands were notoriously prickly and isolationist. Jon assured Axel that so long as the Ironborn weren't outright raiding the coast of Westeros, they were better off ignored and based on everything he'd heard about them, Axel was inclined to agree.

Of course, that doesn't mean it's over. Once the four Great House Lords are all done, their vassal lords who have made the journey along with them come next. These ones don't get their own announcements at least, but there's still a line that stretched out the damn doors of the throne room as they each walk up, bow low at the waist, and move to the side just like happened after Axel's original coronation.

It's all so tedious and boring, but Axel was quickly discovering that ruling could be very tedious and boring, especially in peacetime. That wasn't to say that he necessarily wants the war back, not when it had resulted in the smallfolk of King's Landing starving and had almost ended in the bloodshed of tens of thousands of men fighting outside of the Capital…

… But even still, he finds himself adjusting upon the Iron Throne, wondering just how much longer this can all take. At least the damn thing can't cut him like it had so many of his predecessors, reportedly. It's uncomfortable as shit, but not painful. Not to someone like him anyways.

-x-X-x-

What feels like hours later, Axel has finally escaped the throne room and the endless parade of noblemen all bowing to him one after the other. He'd thought he got enough of that after his coronation, but it turns out that the tail end of an almost-war is the perfect time for a bunch of Westeros' nobility to finish the journey they were already making to King's Landing and all give their vows of fealty at the same time.

He's playing with the Valyrian Steel Sword again when Jon walks in on him, causing his Hand to immediately sigh and shake his head.

"Will you please stop cutting yourself with that thing, Axel? It's a nasty habit, no matter how quickly or fully you heal."

Looking up, Axel raises an eyebrow. Then he places his hand on the table palm up… and brings the Valyrian Steel down on it, right then and there. Jon's eyes widen and he takes a step forward, an aborted shout erupting from his lips.

"No-!"

And then he sees that while blood still wells up, the sword hasn't split Axel's hand in two like it should have. Instead, Axel wipes the blood away with a cloth and shows Jon that the gash in his palm is already healing, even as he sets the Valyrian Steel away.

"That 'nasty habit' as you call it had a purpose, Jon. I noticed a while ago that it wasn't cutting as easily or as deeply anymore. So I kept going. And the results speak for themselves, I'd say."

"… Even Valyrian Steel doesn't cut you as deeply anymore…"

Axel smirks and shakes his head.

"So it seems. I guess I'm… getting used to it?"

His smirk drops at the end there, replaced with a contemplative frown. Honestly, he doesn't understand exactly how his body works. Jon, sighing, shakes his head as he walks over and takes a seat, looking tired for a moment.

"That's quite… abnormal, I'm afraid. I've never heard of a man who could cut himself on any kind of steel and eventually develop impervious skin. But then, I've also never heard of a man who is naturally impervious to Castle Forged Steel in the first place. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that you're able to make yourself resistant to Valyrian Steel as well. But it does."

Axel bites his lower lip, feeling self-conscious and vulnerable for a moment.

"… Thanks for putting up with my strangeness, Jon."

Snorting, Jon reaches over and places a hand atop Axel's as he smiles wryly.

"It is my greatest pleasure, my King. Your strangeness won you the Trial and saved the Realm from a bloody war, after all. And for all we know, the Seven truly have blessed you. Who's to say otherwise, right?"

Right. Axel chuckles a little at that. Who is to say otherwise? Not the High Septon, who has been preaching about how the Seven are more present today than they've been since the time of Aegon's Conquest, all because of Axel's victory in the Trial. Both the general public and the Faith are eating it up too from what he's heard. His daily visits to the Great Sept have made the Most Devout very, very happy.

Jon's gaze moves to the rippled blade in Axel's hands and he grunts.

"You're going to need to rename that thing. Rosethorn is… distinctly uninspired and not really right for you either."

Axel tilts his head in acknowledgment, even as he also inspects the Valyrian Steel Sword for a long moment.

"… Still no idea where Renly even got it in the first place?"

Sighing, Jon shakes his head.

"I can confirm beyond a shadow of a doubt that there's nobody on Westeros missing their Ancestral Sword. We would have heard of it by now. And that means Renly either found this lying under a rock or buried in some long forgotten tomb, or he got it from Essos. Either way, he's not talking seeing as you decided not to have him put to the question."

Axel's nose wrinkles instinctively at that. Maybe it was weak of him or something… but he just didn't really like the idea of torture. Even if it was his traitorous uncle. If it was more important, than he might have stomached it… but the truth was, so long as nobody was coming forward to say Renly stole the damn thing from them, Axel didn't care where he got the Valyrian Steel. It was his now and that was all that mattered.

As for the subject of renaming it… Axel had been thinking about that for quite some time. Rosethorn was, after all, a rather poor name all things considered.

"… I had a few ideas for it. But I think I've settled on one in particular. I wanted to pay homage to my past while respecting the House I now belong to. Tell me, what do you think of… Stonehart?"

His Lord Hand is silent for a moment in consideration before finally nodding.

"Stone to call back to your roots as a Vale Bastard and Hart for Stag? I think it's a good, strong name Axel. A worthy name."

Hm. Axel thinks for a moment longer, still looking down at the blade. Then, he makes his decision, not the type of bother fretting over it for any longer than necessary.

"Then that's what it will be called. Stonehart."

Jon inclines his head, even as Axel sheathes the sword and sets it aside. Looking to his Hand, he raises an eyebrow.

"I imagine you didn't come here to talk sword names with me, Jon. What other business brought you to me today?"

Smiling apologetically, the Lord of the Vale leans back in his chair.

"… The business of matrimony, I'm afraid."

Ah. Axel had… somewhat known this was coming. It was an issue that was shelved while Renly was making a fool of himself and throwing the damn Realm into chaos, but that just meant it was an even bigger issue now than it had been before. In fact, it was perhaps the biggest issue that a King could face. Succession.

Right now, Stannis was his heir because Axel had no children. Until he had a son, Stannis would become King of the Seven Kingdoms should he die. Now obviously Axel had no intentions of dying any time soon, but as Jon had explained to him, the confidence of his Lords and even the smallfolk themselves would surely deteriorate if he remained without a wife and children for too long.

To be fair, it wasn't as though Axel were opposed to the idea. Ever since Cersei had tried to kill him, he'd actually begun to get a little… pent up even. It had been weeks now since he'd last laid with a woman, where before he and the Queen Dowager had been going at it every other day or so.

Seeming to misread his silence, Jon leans forward.

"I know you might not be excited by the prospect, but you need a Queen, Axel. After how Robert and the Princes died… the Realm needs the security of a proper line of succession now more than ever. With Renly dealt with, this has to be our biggest priority."

Axel just chuckles.

"I understand Jon. And I agree. Though I also think the debt takes equal priority with getting me a wife."

Jon lets out a weary sigh at those words, even as he nods his head in solemn agreement. When Jon had told Axel just how much debt Robert had gotten them in, Axel had been flabbergasted. How had one King, even with over twenty years to do so, managed to spend six million golden dragons? In peacetime no less!

Hell, the total spent was actually more than that already staggering six million too because they were still taking in taxes from all across the Seven Kingdoms throughout that time. The six million of debt represented how much they still owed after collecting twenty plus years of Royal Taxes. Disgraceful.

Fortunately, they'd been able to wipe away some of that debt by leaning on a desperate Tywin Lannister. But with millions still owed to the Iron Bank of Braavos along with dozens of other, smaller lenders, Axel wasn't even sure if they would manage to pay the rest off in his lifetime.

All he could do was get a head start on the problem for the sake of his children, really.

"I agree completely, Axel. The debt… we will do everything we can to ease the burden on the Crown over the coming years. I appreciate your sense of frugality."

Axel just snorts derisively at that, shaking his head. Then, he turns back to the other matter at hand.

"Right then. A wife. I have a condition Jon. A major one."

His Hand raises a brow at him and Axel prepares himself for a fight, knowing full well that he's about to ask for something outside of the norm.

"I want a woman, Jon. My age or older. I don't want some girl maiden who's barely flowered or anything like that. I want someone like… like Margaery Tyrell. A woman grown and comfortable in her body."

Jon blanches at his example and rubs the bridge of his nose for a moment.

"… Axel, please tell me you know that you can't marry Margaery Tyrell. She's a ward of the Red Keep, a hostage against any more malfeasance from the Reach. She's not an acceptable marriage candidate."

Rolling his eyes, Axel waves Jon off.

"I know Jon, I know. She was an example. Anyone too much younger than her is off limits. I don't even want to hear about them."

"… That will vastly limit the number of potential brides, my King. Especially if we want to be sure that your wife comes to the bedding with her maidenhead still intact."

Scoffing, Axel shakes his head.

"I don't care about that sort of thing."

Jon gives him a long suffering look.

"You should, Axel. The nobility will. Even the smallfolk will. And the Faith certainly would. There needs to at least be a semblance of propriety."

The mention of the Faith makes Axel grimace… but he's not willing to back down on this. He has two reasons, really. Firstly, Cersei had been fun in bed for all that she'd turned out to be crazy. He found he had a liking for an experienced older woman like her. But marrying someone as old as Cersei was, of course, out of the question. Hence this compromise.

Secondly though… Axel was worried about his prospective wife being able to handle him or not. Even if he would have to moderate his strength no matter what, he still wants a woman who can at least try to go toe to toe with him, not a girl who doesn't know what to do. And he wants a woman who will be able to handle childbirth as well.

With all of that in mind, Axel gives Jon a determined look.

"Make it work, Jon."

Letting out a sigh, Jon falls silent, thinking for a moment. Finally, he grimaces and nods.

"I can think of two possibilities at the moment. Women of good enough pedigree who also fit your… stipulations. Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell and Princess Arianne Martell of Sunspear."

Axel perks up. He's heard of both women… and of their beauty as well.

"Perfect. Let's get them to King's Landing and see if we're compatible then!"

But his Hand just gives him another long suffering look.

"It won't be nearly that simple, my King…"

-x-X-x-

A/N: Now that we're in Arc 3, it's finally time to start getting the harem together~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Ned Stark POV!

-x-X-x-

Nothing good ever came from Starks traveling South. That was an axiom that Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell, had lived by for over twenty years now. His brother had gone South and been thrown in the Black Cells for it. His father had gone South and been killed along with his brother. His sister had died from childbirth in a lonely tower in Dorne.

The only Starks to survive the Mad King's Reign and Robert's Rebellion were Ned and Benjen. And of the two of them, Ned was the only one to go South and return to tell the tale. But even he couldn't say he'd escaped unscathed.

Between the sight of Elia Martell's dead children and Lyanna lying in a pool of her own blood on the birthing bed, Ned had more than enough fuel for his nightmares over the years.

And yet, here he was all the same, once again in King's Landing. Duty trumped superstition at the end of the day, and as Lord Paramount of the North, it was his duty to answer the call to his King when it came, no matter who that King was.

That didn't make him any less relieved that everything had ended so cleanly though. The combined armies of the North, Riverlands, and Vale had just made it past Darry when the letter speaking of the Trial by the Seven and Axel Baratheon's victory over Renly had reached them.

Just like that, the war was over. Perhaps others were upset by this… Ned knew that Edmure, for instance, as the youngest Lord Paramount, had thought to make something of himself in the coming war. Him and dozens of other young fools besides, all itching for bloodshed and glory.

But Ned was too old for that kind of thing. Ultimately, he was just grateful that it had all ended without costing too many men their lives. In the end, the total casualties of Renly's war had come out to but a handful of men, with even Renly himself being allowed to take the Black rather than having his head chopped off.

Once they knew that their full armies were no longer needed, sending most of the men home had been prudent, of course. Ned had ridden on though with Lord Edmure at his side as well as their vassal lords and a few hundred knights apiece.

They'd certainly made quicker time to King's Landing without so many people bogging them down. From there Ned had finally had the opportunity to both lay eyes on his new King for the first time as well as swear his oaths of fealty to the crown in person.

Axel Baratheon reminded him a lot of what Robert had been like when they were younger. Well over six feet tall, the young King cut an imposing figure just like his father had, and to hear it told, he'd been quite the dashing warrior during the Trial by the Seven as well.

They were saying that Axel was blessed by the Seven themselves, that he could not lose because they would not allow it. The most fanciful rumors even claimed that Axel was an Avatar of the Seven. They said that he had singlehandedly slew the multitude of knights that represented Renly's first attempt on his life on the Kingsroad. Furthermore, they claimed that he'd survived what should have been a lethal blow by the Knight of Flowers during the Trial, only to win it all.

As a follower of the Old Gods, Ned found himself skeptical of all these claims… but he couldn't deny that Axel was a strong, handsome looking lad. Which was precisely why he wished he could have gotten out of King's Landing and headed back North before Jon was able to corner him for this meeting.

Alas… even after all this time, the Lord of the Eyrie knew Ned too well. And so the North's Lord Paramount finds himself sitting in Jon's office within the Tower of the Hand, waiting for the other man to get on with it.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me Ned. Especially since I'm sure you know what I'm going to ask of you."

Sighing, Ned shakes his head.

"I wasn't about to spurn you, Jon. But I doubt you'll like my answer. Still… ask."

The Lord Hand sighs back, gathering himself up for a moment. Funny, Ned feels older with every passing year… but that makes Jon Arryn positively ancient by comparison. It's obvious that the years as Robert's Hand have not been entirely kind to the man, though at least he hasn't had to survive the hard living of the North at the same time.

"… The King needs a Queen, Ned."

Of course he did. He was a young King, barely enthroned. He had no wife and no heirs. Until there was a Queen and until she'd popped out at least one son, the Realm was not secure. And that left everyone on edge.

Especially given what had happened with Robert and his boys. The line of succession had been secure one moment and completely upturned the next. Then things had devolved from there thanks to Renly's greed. While it was a little better now that Renly was going to the Wall and Stannis was the clear successor, it was still far from ideal. Just like it had been back in the day when Robert was newly made King and Stannis was HIS heir.

That said...

"There are plenty of prospects for the King to marry without turning your eyes northward to Winterfell, Jon."

The Hand grimaces and shakes his head.

"I'm afraid that's not quite true. Axel is unwilling to marry any woman too much younger than him. His exact words were that he doesn't want some girl maiden who's barely flowered. Given that he is the King and his Queen needs to have a certain… pedigree, that lowers the amount of options considerably."

It would, yes. On the one hand, Ned can honestly respect and even appreciate Axel setting such a criteria. It's always bothered him how quickly they married off young maidens for all that it was tradition. In a way, he and Catelyn had worked out as well as they had precisely because they were of an age with one another… and that was only because Brandon was Catelyn's initial intended.

But the amount of stories Ned had heard of exceedingly young women dying in childbirth had left him leery of the practice of marrying off his daughters too early. And that had been one of the many excuses he'd used when Robert had first come knocking years and years ago.

The King, his old friend, had never come all the way to Winterfell himself of course. Thankfully. But the letters had started when both Sansa and Joffrey were still rather young. Letters hinting at the possibility of a betrothal between their children, to marry their houses together.

Robert wanted Ned to send his daughter South, to be wife to his heir and one day Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And Ned had balked. He'd balked hard.

It wasn't just because of Sansa's age though. Nor was it his superstitious fear of what might happen to any Stark who ventured South. The truth was, Ned actually had given Robert's proposal due consideration when it first arrived. And then he'd sought independent clarification on some things.

Not from the man sitting across from him now, even if that might have been the obvious choice. No, as Robert's Hand, Ned hadn't known if he could trust Jon to be particularly… impartial. Instead, Catelyn had suggested that she could write to both her sister and Lord Petyr Baelish, an old friend of hers that had become Master of Coin on Robert's Small Council.

Through them, he and Catelyn had figured they would get an unvarnished version of things. And what they'd been told by Lysa and Petyr… well, it had certainly turned Ned off to the idea. Purportedly, Robert had become a fat, drunken whoremonger. Meanwhile, his eldest son Joffrey, the very same young man who he wanted Sansa to marry, was apparently a cruel, vain, sadistic creature who terrorized both the Red Keep's serving staff and his own siblings.

When Ned had put these accusations in a letter to Jon and directly asked him if they were true, the Hand of the King had done his best to equivocate in his response… but he hadn't been able to properly deny even a single one of the claims.

That was when Ned decided that Sansa and Joffrey would never marry, no matter how badly Robert wanted it to happen. Not unless Robert came all the way to Winterfell and made it a direct order from his King anyways.

Unfortunately, by the same token Ned had not been able to marry Sansa off to any of his vassals either, because doing so would be seen as an insult to the Crown when negotiations for her hand in marriage were still 'ongoing'.

But now… now Robert was gone. So was Joffrey. Ned had thought that maybe Sansa was in the clear now and had already begun putting together a shortlist of candidates to offer her hand to… but alas, it seemed he'd been much too optimistic, in the end.

"Even so Jon, Starks do not do well in the South. Sansa belongs in the North. I can't just betroth her at random when all I'm supposed to be here for is bending the knee."

Far from looking disappointed, Jon actually brightens up a bit, the older man leaning forward and steepling weathered fingers together.

"Ah, but that's just it Ned. Our new King… he was raised as a bastard. He's still learning a lot about what it means to be King… and more than that, he's still developing his own interpretations as well. He doesn't just want a woman of age with him; he wants a woman who wants him back."

Ned furrows his brow in confusion, not quite sure what Jon means. Fortunately, he elaborates.

"We're not asking you for a betrothal right this moment… we're just asking you to send for her. Have her come South to King's Landing, just for a visit. Stay the entire time she's here if you want to make sure she's happy and safe. Let her and Axel meet, let them see for themselves if they get along or not. That's all the King is asking for, Ned."

… How utterly strange. For someone who has been raised as a noble his whole life, and who has quite literally put his own love before duty… Ned would be lying if he said the idea didn't appeal to him in a way. Even if it sounded like a fantasy rather than anything couched in reality.

But then, that was part of being King of the Seven Kingdoms, wasn't it? You sometimes turned fantasy into reality if you wanted to. Still, Ned had a problem… because he knew full well that even if he didn't believe she should go South, neither Sansa nor her mother would actually agree with him.

Sansa was as much a Tully as she was a Stark, and she hewed more towards the Seven than she did the Old Gods. She would leap at the chance to come South and potentially become Axel's Queen. And with Robert and Joffrey both out of the picture, Catelyn would leap at it too.

He hesitates… and Jon senses weakness.

"Please Ned. You'd be doing me a favor if nothing else. The only other reasonable choice on all of Westeros given Axel's conditions would be Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne. I've already sent the letter to Sunspear, but you and I both know that Prince Doran is unlikely to even read it, let alone give it the time of day."

… Yes, Dorne was still quite angry over what had happened to poor Elia and her children. Frankly, they had every right to be. And while much of that anger was directed at House Lannister, no small amount was also directed towards House Baratheon for not doing anything about it after the fact.

"If you turn me down here and we get no response from Dorne… then our options get rather thin. There's Margaery Tyrell, and while I'd like to think Axel would never go for her, she's very beautiful and very present in the Red Keep… I don't have to tell you how little I want him to marry that woman, even if she and Renly never actually consummated their marriage."

Ned winces. No, that would… not be good.

"Aside from her, the only other options would be Asha Greyjoy or searching over in Essos. And while the Targaryens would sometimes seek out a bride with Valyrian Blood from Volantis or one of the other Free Cities, I would prefer not to resort to that so early in House Baratheon's dynasty. Not when such things often come with ties to slavery."

Fuck. Jon was wearing him down and he probably knew it too. Ned finds himself feeling like he's twenty again as the Lord Hand lays it all out for him. Jon always knew how to handle both him and Robert, just as he knew that each of them needed to be handled in very different ways.

With Robert, it was about give and take. You had to reward him when he did well and punish him when he did wrong. He didn't respond to conversation, only action and reaction. But Ned… Jon had always known he could simply talk to Ned, explaining things to him and laying out the facts.

Even from a young age, Ned had been willing to listen when the Lord of the Eyrie told him what needed to happen and why it needed to happen. And because they were very similar men at the end of the day, he often found himself agreeing with Jon by the time they were done talking.

… Like now. Once again, his sense of duty is beating out superstition. The Realm needs stability. And if Sansa might be the viable option that didn't result in calamity, then Ned owed it to his vows of fealty to try and make it happen. Besides…

"Can you promise me that she'll have a choice, Jon? If they aren't compatible, she'll be allowed to say no? That's what you're offering, right?"

Jon looks relieved even as he nods.

"Yes. Axel is a good man Ned, and he'll make an excellent King now that this mess with Renly is over and done with. He's all of Robert's strength and none of his flaws."

Ned raises an eyebrow at that, before letting out a rare derisive snort.

"… No need to lay it on too thick now, Jon. I'll send for Sansa. And admittedly, I probably won't stay in King's Landing. Instead, knowing Catelyn, it'll be the two of them who come down here so that Sansa and Axel can meet. But I'll hold you to your promise all the same. It'll be her choice."

Jon places a hand on his chest and nods again, this time more sharply.

"On my honor, I swear it."

With that, Ned lets himself relax a little bit even if he highly doubts Sansa will choose anything but becoming Axel's Queen, given half the chance. At least there was always the possibility that Axel himself wouldn't find Sansa to be his type. She might be older than most maidens by this point, but she was still rather sheltered after all.

Only time would tell, in the end…

-x-X-x-

A/N: Got ourselves our first prospective bride lined up~

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Chapter Text

A/N: Axel keeps up with his training and meets new people as well!

-x-X-x-

There were upsides and downsides to dealing with Renly via the Trial and then entertaining so many lords in King's Landing at the same time. But the greatest upside of all had to be the fact that they only brought their best knights and warriors with them the rest of the way to the city.

That meant new blood for Axel to spar against in the Red Keep's training yard. Given that he was still hunting for a knight to fill that final seventh spot in his Kingsguard, the young King found himself fighting men day in and day out to test their mettle. But he had to admit… he was pretty sure he'd found his favorite.

"Get back here ya shit!"

Laughing, Axel dodges Sandor Clegane's increasingly frustrated swings, even as he waves off the nearby Kingsguard from intervening in the fight. There were a great many men in the courtyard ready to take issue with the Hound's blatant disrespect for their King, but with Axel laughing it off like it's nothing, none of them can justify making the first move.

Instead, they just have to settle for enjoying the sight of Clegane being put through his paces as Axel dances around him, giving him a series of love taps here and there with a blunted sword while at the same time easily sidestepping the desperate strikes from the burned man.

Sandor Clegane was an interesting figure. For one, he came from the Westerlands, making Tywin Lannister his liege lord. For two, he was the brother to the much more famous Gregor Clegane, the Mountain Who Rides. And for three, he himself wasn't even a knight… but he was a damn good swordsman.

It still didn't mean much against Axel however, who at this point had to admit that he was showboating just a bit. Given that Clegane had defeated most of the actual knights in the yard since arriving in King's Landing, they're all pretty happy to see their King whooping his ass… but all good things come to an end.

Stopping, the Hound pulls back with a snarl.

"I'm done."

There's some bristling from some of the onlookers at that, especially given his opponent is the King. You don't just get to tell the King you're done, after all. But Axel just comes to a halt, grinning and nodding.

"Well fought, Clegane."

The burned man snorts derisively, shaking his head as sweat beaded upon his brow drips down his heavily scarred face.

"That was no fight. You kicked my fucking ass, Your Grace. I know when I'm outmatched. You're too fucking fast for me."

Finally, one of the watching knights can't hold his tongue any longer.

"Mind your words around the King, cur! You would do well to remember your place!"

Clegane just gives him a dead-eyed look, even as he straightens up to his full height. The knight looks ready to bluster some more, but Axel holds up a hand and cuts him off.

"No need to come to my defense, Ser. I'm not some maiden who can't handle a few harsh words."

His cheery grin and jovial attitude defuses the situation, causing the knight to back down and the rest of those watching to chuckle at his expense. Looking around the training yard, Axel raises an eyebrow.

"You know, I'm pretty sure this yard is for more than just a single spar between two men. You all seem to be rather comfortable standing around and doing nothing."

That lights a fire under all of their asses, and soon men pairing off or exiting the yard altogether like they have somewhere to be. In just a few moments, the sound of blunt steel impacts begins ringing out through the air, causing Axel to nods approvingly.

Meanwhile, the Hound just snorts derisively, his tone quieter as he approaches.

"Wish my brother were here to fight you."

Raising an eyebrow at the other man, Axel tilts his head to the side.

"I've heard a lot about Ser Gregor. I'm sure a fight between us would be a sight to see, certainly."

He keeps his tone noncommittal, even though Axel knows deep down that even a man as big as the Mountain wouldn't be much of a match for him. Gregor might be huge, but Axel had the strength of a hundred men flowing through his veins.

"Nah. You'd kick his ass up and down this yard. He wouldn't be anymore able to lay a finger on you than I was. And that… that would be wonderful, because the fucker has a temper as large as he is tall. He'd force you to put him down like the dog he is once he had his ass handed to him."

Axel raises both eyebrows at that.

"Your brother would try to kill his King?"

The burn scars on his face make the grin Sandor Clegane gives him rather macabre in appearance.

"Aye. The Lannisters don't exactly keep him around for his intelligence, Your Grace."

No, he imagined they didn't. Axel had heard plenty about the Mountain That Rides. None of it good. The man was apparently the largest in all of Westeros, with some wondering if he was half-giant. He was also a bloodthirsty monster with murder being the least of his crimes.

If the Mountain were here in front of him right now and was actually trying to take Axel's life… he doesn't think he'd bother holding back regardless of what the large knight could actually do to him or not. Killing him would only be good for the Realm, from everything that Axel knew.

But whether Tywin was being smart or just plain lucky, he hadn't brought Gregor Clegane with him to King's Landing. Instead, he'd brought the Mountain's brother… and Sandor was a different type of man entirely from how the Mountain was said to be.

"You know, I have half a mind to knight you and name you to my Kingsguard, Clegane."

Its idle musing at best, and yet Axel's words have more of an effect on the Hound than anything else that's happened so far. For the first time since Axel has met Sandor Clegane… he sees honest fear in the other man's eyes.

"Now why the fuck would you do that? Plenty of men better than me for the role, Your Grace."

Axel just scoffs.

"Are there? You're the best fight I've had since I left the Vale, Clegane. And you're not even a Knight."

That's not quite true. A few of Axel's sparring partners, now Kingsguard in their own right, are even better. But he doesn't mind telling a little white lie, especially when it makes the Hound squirm and frown.

"… I'm not exactly knightly material."

Shrugging, Axel waves a hand through the air dismissively.

"Neither is your brother, from what I'm told. And yet, everyone still calls him Ser, don't they?"

Sandor Clegane doesn't seem to know what to say to that. Axel had been mostly joking… but he would be lying if some part of him wasn't tempted to go through with it.

The Kingsguard was doing fairly well, with only Ser Trant really dragging down the quality at this point. Arys Oakheart was proving to be a decent Lord Commander and the other four knights who'd fought beside him in the Trial were each skilled warriors in their own right.

But that empty seventh slot was a bit of a drag, an issue to be taken care of second only to Axel's impending nuptials. Just as the King had to have a Queen and heirs to ensure the stability of the Realm as swiftly as possible, so did the Kingsguard have to have seven knights. It was tradition, after all.

… Alas, he can tell that Clegane isn't precisely keen on the idea. So he won't demand that the man bend the knee for a knighting right this moment. In fact…

"Consider this your warning, Clegane. Stick around the Red Keep too long and I'll probably make you a knight at some point if only because I'll feel bad for beating you black and blue one too many times. If you're that afraid of the responsibility, then you're better off leaving the city sooner rather than later."

The Hound looks as relieved as his facial scarring will allow, even as he slowly nods.

"… I'll take that under advisement, Your Majesty."

Axel just waves him off with a chuckle, watching the man leave for a moment before turning and putting his own sparring sword on the rack and departing the yard as well. No sooner has he stepped off of the grass and onto stone however, before he runs into an unexpected pair, his eyes darting between them as he stops in his tracks.

"Lady Margaery… and Brienne of Tarth."

Indeed, standing before him is the ill-fated wife of his treacherous uncle Renly… and the warrior woman who had fought in the Trial by the Seven as one of Renly's so-called Rainbow Guard. Axel isn't all that surprised by Lady Margaery's presence in the Red Keep, given that he'd ordered it… but he is surprised to see Brienne at her side, dressed in what looks like leather armor and armed with a large dagger that looks positively small on her waist.

Brienne of Tarth tenses up at his address, her eyes narrowing and her wide mouth flattening. Now that she's no longer armored and her features are no longer hidden, Axel has to admit that he somewhat understands why she'd chosen the warrior's path instead of being married off to someone. She's not exactly what he considered attractive.

However, as if in stark contrast to Lady Brienne's looks, Lady Margaery is the exact opposite. She's easily one of the most beautiful women that Axel has ever laid his eyes on, even beating Cersei Lannister out in looks. And judging by the way she smiles at him and bats her eyes, she knows it too.

Not missing a beat, the Lady of House Tyrell curtsies before him, bowing her head.

"Your Grace! What a pleasant surprise to cross paths with you. I hope we're not interrupting your training though."

Axel hums, trying not to be too distracted by the way Margaery's bosom bounces up and down with the curtsy. Sighing, he shakes his head.

"No, you're not interrupting anything. I was just moving along, in fact."

Margaery perks up at that.

"Oh! Are you perhaps heading to the Great Sept by chance? Lady Brienne and I were going to head over there soon enough as well if you wished to journey together!"

Blinking, Axel starts to shake his head.

"No, I-… sorry, before we continue, what role are you fulfilling here exactly, Brienne of Tarth?"

He had his suspicions, but he wanted it confirmed all the same. Brienne bristles at his questioning tone, but Margaery is all pretty smiles as she places a hand on Brienne's arm to calm her down.

"Oh! Lady Brienne here is just… my companion, Your Grace. I hope that's alright. I know I'm not allowed a sworn sword, of course, all things considered. And truly, you've been so very merciful towards both me and my House… there's nothing I could possibly justify asking of you at this point. But if it pleases you my King, I would beg to be allowed to keep Lady Brienne at my side for her companionship."

Margaery lowers her head, projecting a perfect image of shame and regret that Axel doesn't buy for even a second. Oh, he was sure that the beautiful young woman regretted the fact that they'd lost. And she almost certainly regretted that her House had tied their fortunes to Renly. For more reasons than one given the all-but-confirmed rumors of his uncle's proclivities.

But at the same time… he can admire the audacity. Margaery is right that she's not allowed to have a sworn sword or anything like that. She's a hostage because of the actions of her father and not a single Tyrell Knight is allowed to step foot in the Red Keep after how badly House Tyrell had fucked up.

… However, Brienne of Tarth is no knight. She's not even from the Reach either. How she'd wound up attached to Lady Margaery when she came from an island off the coast of the Stormlands was something Axel was a little curious about… but he also found he didn't care that much either.

More than that, he simply wasn't bothered by the warrior woman's presence, no matter how good she was with a sword. Perhaps a lesser King might have feared Brienne's intentions after facing her in battle, but Axel wasn't worried one bit.

Smirking and watching as Brienne narrows her eyes at him like she's about to throw herself between him and Margaery, Axel finally nods.

"It's more than fine, Lady Margaery. Who am I to stand between a woman and her… companion? As to your offer, I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I tend to visit the Great Sept early in the morning, just as the sun is starting to rise. I've already been today."

Margaery blinks at this, but if she feels any disappointment, she doesn't let it show on her beautiful features.

"Oh! Then I suppose we'll have to see if our paths cross one of these mornings, Your Majesty."

She smiles coquettishly at him and Axel feels a straining down in his loins. Smiling back, he makes his goodbyes and sends the two women on their way. Fortunately, Margaery had already committed to them leaving the Red Keep, so it was easy to see them off.

… She was definitely going to show up during a prayer session one of these mornings, wasn't she? Axel is reminded yet again that he hasn't had anyone to warm his bed since Cersei went crazy and tried to kill him. Lady Margaery's presence in the Red Keep certainly wasn't helping matters.

However, Axel refused to be like his father. He wasn't about to start whoring around, especially not when he didn't even have a Queen yet. No, he simply needed to control himself.

Besides, Jon had told him that the conversation with Lord Stark had been a success. Sansa Stark was being sent for so soon enough Axel would have the opportunity to meet the young woman and see if they were compatible with one another.

Likewise, a letter had been sent to Dorne as well, to see if they might be interested in having Princess Arianne Martell come to King's Landing for a visit. However, Jon had been quick to tell Axel that that was far less likely to actually happen. The Dornish were notoriously isolationist and even more so ever since Robert's Rebellion.

But it was fine. At least they'd made the offer. There was nothing else to be done on their end after that.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Tomorrow's chapter will be a split POV chapter of both Sansa and Arianne to see them reacting to the news and Axel's offer~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: The letters get to their intended recipients, one way or another~

-x-X-x-

"Hyah! Hah!"

"Good! Keep it up!"

"Grrr, d-on't patronize me!"

"I'm not, I'm teaching you. Unless you don't want me to anymore…"

"S-Shut up! Let's keep going!"

Sansa Stark watches with a smile on her face as Arya and Jon spar with one another in the depths of Winterfell's catacombs. It's the best place for it in all of Winterfell, especially after Arya had gotten caught practicing her swordplay a year back in the Godswood.

Funnily enough, there would have been a time when Sansa would have balked at the sight of her younger sister wielding a sword against their bastard brother. Years ago, she would have happily been the one to tattle on Arya and Jon, telling either her and Arya's mother or maybe their Septa.

But time had a way of changing one's opinions of things. The more the years had passed, the more Sansa had grown up. Not just as a woman, but as a Stark. She'd also come to accept that Arya was never going to be the perfect noble lady like Sansa strived to be. Really, she loved Arya for her rebellious streak these days. Also, it wasn't Jon's fault for being born the way he was. If she didn't hate her father for fathering a bastard, than it made very little sense to hate Jon for being that bastard.

That was something it felt like Sansa's mother had never really understood, and ever since she'd come to that realization, she'd also come to the realization that the Lady of Winterfell was… far from perfect. She loved her mother, don't get her wrong… but Sansa did not strive to be like her mother, not anymore.

Funnily enough, Jon leaving them the first time a few years back had been the impetus for all of those different realizations. Uncle Benjen had stopped by in Winterfell and Jon… Jon had decided out of the blue that he was going to leave with Benjen when he departed again for the Wall in order to join the Night's Watch.

Or rather, it wasn't out of the blue. It just felt like it to Sansa at the time because she hadn't been paying enough attention. She hadn't realized just how much her mother's hatred of Jon hurt him. She hadn't figured out that Jon had been longing to escape Winterfell for years before that point.

In the end, her bastard brother leaving had led to Sansa realizing just how much she missed having him in her life. And after catching Arya crying to herself in an alcove one day, it had also led to the two sisters bonding with one another in a way they never had before.

Ultimately, it had been Sansa who changed for the sake of their relationship. Because Arya… Arya didn't need to change, despite what their mother and the Septa said. She was perfectly alright the way she was.

Fortunately, Jon tended to come down to Winterfell to visit every time Benjen did, with their uncle taking him on as his direct apprentice or something like that. Sansa didn't fully understand it; all she knew was that it meant Jon came by every so often. And when he did, he always made sure to sneak Arya a few fighting lessons while he was here.

Somewhere along the way, Sansa had joined them… not as an active participant of course, but merely as an observer. There was something to be said about seeing Arya with a smile on her face, rather than the sour expression that the younger woman tended to wear whenever she was being forced into wearing a dress or attending yet another embroidery lesson.

Of course, they had to do everything in their power to avoid being caught for both Arya and Jon's sakes. Which is why when Sansa hears footsteps coming down the stairs from where she's seated near the exit of the catacombs, she quickly calls out to the others.

"Someone's coming you two!"

Immediately, Jon and Arya stop what they're doing and get into position. As their heads bow as they feign paying their respects to the ancient Stark Lord they were just fighting right in front of.

… A moment later and Robb Stark, the current Lord of Winterfell while their father is down in King's Landing, steps into view. He looks at all three of them with an arched brow like he doesn't buy their act for a moment… and then cracks a grin and chuckles ruefully.

"How did I know I was going to find you all down here?"

Arya breaks first, immediately whipping around once she hears Robb's voice, her face lighting up as she rushes over to hug him.

"Robb!"

Robb just laughs, catching her in his arms and hugging her back for a moment before setting her down. He then clasps arms with Jon, who smiles and nods.

"My Lord."

"Tch, none of that Jon. Not when it's just us."

"… Robb."

With that settled, Sansa finally speaks up.

"What brings you down here, Robb? Is mother looking for one of us?"

Arya looks immediately hunted by the suggestion, and her shoulders droop when Robb nods. However…

"Yes actually. She's looking for you at the moment, Sansa."

For her? How surprising. For all that Sansa may have… broadened her horizons a bit over the past few years, she had kept up the act around both her mother and father. That way neither had any reason to suspect she was anything less than their perfect, ladylike daughter still.

Of course, if she wanted to keep the ruse going, she should definitely not keep their mother waiting.

"I'll go to her now then. Thank you, Robb."

Her older brother gives her a grin and a hug before Sansa heads back upstairs. Behind her, she hears the sounds of sparring kick back up again and smiles as she ruefully shakes her head and chuckles. Those sounds fade though as she escapes the catacombs and quickly locates her mother.

"Ah! Sansa, there you are. I've had people looking everywhere but the servants couldn't find you."

Smiling demurely, Sansa inclines her head while neatly bypassing the question inherent in her mother's words.

"Robb found me and told me, mother. Now, what did you need me for?"

Catelyn Stark looks like she might want to ask questions for a moment… and then decides otherwise, her eyes brimming with joy as she holds up a piece of parchment.

"There's been word from your father in King's Landing, Sansa. Pack your things… we're going South."

Wait, what? Sansa blinks owlishly, caught wrongfooted by her mother's sudden declaration.

"I… c-could you please explain first mother? What did father's letter say? Who exactly is going South?"

Smiling, Catelyn comes over and takes Sansa's hands in her own.

"You and I, my daughter. Lord Arryn has spoken with your father and told Ned that our new King is currently in the process of looking for a Queen. And of course, he wants you, Sansa."

Sansa's eyes widen in shock. She's heard about everything going on down in the South, of course. From the death of the King and his sons to Renly Baratheon's attempt at rebellion. It had been what forced her father to leave them in the first place, a mobilization of the North's men that had even seen Robb departing for a time.

… But before the North's armies could reach King's Landing, apparently everything had been settled with a Trial by the Seven of all things. Robb and most of the North had returned back home while their father had continued on to King's Landing with only a small portion of their forces in order to swear loyalty to the new King in person.

And yet, it hadn't crossed Sansa's mind that this might come of that. After all…

"A-Are you sure, mother? Aren't I a little… old at this point?"

Despite still being a maiden, untouched and unclaimed by any man, Sansa Stark knew full well that she was nevertheless very nearly past the optimum marrying age. Being the daughter of a Lord Paramount, it was almost certain that her father could still get her a good match anyways of course. But by the same token, a King of the Seven Kingdoms could have his pick of anyone… he didn't need to settle for someone like her when he could have someone younger.

But her mother just shakes her head.

"That's just it, Sansa. According to Ned, the King wants a woman, not a girl. He wants someone his age and of the eligible maidens across all of Westeros, that leaves just you."

"J-Just me? Surely n-not!"

Here, Catelyn Stark chuckles softly.

"Well… maybe not just you. But none of the other options make any sense, nor are they likely to even respond to the offer. No, we'll go to King's Landing and the two of you will meet and I'm sure you'll hit it off right away! Ned says that our new King wants to make sure the two of you are compatible before making any final decisions… but I'm sure once he meets you, he will see what a beautiful, intelligent, and wonderful Queen you would make. And with nobody else in King's Landing to get in your way, you'll be unopposed!"

Well… damn. Part of Sansa wants to point out her mother's hypocrisy in the way she's treated Jon all these years just for being a bastard compared to how much she now wanted Sansa to marry Axel Baratheon, despite him living most of his life as a bastard himself.

… But she knows better than to say anything about that to her mother's face. It would seem… she was bound for King's Landing.

-x-X-x-

"Were you even going to tell me, father? Or were you going to hide this letter from me, your heir, until it was too late for us to take advantage of this opportunity?"

Barging out into the space, the Princess of Dorne shakes the missive in one hand angrily as she lambasts her chairbound father for his cowardice.

Of course, even as she watches her father Prince Doran grimace at her words, Arianne already knows the truth. She knows that he has long planned for her younger brother Quentyn to inherit Dorne over her. She has for years at this point. Really, this latest injustice is nothing but another in a long series of injustices. But this time will be different. This time, Arianne has an ally she's never had before.

"Oberyn…"

Its so very typical that despite her being the one who spoke first, her misogynist of a father addresses the man who enters the room just behind her instead of her. Arianne's teeth grind together, even as her uncle puts a hand on her shoulder and steps past.

"Brother."

"You told her, Oberyn?"

"I did. It's a good offer and she deserved to know."

Arianne lifts her head a little bit higher at that, her spirits buoyed by her uncle's words. Oberyn Martell, known far and wide as the Red Viper, had not always been on her side when it came to the altercations between her and her father. Indeed, once upon a time when she and Tyene had tried to sneak away to the Reach many years back, he'd been the one that caught them and brought them back to Sunspear, acting in the role of his brother's attack dog.

But really, Prince Oberyn was nobody's dog. He was called the Red Viper for a reason, and he could just as easily change his mind and act upon his own whims when it suited him. As it apparently did now.

Surging forward as Doran sighs and places a hand against his brow, Arianne tries a different tack. Letting her anger bleed away, she pleads with her father instead.

"Father, don't you see what kind of opportunity this is for us? The Usurper is dead. The Lions have never been weaker and there's even talk that says Cersei Lannister has been sent back to Casterly Rock! And now we receive a letter letting us know that our new King wants a Queen with some experience! There has never been a better time for Dorne to stop isolating itself from the rest of Westeros!"

Lowering his hand, her chairbound father looks up at her.

"This new King is still Robert Baratheon's son, my daughter."

But Arianne is ready for such words.

"And yet he was raised a bastard. Far from the machinations of our enemies. I'm sure he's far more like us than he is his father or the Lannisters. If I can get close to him… if I can become his Queen, it won't be difficult to convince him to enact justice for Aunt Elia and her children. The Lions can finally be made to pay for their crimes."

Doran's eyes flicker to Oberyn at that, but the other man stays quiet. Yes, Arianne didn't fully understand why her uncle was on her side in this… but she had her suspicions and she was more than willing to play off of them. If Oberyn wanted her to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms so that she could convince Axel Baratheon to punish House Lannister for Elia and her children, then so be it. She was more than happy to make that bargain.

"… You would give up being my heir for this? You would pass the Seat of Sunspear to Quentyn for this opportunity to become Axel Baratheon's Queen?"

Arianne scoffs. She almost tells her father then and there that she knows. She's known for almost half her life at this point, having snuck into Doran's solar and read a half-finished letter of his that made it clear he intended to have Quentyn inherit Dorne from him instead of her.

Unlike the rest of Westeros, Dorne had a history of allowing women to inherit. She should therefore have been her father's heir as his eldest child. She should have become the Princess of Dorne one day when his health issues finally caught up to him.

But no… Arianne had never fully understood why, but Doran seemed to have long hated her, even going back to when she was very young. From never intending for her to inherit, to throwing nothing but old and feeble suitors her way, to refusing to even allow her to seek a match with a younger, more acceptable match for herself.

All in all, Doran Martell had made his position very clear to Arianne… but she refused to let him tear her down. She refused to stay here in Sunspear wasting away for the rest of time. Feigning a lack of care, Arianne smiles and flicks her fingers through the air.

"Let him have it, father. I'll give it up in a heartbeat for the sake of Dorne and for the sake of justice for my Aunt."

And she would give it up in a heartbeat for the opportunity to escape her spiteful father's controlling clutches at long last. But of course, she doesn't say that part out loud. She's not stupid.

After a moment, Doran's eyes move from her to Oberyn.

"And I suppose you would go with her as her escort, would you?"

Arianne is expecting as much as well… but Oberyn surprises them both by shaking his head.

"I thought I might send Tyene and a couple of the others with her, but I see no reason to go myself at this point in time. As my lovely niece has already pointed out, the Capital is emptied of Lions for now. My presence would be… unnecessary."

Doran scowls, his eyes flinty as he stares at his brother suspiciously.

"Just what game are you playing here, Oberyn?"

Oberyn just smiles and shrugs.

"No games, brother. It's exactly as Arianne has said. This is an opportunity we'd be fools to pass up. I know you had other plans, but the rumors make it clear those plans could fall through at any moment. Why not hedge our bets a little bit, hm? Besides, the letter made it obvious that the young King doesn't want a betrothal. He's not asking for any assurances nor giving any guarantees at all. In the end, nothing might come of this except to give Arianne a chance to stretch her wings just a little bit."

See, this is why Arianne didn't fully understand her uncle or his motivations. What other plans did her father have? How were they about to fall through at any moment? How was sending her to King's Landing 'hedging their bets' exactly?

She didn't know and that burned inside of her more than the most virulent of poisons… but in the end, she holds her tongue and watches with bated breath all the same. Doran, meanwhile, considers her uncle's words for a long moment in silence before letting out a shuddering sigh.

"… Very well. You may go to King's Landing, daughter. See if you and this Baratheon are… compatible. And if not, there will always be a place here for you in Sunspear."

Like hell there was. But Arianne keeps her true feelings to herself as she smiles sweetly and walks over to give her father a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, father. I swear I won't let you down."

Doran smiles sadly as she pulls away.

"I've never thought you would, daughter of mine."

He sounds almost warm, maybe a little tender even… but too little too late. She doesn't trust it, not one bit. Arianne gives him one last false smile and a much more real hug to her uncle for his help before leaving the room behind and hurrying to get her things together. This was it. This was her chance to escape the gilded cage her father had kept her in all her life once and for all.

Not to mention, she'll grab a few of the Sand Snakes as well, just like Uncle Oberyn suggested. Tyene in particular just had to come with her. Apparently, the new King of the Seven Kingdoms had a thing for the Faith of the Seven~

-x-X-x-

A/N: And there we have our first POVs of Axel's would be Queens. But certainly not their last~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Some more of the eventual harem's POVs~

-x-X-x-

Everything had fallen apart, but things could certainly be worse. Renly and Loras had been allowed to take the Black and her House had remained in charge of the Reach. Margaery might not be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but she was here in King's Landing, living in the Red Keep all the same. And she refused to be counted out of the running just yet.

Her grandmother had finally arrived too, which meant she'd had a 'tearful' goodbye with her father that morning before he left for Highgarden. Mostly tearful on his part, though Margaery had been sure to shed a few of her own.

And a couple of those tears had even been real, based on the very stark reality that they may never see each other again. Sure, her father was an absolute fool, but she still held love in her heart for him all the same.

Still, with her grandmother here, Margaery could finally begin scheming in earnest. Though first…

"Leave us."

The Queen of Thorns' tone is sharp and clipped as she stares down Brienne without a single ounce of fear despite the other woman's large size. Brienne bristles in return, but Margaery reaches out and places a hand on the giant woman's arm.

"Brienne, please… my grandmother and I need to catch up. Watch the door for us?"

For a moment, Brienne looks like she wants to argue… but in the end, she bows her head and departs the room to stand guard in the hallway. Truth be told, it still felt a little strange to have the other woman at her side… and Margaery knew that for all Brienne represented a source of protection, she could also turn out to be a source of irritation down the line.

Still, nobody else had really known what to do with the other woman after the Trial. For the others, it was simple. Those that lived on Axel's side became Kingsguard. Those that lived on Renly's side were largely given the chance to bend the knee to the rightful King of Westeros. Renly and Loras were bound for the Wall. She was to be kept as a ward of the Red Keep for the foreseeable future to keep the Reach in line as they paid reparations for their idiocy.

But Brienne was not a knight. She couldn't just bend the knee and turn her cloak. Or maybe she could have, but nobody had thought to ask her to. Nor did she seem inclined to. In the end, Margaery had as much taken her under her wing for Brienne's sake as she had to get around the fact that she technically wasn't allowed to have a sworn sword due to her hostage status.

Now though… well, they couldn't exactly have Brienne listening in on what her and Olenna were about to discuss, could they? As soon the towering woman has left the room and closed the door behind her, Olenna gives Margaery a sharp look.

In response, Margaery just smiles, pleased to have good news.

"I'm confident I can seduce him. You should see the way he looks at me, grandmother. Our young King is a fan of beautiful women."

The Queen of Thorns scoffs at that, shaking her head.

"Show me a man who isn't… outside of your brother and his fool lover I suppose. I don't doubt that you can seduce him, Margaery. He's the son of Robert Baratheon, after all. But can you keep him?"

Margaery pauses, pressing her lips together thinly. Seeing this, her grandmother sighs.

"You still wish to be Queen, don't you?"

Without hesitation, Margaery nods her head firmly. She does. Even now, even with everything having fallen to pieces. They should have never sided with Renly. Without the Reach, his entire claim would have fallen apart. They could have used that fact to push her as Axel's bride from the start.

Now…

"I know I'm starting from behind, grandmother. But I don't think I'm out of the race quite yet."

Lady Olenna Tyrell is well known for her blunt way of speaking. She tells it like it is, rather than telling people what they want to hear. So Margaery isn't very surprised when her grandmother's response is… less than enthusiastic.

"You're not just starting from behind; you're not even technically allowed to be in the race dear. You're not a candidate for Queen, you're the King's hostage, a spoil of war."

Margaery straightens up and thrusts out her chest a bit as she smiles coyly and flutters her eyes.

"Oh, but I'm a very pretty spoil of war, grandmother. And Axel Baratheon has an eye for pretty things. Do you know he visits the Great Sept every day?"

Olenna's eyes narrow, prompting Margaery to smile wickedly.

"They say he spends almost double the time at the statue of the Maiden as he does in front of all of the others combined."

That gets a derisive snort from the Queen of Thorns.

"Our Master of Coin should just take the King to one of his brothels at this point to see that itch scratched before it becomes a bigger problem."

But Margaery shakes her head, smiling slightly.

"He wouldn't accept even if Lord Baelish offered, grandmother. Axel is a better man than his father was, and that means no whoring. But that's proving to be a bit of an issue for him. He still has needs. I've ran into him a couple times now in the Red Keep… only with Brienne at my side, unfortunately. But each time, I've noticed the way he looks at me. He wants me, grandmother. And I can use that to leap ahead of the competition."

Narrowing her eyes, Olenna frowns.

"Or you'll be used up and tossed aside, dear. He doesn't need to marry you to fuck you, Margaery. Reaching too far might see you smacked back down. And then where will you be? We're already in the dirt because of your father's idiocy. Do not compound on his failures."

… Ouch. Her grandmother had never spoken to her so harshly before. But Margaery doesn't let it get to her. She certainly doesn't feel a burning in her eyes, nor does she have to blink away a few tears as she swallows past the sudden lump in her throat.

Silence falls between the two of them for a long moment as she composes herself, with Olenna neither commenting on her momentary lapse nor making any effort to comfort her. In the end, Margaery licks her lips and bows her head.

"I understand, grandmother. I won't reach too far… nor will I expect too much to come of this. But surely becoming the King's mistress is better than being his hostage, no? If I don't try and push for Queenship, he should have no reason to grow upset with me. I can improve both my own fortunes and the standing of our House at the same time by showing him just how… willing I am to bend the knee."

That might have been a bit too crass, but Olenna just smirks all the same, the Queen of Thorns tilting her head to the side.

"Perhaps. Though at the end of the day, remember this lesson dear. You say that he would have no reason to grow upset with you… but men don't need a reason. They never have. If they want to be upset with you, they will invent a reason and use that instead."

Finally though, Olenna reaches out and places a hand atop Margaery's.

"I will support you all the same. I did not come here to spend my remaining years as a hostage for my son's sake… I came here for you."

Margaery straightens up at that, buoyed by her grandmother's support. More than anything, she suspects Olenna will be good for running interference on Brienne once she begins to pursue Axel Baratheon in earnest.

And… in the privacy of her own mind, Margaery thinks to herself… if Axel does fall in love with her and bucks all norms to make her his Queen, well then… that would be his choice, wouldn't it?

At least the rumors say he prefers a woman of age with him. Her competition is rather slim all things considered, even if she's also heard that Lady Sansa Stark will be visiting King's Landing at the bare minimum, with Princess Arianne Martell rumored to be on her way as well.

… She'll have to make the most of her head start on those women. They're her only real competition, after all.

-x-X-x-

"Father, you sent for me."

Asha Greyjoy calls out as she steps into her father's study, only to watch as Balon Greyjoy reads something and then snarls and smacks a mug off of his desk.

She raises an eyebrow, more surprised that the mug actually had anything in it to splash across the floor than anything else. It wasn't like her father to waste good drink, though obviously the Lord Reaper of Pyke was not in the best of moods at the moment.

Lifting bloodshot eyes to meet her gaze, Balon huffs.

"Drowned God take these Greenlanders! Can't even do fucking war right! And now this shit!"

Asha snorts in amusement, walking over and leaning on his desk. She'd heard about the Greenlander War, of course. Everyone on the Iron Islands had. It was probably the biggest news to hit them since their own failed rebellion. Robert Baratheon was dead and so were his two sons, so some bastard had been legitimized and was taking his place. Oh, but Renly Baratheon didn't like that, so he was going to make a mess of things instead.

Of course… it'd all fizzled out. They'd gone ahead and settled things with one of their mainland religion's Trials and apparently the legitimized bastard had come out on top. She'd seen many an Ironborn grumbling over the fact that the Greenlanders weren't going to be killing each other en masse… but her father seemed particularly upset by the news.

Then again, Asha knows her father all too well…

"What was the plan, father?"

Balon frowns… and then sighs and shakes his head.

"You always have been too quick for your own good, girl. If only you'd been born with a cock instead of a cunt between your legs."

She tries not to bristle too much at that, holding her tongue for a moment so that Balon will finally just fucking tell her already. Thankfully, after another beat of silence, he does.

"… We were going to take advantage of this shit, obviously. All those idiots were converging on King's Landing. Even the Redwyne Fleet headed for the Narrow Sea. And the North had all marched South. Once the fighting started in full, we could have reaved up and down the coast. Taken from the North, the Riverlands, the Westerlands, the Reach. All of it… would have been easy. It would have been a return to the old ways! And the best part of all, they would have been too busy killing each other to do anything to stop us!"

Asha continues to bite her tongue as her father rants. There's a lot of things she could say to that, but none are what Balon wants to hear. The last time they tried to return to the old ways, it got all of her brothers except for Theon killed. And Theon was up in Winterfell, almost certainly turned into little more than yet another Greenlander at this point.

And yet, even though Balon had surrendered and been allowed to keep his seat… she knew that her father still longed for a world where the Ironborn could reave freely and force the rest of Westeros to pay the Iron Price. A world where they didn't have to hide their raiding and mask their reaving behind piracy and banditry. A world where they could be truly free.

Frankly, Asha wasn't sure she wanted that same world. But she knew better than to say so out loud. She had her own ship and was a Captain in her own right, and that was its own form of freedom as far as she was concerned. Certainly better than being some Southern Lady and married off to some Greenlander Lord, that was for sure.

"And now this shit… they're saying Euron is back."

Now that gets Asha's attention, however. Her eyes widen in surprise before narrowing as she leans forward.

"'They'? Who is 'they' father? Who has seen Euron?"

Asha had as many uncles as Balon had brothers, obviously. But only one of them was truly infamous. Euron Greyjoy, the man so repugnant even the rest of the Ironborn, as well as his own family, wanted nothing to do with him. Asha didn't know all the details, but she did know that he'd more than earned his exile from the Iron Islands… and that her father had told him to never return so long as Balon still lived.

Growling, the Lord Reaper of Pyke rises from his chair… a little unsteady and clearly deep in his cups long before she'd arrived.

"… Euron's ship, Silence, has apparently returned to the Narrow Sea from his latest adventure. This time however, the rumors say that he's back to stay. That he claims he intends to stick around because Westeros is more 'fun' now."

Growling, Balon slams a fist into the nearest surface… his desk.

"He's coming for my seat! I just know he is! He finally thinks he's gathered enough power, enough support to dethrone me once and for all!"

Asha stays quiet. Part of her wonders why Euron would wait all this time only to come back now. And yet… she wouldn't be surprised if her father was right all the same.

Suddenly, Balon whips towards her, staring at her.

"You."

Asha pushes off her father's desk at that look, her hand surreptitiously falling to the dagger at her belt. But Balon just points at her rather harmlessly.

"You can go. You WILL go."

Straightening up while at the same time relaxing a bit, Asha inclines her head.

"Go where, father?"

Balon smiles mirthlessly and she wonders how long ago he found out about Euron. How many sleepless nights had he had before he finally called for her?

"Go to the Narrow Sea. Go to King's Landing. I want you to find out what your uncle is up to and bring me news of his movements. And if you can get the measure of this new Baratheon King at the same time, then so be it."

Asha presses her lips tightly. Reconnaissance Duty. It's not necessarily bad work, but it's also not very fulfilling work either. Certainly not likely to put coin in her men's pouches or food in their bellies. And yet, she doesn't really have any room to say 'no'. Swallowing a sigh, she bows her head.

"Of course, father. I'll see it done."

"Then why are you still standing here? Go already!"

Asha departs before her father's mood can get any fouler… and he can decide to take that out on her. Really, she'll be glad to be on the sea again anyways. Nothing but the ocean, her crew, and her ship. It was where she felt the most free and she always loved departing on another voyage.

… Plus, part of her did have to wonder what sort of man this Axel Baratheon really was. The rumors said he wasn't just handsome, but also incredibly strong, the Demon of the Trident come again. The more fanciful ones claimed that he took down an entire ambush on the Kingsroad by himself, and also singlehandedly won the Trial by the Seven without any help from his allies.

Asha is smart enough to know better than to believe such things of course… but she's nevertheless curious. And now it seems she'll have a chance to find out because she's headed to King's Landing on her father's orders.

What fun…

-x-X-x-

A/N: Machinations! Machinations everywhere! As far as the eye can see~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: If the harem is the A Plot for this arc, then we can consider the Crown's debt to be the B Plot~

-x-X-x-

"So… against all odds and despite you telling me we'd be lucky to get even one of them, both Sansa Stark and Arianne Martell have agreed to come to King's Landing to meet with me."

Axel grins cheekily at Jon as he leans back in his chair.

"What do you think it is that's attracted them? My devilish good looks or my prowess in battle?"

Giving him a long suffering look, Jon sighs and shakes his head.

"I think, my King, that you remind me more and more of your father with every passing day. You know full well that Sansa Stark is only coming because I convinced her father to send for her. As for the Princess of Dorne… I will admit, the letter announcing her imminent arrival surprised even me. It worries me as well."

Smile dropping, Axel gets a little bit more serious, his brow furrowing at that.

"What has you worried, Jon? Why even send the invitation in the first place if you didn't think she and I would make a good match?"

The Lord Hand grimaces, falling silent for a moment.

"… The Dornish have a certain reputation in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. I do not want to necessarily prejudice you against the Princess, but Dorne has a long, storied history of using poison and other underhanded and dishonorable methods to get their way. They, of course, would claim it to be good tactics and point to their unique position on Westeros as proof that their ways work, but that doesn't change the facts."

Axel frowns. The mention of poison admittedly gives him pause. He's not so foolish that he rushes to point out that he's immune to poison and therefore has nothing to fear from such things. He IS immune to poisons, as Cersei Lannister had helped him prove all throughout his life… but that doesn't mean the danger isn't real all the same.

After all, the rest of the inhabitants of the Red Keep are decidedly not immune to poison… and neither is Sansa Stark unless there's something about her that nobody knows.

He doesn't want to believe that Princess Arianne would resort to such tactics just to secure her place at his side or anything like that, but at the same time…

"Double the amount of taste testers we have in Red Keep now, before the arrival of our guests. None can complain if it's a policy that's been in place for weeks before they showed up, right?"

Jon looks surprised for a moment and then pleased, smiling and bobbing his head in Axel's direction.

"It will be done, my King. A wise and prudent course of action… and well-reasoned too."

Grinning again, Axel chuckles.

"Well, I'm not all muscle. I do have a mind to me as well, one that you've been helping nurture since long before I was King. I don't know which of these two women shall be my Queen, but I certainly won't have one gaining the position at the expense of the other's life."

That, he would be sure of. He was already tired enough of the games played in his court. Axel was coming to realize that Renly's war had honestly been something of a blessing in disguise, for all that it had ended with a single seven on seven duel rather than glorious battles and massive amounts of bloodshed.

While he'd been facing Renly, the nobles in his court had been relatively quiet, no doubt recognizing that now was not the time to irritate him. But with Renly defeated and the Realm at peace, Axel now found himself dealing with so many petty problems that it was enough to make his head swim!

For fuck's sake, just the other day he'd been called to render judgment on a minor dispute between two merchants here in King's Landing over an exotic pet of all things. One merchant claimed the animal, called a 'monkey', was his. But the other merchant also claimed to be the true owner. In the end, under Jon's advice and having listened to the two men argue for over an hour, Axel had proclaimed that he would cut the monkey in two and give each of them half.

This had caused one merchant to agree to the judgment while the other dropped to his knees and begged Axel not to do so, even saying to just give the other man the whole monkey if it meant the creature would keep his life.

That, of course, was the whole point of the test from the very beginning. The first man was arrested and fined for stealing and then doubly fined for wasting the court's time with his lies. The second man had his pet monkey returned to him. It was Jon's wisdom admittedly, but Axel was already being lauded as exceptionally wise for 'thinking of it'. Truth be told… it all just seemed so silly.

But not everything about ruling was so silly. And as Jon gives Axel a serious look, the younger man has a feeling he's not going to like what he's about to hear.

"… I've been consolidating documents and tracking down the sources of all the Crown's various debts, my King. What we managed to get from Lord Tywin was quite the coup and a huge victory for us… but the situation is still quite dire."

Axel's lips thin out and he slowly nods, listening carefully. While he did know his numbers… he didn't have the head for the complex stuff, not really. Apparently, he got that from his father. According to Jon, Robert had called it 'counting coppers' and considered it utterly beneath him to care.

After all, he was King of the Seven Kingdoms. He didn't need to care about money, he was rich… right?

Wrong. Dead wrong. Axel's father had bankrupted the Realm half a dozen times over. At least six million dragons of debt. Jon was right, getting two million forgiven for the cost of one crazed Lannister woman was quite the coup. And it represented a huge amount of the Crown's debt as well. Yet…

Axel growls, clenching his hand into a fist and placing it on the table. He does not slam it down because if he did, it would break the table in two. Still, he's not happy.

"What do we do about it, Jon? How do we even start paying back such a monumental sum? I refuse to leave a single copper of debt behind for my children so please tell me you have any way for us to pay it all off in a reasonable amount of time."

Jon lets out another sigh, the older man looking quite weary.

"In my lifetime? Not a chance. But in yours? If you are frugal and careful, perhaps. I can help you set things up before I'm gone, but it will be up to you and whoever comes after me to make sure the debt continues to shrink."

Setting his jaw, Axel nods, determination blazing in his eyes.

"Then that's what we'll have to do. You don't have to worry about me after you're gone, Jon. I won't stray from the path you set me on. So… where do we begin?"

The Hand of the King smiles slightly.

"Admittedly, we've already taken the first step in that direction by sending Janos Slynt to the Wall. His corruption and greed were second to none here in King's Landing, and the City Watch mimicked his behavior. With him gone and the worst of it gone with him, we can finally start cleaning up the Goldcloaks and weeding out the other bad influences. That said, for where to go next…"

Jon hesitates before finally nodding decisively.

"Braavos, I should think. The other half of the Crown's debt, the half not owed to House Lannister, is a mixture of loans from the Iron Bank of Braavos, the Faith of the Seven, and some trading cartels based out of Tyrosh."

That was already more than Axel had known before, but as previously mentioned, he didn't have a head for numbers. Still, where his father might have gotten frustrated and told Jon to just 'deal with it', Axel knew he didn't have the same luxury. Lord Arryn wouldn't last forever, and Axel needed to at least know who the fuck his creditors were if nothing else. So he listens closely and he listens well, brow furrowed in concentration.

"However, the vast majority of that debt, some two million golden dragons and then some, is owed solely to the Iron Bank. The Faith and the Tyroshi Cartels combine to make up the majority of the last million, with much smaller loans to other individuals making up the rest. All of that pales in comparison to what we owe the Iron Bank. And with their reputation…"

Right. 'The Iron Bank will have its due'. Even Axel knew those words and he'd been raised in isolation as little more than a bastard up in the Vale all his life.

"Although…"

Axel blinks as Jon suddenly sounds troubled, his brow furrowing in consternation as he looks lost for a moment. Tilting his head to the side, the young King raps the table to pull his Hand out of his thoughts.

"What is it, Jon?"

Jolting, Jon looks up and then settles again, letting out yet another sigh.

"The numbers aren't all adding up among the smaller loans, I'm afraid. I've spoken with the Faith and some other lenders here in King's Landing and the numbers they have on their books don't quite match the numbers I have on mine. Some of them say we owe more, while still others say we owe less, strangely enough."

What? More he could understand. It could be as simple as base greed or them thinking they could get one over on him because he was a brand new King. But less? How could they possibly owe less than what they thought they did? That… that smacked of gross incompetence on someone's part and Axel's mind immediately leaps to one man in particular.

"Have you spoken to Baelish about this? What does he have to say for himself?"

Jon chuckles at that.

"Now, now Axel. I know Petyr is… well, I know he can rub someone like you the wrong way. But he's not necessarily to blame here."

Axel raises an eyebrow, baffled as to who else could be to blame.

"He's the Master of Coin, is he not?"

Inclining his head, Jon acknowledges that fact… but then also shakes his head a moment later.

"He is… but one man cannot keep track of everything, especially not large sums of money like this. Even I couldn't keep track of it all. Petyr has dozens if not hundreds of people working under him or under his direct subordinates, from clerks to auditors to tax collectors."

Axel still doesn't fully understand.

"He's still in charge of our coin though, right? He should know something about all of this!"

Here, Jon grimaces again.

"… I fear this might partially be my fault for not reigning in your father's excesses years ago, Axel. Petyr… he's done the best he could with a rather difficult situation. A King like Robert spending so damn much… and a Hand like me not doing enough to stop him. Between bringing in taxes from across Westeros and securing new lines of credit to fund Robert's expensive habits and hobbies, I imagine Petyr has more than had his work cut out for him."

Huh. That was… fair, perhaps. Was Axel giving the weaselly Master of Coin too little credit? He'd never liked the man, not from the moment that he'd met him, but Jon made it sound like that was just a vibe Petyr gave off, and that he was still good at his job all the same.

Axel could acknowledge that he was biased in this regard, so he was willing to give Jon the benefit of the doubt in regard to the other man. And at least Jon's next words made it clear that he wasn't letting Petyr completely off the hook.

"Still, you're correct that he's the Master of Coin. I intend to pair with him in the coming days to see if we can untangle this mess together and figure out just who we owe what to. In the meantime though, I would like your permission to call for the Iron Bank to send a representative here to King's Landing so that we can discuss the large sum we owe them in particular and begin making a plan to repay it in a timely manner."

He's nodding before Jon is even done speaking.

"Of course. Hell, I'll sit in on the meeting if you need me to, just so we can show the Iron Bank that we're taking this seriously. I don't intend to be my father, Jon."

Jon smiles sadly, and Axel knows that some of that sadness comes from the older man having truly loved Robert Baratheon. And yet, even someone who loved Axel's father can't deny the harm that Robert caused even with his largely 'peaceful' reign.

"I know, Axel, that probably won't be necessary though. Still, you have done nothing but make me proud so far, my King."

Axel raises his cup at that and Jon does the same, both of them taking a drink before Jon speaks up again.

"Ah, there was one other thing. Our resident Spymaster apparently has something he wants to share with us at the next Small Council Meeting. He's asked me to make sure you attend."

That catches Axel by surprise, but to be fair he only really ever attends such meetings if he's asked to, so it makes sense. He comforts himself with the knowledge that that's still more than his father had been capable of.

"Alright then. Did he say what it was about?"

Here, a shadow falls over Jon's face and he looks somewhat grim.

"Yes, I'm afraid. He mentioned that it pertains to the movements of the last Targaryens…"

-x-X-x-

A/N: Dun dun DUUUUUUN!!!

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Finding out what's going on with the last Targaryens~

-x-X-x-

Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen, the last living children of the Mad King. They'd grown up in exile over in Essos, having fled from Axel's father many, many years ago. But it sounded like they hadn't necessarily given up on their claim to the Iron Throne…

"If the rumors are to be believed, Viserys Targaryen is dead."

Well now. Axel raises an eyebrow as he looks at his Master of Whispers in surprise. The whole of the Small Council is sitting at the table, including their new Master of Ships. Davos Seaworth, now technically a Lord in his own right by virtue of his new position, doesn't look entirely comfortable in his seat… but maybe that's a good thing. Those who do look comfortable, such as Lord Baelish… Axel doesn't trust them one bit.

Frowning, Jon leans forward, suddenly quite interested.

"Explain, Lord Varys."

Inclining his head, the Spider does exactly that.

"It would seem, amidst all the chaos caused by the death of King Robert and his sons, as well as Renly's madness, that events in Essos have proceeded faster than anticipated. What I can say with certainty is that Viserys married his sister to a Dothraki Warlord some time ago. This marriage was meant to solidify an alliance, in which the Dothraki Warlord, a 'Khal Drogo', agreed to lead his horsemen across the Narrow Sea to take the Seven Kingdoms and secure the Iron Throne for Viserys."

Axel's brow climbs at that. Truly? From what he'd heard of the Dothraki, they weren't exactly sailors. And Jon seems to agree.

"Preposterous. The Dothraki have no stomach for sailing. They'd never cross the Narrow Sea, especially not for a single bride."

Varys dips his head again, still smiling.

"I cannot claim to know the workings of this Khal Drogo's mind, Lord Hand. All I know is what my sources have told me. The wedding between Daenerys Targaryen and Khal Drogo definitely took place, after which they and Drogo's army, also called a khalasar, began the trek back to the ancient Dothraki city of Vaes Dothrak as is required by their traditions."

Axel won't lie… he's hanging off of Varys' every word by this point. It's a little exciting, isn't it? Essos, the Dothraki… even the Targaryens. It's all so distant, so exotic, so… foreign.

"Unfortunately, that's where my sources become muddled. More recent events are less clear, but one thing they're all certain of is that Viserys Targaryen has met his end."

Eyes narrowed, lips pursed, Jon grunts.

"How, exactly?"

This time Varys shakes his head.

"That is the problem, my Lord. There are two stories at play here. The first is simple. They say that Khal Drogo got angry with Viserys' repeated demands to cease traveling in the 'wrong' direction and turn around to find ships and sail for Westeros. In this telling of the tale, Viserys apparently demanded the crown he was promised… and Drogo gave it to him by melting down some gold and pouring the molten mixture upon the Targaryen's head."

Even Axel winces at that. Viserys might have been his enemy, albeit a very distant one, but shit that sounded like a bad way to go. Hm, would that kill Axel himself? Not that he would allow such a thing to happen to him in the first place, but would he survive it?

"… The other version of events is far more troubling, I'm afraid."

Oh? Varys looks downright discomfited. Intrigued now, Axel leans forward.

"What is the other version of events, Master of Whispers?"

Looking right at him, Varys' smile vanishes.

"They claim that a Red Priestess has attached herself to Daenerys Stormborn, Your Grace. Furthermore, the young Targaryen was gifted a set of three Dragon Eggs, long turned to stone but nevertheless worth a fortune, at her wedding to the Khal. And… they say that the Red Priestess has begun instructing Daenerys Stormborn in her religion's ways… in the ways of flame and sacrifice."

An uneasy silence has fallen over the room, but Axel finds himself more excited than anything, holding his breath as he waits for whatever Varys is going to say next.

"Some say that before Drogo could finish Viserys off himself, that Daenerys interceded on his behalf. Not to save him… but to use him for her own ends at the behest of this Red Priestess. They say Viserys was burned alive… to hatch the Dragon Eggs that Daenerys was given at her wedding."

Holy shit. That was… fucking insane. Axel tries not to look too excited. He knows he's supposed to be perturbed, disturbed, and worried by everything Varys just said. He definitely isn't supposed to be nearly jumping up and down in his seat while considering the prospect of there being real live dragons again.

Still, he was confident that he wasn't alone in always wondering what actual dragons would be like. They'd been such a huge part of Westeros' history, only to die off and be gone from the world for a hundred years. Imagining them flying through the air again… is it any wonder that Axel finds his blood pumping at the mere thought?

Forcibly calming himself as everyone else is too busy reacting to Varys' news to pay him much attention, Axel waits for a moment before speaking in a level tone.

"And of these two stories… which do you believe to be the truth, Lord Varys?"

Smiling a wan smile, Varys sighs.

"I'm afraid that tales from Essos always have to be taken with a grain of salt, Your Majesty. In fact, I suspect that neither tale is entirely the truth. There are always details that get lost over such great distances. I hope with all my heart that the truth is closer to the first tale. I suspect, to my greatest chagrin, that the truth is really closer to the second tale though."

Axel nods, absorbing that as he sits back in his chair and ponders Varys' words. Dragons. Sacrificial fire magic. These things might be dangerous to him, admittedly. Valyrian Steel cut him after all, and that was said to be magical metal quite literally crafted with lost Valyrian magical arts… and dragonfire.

And yet, he finds his heart pumping in his chest, not out of fear but out of excitement. It might be fun, testing himself against such creatures. They would have to come close to the ground to kill him. And Axel could leap very, very high.

"What are our options, Varys?"

Jon's voice cuts through the silence, causing Axel to blink and raise an eyebrow at the Spider, curious to see what he says. Varys hesitates for a moment before speaking again.

"… We have a man close to Daenerys Stormborn's side. He has sworn himself to her service, but spies for us instead. Some of this information comes from him. I imagine, if we were to offer him a full pardon for his crimes and allow him to come back to Westeros after the deed was done… we could convince him to assassinate the Targaryen and her dragons, especially while they're still so young. Maybe this Red Priestess as well if we're lucky."

What? Assassination? Axel waits for Jon to decry the idea as dishonorable, but to his surprise the Lord of the Eyrie is quiet… contemplative even. He's actually considering it. Meanwhile, the very idea turns Axel's stomach. Yes, he understood that this Targaryen woman was his natural enemy. His father had fought a war that ultimately saw her entire family dead and dethroned after all.

And yes, dragons might very well be the most dangerous thing he could expect to face in his life too. He might be confident of facing off against a hundred men, but he had no idea how he would do against a dragon. So seeing them dead when they were too young to be a threat might very well be the smart thing here.

But… Axel didn't want to do the smart thing. And he definitely didn't want to stoop so low to making use of assassins either. That was the sort of thing his enemies tried to do to him. Cersei Lannister, for instance. Renly Baratheon was another example. But not Axel. Never Axel.

Hunting for a way to shoot down the idea for a moment, something comes to Axel and he speaks up.

"Who is this man? What crimes has he committed, Lord Varys? Besides swearing his service to an enemy Princess, of course. What exactly saw him exiled from Westeros in the first place?"

Varys blinks before dipping his head.

"Ah… his name is Jorah Mormont, Your Grace. He was caught slaving, I'm afraid. Ser Mormont captured some poachers stealing from his lands, you see. Instead of handing them over to his liege lord to see justice done, he decided to sell them into slavery to help fund his wife's expensive habits, purportedly."

That worked.

"… Then no. We will not be using such a man. Slavers have no place in Westeros. In fact… we won't be using any assassins. Keep an eye on the situation and keep me informed about how it develops, but I will not have us resort to such underhanded tactics. Not while I'm King."

There's a ripple of surprise at the table, but Axel also senses approval from some of the men, such as Lord Seaworth and even his uncle Stannis. Assassins… they were not the weapon of a strong King, but the crutch of a weak one. And Axel was not a weak King.

Fortunately, Jon seems to understand and accept his position. His Hand nods in support of Axel's proclamation.

"It will be as the King says. Continue to keep us up to date on the movements of the last Targaryen and her Red Priestess, Lord Varys. But take no further action at this time."

Retreating from his suggestion with good grace, Varys simply sits back and wordlessly inclines his head.

Just when Axel is wondering if they should dismiss the Small Council for the day, however, another speaks up.

"Ah… while we're all here, Your Majesty, there was something I had hoped to discuss as well, if you have a moment."

Lord Baelish. Axel looks over at the other man and frowns. His private conversation with Jon from the day before is still fresh in his mind and he's reminded of his thoughts about perhaps being biased against the weaselly man. He would try to be better, he supposed.

"… What is it?"

Smiling in what Axel can only describe as a weaselly manner, Baelish taps the table.

"I wished to ask when you might want to hold the next Royal Tourney, Your Grace. With the death of King Robert and then this war with Renly, it has been quite some time since King's Landing had some proper entertainment. I suspect the reason so many of the knights of the Realm have lingered so long after everything was resolved is because they're waiting to see if one will be announced, but they won't wait forever."

His smile growing slightly, the Master of Coin leans forward, as if excited.

"Perhaps we could hold a Tourney where the grand prize is the final opening of your Kingsguard, Your Grace! With appropriate monetary winnings on top of that, of course."

… Axel's first instinct is to say not just 'no', but 'fuck no' and 'never again if I have anything to say about it'. Half of the reason that the Realm was in such a ruinous state right now was his father's disastrous tourneys. More than half, really. Robert's drinking, whoring, and feasting weren't nothing… but they were a drop in the bucket of debt that Axel and Jon were now dealing with when compared to the tourneys.

Minding his temper, Axel nevertheless shakes his head.

"There will be no Tourneys for the foreseeable future. My father has left the Realm in enough debt without me adding to it. No, we'll be cutting back as much as possible for as long as it takes to get ourselves out from under this vast weight currently pinning us down."

Again, Axel gets a sense of approval from his Master of Ships and Master of Laws. Varys and Pycelle are both as neutral as can be in their reactions. Baelish, meanwhile… looks pained.

"Ah, well… that may not be the best move if we wish to keep the smallfolk placated, my King."

What? Axel furrows his brow in confusion, his irritation rising.

"Explain."

"Tourneys aren't just for Royalty and Nobility to enjoy and for Knights to make names for themselves, Your Majesty. They also present a welcome reprieve to the smallfolk, giving them a moment to breathe and get out from under the crushing despair of their… lesser lives. As things stand right now, I believe that the smallfolk have much love for Your Majesty."

Petyr pauses briefly before continuing with an apologetic grimace.

"However, that could turn on a dime if it is announced that there will be no more tourneys for the foreseeable future by Royal Decree. Each time they attend such an event, the smallfolk are incentivized to work all the harder so that they might be able to attend the next one. These events are like pristine stepping stones in the otherwise muddy quagmire that is their lives, giving them something to look forward to. Take that away… and they might very well riot."

… Truly? Axel frowns for a moment, turning Baelish's words over and over in his head. Finally, he looks to Jon, to his Hand. And the man… isn't exactly denying Baelish's words either. If anything, Jon grimaces but eventually nods, signaling that there might be truth to some of what Baelish is saying.

"Fine. But the prize amounts must be reasonable. And there must be fees to make up for the costs. If we can break even, I will allow a tourney to take place here and there."

Baelish continues to look pained at that.

"That might anger some of the better fighters, Your Grace. They have become used to demanding rather large prizes under your father…"

Axel scoffs and waves a hand dismissively, as done with this issue as he is with the issue of the Targaryen and her dragons.

"Let them get angry then. In fact, let it be known that any who have a problem with the smaller tourney prizes can challenge me to a duel instead. If they manage to best me, they can have a hundred thousand golden dragons. But when they lose, I will cut off their sword hand."

"Axel!"

That gets Jon to snap his name, but Axel just shakes his head, fixing his Hand with a look that says all he needs to say. Jon better get with Baelish sooner rather than later, because Axel was already tired of all of his father's debts. And he definitely wouldn't abide by anything that put the Realm even worse off financially. Not while he still drew breath.

"Dismissed."

With that, he rises and sweeps out of the room first, leaving his Small Council behind to get back to work and do their damn jobs.

-x-X-x-

Petyr Baelish finds himself being squeezed now that they're at peace. Worse still, they have a responsible King and Jon Arryn is finally doing his job properly. This was… less than ideal, all things considered. Even his ploy to get them back to spending unreasonable sums via tourneys had been shot down.

And now here he was, meeting with Lord Arryn alone after the Small Council Meeting, hearing the Hand of the King talk about how things weren't exactly adding up and that some of their lesser debts to organizations like the Faith and other local lenders weren't making sense.

Of course they weren't making sense! Petyr knew full well why that was. Fortunately, Jon still trusted him far too much and was coming to him for help in untangling the mess that HE himself had made. That meant Petyr had a chance of fixing things before they could get too much worse.

Unfortunately, that was about where the good news ended. With Stannis Baratheon as Master of Laws and Davos Seaworth as Master of Ships, Petyr's life had never been harder. Stannis' inflexibility served the man well as Master of Laws, while Davos was far more cunning and underhanded as Master of Ships than his predecessor had been.

The amount of smugglers and ship captains that Petyr had had to cut from his payroll as a preemptive measure alone was staggering, and that was before Seaworth had even got much of a chance to clean house. Unfortunately, Petyr simply couldn't risk being found out.

Furthermore, Janos Slynt had been arrested and sentenced to the Wall to take the Black. The former Commander of the Goldcloaks was just the start of a purge orchestrated by Lord Arryn and approved by their young King, and it represented yet another way in which Petyr felt like he was being bent over a barrel.

He'd had to rush to calm down the rest of the Goldcloaks of course and even sacrificed a few of the more corrupt ones along with Slynt to avoid things boiling over. Jon Arryn and Axel Baratheon thought that they could just get rid of Slynt and his toadies and that would solve it, but no… if Petyr hadn't intervened, a good portion of the City Watch might have tried something truly inadvisable.

… Robert Baratheon's Small Council had been incredibly dysfunctional and ill-managed, acting like a mirror of its King at the time. It was just the way Petyr liked it, really. But despite Axel Baratheon's Small Council being almost all of the same men, it was still far different. They were actually being held accountable and that… that was a problem.

Still, Petyr hadn't gotten as far as he did by panicking. Opportunities and costs. That was all life was, in the end. He just had to keep looking for opportunities to avoid the costs of his past actions and stay ahead of Lord Arryn's hunt. It shouldn't be too difficult, given that the man was unknowingly having Petyr help hunt himself.

Still, the Master of Coin would have to tread lightly going forward. Very lightly indeed. Frankly, what he really needed was a new distraction. The old ones, the ones that had kept Robert and Jon in the dark for so long, weren't going to work anymore. That much was obvious. And with Renly's war over and the conflict coming to a close, that too was out of the question.

… Or was it? Maybe another war was precisely what Petyr needed. And he just so happened to know just the man to start one.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Axel is done playing games. Petyr is scrambling. But just who does he know that can start a war of all things?!

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: This chapter is just a nice spar. Definitely nothing else.

-x-X-x-

With a roar from the man himself, Sandor Clegane's sword whistles through the air, straight for Axel's head. Of course, his head is no longer there by the time the blade passes through the space, and Axel himself is already striking out, forcing the Hound to dance back a few steps.

But just as Sandor is retreating, Brienne of Tarth is advancing. The Lady of Tarth rushes in from the opposite side, clearly hoping to take Axel unawares as she goes in low. Of course, she's in for a rude awakening because obviously she hasn't caught him unaware in the slightest.

Moving just fast enough that she only manages a glancing blow with her sword, Axel lets the blunted steel skid off of his armor even as he whips out an arm and takes her right in her chestplate. The giantess of a woman grunts as she stumbles back, not quite falling on her ass. She would have gone flying if he used his true strength… but this is a friendly spar and Axel isn't trying to break any bones today.

Still, her 'distraction' provides Clegane with another chance to try and make a move. The Hound swings in from Axel's other side, aiming for one of his joints to try and disable an arm. Try… and fail. But Axel nevertheless appreciates the attempt, even as he shifts to block with his armored forearm instead and then thrusts his own blunted sword out to knock into one of Sandor's legs, sending the man to a knee.

At the same time, he reaches out and grabs hold of one of Brienne's wrists, stopping her dead in her tracks in her latest overhead swing. The whole scene freezes in place as Axel smiles, the heavy breathing of his two opponents the only sounds to fill the yard for a moment before he speaks.

"Let's stop there I should think. Well fought, you two."

Looking almost comically mirrored in their displeasure, both Sandor and Brienne nevertheless step back, their ugly mugs mulish as they each frown. It's obvious that they're judging their own performance and finding it lacking but frankly, Axel doesn't agree. Sure, the two are terrible teammates, neither of them caring all that much to strategize with one another even in these little two-on-one skirmishes they'd started doing with him.

… And yet, they're still the best fight Axel has had outside of Loras Tyrell since he became King. They're both skilled enough brawlers that even if they don't work together, they use each other well enough to give him some of the best challenges he's ever had.

Alas, even then, they've never managed to really push him. And Axel can tell that they know it too. Sandor scoffs and spits off to the side while Brienne has an expression like curdled milk as she answers his praise with derision.

"We couldn't lay a hand on you. It doesn't feel well fought."

Before Axel can respond, a fourth voice cuts in from off to the side.

"Brienne."

Margaery Tyrell steps out with a chiding tone as she gives Brienne a distinct 'Look'. Flushing, the Maid of Tarth ducks her head.

"Right. It doesn't feel well fought… Your Grace."

Axel just grins, even as the beautiful Margaery giggles and then claps her hands together.

"Well, I don't know if I can agree! All three of you were amazing to behold during the fight. I may not know much about swords and battle, but it certainly looked like you were giving our young King a fight to remember!"

Axel is ready to nod along in agreement, but of course Sandor Clegane has to be his usual morose self.

"We weren't."

Sighing, Axel finally jumps into the brewing pity party.

"You both fought to the best of your abilities and then some. Don't try to deny it, you've each improved in the time since we last exchanged blows. That's not nothing and you should be proud of yourselves all the same. Consider that an order from your King."

Again, Brienne and Sandor fall into a mutually mulish silence at that, neither of them looking like they very much like the taste of his words. Bittersweet, maybe. Rolling his eyes, Axel looks to the Hound in particular.

"Don't think I haven't noticed that you're still here, Clegane. I believe I told you that I would knight you and name you to my Kingsguard if you stuck around and kept giving me good fights. You've had weeks to leave King's Landing and yet here you are…"

Tensing up, Sandor's jaw works for a few moments before he shakes his head.

"No worthier now than I was last time you mentioned it, Your Grace. Just like a good fight, that's all."

Hm. Axel thinks the man might be coming around. He won't push for now, though that won't stop him from teasing. Speaking of which…

"You know, I have half a mind to give the position to Lady Brienne here instead."

The lady in question squawks at that, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"M-Me?"

Axel grins, his eyes twinkling.

"Whyever not? You've already been on one Kingsguard, have you not? Albeit a… lesser Kingsguard."

Brienne blushes and bristles at that, clearly wanting to defend her former liege's honor. But a look from Margaery keeps her quiet… or maybe it's the numerous beatdowns Axel has given the blonde woman in this very yard. Finally, through gritted teeth and with clenched fists, Brienne responds.

"… I am not a man. I cannot be knighted. And… I have yet to best you in battle a single time. I am just as unworthy as Clegane, if not more so."

Axel smirks, amused at her reasoning. But before he can point out that literally nobody in his Kingsguard has managed to best him in battle so far, Margaery Tyrell reminds them all of her presence. Not that it's possible to forget she's there when he's feeling so… pent up.

"Hm. If you both think yourself so unworthy, then perhaps it is the two of you who should spar next, to sharpen yourselves against an opponent that might actually give a fairer fight than our illustrious King."

Seriously? Axel expects Margaery's words to piss both of them off… but somehow, coming from her, they actually work. Brienne and Sandor give one another considering looks and then; despite already being drenched in sweat, they turn and raise their swords.

Axel just blinks as he watches them begin to cross blades… at least, right up until Margaery materializes at his side and whispers in his ear. Then, he lets himself be led away. It's a testament to just how much the two of them love to fight that neither Brienne nor Sandor register his and Margaery's absence for a long, long time…

-x-X-x-

"Mm… you minx. I should have had you sent to the Silent Sisters when I sent your husband and brother to the Wall."

Margaery hums, even as she kneels before the King of Westeros and bobs up and down on his cock. Looking up at him, she lets her eyes dance with a smile even if her mouth is currently full, showing that she knows he's speaking in jest.

Axel Baratheon looks back at her with a smile of his own, one hand resting atop of her head as he lets out a shuddering breath.

She'd told a bit of a lie earlier when she said she didn't know much about swords. Her maidenhead was still intact, but that did not mean Margaery was… inexperienced. And good that she wasn't too, because Axel Baratheon had the biggest, fattest cock that the Lady of Highgarden had ever seen!

Nevertheless, she does her best to take him into her mouth, sucking dutifully and diligently as she moves up and down the length of his member. The top of her dress has been undone as well, allowing her breasts to bounce free and also allowing the drool escaping her lower lip to dribble down on them as they jiggle with each bob of her head.

Axel groans in pleasure… but he does not come undone. And Margaery has to admit, she would have expected him to do so by now. He's just… so much man. Too much man, a little traitorous voice in the back of her head says. But she's quick to silence that voice, focusing entirely on the task at hand. She's come too far to get cold feet now.

At the same time, her jaw is starting to hurt. Maybe she can… change things up a bit?

Straightening up on her knees, Margaery tries something new… she offers up her breasts and proceeds to wrap them around the length of Axel's cock, allowing her to move her lips back to just the head of the King's prick so she can suckle at it rather than bobbing up and down like a maniac.

The young noblewoman can tell immediately that this is a hit with Axel. His eyes widen in surprise and he looks down at her with a new sort of arousal as she pulls her soft, full breasts along his shaft again and again. Margaery makes sure to maintain eye contact the entire time of course, until finally…

"Fuck…"

That's all the warning she gets, but it's also all the warning she needs. Margaery has been prepared for the King to cum for quite some time now, and when he starts… she makes sure to catch the first bit of it in her mouth. But then she lets it start to overflow, allowing it to dribble down her chin alongside her drool, where it lands upon her breasts as they fall away from his shaft. The King makes a mess of both her face and her chest in the process.

This was by design of course, because Margaery has been studying Axel for quite some time and she likes to think she knows him quite well. He likes to make a mess of a beautiful woman, she suspects... and her gamble is proven right when she sees him looking down at her with glittering avarice, his cock remaining rock hard rather than going soft.

Smiling a messy smile up at him, Margaery rises to her feet and turns away, flipping up the back of her skirts and revealing the lack of smallclothes and the nudity of her lower half as she bends over the wall in front of her. Thrusting out her naked ass, thighs, and glistening wet slit in his direction, Margaery looks back over her shoulder.

"For you, my King. All for you."

Axel narrows his eyes, even as he reaches out and grasps her hips. His cock twitches and bobs up and down mere inches from her sex, just waiting to plunder her depths. And yet… he hesitates.

"I know you never slept with Renly. I was told what kind of man he was."

Affecting a slightly sad smile, Margaery simply inclines her head in agreement.

"Indeed, my King. My maidenhead is intact. It's all yours."

Raising an eyebrow at that, Axel still hesitates.

"… It will make it harder for you to marry if I claim your maidenhead, Lady Tyrell."

Really now. Margaery lets her smile grow a bit more even as his cum continues to drip down off of her face and tits. For the King to pause here… he truly was a strange one, wasn't he?

"I doubt I will ever marry, Your Grace. I am… tarnished goods in more ways than one. My House barely escaped being attainted at your hands and I am truly grateful to that, but no Lord of the Seven Kingdoms would dare look past the actions of my father. I am your hostage, Your Grace. And I would be your woman… if you will have me~"

In the end, she's not even lying. House Tyrell WAS lucky to escape with such a light punishment and she ultimately attributes that to Jon Arryn being something of a weak man who has never liked rocking the boat. Still, Margaery herself is unlikely to ever be married… unless she can somehow worm her way into becoming Axel Baratheon's Queen.

It's a long shot, but as her grandmother has already said, even if she fails to become his Queen, she might have a chance at becoming his Mistress instead. Either way… her path to seeing any part of her ambition's fulfilled starts right here, right now… with the sacrifice of her maidenhead.

As Margaery expects, her words sway Axel to action, no doubt because they're combined with the bared cunt right in front of him and the honest eagerness in her eyes. With a single nod, the King of the Seven Kingdoms leans forward… and spears her upon his cock.

Margaery gasps at the momentary sharp pain as her virginity is at long last claimed. How long has she waited for this moment? And when it finally comes, she's bent up against a wall like some common smallfolk tart. But you work with what you're given in the end.

She makes sure to moan in an exaggerated manner as Axel starts to fuck her. He goes slowly at first… and then deeper. And then, before she knows it, her moans aren't as exaggerated anymore. Before she knows it, none of the noises she's making are quite as… manufactured as Margaery expected or intended them to be.

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

Axel Baratheon and his big fat cock soon have the Lady of Highgarden seeing stars, her eyes widening and jaw dropping as he fucks her against the wall in a way that leaves her gasping for breath, moaning with pleasure, and crying out in ecstasy.

His hands move from her hips and around to her breasts after a certain point, rubbing the mess of his cum and her drool into her soft mammaries as he presses up against her. Margaery holds herself back from the wall as best she can, but in the end she is pinned, trapped between the stone and his body.

Yet she finds she doesn't mind being trapped like that. In fact… it feels far better than she ever could have expected. The Lady Tyrell loses herself in the pleasure, her eyes fluttering as she lets out gasping moans and mewling cries while coming undone upon her King's cock over and over again.

She'd always intended to fake her orgasms, of course. Margaery had been taught how to make her lord husband feel good about himself and his prowess in bed, when she finally had one.

Instead though, she finds herself fully unwound by her King. It turns out that the King of Westeros is not just an undefeated champion of the training yard and Trials by the Seven, but also a consummate lover beyond Margaery's wildest imaginations as well.

Part of her wonders if it might be simply because despite her 'experience', she's never actually done the deed before. But no… no, she doesn't think that's entirely it. She'd had numerous women in her life tell her what it would be like. Mostly, they'd told her she would simply have to grin and bear with it, doing her best to make it seem like she was enjoying herself even when she really wasn't.

And yet… and yet, Margaery very much does enjoy herself, climaxing yet again upon Axel's cock. She can't even keep track of how many times he makes her cum before finally… it all comes to an abrupt end. The King pulls out of her and releases his hold on her, causing Margaery to slide down the wall as her legs, trembling and quivering from the experience, give out.

But not before he spins her around so that she's facing him as she drops onto her ass. Margaery barely has time to look up at Axel before he's cumming all over her face and tits a second time, adding to the half-dried mess that's already there.

By the time he's finished, she's coated in his seed… and finds that she truly doesn't mind one bit.

"T-Thank you… Your Grace. Thank you for this chance to be of s-service to you."

Axel looks down at her for a long moment before tucking his cock away and sighing.

"… You've seduced me into taking your maidenhead, Lady Margaery. Congratulations. But this won't happen again."

And then, much to Margaery's shock… he leaves. He just leaves her there! With her heart still pounding in her chest, her bosom heaving up and down with every breath… and her cunt clenching in remembrance of his cock.

It won't happen again, will it? Well… they would see about that. Margaery would be damned if she was just a one-and-done for the King! Especially after he'd proven himself to be by far the best lover she could have ever hoped for.

Her tongue tracing out to catch upon a bit of his seed, the Lady of Highgarden swipes it into her mouth, shivering and shuddering at the taste. Then, she quickly gathers herself up and fixes her dress to cover some of the mess before heading on her way too so that nobody happens upon her.

… She refused to be sidelined. Not now that she's known such pleasure. Margaery Tyrell would do whatever it took to reach the King's bed again.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Ruh roh. Axel you've created a monster.

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: The marriage candidates arrive in King's Landing, as seen through the eyes of an extremely introspective Varys.

-x-X-x-

By sheer coincidence, Sansa Stark and Arianne Martell arrive within two days of one another.

The Northern Lady from Winterfell comes down the Kingsroad and enters King's Landing through the same gate that Axel Baratheon had entered the city through some months before. Meanwhile, less than forty-eight hours later, the Dornish Princess from Sunspear comes in through Blackwater Bay, entering the city via ship.

Varys is present for both arrivals of course, though he's not part of the official welcoming committees.

Neither is the King. Varys had it on good authority that young Axel had wanted to greet both women as they arrived in King's Landing, but his Hand had talked him out of it. One might think that Axel would only be doing the polite thing by being there to welcome both of his prospective brides to the city.

However, travel was rough whether it was by road or sea, and Jon Arryn had explained to their King that it was considerably better if he allowed both women to have a day or so to prepare themselves and put their best foot forward with him, rather than seeing them at their roughest.

In the end, Axel had come around to Jon's way of thinking, leaving his Hand to be the one to greet both women instead. First Sansa at the gate and then Arianne at the harbor.

Varys, of course, made sure to be present for the exact same reasons that Jon had convinced Axel not to be. He wanted to see these potential Queens of the Seven Kingdoms at their worst and start figuring out which of them would be the best match for both Axel and all of Westeros besides.

… After all, any other plans he might have had have now officially fallen through.

It was, perhaps, the greatest of follies that Varys had thought he could decide the fate of Westeros, once upon a time. Him, a lowly eunuch, had made schemes within schemes, only to have them all fall apart on him, one by one.

When Robert had begun showing his true colors early on in his reign, Varys had decided that there needed to be alternatives to continued Baratheon Rule, just in case. Fortunately, Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen had survived the Rebellion entirely on their own merits and it was easy enough to keep them safe over in Essos with the help of his good friend Illyrio Mopatis.

However, by then Varys had come to recognize the folly of his early service to the Mad King. Blind service for the sake of service to a terrible king who would only abuse his skills was precisely the sort of thing that Varys refused to let happen again. Instead, everything he did had to have a purpose. Every action had to be in pursuit of a goal. And if both Viserys and Daenerys turned out to be just as unsuitable for the Iron Throne as their father and Robert, Varys needed to have another option.

That was where the scheme to create a false Aegon Targaryen had come in. Elia's son died the day King's Landing was sacked along with her and her daughter. Varys knew that to be indisputably true. However, the babe had been all but unrecognizable after Gregor Clegane got his hands on him and smashed his skull in. This was also true.

And so Varys and Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos had seen fit to find a child of the proper age, disposition, and looks… and they'd created quite the ruse from there. Even Jon Connington, the man they'd ultimately entrusted with their fake Aegon, had bought the lie completely and utterly. But then to be fair, the exiled Lord had been a very good friend of Rhaegar and was likely desperate to make up for his perceived failures during the Rebellion.

Faking his own death, Connington had taken over the raising of Aegon, taking on the name Griff and giving Aegon the name Young Griff. From there he'd raised the boy from a scant few years of age into a bright young man who had all the skills of a sailor, but also all the skills to become King if need be.

However, life on the seas was never truly safe. Disaster had struck just a few years back. 'Young Griff', their false Aegon, had fallen from the rigging, struck his head on the railing of the ship, and died. In turn, Jon Connington had lasted just long enough to get news to them before he'd ended his own life in his grief.

And just like that, their ploy with the false Aegon was over. But it shouldn't have mattered too much because at the end of the day, Young Griff was only ever supposed to be the backup plan.

Ah, but there Varys' folly could be seen even more so. Viserys had apparently grown up vain and capricious even through the kindest interpretations of Illyrio's reports. Daenerys had been described as quiet, shy, and all around biddable, but she was also treated like little more than a trophy by her brother, something to be owned rather than her own person.

For a short time, Varys had wondered if he would have to arrange the death of Viserys and see if anything could be made of Daenerys. But before a decision could be made, the choice was once again taken from him by events outside of his control.

The rumors he'd spoken of in the Small Council Chambers had been confirmed at this point. Daenerys Stormborn had indeed sacrificed her brother's life to hatch dragons. She'd drained Viserys of his blood and set fire to his corpse and out of the fires produced by the ritual, it was said that all three of the dragon eggs she'd been gifted had hatched.

Needless to say, when Varys and Illyrio had arranged for those dragon eggs to be gifted to Daenerys at her wedding, neither of them had intended for this to happen. Blood magic. Sorcery. And all of it prompted by this Red Priestess that now had the last Targaryen's ear. Melisandre, her name was.

And so, for all his planning and all of his scheming, Varys was left with no other option but to throw his lot behind Axel Baratheon. The bastard son of a drunken whoremonger of a King who was never expected to inherit anything, let alone the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms.

Axel was nobody's first choice for King, but perhaps there was a lesson to be had there. Varys had made so many plans, but the last male Targaryen was dead, the false Prince was dead, and the last female Targaryen was a budding sorceress with growing dragons.

Meanwhile, Axel had survived numerous assassination attempts, won a war against his traitorous uncle with minimal bloodshed, and now focused on settling the Crown's Debts to the best of his ability while working hard to learn all of the things he needed to learn to be King from Lord Arryn.

On the one hand, there was no denying that the former bastard was unusual. On the other hand, learning what had happened over in Essos was the wakeup call that Varys had needed to finally put his suspicions surrounding Axel Baratheon to bed at long last. The young man was not sacrificing the people of King's Landing to fire, after all. He was performing no profane rituals, nor seeking unnatural powers at the expense of others.

In the end, his worst crime was allowing Margaery Tyrell to seduce him into fucking her into quite the stupor. And given who he was and who his father had been, a weakness for beautiful women was to be expected… anticipated and planned around, even.

Which brought Varys back to the two women who had come to the Capital explicitly for the sake of potentially becoming Axel Baratheon's Queen.

First they had Sansa Stark. She was a beautiful young woman who more resembled her mother than her father. Her big blue eyes and thick red locks were distinctly Tully features, as were her high cheekbones, which she'd definitely inherited from her mother.

However… from what Varys' Little Birds up in Winterfell told him, Sansa Stark was not a carbon copy of Lady Catelyn. Instead, as the years had gone on and Sansa had remained unmarried, the young Northern Woman had eventually come into her own and begun to spread her wings a bit more.

Just based on that, Varys thought she might have a good chance of being compatible with their young King. The question became, was Sansa Stark what Axel needed in a Queen? She was only somewhat willful at best, while her connections were far to the North and therefore not too helpful to the Realm at large. However, she represented a certain 'safety' in choosing her that her competition did not.

Said competition, Arianne Martell of Dorne, couldn't be more different than Sansa. She favored her mother just like Sansa did, but that was about it as far as similarities went. Where Sansa was a beauty, Arianne's figure bordered on indecent. Where Sansa was pretty, Arianne was utterly gorgeous, at least by what Varys knew of the standards of Westerosi Men.

Olive skin, large eyes, full black hair, full lips, and very full breasts. In fact, of every woman that Varys knew Axel had come in contact with so far, Arianne had the largest chest of them all. Such things mattered little to a Eunuch… but Varys would not be a very successful Spymaster if he did not understand the wants and desires of others.

Sansa would draw Axel's eye. But Arianne Martell would hold it. And she also knew how to keep it too, rumored to have far, far more experience than her Northern counterpart in all manner of indecency.

If Sansa represented the safe option, Arianne represented the dangerous one. No more could that be seen in just who they'd arrived with either. Sansa Stark had come to King's Landing with her mother at her side to watch over her and help guide her. Catelyn Stark was here to make sure Sansa was happy and safe after her lord husband left to return North ages ago.

But Arianne did not come with either her mother or father. She didn't even bring her uncle, and Varys would have bet money that the Red Viper would try to come along for the voyage. No, instead Arianne had brought a few of the infamous Sand Snakes with her… and most importantly of all, she'd brought the seemingly innocent and pious Tyene Sand, her closest confidante… and perhaps the deadliest of the Sand Snakes to boot.

Whether intended or not, both women were sending a message with the choices of company they kept and who they'd brought with them. And yet… there was something to be said about another Dornish Match for the Throne.

For all that things between Rhaegar and Elia had not truly worked out for either House Targaryen or House Martell, there was still a lot of power concentrated in Dorne. Power that Axel would be able to call upon if his Queen was a Princess of Dorne.

The truth was… Varys didn't know which of the two women should be Queen just yet. Nor was he foolish enough to think that Axel would accept his advice if he came straight out and told all of this to the young man anyways.

No, Axel Baratheon kept very few men in his confidence. In fact, the only man who could truly convince Axel of anything seemed to be Jon Arryn, in the end. The King and his Hand were connected at the hip sometimes, and often of one mind on a variety of topics.

But that didn't mean Varys couldn't nudge things in the right direction, just as he'd started to nudge Lord Arryn in the right direction of Petyr Baelish and his many, many schemes.

For a long time, Varys had pretended not to know what Baelish was up to, mostly because the Master of Coin's destabilization of the Realm worked in his favor. But no more. Now that Varys had decided he was backing Axel all the way to the end, Baelish's little games and incessant scheming had to come to an end. It was time for his delicate plans, built as they are on a foundation of sand, to come crumbling down piece by piece.

Yes, he would continue to feed the Hand what information he needed, until finally Jon Arryn stumbled upon Baelish's culpability of his own accord. If Varys just came out and said it, he wasn't likely to be believed. Or he would be punished and that… that wouldn't be good for the Realm. But if he helped things along… then all would happen as it should.

Hopefully, the matter of which woman should become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms would also proceed as it should and the best possible candidate for the role would eventually reveal herself. In the end, it would be up to their young King to make that decision, but Varys would nevertheless do his best to steer Axel in the right direction, whatever that wound up being.

… And as for Daenerys and her dragons, Varys might just have to take matters into his own hands on that front. Axel's honor seemed to prevent him from signing off on the assassination of the budding Targaryen Sorceress, but Varys would not allow a threat like that to continue, even if it was a threat at least partially of his own making… especially because of that, in fact.

Ser Jorah would receive a letter soon enough with instructions on what he should do next if he finally wanted to earn his way home. And Illyrio would receive a letter as well to prepare to be ready to receive a triumphant Jorah Mormont, who upon successfully doing away with the last Targaryen and her dragon whelps, would be housed in Pentos on his way back to Westeros.

Ah, and if Ser Jorah were to drink too much in celebration as he stayed at Illyrio's manse in Pentos, only to fall off a balcony and crack his skull open on the stones below… well, that would certainly be quite tragic, wouldn't it? Quite tragic indeed…

-x-X-x-

A/N: Varys: "Alas, all my scheming has been for naught, what a fool I was."

Also Varys: *continues to scheme extremely hard and without pause*

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Axel's first meetings with his prospective Queens~

-x-X-x-

If nothing else, Sansa Stark is very beautiful. As he sits down with her and her mother, Axel tries not to stare too much at his prospective bride to be. Instead, he looks to her chaperone first and smiles.

"Lady Stark. I see where your daughter gets her beauty from."

The older woman blushes a little and inclines her head.

"Your Grace. I can already tell that you've inherited your father's charisma."

Smiling slightly, Axel turns his attention back to Sansa. It's actually been a few days since she and her mother had arrived in the city. Long enough time for them to get situated and make themselves comfortable in the Red Keep, as well as be announced at court.

But this was the first time that they were sitting down and actually talking to one another face to face without there being an entire throne room packed with nobility standing between them.

Arianne Martell of Dorne had also arrived at this point and they'd done a similar song and dance. Axel was set to meet with her as well later today for the first time, but for now he focuses on the matter at hand. It's not too difficult despite the Dornish Princess' immense… appeal. Sansa has her own comeliness to her, after all.

"Lady Sansa. I thought it important for us to meet and discuss things as swiftly as possible, but I wanted to give you and your mother a chance to rest up from your travels first. I hope the Kingsroad was not too rough and that King's Landing has been too your liking so far."

There, that was a good opener, right? Sansa seems to think so based on her answering smile. However, even as the younger red head opens her mouth to speak…

"We appreciate you giving us that opportunity, Your Grace. The Kingsroad was long but relatively peaceful, and the city has been… kind enough. Our stay in the Red Keep has been satisfactory."

Axel's eyes shift back over to the Lady of Winterfell. Lord Stark's wife is… well, she seems a fine enough woman, though unlike Cersei Lannister, Axel would not say that her beauty has held up quite as well from both age and repeated childbirth.

That isn't a slight against the woman of course, Cersei was an outlier to be sure, and she also hadn't suffered in the harsh conditions of the frozen North either. Still… he finds himself wondering if Catelyn Stark was really intending to do all the talking here.

"I'm glad to hear it, Lady Stark."

Then, he pointedly looks back over to Sansa.

"Now, Lady Sansa, I'm well aware that this is not how things are done conventionally, so thank you for coming all the way down from Winterfell anyways. I wish to make it clear that there are no obligations between us at this time. You are not obligated to become my Queen unless you find yourself truly excited by the idea. Instead, I hope for us to get to know each other for a time and see if we are compatible with one another."

Again, Sansa opens her mouth to reply. Again, she's cut off before she can do so.

"Hm… and yet you also court a Dornish Princess at the same time, Your Grace. We didn't expect Arianne Martell to take up residence in the Red Keep only a day after our arrival."

… He's starting to wonder if he should have brought Jon along for this meeting. Axel was King of the Seven Kingdoms, and he honestly hadn't felt like he needed either a chaperone or backup when meeting with one of the two women he was considering for the position of Queen. However, Lady Stark was rapidly testing that belief, he had to admit.

Smiling a bit more thinly, Axel inclines his head in acknowledgment of her words. Then, he does his best to put all of the diplomacy lessons that Jon has been cramming into his head recently to work.

"Yes, as Lord Arryn told your husband, we sent an invitation to Princess Arianne as well. While we weren't expecting Dorne to be interested, the Princess' arrival speaks well of their desire for closer ties with the Realm if nothing else."

There, that was plenty diplomatic, right? It certainly seems to put Catelyn Stark on the backfoot for a moment. In fact, before the older woman can muster up a response to his words, Sansa surprises both of them by reaching out and putting a hand on Catelyn's arm.

"Mother, I'd like to speak with the King alone, please."

Axel blinks, even as Catelyn frowns.

"What? Sansa, that would not be appropriate…"

But far from backing down, Sansa just smiles icily, narrowing her eyes at her mother.

"We won't be truly alone anyways, mother. There is a member of the Kingsguard right at the door. And if I am to be His Grace's Queen, then we will have to be able to talk privately sooner or later. I prefer sooner. Please mother, leave us."

Axel finds his irritation fleeing in the face of the amusement that the Lady of Winterfell's shocked expression brings him. In the end, Sansa's audacity seems to work wonders because she's able to help her mother to her feet and point her towards the door.

Beyond casting one look back at them, Lord Stark's wife doesn't say another word or voice another complaint as she leaves the room behind. And just like that, they're alone together. Axel has to admit to some surprise… he wasn't expecting Sansa Stark to be one to stand up for herself to her mother, at least from what rumors he'd heard. And yet…

"My apologies, Your Grace. My mother means well but she can be a bit much at times. As you were saying, this is no normal betrothal nor courtship. You said that you wished to find out if we were compatible with one another, no?"

Relaxing a bit, Axel slowly nods.

"That's correct, my lady. It is my hope that we might visit with one another over the next few weeks, getting to know each other and seeing if we make for a good match."

Nodding sharply in return, Sansa's eyes turn a little sharp.

"And at the same time, you will be doing the same with the Princess from Dorne, I imagine?"

No point in hiding it. Axel grunts.

"Aye."

Unlike her mother, Sansa doesn't seem upset by this.

"This is acceptable to me. In fact, it takes a weight off my shoulders knowing that I am not your only option. I don't mind sharing your attention, Your Grace. And I'm more than happy to let my merits shine through of their own accord."

Well now. Axel smiles back, growing more pleased (as well as intrigued) by the second.

"I'm happy to hear that, Lady Sansa. I must admit, you are not how I expected you to be."

At those words, Sansa flashes him a hint of tooth as she smirks.

"I imagine I wouldn't be, Your Grace. We do things differently in the North out of necessity. My mother… for all that she has lived in the North for many years, she's still a Southern Woman at heart. But I… I am not. I hope that will be acceptable to Your Grace, but even if it isn't… that's alright too."

That felt like a good place to end things for now. Axel rises to his feet and Sansa does the same, giving him a respectful curtesy.

"I look forward to seeing you again soon, my Lady."

Without her mother, goes unspoken… and yet, not unheard given the knowing glint in Sansa's eyes.

"And I you, Your Grace."

With that, Sansa leaves and Axel finds himself pondering the meeting as well as his first impressions. At the same time… he can't help but wonder how Arianne Martell will measure up.

-x-X-x-

"I've heard you're quite pious, Your Grace. So is my handmaiden here, so I thought to introduce the two of you. This is Tyene Sand, my best friend and closest confidante. We share everything, Your Grace. Everything."

… The contrast between Sansa Stark and Arianne Martell could not be starker, Axel has to admit. For one, the Princess from Dorne hadn't brought a chaperone like Lady Stark did. Unless one counted the three 'Sand Snakes' that had come with her, which Axel did not.

For two, she was sin in a dress and she clearly knew it. Rather than sitting at a table across from him, Arianne Martell was lounging on a couch when he entered the room. The pose she'd taken up allowed the beautiful Dornish Woman to show off her ample assets and bodacious figure and Axel had to admit… she looked downright ravishing.

Meanwhile, the companion that she's chosen to bring to this meeting is quite the beauty herself… in a completely different way.

Where Arianne is dark of skin, full of life, and quite buxom, Tyene Sand is light skinned, golden haired, and has deep blue eyes. She's also not nearly as well-endowed as the Princess, and yet she wears her own sort of beauty, even as she gazes at him for half a moment before dipping her head in a graceful bow.

"Your Grace. I am honored to meet you."

Tyene's voice is gentle and sweet… but Axel isn't fooled for a moment. Maybe he would have been before Cersei. Or maybe not, given he'd seen right through the Dowager Queen's manipulations and machinations. Either way, he can immediately tell that something isn't quite… right about Tyene.

"My handmaiden's mother was actually a Septa, Your Grace. That's why I thought you might like to meet her. She too closely follows the Faith of the Seven… as do we all, of course."

… Yes, between Arianne sprawled out as though in offering and Tyene looking like she might just 'innocently' kneel down between his legs and worship his cock if either he or her Princess asked for it, the contrast between the Princess and Lady Sansa was quite massive.

Axel doesn't quite know where to begin, but he does know he's not about to be unmanned by a pair of seductresses. He hadn't let Cersei Lannister or Margaery Tyrell get the better of him, after all. Chuckling softly, he takes a seat for himself, giving Tyene a nod.

"A pleasure."

Then, he turns his attention towards Arianne. Not quite dismissing her handmaiden but rather making it clear that his focus is on the woman that came to King's Landing to potentially wed him, not her 'closest confidante'.

"I spoke with Lady Sansa a few hours ago. I'm glad to get the chance to speak with you now as well, Princess."

Arianne's mouth twitches and her brow raises.

"Hm. A lesser woman might take that as a slight, Your Grace, meeting with her competition first."

Axel smirks, seeing an easy opening to return her jab with a counter of his own.

"Then I shall be glad you are not a lesser woman, Princess."

No slight was intended, of course. Sansa had arrived in the city first and Arianne had arrived second. It had seemed like the fairest method to stick to that, in the end. But Axel isn't about to explain himself to the Dornish Princess. He's the king after all. He technically isn't supposed to explain himself to anyone.

Arianne, far from being irritated by his verbal jousting, actually looks pleased instead. Her dark eyes glitter even as her mouth curls into a wide, wicked grin.

"I think I like you already, Your Grace. Do you like me?"

She makes sure to arch her back as she asks that question, giving Axel quite the view of her ample bosom. Truly, if he decided right now that he wanted to have his way with the Princess of Dorne, the King is confident she would happily let it happen.

… But probably best to avoid such things on first meetings like this. He didn't want to give her the wrong impression of him. He was a man who loved his women, but he was still trying not to be as bad as his father had been. And more than that, he wasn't planning on making a choice quite so quickly. It would be unfair to make it seem like he had by giving in to Arianne's seduction attempts on their very first conversation.

"I barely know you as of yet, Princess. From what I've seen and heard so far… I do think I like you. But I also like what I've seen and heard of Lady Sansa so far as well."

Before Arianne can offer a response to that, Axel plows onward.

"Of course, it's not just about what I like, now is it?"

That brings the woman up short and even causes her dangerous, innocent-looking handmaiden to blink in surprise. Axel just keeps on smiling.

"I asked both you and Lady Sansa here for the same reason. Not to try and vie for my attention or favor. Nor to compete against one another for my affection. No, I want the three of us to take this seriously, to actually step back and try to figure out if we are meant for one another."

As Arianne and Tyene both watch him with more cautious, considering eyes, Axel chuckles.

"It is entirely possible that once you get to know me, you will find that you do not like me. If this turns out to be the case, I will not mind. I am not a king that demands to be liked or loved. If at the end of these next few months, you decide that you would rather return home to Dorne, then I will be happy to let you go. The same is true for Lady Sansa and the North."

There's a pause before Arianne finally finds her voice.

"… And I suppose if you decide you don't like I or the Lady Stark, then you will be sending us home as well… is that it?"

Axel's smile becomes a bit more fixed even as he nods.

"Aye. I will not have an unhappy marriage, Princess. I will not abide by an unhappy Queen, nor a woman who makes me unhappy in turn."

Arianne hums for a moment, tracing a finger along the arm of the couch she's lounging on.

"… Marrying for love. Not exactly the proper way of doing things for people of our… lineage, now is it?"

Funnily enough, the word 'proper' has Axel flashing back to another conversation he'd had some time ago, with a woman who he'd shared many intimate moments with… before she'd ultimately tried to kill him first with a dagger and then with her bare hands.

Far from finding the remembrance to be upsetting, Axel actually smiles fondly, even as he shakes his head and looks Arianne Martell in the eye.

"I am the King, Your Highness. I decide what is and isn't proper."

Arianne blinks and exchanges a glance with her handmaiden before looking back to him with a wide grin.

"Mm… now I know I like you already, my King. I suppose it will be my duty to make sure you like me as well."

Axel snorts dryly… and rises to his feet, deciding that if he lingers much longer, he might very well end up being propositioned by either the Princess or her handmaiden before this encounter is over. And he's not sure he'd say no either.

"This has been an enlightening conversation, Princess. I look forward to speaking with you again soon."

"… You as well, Your Grace. Ah, and if it pleases you… Tyene's sisters are more martially minded. May they have leave to use your training yard to keep their skills sharpened? And perhaps even test your own skills in a spar from time to time?"

Axel, having heard of the prowess of some of these 'Sand Snakes', grins wickedly at that.

"I am quite happy granting that request. I look forward to seeing them in action."

As he's leaving, the Princess' last words just barely reach his ears before the door to the chamber shuts behind him.

"And I you, Your Grace!"

… Yes, there was a distinct contrast between Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell and Princess Arianne Martell of Sunspear. A distinct contrast indeed…

-x-X-x-

A/N: With this, Axel has met both Sansa and Arianne. But Arianne has help in the form of Tyene! That hardly seems fair to poor Sansa…

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Margaery Tyrell has a plan!

-x-X-x-

Weeks. It's been weeks since Sansa Stark and Arianne Martell arrived in King's Landing. Longer still since she managed to seduce Axel Baratheon into taking her maidenhead, only for him to tell her that would be the one and only time they would couple with one another.

It was almost enough to drive Margaery mad. She hadn't thought it would be like this. He should have been obsessed with her, not the other way around! And yet, every night she lay in bed thinking about their singular encounter. Every night she touched herself to the memories of how good it had felt to be impaled upon Axel Baratheon's big fat throbbing member.

The women in her life who claimed to have experience with this sort of thing had either lied to her or been woefully deprived, because sex with the King hadn't been nearly as miserable as they had assured her it would be.

Not that Margaery had told Olenna that. Nor had she told the older woman that he refused to sleep with her again. She'd simply explained to her grandmother that Axel was proving… difficult to pin down. In return, the Queen of Thorns had told her to either settle for what she had… or try harder.

Obviously, Margaery couldn't just settle for what she'd had and leave it at that. The experience Axel had given her went beyond her wildest expectations. It gnawed at her mind with every waking moment. She was desperate to worm her way into his good graces again, to get another taste of the handsome young king.

Only… the competition was decidedly fierce. And far more legitimate than she was. All Margaery Tyrell had left to her was her beauty and her wits. Her family name was more of a poison than anything else in this situation and her House's connections mattered not a bit here in King's Landing, especially not after they'd helped Renly march on the Crownlands and laid siege to the city.

Frankly, House Tyrell had been lucky not to be attainted. They'd been lucky to keep ahold of the Reach, really. But Margaery… Margaery still wanted more. After experiencing what Axel had to offer, she knew she couldn't settle for anything less than making her way back into his bed somehow.

Sansa Stark and Arianne Martell were all that stood in her way, but Margaery couldn't exactly remove either woman, now could she? Not only had they doubled the taste testers in the Red Keep a while back, but she would also be one of the first suspects if anything did happen to one of the two women.

Well, maybe not if the Northern Lady died. If Sansa were to die of poison, than the first suspect would no doubt be Arianne, given the Dornish's propensity for such things.

However… Margaery had ultimately discarded that idea. For one, there was the aforementioned doubling of taste testers. But for two, Margaery balked at the thought of killing an innocent woman, even if it got her what she wanted.

And besides, if Sansa's death could not be fully pinned in the Princess from Dorne, than all it would accomplish was opening the pathway for Arianne Martell to become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, just like that. And Margaery would only be worse off than when she started!

After all, Margaery had seen how Axel interacted with both of his prospective brides over these last several weeks. With the Realm at peace, he typically arranged outings with one or other of the two women every single day, interweaving them with his daily visits to both the Great Sept and the Training Yard where he continued to remain undefeated.

The King made sure to balance things so that he either saw each of them at least once a day or saw the other of them the next day after seeing the first. And everything Margaery saw made it clear that he got on rather well with BOTH women.

Margaery was pretty sure he wasn't sleeping with them yet at least. Though not from lack of trying on the Princess' part. Hmph, Arianne Martell probably thought herself a match for Margaery's beauty, all because of those fat cow udders attached to her chest. And given how Axel's eyes constantly drifted down to them, he might even agree with that assessment irritatingly enough.

But to make matters worse, the Dornish Princess had backup in the form of her handmaiden, the ever-nearby, ever-silent Tyene Sand. She was always there, presenting another sort of beauty to go alongside her mistress' provocative and crass visage.

They made for quite the pair… and Margaery had come to realize that was exactly what she was missing. Or rather… what Sansa Stark was missing.

"Wait here, Brienne."

"Lady Margaery…"

But Margaery won't hear of any objections. Turning to face the towering woman, she smiles softly.

"Actually, better yet… I release you for the day. Please, go and find something else to occupy your time with. Perhaps you will find Clegane in the Training Yard and be able to cross swords with him… though admittedly, his new role as Kingsguard might see him busy at the moment."

And hadn't that been quite the shock to the court, even if Margaery had insider knowledge and so knew it was likely coming even before it was announced. Sandor Clegane, the Lannister's Hound, had been knighted by the King and then named as the final member of his Kingsguard.

The burned man hadn't looked too happy about it, but then he never looked happy about anything. From what Margaery understood, he'd had ample time to leave King's Landing too. He could have easily returned to the Westerlands to continue serving House Lannister as he'd been doing pretty much all his life.

Yet he hadn't. He'd stuck around despite Axel's warnings and the King had finally made good on his threats and graced the man with the greatest honor a knight could hope for. And he wasn't even a knight until that very moment!

Brienne scowls at the mention of her favorite sparring partner (even if she would never admit it), probably still a little upset that he was busier now that he had a cloak of white and not available quite so often to fight her in the training yard. Still, she hesitates all the same.

"… I am supposed to keep you safe my lady."

But Margaery just shakes her head, gesturing behind her.

"I'm going into the Red Keep's godswood, Brienne. There is no danger to be had here. I'm perfectly safe… and you, for all that I appreciate your protection, are not truly my sworn shield. You are free to go and I will see you later at dinner."

Finally, Brienne's shoulders slump and she nods, giving Margaery a bow of her head before turning and departing. Margaery watches her go for a long moment before hurrying into the godswood, not wanting to be too late and miss her opportunity.

See, Margaery had figured out a solution to all of her problems. She might not ever be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but that didn't mean she couldn't be Axel's Mistress. As far as she could tell, the only thing holding him back from taking her to bed some more was the fact that it might make the two women he was currently courting upset.

… So all Margaery had to do was seduce one of those women and she'd be good to go!

Obviously, Arianne Martell wasn't an option. The Princess of Dorne was a hussy with massive tits and a handmaiden who already acted as her second and was reportedly her best friend and closest confidante. Margaery was content to be third in the arrangement, but fourth? Ugh, she might as well not exist at that point.

Sansa Stark though… she was all alone in King's Landing. Technically, her mother had come down to the city with her, but word had quickly spread around the Red Keep that Catelyn Stark was overbearing to the point that even Sansa was no longer putting up with it.

The Lady of Winterfell had been pushed out of most of the meetings between her daughter and the King, and there were even some servants who said she was considering leaving and returning North altogether at this point… even if it meant doing so without Sansa.

Margaery didn't know the veracity of that last rumor, but she did know that Catelyn Stark was currently having tea with her grandmother as Olenna ran interference with her… and that Sansa Stark should currently be praying at the heart tree in the center of the Red Keep's godswood.

Fortunately, that's precisely where she is, almost like she's waiting for Margaery to arrive. Kneeling in front of the heart tree with her head bowed, Sansa Stark is definitely praying to her Old Gods as Margaery quietly approaches. Unfortunately, as much as Margaery tries to quiet her steps… Sansa hears her all the same, her head turning in her direction after just a moment.

Stopping, Margaery smiles and gives a curtsey.

"Lady Stark. My apologies for disturbing you."

When Sansa just continues to stare at her in cool, icy silence, Margaery continues on.

"… It wasn't my intention, but I've discovered the godswood to be quite relaxing and a great way to escape from the expectations of the court ever since I found myself in King's Landing. And when I saw you… well, we haven't really had a chance to meet properly, have we? You may not even know who I am-!"

"Lady Tyrell."

Margaery stops, Sansa's voice cutting through the air quite suddenly. The Stark woman is soft spoken but not in a shy or timid way. Instead, she's soft like a dagger wrapped in silk. There's something in her eyes that sends a shiver down Margaery's spine as Sansa observes her for a long moment.

"Come. Sit with me."

Well, given that sort of invitation was precisely what Margaery hoped for, she doesn't hesitate to accept. Scurrying over, she gathers her skirts beneath her and sits down on the grass right there next to Sansa's kneeling form. There's no room for hesitation here, no time to fret over getting stains on her dress. Not when there are moves to be made.

And judging by the look of approval in Sansa Stark's eyes, Margaery has passed an unspoken test with flying colors, just as she hoped to. There's something else in Sansa's eyes though as well. Something… measuring.

"… I'm sure you've heard all sorts of things about me, Lady Stark. My family has not had the best start to our relations with the new King…"

Sansa raises an eyebrow.

"That's certainly one way to put it. And you can call me Sansa if you wish. No need to be so formal here in the godswood with just the two of us."

Yes! Margaery makes sure to make a show of perking up and smiling brightly at that.

"Oh! Then please, call me Margaery! And don't worry, I know full well that my family were foolish to stand with Renly. And to marry me off to him like they did. Ugh, my father should never have so readily bought his lies…"

Sansa hums, smiling back in a more subdued manner as she slowly nods.

"I'm sure you tried your best to convince them otherwise… but from what I understand, you noblewomen down here in the South don't have much choice but to obey, do you?"

A shiver runs down Margaery's spine at the way Sansa says 'obey', but ultimately she thinks nothing of it, even as she ducks her head and lets out a sigh, staring down at her hands in a practiced manner.

"… No, you have the right of it, Sansa. There's not much I can do once my father's mind is made up. If anything, being sent here to King's Landing to be the King's ward is something of a blessing. At least I'm no longer a pawn of my father's."

Her plans to make Sansa feel sorry for her seem to be working perfectly, but Margaery is nevertheless caught off guard when the Northern woman suddenly takes her by the chin, lifting her head back up to look her in the eyes.

"Yes. We're both out from under the thumbs of our Lord Fathers now, aren't we Margaery?"

Blinking, Margaery smiles again and bats her lashes as coquettishly as she dares.

"I suppose we are, Sansa."

After a moment where the tension between them seems to build, Sansa lets go of her chin and looks back to the heart tree. A moment later, she asks the question Margaery has been waiting for since she sat down.

"Why are you here, Margaery Tyrell?"

Perking up, Margaery straightens her spine and leans forward a little bit as she wets her lips and prepares to give her speech. This… this was going to be the tough part. Convincing Sansa to go along with her little plan would be hard, but so long as the Stark Lady wanted to be Axel's Queen, Margaery thought she had a pretty good chance of bringing her around.

After all, as things currently stood, it was two against one and Sansa was outnumbered. Princess Arianne brought that handmaiden of hers everywhere and Margaery didn't doubt for a moment that when the Dornish woman finally went for the kill, she would bring Tyene Sand along to give Axel an extra set of holes to fill with his juicy fat cock. And the King, as much as he caged his lustful side, wouldn't object she didn't think.

That meant Sansa needed help. Help that Margaery could give her if she could just persuade the other woman to go along with her scheme. Together, they could convince Axel that Sansa was the best choice for Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And that Margaery deserved a place at their side as their mistress and concubine.

From the way Sansa looked at her, Margaery thought she might have an even easier time than she'd expected. The Stark woman seems to have a thing for both men and women if Margaery isn't mistaken… and Margaery is more than willing to use her beauty to get what she wants. No matter who she has to use it on…

-x-X-x-

Sansa listens as Margaery Tyrell carefully begins to lay out her thinking and what she hopes to accomplish, all without accidentally scaring Sansa away from the idea.

But truth be told, Margaery needn't have worried. From the moment that Sansa had met Axel for the first time all those weeks ago, she'd decided that she wanted to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Or rather, she'd decided that she wanted Axel. Becoming Queen was just the most straightforward way to get to the handsome King.

At the same time, from the moment she'd laid eyes on Margaery Tyrell, Sansa had decided she wanted her as well. Was this what it meant to truly be free with her desires? Perhaps. But she'd have to be careful not to get too bogged down by the Tyrell woman's plans. Margaery could very well become a noose around her neck… or she could be exactly what Sansa needed to finally score some points against that Dornish hussy and her 'pious' handmaiden.

… Only time would tell.

-x-X-x-

A/N: "I've got this Stark right where I want her!" – Margaery, foolishly not realizing she's the one who's right where Sansa wants HER.

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: To be clear, Asha does not look like 'Yara Greyjoy' from the TV show. The appearance I'm using in this fic is the same pic used for her wiki page on A Wiki of Ice and Fire.

-x-X-x-

King's Landing stinks… and not just in the literal sense. Asha has barely been docked in the city's harbor for a few days now and she can already say beyond a shadow of a doubt that this place is corrupt.

Hells, just this morning she found herself and her crew accosted by yet another idiot who thought that he could swindle them out of more of their coin. They'd already paid their fees to the actual Harbormaster, who was working for the new Master of Ships, Davos Seaworth.

This other fucker had come around claiming that he was from the Master of Coin though, and that every ship in the city's harbor paid both the fees to the Harbormaster, and a protection tax to HIM to make sure that the Goldcloaks kept a close eye on their vessel and didn't let any thieves get away with pilfering their goods.

Needless to say, Asha's men had cut a few strips from the hide of the idiot 'tax collector' and then sent him packing. What need did Ironborn have of fucking protection? They were the ones who reaved for fuck's sake, they could protect their own things just fine, thanks!

Still, if nothing else, it made King's Landing the perfect place to find out what she needed to find out. Her father had sent her to the Narrow Sea for two reasons. One, to get the measure of their new King… but two and more importantly, it was to figure out what her exiled uncle Euron Greyjoy was up to.

Technically, it wasn't like Euron was exiled from all of Westeros. He was only barred from returning to the Iron Islands so long as her father Balon still lived. Even still, it had been years since her uncle had last been seen operating in the Narrow Sea. He'd left for more distant waters ages ago and none of them had ever thought he would return.

So yes, Asha could understand why her father was worried by reports that Euron was back in the area. Unfortunately… so far she hadn't been able to track down his current location.

Her ship had stopped at every disreputable port in the Stepstones before finishing their voyage to King's Landing, but while she'd managed to pick up rumors of Euron and his ship 'Silence' here and there, it was all about where he'd been rather than where he was going or where he currently was.

In the end, Asha had found herself asking the same questions here in King's Landing and getting nothing but more vague rumors. Meanwhile, everything she'd heard about their new King made him sound like a typical Greenlander.

Aside from the games he was apparently playing with his prospective Queens, that is. That, he was supposedly handling very atypically, and no one was quite sure what to make of it. Meeting with them to try and 'get to know them' and 'give them all a chance to see if they were compatible'. Seriously? Even by Greenlander standards, Asha thought that was pretty fucking weird.

Still, his martial prowess was apparently no joke and from everything she'd heard, he was considered the Demon of the Trident come again. Her father wouldn't be happy to hear that, because with the Realm now stable and peace across the mainland, another Ironborn Rebellion at this point was looking more and more foolhardy by the moment.

Which was precisely why Asha needed to come back with some good news pertaining to her uncle's whereabouts and what he was up to at the very least. If she could settle Balon's concerns about Euron, than maybe she could at least soften the bad news about the viability or lack thereof in them declaring their independence again.

And from the look of things, she just might have finally gotten a lead. Asha had been very free with her questions these past few days, visiting all of the worst, most disgusting watering holes in King's Landing to ask after her uncle Euron.

If he had any presence in the city, then they would surely have heard of her asking questions by this point and want to 'deal' with her. And would you look at that, her second in command had noticed men watching their ship just that morning.

So Asha had gone for a walk, all by her lonesome. As expected, she'd gained a tail almost immediately. Three of them from what she had seen. Heh, three men? She could take three men. Easily. After leading them around the dockside market for a bit, Asha eventually turns into a dead end alley and then turns around to regard her stalkers as they step in after her.

Her hands fall to the throwing axes at her waist as she tilts her head to the side.

"My uncle couldn't come himself, huh?"

The men all look at each other, seeming confused for a second. Finally, the one in the middle sneers at her, holding up a club.

"Don't got a clue what you're talking about, bitch. Heard you refused to pay your fees though. Have to make an example of ya I'm 'fraid."

… What? That was what this was about? That stupid little toady who said he was from the Master of Coin?! Asha groans in disappointment.

"Seriously?! Fuckin' waste of my time."

One of the three men snarls at that.

"Yeah bitch? Waste of yer time, are we? I'll-urk!"

Without missing a beat, Asha draws one of her axes and whips it through the air, with the blade landing right in the middle of the man's throat. The other two men jolt in shock as their friend goes down gurgling, prompting Asha to smirk as she draws her other axe and holds it aloft with one hand while making a 'come hither' gesture with the other.

However, rather than come to her… the two men both stay where they are, even with naked anger in their eyes. And then there's a sound from up above and Asha looks up to see a pair of crossbows aimed squarely at her face from the roof.

Fuck. She'd miscounted, there'd been five of them. One of the men on the roof lets out a bark of laughter before calling down to her.

"Put the axe down, bitch. Or we put a pair of bolts through your tits."

Damn it. She had a dirk in her boot and she was confident she could kill one of the crossbowmen with her second axe… but the second one would still be alive and have an easy shot on her. Asha should have brought back up, but she'd been cocky. Too cocky, perhaps.

She'd also thought she would be parleying with friends of her uncle though to be fair. Not dealing with some thugs from a damn protection racket stupid enough to try and fleece fucking Ironborn!

Just as she's considering her options however… metal flashes out behind the two men on the roof. Asha blinks as their heads are separated from their shoulders in an instant and their corpses fall from the roof, the crossbows clattering to the ground along with them.

"What the-!"

Unlike her two remaining opponents, Asha doesn't stand idle or act like an idiot who can't understand what's going on. She doesn't need to understand what's going on to know that she's just been given an opportunity. Leaping forward with her other axe, she makes quick work of the two men at the mouth of the alley, killing them with two swift blows before they can even react.

By the time she's done so, her savior has jumped down from the roof and landed in front of her.

"Are you alright?"

Asha eyes him up and down as he pulls back a cloak that, while slightly weathered, is a bit too rich. A nobleman playing the hero? And yet… beyond that, she quite likes what she sees. He's a bit young in the face without a single ounce of facial hair, but he's broad in the shoulders and his height is nothing to scoff at either. Not to mention, he's very good looking.

Grinning, Asha thrusts out her chin.

"Fine. Thanks to you. Not often I get saved by a dashing, handsome rogue such as yourself."

Far from being shy or anything like that, he grins right back at her… and even makes a show of looking her up and down appraisingly.

"Well, men like that around a woman like you? They should have known better than to try it."

Oh she liked this one. She liked him a lot…

-x-X-x-

"F-Fuck! Harder! Don't stop you bastard! G-Gah!"

They had at least left the alley behind. With five corpses mucking up the place, Axel had figured they might as well move somewhere slightly cleaner. In the end though, they hadn't gone far. They'd just found another alley, where she'd hopped her way up onto a crate, pulled open her pants, and offered up her cunt just like that.

Now he was inside of her and Axel had to admit… it felt good, burying himself in her clenching sex over and over again. He didn't know who she was… and she didn't know who he was either. And that… that was for the best.

It wasn't like Axel had gone looking for trouble or anything on this very fine morning. But he also hadn't not gone looking for trouble, if that made any sense. Whenever he finished up his prayers at the Great Sept of Baelor, Axel liked to take a somewhat circuitous route back to the Red Keep so he could see the state of things in King's Landing.

He'd been doing it since all the way back during Renly's war, though today was the first time he'd found something to directly intervene on. The five men who'd tried to corner this woman he was currently fucking in a back alley had fallen under Axel's notice immediately when he'd seen the crossbows two of them wielded.

And good that they did too. Axel may not know this woman even a little bit, but he did know she didn't deserve whatever those men would have done to her. And… she was quite beautiful, in her own way.

Not a conventional sort of beauty like Margaery Tyrell or Sansa Stark or Arianne Martell… but she had long legs and a lean form and a pretty enough face. More than that, seeing her smile at him wickedly when she'd first decided to 'reward' him by bedding him like this… that had done things for Axel. Oh yes it had.

Best of all, once they were done here, there would be no need for them to ever see each other again. Even as he's fucking her soundly atop the crate, her groaning and moaning and him grunting in turn, Axel doesn't intend to let her know she's fucked the King or anything like that. And he doesn't need to know who she really is either.

No, this is perfect… especially with how much he's been tortured these past several weeks since Sansa Stark and Arianne Martell first arrived in King's Landing.

Axel does not want to be his father. Unfortunately, he's definitely inherited Robert's weakness for beautiful women. Yet… he's kept control of himself… mostly.

His only slipup since Cersei had tried to kill him and subsequently been sent back to the Westerlands was the one time with Margaery Tyrell. And yes, he'd gone a little overboard there with her, but that was before his prospective brides had arrived and he'd made it clear to her that it wasn't going to happen again.

And yet, Axel was still a man. A man with needs that weren't being taken care of. And between Princess Arianne Martell and her seemingly innocent handmaiden, every day that he resisted the urge to ravish either one of them was a victorious day for him.

The problem, really… was that he couldn't choose. Both Sansa and Arianne had seemingly already decided they wanted him. They made no secret of that fact. In the time since they'd each arrived in King's Landing, Axel had made sure to meet with both of them equally, wanting to be as fair as possible. And, well… they'd hit it off. Both of them. With him.

They wanted him and he wanted them, but he could only have one of them. One woman, one Queen. And the other would be left heartbroken and cast aside. For all his power, for all his might, Axel Baratheon didn't know how to fucking choose. And all the while, the Princess from Dorne insisted on trying to entice him into her bed at every turn.

He didn't really mind Arianne's salacious attitude. But he didn't want to hurt Sansa, so he had yet to take the Dornish woman up on her increasingly unsubtle and obvious offers. Unfortunately, that just left Axel backed up like nothing else, because he also wasn't fucking Sansa. And he certainly wasn't going to fuck Margaery again now that his prospective brides were staying in the Red Keep.

That's why this was so perfect. Pounding this beautiful female sailor's cunt into the shape of his cock, being able to let loose in a way he hadn't been able to in weeks… honestly, Axel doesn't even realize how pent up he truly was until the woman he'd saved is covering her mouth to hold back her squeals as she cums for what might be the sixth time in a row all over his dick.

In turn, Axel finds himself finally reaching his peak as well… so he pulls out of course and strokes his load off to the side of her and the crate. He covers the ground with his cum instead of painting her insides, all while she flops backwards and takes a moment to recover.

When he turns back to her however, he finds himself grabbed by his front and pulled into a deep, tongue-filled kiss. It's not one that he minds, but he does wonder at just how long she insists on trying to stick her tongue down her throat before finally letting go and coming up for air.

"You… Join my crew!"

Axel blinks at that, even as he tucks his cock away. Then he laughs and shakes his head.

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't think that's in the cards for me."

And yet, she's not willing to accept that it seems.

"It could be. You're what… probably the third or fourth son of some landed knight or minor lord? I'm Asha Greyjoy, daughter of Lord Balon Greyjoy, ruler of the Iron Islands. You can get a lot more out of sailing with me than you'll find here in King's Landing."

… Ah, shit.

And just like that, the anonymity of the event is ruined. Axel stands quietly for a moment, frozen in place. She wasn't just some woman anymore… she was the Lord Reaper of Pyke's daughter. Admittedly, she was the daughter of a man who hadn't even come to King's Landing himself yet to swear his allegiance in person. Needless to say, he didn't think much of 'Lord Balon Greyjoy'.

But that didn't really matter, did it? Axel is tempted to just blow her off, tell her 'no' more firmly, and leave it at that. He SHOULD do that, it's the smart thing to do. But… his conscience won't allow it. His honor won't allow it.

Smiling wanly, Axel shakes his head even as Asha Greyjoy stares at him expectantly.

"I'm afraid you're quite wrong about that, Lady Greyjoy. Wrong about a lot of things, in fact."

"… Call me Captain Greyjoy. I'm no lady."

Axel's smile turns into a bit of a grin as he dips his head in acknowledgment.

"Of course, Captain. Then you may have the privilege of calling me 'Your Grace' or 'My King'. Seeing as I'm not some third or fourth son of minor nobility… I'm Axel Baratheon, King of the Seven Fucking Kingdoms."

The look on Asha's face would be priceless if this whole situation wasn't absolutely fucked. Here he was just trying to do a good deed and then relieve some stress while avoiding playing favorites between the two noblewomen up at the Red Keep.

And what had he done? He'd gone and found an entirely different noblewoman of similar stature and fucked HER instead. For fuck's sake.

Finally, Asha's shock clears up and she straightens as she looks at him in an entirely new light. For a second he expects her to deny it, to call him a liar… but no. Instead, she snorts and crosses her arms over her chest, working her jaw for a moment before grunting.

"Well then, I'd like to file a complaint, 'Your Grace'. Those men you saved me from were apparently sent by YOUR Master of Coin to shake me down, after all. Know anything about that?"

Wait, what?!

… Baelish!

-x-X-x-

A/N: Oh Axel, just when you think you've found a great opportunity to relieve your urges, you stumble into one of the worst women in King's Landing for you to fuck~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: A representative for the Iron Bank arrives in King's Landing!

-x-X-x-

What a Seven Be Damned mess.

Jon blamed himself, of course. Both for Axel's wanderings and the corruption he'd ultimately uncovered in the process.

On the one hand, the King should never have been running around the docks of King's Landing without any sort of guard. On the other hand, everyone knew at this point that there wasn't a single soul in the city capable of harming Axel Baratheon. Jon just knew even more than everyone else exactly how true that was.

Still, Axel's forays around the city after praying at the Great Sept each morning had been something Jon was aware of for a while now. He'd allowed them to continue because… well, for one, Axel was the King and Jon didn't have the right to tell him he couldn't, and for two, they really were a good way for Axel to keep an ear to the ground and learn about things even Jon didn't know about.

Case in point, while Jon wanted to be mad that Axel had run into and befriended yet another important noblewoman on his latest expedition into the city, he couldn't really when that encounter had in turn led to uncovering corruption at the docks that Jon had no idea was even going on.

Of course, if Asha Greyjoy had marched up to the Red Keep to air her complaints to them directly, Jon isn't entirely sure he would have believed her. Not for nothing, but he knew what sort of man Balon Greyjoy was and was well aware that he'd raised his daughter in the exact same way. Asha Greyjoy had been Captain of her own ship for years at this point, and she definitely did not comport herself as a noblewoman should.

However, thanks to Axel's intervention and what the young King had seen with his own two eyes, Jon knew to treat Asha's words with more severity. And what she spoke of made his blood run cold in his veins. Someone waving around the title of Master of Coin down at the docks and committing fraud against every ship that sailed into the city's harbor was… well, 'bad' didn't really cut it at that point, now did it?

Initially, Axel's fury had been directed at Petyr. Jon had, of course, calmed the young King down. He didn't believe Petyr could really be involved in such a scheme. The man had worked for Jon for decades at this point after all, serving him loyally in Gulltown and then onto King's Landing.

Jon had begged Axel to let him get to the bottom of things and Axel had ultimately agreed not to react too… rashly. From there, they'd managed to unravel some of the mess and figure out what was happening, namely through the identities of the five men who had tried to set upon Asha Greyjoy down by the docks.

Crossbows, especially of the make that were found in the alley, were not cheap by any means. That spoke of organization and coin. But it was the men themselves that cracked the whole thing wide open like a damn egg.

They were disgraced Goldcloaks, each and every one. Jon had known of course that simply arresting Janos Slynt and sending him to the Wall along with the worst of his subordinates wouldn't be the end of weeding out the corruption in the City Watch. In fact, he'd been working on fixing the corrupt organization right alongside figuring out a long term solution to the Crown's debts ever since they'd seen Janos off.

Unfortunately, the men who had been dismissed for not meeting the City Watch's new standards but hadn't been arrested because they had no provable crimes… well, they had to go somewhere. And that somewhere was apparently a criminal organization operated by one of the Goldcloaks' few remaining Captains who had managed to escape proper scrutiny.

It was actually Petyr who had helped them unravel the whole scheme in the end. In fact, the man had worked tirelessly to get to the bottom of things, as much to figure out what was going on as to clear his own name. Thanks to the Master of Coin's efforts, they had managed to take down and round up all the men involved in the fraud at the docks in less than a week!

At the end of it all, the Goldcloaks were even more gutted than usual and Axel was making threats to name Lady Brienne of Tarth as Commander of the City Watch if things didn't shape up soon. That seemed to have become the King's new favorite pastime in fact. He seemed to take a certain amusement from threatening to give Lady Brienne responsibilities, if only to see her and others around her squirm.

Privately, Jon wasn't entirely sure the giant of a woman would do a worse job than who they had in charge now. The only real problem he foresaw was that she was a woman and might get herself killed if they gave her the job.

Still, at least the situation was… mostly resolved. Only mostly, because the addition of Asha Greyjoy to the Red Keep had seemingly become a semi-permanent thing. The Daughter of Balon Greyjoy had accepted Axel's invitation to stay in the Red Keep while she was in the city, and so far she'd made no noises of moving on any time soon.

Asha Greyjoy's presence further complicated an already complicated set of matters in Jon's humble opinion. The situation between Axel and his would-be Queens was already growing tense as things stood, simply because it was becoming increasingly obvious to all involved that Axel was feeling… indecisive.

The problem was, he very clearly liked them both. Maybe if Dorne hadn't answered Jon's letter as initially expected, or he hadn't been able to convince Ned to send for his daughter… but alas, no. Perhaps Jon shouldn't have sent for both at once, but given Axel's rather exacting standards, it had felt better to hedge his bets at the time.

Axel didn't want a betrothal signed and sealed before he even laid eyes on his prospective bride. He wanted them to come to King's Landing so he could get to know them and they could get to know him. Having one of them visit and only asking after the other one if the first failed to interest the young King would have been an insult no matter which way you cut it.

Unfortunately, this meant they had a problem because it was obvious to Jon and half of the court besides, that both Sansa Stark and Arianne Martell wanted to be with Axel. They wanted him, they wanted to marry him, they wanted to be his Queen. And the only thing standing in either of their way… was each other.

Jon was quite glad that Axel had been smart enough to double the court's taste testers before either party had arrived, because frankly, if they hadn't he suspected that someone might have been poisoned by now. As things stood, the King was doing a decent enough job of maintaining equal relations with both women and had so far split his time between the two of them fairly.

… But the situation as it currently stood couldn't last forever and the addition of Asha Greyjoy to the already fraught romantic drama taking place within the Red Keep was like adding kindling to an already burning fire. Jon was confident that it would only make things worse rather than better.

Still, Axel was King and all Jon could really do was advise the young man to the best of his abilities while carrying out his duties and striving to see Axel's directives completed. Case in point… today's meeting.

As Jon sits at the head of the Small Council Table, only one other member of the Small Council sits with him. Petyr Baelish is quiet and seemingly introspective as he leans back in his chair, no doubt pondering matters of his own, probably to do with the corruption they'd uncovered together.

The Master of Coin also has noticeable bags under his eyes and Jon can tell that Petyr hasn't been getting enough sleep lately. He would tell him to take a day off, but Jon himself hasn't been sleeping well either. Everywhere he turns, he finds more corruption and unanswered questions about everything from the Crown's debt to the corruption of the City Watch to the physical state of King's Landing itself.

Both of them can sleep when this entire mess has been dealt with, so Jon remains quiet and lets Petyr stew in his own thoughts until the doors to the Small Council Chambers finally open up and their guest from across the Narrow Sea is admitted at long last.

Rising from his chair, Jon moves to greet the Iron Bank's Representative, even as the rather strangely dressed man, wearing a conical purple hat and purple robes, takes said hat off and bows.

"Greetings Lord Hand. I am Lord Tycho Nestoris of the Iron Bank. I was recently placed in charge of the Iron Throne's account with us and I was pleased when you reached out for this meeting."

Jon can believe it, even as he inclines his head in turn. The fact that the Iron Bank had rushed to send a representative by ship the moment that the Crown's letter had arrived in Braavos… well, it made it clear they wanted to do some sort of deal, hopefully.

"A pleasure, Lord Tycho. I am Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, and this is Lord Petyr Baelish, our Master of Coin."

The banker gives Baelish a respectful nod that the Master of Coin returns and then takes a seat at the table when Jon gestures for him to do so. Retaking his own seat, Jon clears his throat as he looks out across the table, which is currently covered in parchment, tomes, and scrolls detailing the Crown's financial records.

"First and foremost, thank you for coming all of this way Lord Tycho. Out of respect for your time, I will be blunt. At this point, the Iron Bank holds the greatest amount of the Crown's debt. The King would like this to change as soon as possible."

Tycho Nestoris is a tall, thin, and quite gaunt man. His eyes are dark as he regards Jon from across the table.

"Yes… we'd heard that a great portion of the Iron Throne's debt to House Lannister had been… forgiven. I confess, we were surprised by Lord Lannister's generosity."

Left unspoken is the fact that the Iron Bank has no intentions of being so generous. Jon smiles grimly even as he shakes his head.

"Those were… extenuating circumstances, Lord Tycho. Not to worry, the Crown knows full well that the Iron Bank has expectations of us. But first and foremost… we must make sure that our books line up with what information you have of our account I'm afraid."

When the Iron Bank Representative lifts both eyebrows at that, Jon grimaces.

"… Unfortunately, as we've been settling into things with our new King, I've been finding… discrepancies in the records. The amounts that smaller lenders gave to the Crown have not always matched up with our ledgers. I fear the same might be true for the Crown's debt to the Iron Bank, so I must ask that we perform a joint audit together. Hence all of these documents before you now."

Lord Tycho's eyes flicker down to the mess of papers, tomes, and scrolls sprawled out across the Small Council Table… then over to Petyr Baelish and finally back to Jon before he smiles thinly.

"I see."

Reaching into his robes, the banker pulls out a relatively small book by comparison and flips it open. And then he starts to recite numbers, forcing Petyr to scramble to find the proper pieces of parchment among the mess. Jon just sits back and listens wearily as Petyr and Lord Tycho begin to reconcile the records of both the Crown and the Iron Bank. He listens closely, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

… Which is why he's honestly more than a little surprised when it just… doesn't. It takes them about half an hour for the Master of Coin and his counterpart from the Iron Bank to go through everything, but when they're done the discrepancy is honestly too small to matter that much.

As far as the Crown is concerned, they owe the Iron Bank two million, one hundred thousand, and five hundred and fifty-eight golden dragons. As far as the Iron Bank is concerned, they owe them two million, one hundred thousand, and five hundred and sixty-nine golden dragons.

Compared to some of the other discrepancies, a measly eleven golden dragons is absolutely nothing and Jon can see that Petyr Baelish shares in his relief, even as Lord Tycho smiles thinly.

"I do believe, as a gesture of good will, that the Iron Bank is more than willing to bring our records down to yours so that we line up… perfectly. Especially since all of this hard work as well as your earlier words make it clear you have every intention of paying down the Iron Throne's debt."

Letting out a shuddering breath, Jon smiles wanly and nods.

"Indeed, Lord Tycho. Paying off the debts left behind by his father is our new King's top priority. He has no intention of letting things remain as they are, I can assure you of that."

Smirking slightly, the Iron Bank Representative tilts his head to the side.

"Oh? From what I've heard, his top priority seems to be finding a bride. Though perhaps they are not quite so… separate from one another. The death of King Robert and his trueborn sons was as much a shock to us over in Braavos as I'm sure it was to all of you here in Westeros. A strong, secure line of succession can be appreciated by everyone, I'm sure."

Jon's smile becomes a little fixed at that.

"Yes. Well, even as our King strives to decide on just who his Queen will be, I assure you that the debt to the Iron Bank is also at the forefront of his mind. We should be able to begin sizable payments within the next few months, isn't that right Lord Baelish?"

Petyr jolts at being acknowledged, straightening up in his seat and hesitantly nodding.

"… Yes, that should be possible. The only thing that might disrupt matters would be the wedding, of course."

Chuckling, Jon shakes his head.

"Knowing Axel, he'll insist on a minor affair and cutting costs wherever possible. I doubt it will be an issue."

Of course, what Jon doesn't say is that he also doubts it will be an issue because at the moment the dual courtship going on seems to have no end in sight. Neither the Princess of Dorne nor the Lady of the North seem to have any intention of backing down any time soon.

Jon doesn't want to have to be the bad guy, but there might come a point where he needs to demand that Axel finally make a decision once and for all. He could only hope that it wouldn't come to that though…

The meeting winds down from there and Lord Tycho is seen out of the room and to his guest quarters to rest up before making the return trip to Braavos. Jon, meanwhile, claps Petyr on the shoulder and praises his efforts before letting the Master of Coin get back to work.

Really, Jon doesn't know what he would do about this entire mess without Petyr Baelish's help. The man was truly a blessing in every possible way.

-x-X-x-

A/N: I'm sure the final words of this chapter might make some people angry. All I'll say is Petyr Baelish's days ARE numbered. In fact, he dies within the next fifteen chapters!

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Moves are made, Axel is ensnared~

-x-X-x-

"Sansa?"

"In here."

Axel furrows his brow as he walks from the outer room of Sansa's guest chambers into her bedroom. He's not quite sure what he's expecting truth be told… but it's definitely not what he finds. Stopping dead in his tracks, Axel stares for a long moment in disbelief, his eyes raking up and down the naked forms of not one, but two beautiful noblewomen.

Sansa Stark kneels on her bed with a smile on her face and not a stitch of clothing anywhere else to be found across her pale form. From her breasts to the cleft between her legs, every bit of her has been bared. Or rather, would be if some of her body wasn't covered up by the young woman sat on the edge of the bed in front of her.

Margaery Tyrell sits there looking abashed and averting her eyes as she fidgets nervously with her own nude figure on display. With her own full breasts and glistening wet slit, the Lady of House Tyrell is just as naked as Sansa… and acting far shyer than Axel has ever seen her act before.

No, not just shy… docile. Submissive. Subservient, even.

"Lady Margaery and I have been talking for quite some time now, Your Grace."

Axel blinks as Sansa runs her hands down the front of Margaery's body while maintaining eye contact with him the entire time. She quickly finds the other woman's larger breasts and gives them a good, solid squeeze, drawing a whimper from Margaery's lips.

"She's told me a lot about you in that time. About her experience with you."

That makes Axel swallow hard. He wishes he could make excuses, like saying that his tryst with Margaery was before Sansa or Arianne arrived in the city. But the words catch on his tongue because even if they're true in a technical sense, they're a lie in spirit. After all, while he might not have fucked Margaery again since the first time, he did recently fuck Asha in a back alley down by the city harbor.

"I don't mind, to be clear. I'm sure you're already laying with Princess Arianne and her oh-so-pious handmaiden as well."

However, that Axel does breaks his silence for.

"I haven't touched Arianne Martell or Tyene Sand as of yet, my lady."

Sansa pauses, visibly caught off guard for a moment. Her surprise allows him to realize that she's playing something of a confidence game here. This is still her true self, but she's exaggerating it for effect, leaning into things to avoid thinking too hard about what she's doing.

Quickly recovering, the Northern Lady gives Axel an icy smile.

"Color me surprised. But it doesn't matter. Like I said, I wouldn't mind."

Taking a step forward, Axel rakes his eyes up and down both Margaery and Sansa again, brow furrowing in confusion.

"You wouldn't?"

At his approach, Sansa stiffens up a bit, growing slightly colder. But it's obviously performative. She's playing the icy she-wolf at the moment. It suits her, really.

"I should be clear that my own maidenhead will not be so easily sold, Your Grace. You may have me only at our bedding the night of our wedding, and not a moment sooner."

Oh? Axel holds back the urge to grin as he soaks in the scene. He never would have expected anything like this from Sansa. Arianne? Sure, definitely. But Sansa? It was all rather… surprising to say the least. Though not necessarily in a bad way. Seeing her laying down the law while fondling Margaery as the beautiful rose sits there and takes it is… quite arousing.

"… Margaery. Go take care of our King."

Suddenly, Sansa takes Margaery by the shoulders and gently but firmly pushes her forward. Without missing a beat, the Lady of Highgarden drops down off of the bed and onto her hands and knees. She crawls across the floor and kneels before him, deftly working open his pants to pull out his cock.

Its not the first time he's had Margaery Tyrell take his cock in her mouth and start sucking him to full mast. However, at the same time the entire experience is brand new because now it involves Sansa Stark. Even as the brunette starts bobbing up and down his length like a woman possessed, the red head behind her is watching from the bed. Even as Margaery her hands wrapping around to grab hold of his buttocks and pull him in further, Sansa studies the scene, her eyes lidded.

Finally though, Sansa seems to grow tired of just taking in the view. She climbs off of the bed and saunters over, her eyes glittering as she stares down at where Margaery's bobbing head meets the base of his rapidly growing cock again and again.

Axel watches as Sansa comes to his side and presses herself against him. He slides an arm down and around her body, moving his fingers across her pale, pristine flesh in a way that makes her shiver in clear inexperience. But for all that she lacks any experience with the carnal touch of a man, Sansa still acts like her House's sigil in this moment. A predator.

Reaching out, she places a hand atop Margaery's head and growls at her.

"Faster."

Margaery… obeys. Eyes watering a bit, drool collecting on her chin, she nevertheless sucks him harder and faster, going deeper even as his cock grows to the point where it's making her gag and choke.

"Gagkh… Gagkh… Gagkh…"

Leaning into his side, her soft naked breasts pressing against his chest, Sansa looks at him with a small, bemused smile.

"She told me that you would like an experienced woman. I must say, I think I agree with her. You aren't the type to enjoy some blushing maiden, are you my King? Do you perhaps judge me for not wanting to give up my maidenhead to you right this moment?"

Axel huffs, even as he resists the urge to groan from the feel of Margaery's tight throat convulsing around his cock.

"No, I don't judge you Sansa. Truthfully, your maidenhead still being intact means as little to me as the fact that Princess Arianne's isn't. I like you both for who you are completely irrespective of such things."

Sansa hums, her eyes much too sharp and much too knowing as she reaches up to trace her fingers along his jawline. She doesn't comment on his mention of Arianne's sordid past. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knows that the Princess is no virgin. Arianne has even brought it up with him a few times.

Axel doesn't care about her past though. He'd certainly care if she was caught bedding a man here in King's Landing while they were courting one another (and be a massive hypocrite for doing so given his activities but currently and in the past) but he didn't care about what came before now.

"That's the problem, isn't it? You like us both. How ever are you going to pick one of us to be Queen?"

Axel lets out a shuddering breath at that.

"… I don't know."

For a moment, he expects Sansa to get angry and perhaps even tell him to leave. Instead, she just smiles icily, her eyes narrowed into slits as she gazes up at him.

"Well I'm not willing to give up on winning you, my King. Even if I do have my lines in the snow that I'm not willing to cross, there are other ways for me to show you my devotion, aren't there? Such as Margaery here."

Axel looks down at the brunette, who even now is gurgling as she bobs up and down his throbbing cock.

"I've decided she's mine now. Admittedly, she wasn't much of a hunt. She came right to me, begging for scraps. Still, I've tamed her and claimed her. We're a package deal at this point. Send me home to the North if you like, but if you do… she's coming with me."

Before Axel can even begin to process that, Sansa suddenly yanks Margaery back off of his cock, causing the brunette to gasp and mewl as she's dragged away from him on her hands and knees. Pulling her along by her hair, Sansa pulls Margaery back up onto the bed with her.

The entire time, the red head doesn't break eye contact with Axel for even a second. Even as she spreads her legs and drags Margaery's head down between them. Even as Margaery's hips rise into the air, her thighs spreading to reveal her dripping, drooling slit, Sansa maintains her gaze with him.

"Of course, as long as you keep me around… she's yours to do with as you please, Your Grace."

Axel's cock, glistening with Margaery's spit, twitches and throbs at that promise… and at the extremely erotic sight in front of him. He has to admire Sansa for her audacity if nothing else. This was definitely something that he would have expected Arianne of all people to do, yet somehow the Northern Lady had stolen the lead on the far more publicly promiscuous Princess of Dorne.

Stepping forward, cock in hand, Axel approaches the bed with a crooked grin on his face. Sure, they both know that Sansa can't actually make any of what she just said reality. Even if he did send Sansa away, Margaery remains his hostage and would have to stay here in King's Landing, no matter what.

But that's just it… Axel has no intentions of sending Sansa Stark away. Especially when she's just revealed herself to be even more interesting than he ever could have expected. Needless to say, Axel had already liked Sansa quite a lot. Maybe even loved her, though they hadn't exchanged those words yet. But now? Now he couldn't even imagine life without her.

"You drive a hard bargain, my lady. A very hard bargain indeed."

Stepping up and grabbing Margaery by the hips, Axel wastes no time in driving into her gushing wet cunt from behind. The brunette squeals into Sansa's cunt as he does so, causing Sansa in turn to gasp and stifle a moan as she stares at him, trying to keep her composure even now.

Well… he might not be taking her maidenhead today, but fuck if Axel wasn't going to see Sansa Stark's face when she came from Margaery's eager little tongue and wanton moaning cries…

-x-X-x-

She tries to keep herself cool, calm, and collected. She really does. But the more Axel fucks Margaery Tyrell, the harder it is for Sansa to maintain her façade.

Honestly, she still can't believe she's doing this. But between 'taming' Margaery Tyrell and the fierce competition provided by Arianne Martell, Sansa had ultimately felt like she had no choice. Especially when Asha Greyjoy had suddenly shown up in the Red Keep a couple of days ago out of nowhere too.

The rumors said that Axel had run into the Greyjoy woman down at the docks after he'd prayed at the Great Sept. They claimed that he'd helped her take down some thugs who were trying to shake her down for some scheme or other.

Sansa didn't really know what to believe, but she did know she couldn't wait any longer without doing SOMETHING to excite Axel and enhance his interest in her. This was that something, in part suggested to her by the Lady Tyrell currently between her thighs.

As Margaery is fucked from behind, her tongue dives ever deeper into Sansa's cunt, while her face is driven further into Sansa's crotch. The pleasure is like nothing that the red headed Stark has ever experienced before, if she's being honest.

Margaery had told Sansa how good Axel felt, of course. But he wasn't even fucking her right now. Instead, he was fucking Margaery as proxy, making the beautiful woman's eyes roll back in her head as her tongue wildly reams Sansa's cunt all the while.

And yet still it feels amazing. And with every thrust Axel makes into Margaery's cunt sending shockwaves of pleasure through Sansa as well, she can almost close her eyes and imagine that its her he's fucking instead. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling her ears, her own wanton moans echoing through the air…

She doesn't mean to make a fool of herself, but in the midst of all that pleasure, Sansa comes undone. She climaxes all over Margaery's face, crying out and then whimpering as her juices flow right into the other woman's mouth. Margaery takes it like a champ even as her moans reach a fever pitch too and she cums hard all over Axel's cock.

But that isn't the end of it. Not by a long shot. If anything, that's just the beginning. Axel keeps going and he doesn't stop until he's satisfied. He fucks Margaery into Sansa's cunt for longer than Sansa could have imagined possible, pumping in and out of the other woman like a man possessed.

Sansa only wishes it could be her, but she needs to stay true to herself at the same time. Maybe it was foolhardy. Maybe it would lose her this entire contest by the end… but she refused to give it all up to Axel unless he was going to make her his Queen.

This much was fine though. It had to be fine even if she knew her mother would never approve, because it felt too damn good to stop. Sansa can only shudder as she moans and bucks her hips against Margaery's face, all while the Tyrell woman is beside herself with pleasure and ecstasy.

Until finally, Axel reaches out all of the sudden and takes ahold of Margaery's hair from her. Sansa hadn't even realized how hard she'd been gripping down on the other woman's locks until that point, so she doesn't fight him as he tugs Margaery away while pulling his cock out.

A moment later and he's putting that same cock back in Margaery's mouth, where it's obvious from how he holds her in place and tosses his head back that he's finally reaching his own release.

Sansa watches, biting her lower lip, as Margaery swallows his load… except, she doesn't swallow all of it. When the King is finally done emptying his balls, the Lady of Highgarden pulls back and turns around, a slightly rebellious spark in her eyes as she suddenly looks like she's on a mission.

Narrowing her own eyes, Sansa doesn't stop Margaery even as the other woman climbs up the length of her body and aims to kiss her. Instead, she does the opposite and takes control of the impending meeting of mouths at the last second, grabbing Margaery by her hair once more and tilting her head back as she smashes their lips together.

This doesn't stop Margaery from opening wide and pushing her cum-covered tongue into Sansa's waiting maw of course, but Sansa doesn't mind too much. It's her first chance tasting a man's seed and she has to admit… Axel's doesn't taste that bad. Salty perhaps, but certainly not the worst thing she's ever had.

When they're finally done, Sansa looks up to see Axel smiling at her… and she smiles back even as a bit of his seed dribbles out of the side of her mouth. She knows she's won a round in this game that her and Princess Arianne are playing. And every little bit helps when you're trying to ensnare the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Sansa takes the lead… for now~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Arianne is putting her foot down!

-x-X-x-

One would think that Arianne Martell would be used to not getting her way. Her father had always seemed insistent on stymying her at every turn, after all. But Doran was just one man and he couldn't be everywhere all at once. She'd only become more and more rebellious as she'd grown up under his uncaring, spiteful thumb and that had resulted in her doing quite a lot of scandalous and salacious things behind his back.

And yet, ever since coming to King's landing, the Princess of Dorne had truly been on her best behavior. She'd made no attempt to seduce any man except for the king and she had not shared her bed with a single other person. There was only one who Arianne had her eyes set upon… and he barely gave her the time of day.

Well no, that wasn't entirely true and she knew it. Really, Axel Baratheon made plenty of time for her. Sometimes he made time for her multiple days in a row, though Arianne always knew that meant he was doing the exact same thing for Sansa Stark as well. If she wanted Axel all to herself for an entire day, than she had to expect that he would in turn give Sansa an entire day next.

The problem was, nothing had happened between them. She was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, one of the most beautiful women in the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms… and she knew Axel believed that too. It wasn't that he was ignoring her beauty or anything like that. He was simply… restraining himself.

At first, Arianne had assumed that Axel must be visiting brothels or having whores brought to him just like his father would have done. There was no way a man with eyes as hungry as his could possibly resist her wiles for weeks on end without getting his needs taken care of somewhere by some woman… right?

If she HAD found out that he was partaking in whores on the regular, Arianne would probably have started partaking as well, even if it ruined her chances of becoming Queen. The problem was… he wasn't. The servants she'd brought to King's Landing had been useful eyes and ears throughout the city. As had the three Sand Snakes who had come with her from Dorne.

Obara reported that Axel spent time each day in the Red Keep's training yard, sparring with anyone who would challenge him. Be it Kingsguard, random knights, Brienne of Tarth, or even Obara herself, he would not ever back down from a spar. Apparently he fought better than anyone Obara had ever faced and she had yet to land a blow on him to this day, something Arianne knew angered the other woman to no end.

Nymeria, meanwhile, reported on his trips into the city each morning to pray. He DID purposefully take circuitous routes from the Great Sept of Baelor back to the Red Keep according to her findings. However, he never stopped at a single brothel, nor did he have a smallfolk mistress on the side or anything like that.

Admittedly, sometimes Nymeria failed to keep track of Axel, like when he'd somehow run across Asha Greyjoy in trouble and saved her from thugs down by the docks. But the quiet, sneaky Sand Snake nevertheless claimed to consider it incredibly unlikely that Axel was fucking any other woman on the side.

And finally there was Tyene. Her ever faithful, ever loyal Tyene. Her best friend and handmaiden had visited the Great Sept herself to ask after the King. Her innocent demeanor and pious attitude allowed her to make easy conversation with numerous members of the Most Devout.

But no one had a single bad thing to say about Axel Baratheon. He wasn't doing anything untoward at the Great Sept either, such as seducing young Septas and fucking them silly behind the statue of the Stranger or something.

By the Seven, it was frustrating. Arianne had done everything save for throwing herself at Axel's feet and begging him to fuck her. And technically, she hadn't really lost yet either. So then why did it feel like Sansa Stark was gaining ground on her? And why did it feel like the arrival of Asha Greyjoy was another blow to her chances of becoming Queen?

Enough was enough, Arianne had decided. Which is why when Axel enters her chambers on this fine day, she's no longer holding back.

"… Princess."

Smirking, Arianne lounges back, reveling in his staring as the King gazes upon her flesh, feasting upon the view. She's not entirely naked… but she might as well be. Wearing nothing but small gossamer coverings over her nipples and crotch, Arianne's current garment can barely even be called a dress, really. However, the gold chains looped around her waist and neck along with the golden bracelets and anklets… they add something that her just being naked would be missing, she likes to think.

Admittedly, it's the kind of attire that would be found on a pleasure slave in one of the Free Cities. Her outfit is something that not even a Dornish Princess should be caught wearing. But Arianne didn't care anymore. She was done playing games. It was time to go for the kill.

"My King. Please, come and have some wine with me."

Axel raises an eyebrow… and then moves to pour himself a glass. Arianne watches with lidded eyes. It's interesting, she'd noticed that there was a much greater focus on potential poisonings and therefore taste testing at the Red Keep when she arrived.

However, some investigation on Nymeria and Tyene's part uncovered that it might not actually even be connected to Dorne's… reputation. Apparently, there were rumors among the Red Keep's serving staff that Cersei Lannister had admitted to trying to poison Axel all his life. There was also a rather fanciful tale regarding the Strangler and a meat pie back in the Eyrie that Arianne wasn't sure if she truly believed or not.

And yet, while the servants whispered that Cersei Lannister's confessions had made the King leery of future poisonings, Axel himself barely bothered with taste testers in private from what Arianne had seen. Either he trusted her… or he truly did believe he was immune to poisons.

Either way, once he takes a long draw of wine, Arianne snaps her fingers, implementing the next stage of her plan. Coming through a curtain stretched across the entrance to the next chamber, Tyene Sand steps out in her usual innocent attire reminiscent of a Septa.

Axel looks to Arianne's closest ally curiously for a moment… before raising his brow as Tyene reaches up, does something to her gown, and lets it slip free of her body like it's become liquid. The conservative dress drops off of Tyene's slim figure like it was never there to begin with and Tyene steps out of it as though she's just shed an old skin, revealing the new one underneath. Her pale, nude form is on full display as she walks up to Axel… and sinks to her knees before him in supplication.

Arianne half-expects the King to say something, to stop Tyene or deflect before this can go any further like he's done so many times before. They've not yet been this direct of course in the past several weeks, but she suspects Axel has recognized their seduction attempts for a while all the same. And he's always shut them down previously.

… He doesn't this time. He simply watches as Tyene deftly frees his cock from its confines and begins stroking it with soft, silken palms. Looking up at him with her big blue eyes, still exuding faux innocence through every pore, Tyene leans in and begins to gently kiss the tip of his cock, sucking at just the head of his member right then and there.

Axel's breath hitches and Arianne can tell that Tyene has enraptured him with her antics. Meanwhile, the blonde Sand Snake's hands continue to stroke up and down his shaft while she all but makes love to the bulbous tip of his cock.

He's certainly well endowed, Arianne absently notes as she lets her own hands wander down the length of her mostly naked body. Axel notices immediately of course, his eyes moving to her even as he places a hand atop Tyene's head.

Arianne shivers as he looks at her. He looks… rather Kingly in that moment, her handmaiden's blonde locks bouncing as she strokes his cock and sucks the tip, all while he stares lustfully in Arianne's direction.

It hits her then like a bolt of lightning. He's already fucked Sansa Stark, hasn't he? That's why he's so willing to let this happen. The thought has Arianne shooting up from the lounge, her hands curling into fists for a moment before she calms herself down. Axel just arches a brow at her, making the Princess of Dorne flush a little.

Slowly, much more seductively, she finishes rising to her feet. Letting her beautiful body do the talking for her, she struts over to Axel even as Tyene continues her ministrations, worshipping the King's phallus like it's her god.

Pressing her ample bosom into Axel's side, Arianne narrows her eyes up at him even as she runs a hand down his chest.

"I've been outplayed, haven't I? You've already been with Stark."

Far from looking ashamed, Axel only seems to be amused as he gazes down at her.

"Yes. And no. Sansa insisted on keeping her maidenhead intact unless I choose her to be my Queen. She will only let me have her at our bedding for the consummation of our marriage. No sooner than that. However… there are other ways we could indulge in one another without risking such things. And she was very insistent."

Tch, she'd misjudged Sansa Stark than. Arianne truly hadn't thought the other woman had it in her, but clearly there was more dire wolf blood than she'd originally thought. Arianne had pegged Sansa as nothing more than a useless trout and unfortunately it seemed she'd been wrong.

Still, that didn't make this unsalvageable. In fact, Axel's own words had just shown her the path to victory.

"How selfish of her, my King. And how selfless of you to allow her to keep such a thing even as she offered up everything else."

Axel just lifts a brow, still smiling. Arianne smiles back, her eyes glittering as she steps away from him… and pulls even the small scraps of gossamer off of her form, showcasing her large breasts and glistening wet slit in their entirety.

"Fortunately for you, you have another woman who's willing to give you everything she has. I will hold nothing back from you, my King. All I ask is that you hold nothing back in turn~"

She knows she has him just from the hunger in his eyes… and all the teasing Tyene has done down on her knees. Between the two of them, they can make it so that Axel Baratheon forgets all about Sansa Stark.

By the end of this evening, Arianne will have the young, inexperienced King BEGGING for her to accept the title of Queen!

-x-X-x-

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

"B-By the Seven! Gods, you're STILL going! A-Ah, hah, f-fuck!"

Axel grins wickedly as he claps Arianne's cheeks from behind, pounding into the absolutely gorgeous Dornish Princess with all his might. His cock splits open her cunt as she claws at the bed, his hips crashing into her rather round, rather expansive buttocks over and over again.

In response, Arianne tosses her head back, her raven-black curls bouncing all over the place along with every voluptuous inch of her frankly sinful body. Her pussy walls clench and squeeze around his cock, trying desperately to hold him in place for even a second… but to no avail.

Axel plows her fertile fields like there's no tomorrow, grunting as he plunders her depths over and over again without hesitation and without mercy.

Nearby, laid out on the other side of the bed still trembling from the effects of her own turn with him, is Tyene Sand. The innocent-seeming blonde handmaiden was absolutely anything but. That technique with her mouth and tongue had been absolutely out of this world.

However, neither woman, for all their delightful and delicious experience, was prepared for him. They'd been going at it for hours now, the three of them and Arianne and Tyene had traded off constantly to try and exhaust him.

It was obvious from the very beginning that Arianne Martell believed she could get one over on Sansa Stark by offering him what the other woman would not. But while Axel did not think less of Arianne for having lost her maidenhead many years ago, he also did not think less of Sansa for wanting to keep hers intact until the consummation of her marriage.

That said, he had endless stamina and a will to use it. Coming up against that, it was as though Arianne and Tyene had effectively thrown themselves headfirst into a stone wall. And then they'd kept doing it, because they didn't know what else to do or any other tactic to try.

The more he fucked them both, the more Axel had come to realize that they really weren't the seductresses they billed themselves as. Either that or they simply hadn't ever had to deal with a man who could call them on their shit and go toe to toe with them.

Truly, they'd pulled out every trick in their respective arsenals. Such as… seduce him. And… seduce him harder. Oh, and cum all over his cock again and again until they were mewling, moaning, insensate messes. But Axel wasn't entirely sure that that last one was part of their plan, heh.

Gripping down on Arianne's dusky Dornish behind, enjoying the way her massive tits are bouncing and swinging and jiggling under her as she claws at the bed and gasps for breath, Axel closes in on his final release. Not because he's getting tired, but because he can tell that just like Tyene, Arianne is about ready to be done. She can't take much more of him.

And so he makes this last one a good one, drawing one final squealing, shrieking, explosive orgasm from Arianne's moaning mouth before he finally pulls out of her clenching cunt and proceeds to paint her sweat-covered back white with his seed.

He cums and cums, coating Arianne from the nape of her neck all the way down to her voluminous backside for good measure before finally, he's finished and lets go of her.

The Dornish Princess collapses forward onto her front, her limbs and massive pillowy breasts splayed out on either side of her torso as she pants heavily and tries to catch her breath.

Meanwhile, this would be the point where Tyene jumped back in and distracted him long enough for Arianne to recover for another round. Or rather, that's how it'd been hours ago, when they still had plenty of energy to go around.

As it is, Tyene has one arm covering her face and is still twitching her way through the aftershocks of her last orgasm, his seed covering her pale tits and belly as she lays there with her legs spread and her pussy trying to clench down on empty air.

Neither woman is in any position to continue so Axel starts getting dressed, smiling all the while. By the time he's finally done, Arianne is a bit more conscious of her surroundings. Enough so that when he goes to her and brushes her sweat-soaked hair out of her face, she's able to look up at him with tired but determined eyes.

"W-Wait. I-mmph!"

But Axel silences her with a kiss, one that starts somewhat chaste but quickly deepens as she introduces tongue to the mix. However, she doesn't even have the strength to keep kissing him for long. In the end, Axel has to take over, finishing things up by swiping his own tongue along hers before pulling back and smiling.

"Hush. You did well, Princess. You and your handmaiden both. Rest now."

Arianne whimpers in protest at that but can't muster up the strength to do anything else as he leaves her to recuperate, stepping out of her chambers.

Unfortunately, he's no closer to deciding who should be his Queen. He wants them both, damn it… but obviously that's not allowed. So who the fuck is he going to choose?

-x-X-x-

A/N: Poor Axel, such a difficult choice…

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Petyr Baelish has not been having a good time…

-x-X-x-

"What are we going to do Petyr? What if they find out about everything you've done? What if they find out about us?!"

Sitting in his quarters, Petyr Baelish sighs as he feels the pain between his eyes building. Pacing back and forth across the room in front of him is none other than Lysa Arryn and at this rate the woman might just wind up wearing a rut into the floor with how long she's been at it.

He's definitely regretting telling her everything that he's been dealing with now, but at the time Petyr had needed an outlet for all of the bullshit. Unfortunately, the outlet that he picked was the highly neurotic, mentally unstable wife of the man that he's been cuckolding for more than a decade.

It's not the kind of mistake Petyr would have made under normal circumstances, but recent times have been far from normal. Even as Lysa is having a quite loud, external freakout in the middle of his quarters, Petyr has to admit that he's busy freaking out internally, considering just how fucked it's all become and what he's going to do next.

And the worst part? The worst part is that his enemies still don't even know that they're ruining him. The King and his Hand and the rest of his Small Council… they still have no clue that Petyr has had his fingers in every single pie they've been cracking down on since Renly's war ended.

It'd started with Lord Seaworth, of course. The new Master of Ships was far more down to earth and self-aware than Stannis had been. And that made it all the harder to get anything past the man.

When Stannis was Master of Ships, one could always count on there to be both sailors and Captains who were willing to take on an extra bit of work on the side for some extra coin. Not to mention plenty of people at the docks all up and down the coast who were happy to turn a blind eye for the right bribe.

See, that was the thing about people. People were greedy and self-serving and trying to stop them from being greedy and self-serving with as blunt and heavy handed tactics as the Baratheon Lord used was a lesson in futility. Stannis had always gone that heavy handed route, but it didn't stop them or convince them to change their ways, it merely made them sneakier.

Someone like Stannis Baratheon couldn't possibly fathom the minds of the thugs, ne'er dowels, and criminals who made up the sorts of people that Petyr had been tapped into. But someone like Davos Seaworth, who had spent much of his life as a smuggler and only found his calling towards justice and righteousness later on… that was different.

But Petyr was smart enough to have seen that coming. He'd made sure to divest himself of volatile assets that he was certain Davos would be going after. In the end, while he hadn't been made completely whole, his losses had been negligible at best. At least at first anyways.

That was only the start though. A premonition of what was to come. Because between Stannis and Jon, nothing was safe anymore. Nothing was sacred.

Stannis was far more suited for being Master of Laws than he had been Master of Ships, and he'd been proving it in a number of ways, including a steady string of men who had been sent to either the block or the Wall. Men who Petyr had found very useful. Men who he'd had to burn every connection with so that their actions couldn't be traced back to him.

The only saving grace, at least where the new Master of Laws was concerned, was that Stannis had to split his time between King's Landing and the Stormlands rather equally. He'd done his duties admirably enough so far, but ultimately the amount of work he had on his place left him unable to focus on the true problem… Petyr himself.

That would have been great for Petyr's purposes, but then there was Jon. Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, was finally acting like a proper administrator of both the Realm and the Capital. It was just too bad that it was at the expense of everything Petyr had been building for more than a decade now.

And of course, Axel wasn't causing nearly as many fires for Jon as Robert had. Even with Sansa Stark and Arianne Martell both in the city vying for the young King's attention and time, Axel required far less maintenance than his father ever had.

Petyr had even considered making a mess of things regarding the search for a Queen. Such as poisoning Sansa Stark and pinning it on the Dornish Princess to provide a crisis for Jon to get bogged down in. Unfortunately, there were two major problems with that plan.

First, there was the fact that Sansa Stark was Catelyn's daughter and she had all of her mother's beauty from when Catelyn was younger. Petyr was loathe to kill such a beautiful young woman if he was being honest. But secondly and much more importantly, they'd doubled the taste testers in the Red Keep ahead of either prospective Queen's arrival.

Petyr hadn't thought much of that precaution at the time, but all of the sudden it was all but impossible to arrange a 'surprise illness' or 'accident', even if he wanted to. No, poisoning anyone staying in the Red Keep was an exercise in futility at the moment, unfortunately.

Meanwhile, Jon had wanted all of their records audited, reorganized, and checked over because the Hand had found discrepancies in the Crown's debts to various lenders. These discrepancies were all Petyr's fault of course, but fortunately he had one good stroke of luck going for him.

Namely, Jon Arryn couldn't fathom that Petyr would betray him. The old man was so blinded by his own sense of honor that he truly didn't think Petyr was capable of even the slightest hint of treachery.

That was, quite frankly, the only reason Petyr had survived until this point. But the situation was growing more and more desperate by the day, hence his unloading upon Lysa in the hopes of dealing with some of his stress.

Especially when some idiot on his payroll had not only made the mistake of trying to shakedown an Ironborn ship captained by the daughter of Balon Greyjoy for 'protection fees', but he'd then gone on to send some men to try and kill her or extract the gold from her person in some other heinous way.

Petyr wouldn't have cared that much if Asha Greyjoy had actually died or been 'disappeared' to be fair, but obviously that hadn't fucking happened. Instead, she had killed her assailants and done so with the help of the King of all people at the same time. And seeing as the original man had been trying to collect those fees in the name of the Master of Coin, Petyr had to act very fast and very carefully.

Blaming it all on one of the only Goldcloak Captains who had managed to fly under the radar of Jon and Stannis' reforms regarding the City Watch had been a move made in desperation. One that had in turn burned one of Petyr's last capable contacts within the City Watch, leaving him without any eyes and ears in the Goldcloaks whatsoever at this point.

He hadn't had the chance to rectify that matter in the slightest just yet either, because the imminent arrival of a representative from the Iron Bank had taken up all of his time. Petyr had been forced to worke tirelessly day and night from the moment that he'd been informed of the Iron Bank's arrival, making sure everything was in order.

Because the thing was… it hadn't been in order. It hadn't even slightly been in order when Petyr first found out that a representative of the Iron Bank was on his way.

Finding a way to balance things and make it so that the numbers did in fact line up between the Crown's records and the Iron Bank's records had truly stretched Petyr's skills to their utmost limits… but he'd done it in the end. He'd gotten the number on the Crown's books within eleven golden dragons of the number that the Iron Bank Representative brought with him.

That was good because it had earned him quite a lot of good will with Jon, and at this point Petyr needed that if he was going to make something of this mess.

He needed Jon to continue inadvertently shielding him from all of the others, including the King, until Petyr could finally figure out what he was going to do next. And he needed to decide what that was going to be before Stannis finished settling his affairs in the Stormlands and was able to focus all of his attention on his duties in King's Landing.

"Petyr! What are we going to do?!"

Shaken from his thoughts, Petyr blinks as he realizes that Lysa is still in his quarters, still frantically pacing back and forth, and still having a panic attack. Yes, telling her anything important about what was happening had been a monumental mistake… but given how sleep deprived, stressed, and overburdened he currently was, he would forgive himself all the same.

… Then again… the longer he stares at her, the more he realizes that Lysa might just be the answer to all of his problems. So what if the noose was slowly shrinking around his neck here in King's Landing? He just had to slip that noose and go somewhere else. Opportunities and costs. It was all just opportunities and costs.

Smiling with more feeling than he had in weeks, Petyr chuckles and shakes his head at Lysa's worried look.

"Don't fret my dear Lysa. There's no need to worry. I know exactly what we're going to do."

Lysa blinks in surprise, clearly caught off guard. But then to be fair, Petyr had just spent over an hour tersely detailing all of his struggles and woes to the woman. It was no surprise that she's confused by the sudden change in his mood.

At the same time, he'd spent most of their respective lives cultivating a certain image with the less attractive of the Tully Sisters. Lysa believes in him in a way that nobody, certainly not Catelyn Stark, ever had.

… He'd tried to reach out to Catelyn once since she'd arrived in the city, hoping to catch up with her and chat. But the North and childbirth hadn't been kind to the woman he'd once risked it all for.

Not only was Catelyn not nearly as attractive as she once was, but her personality had also become far more rotten than Petyr remembered. And if he had to deal with an unattractive and altogether rotten Tully sister, he might as well stick to the one who he had completely wrapped around his finger.

Case in point, Lysa's surprise melts away in mere moments, her eyes filled with absolute trust and devotion as she looks at him excitedly.

"I'm so glad, Petyr! I knew you would have a way out of this mess. What do you need of me? You know that I will always be on your side. I'm willing to do anything you ask of me!"

Indeed, he knows that very well. He also knows that Lysa is… barely competent at best and not to be trusted with anything too difficult. Still…

"You're finally getting your wish, my love. It's time for Jon Arryn to die."

Lysa's eyes widen and she gasps in excitement, as though her Nameday has come early. Before he can continue on, she's already crossed the room and seized upon his face with both hands, kissing him deeply and passionately. Petyr plays along of course, even as the woman climbs into his lap. Eventually though, she does pull back, beaming at him as she drapes her arms around his neck.

"Truly? How shall we do it? Poison? I could deliver it to him for you… no one would know, especially not my lord husband."

If not for the doubling of taste testers and the added security around the Red Keep, that very much would be how Petyr would have gone about this. He'd prepared Lysa for the role of her husband's killer for years, after all.

But… no. No, he knew he couldn't rely on Lysa to deal with her husband now. He needed competence. He needed to make sure that everything would go off without a hitch. Therefore, Lysa could not be involved. Of course, when he tells her that, he words it… differently.

"I have something better in mind. Something you won't have to dirty your hands for, sweetheart."

Lysa pouts at him in what she probably considers a 'cutesy' manner.

"Awww… but I want to! For you, my love!"

Forcing a chuckle even as he's cringing internally, Petyr shakes his head.

"I know darling. I know. But the plan I have in mind will require us both to keep our hands clean. All I need you to do is be ready to leave the city when I tell you to. You, me, and your darling son will be leaving King's Landing and going to the Vale together. Doesn't that sound lovely?"

Lysa nods her head along obediently.

"It does! It sounds wonderful. But… won't the King suspect us if my husband dies as we flee the city?"

Petyr just grins and this time he doesn't have to force it.

"You let me worry about that, Lysa. I want you to go and begin making preparations now… but be subtle about things. It will probably still be some weeks before we're ready to depart, alright? Don't let them know anything is amiss until the time comes."

Reluctantly, Lysa climbs out of his lap and slowly nods.

"I understand, Petyr. It will be as you say, do not worry. I'll make sure my Sweet Robin is ready to leave the moment that you give the word."

With that, she departs from his quarters and Petyr has blessed quiet at long last. He basks in it for a moment, his eyes drifting shut as he lets out a sigh. Then, they snap open again and he turns to his desk, moving and grabbing a piece of parchment.

He was going to need to move some things up a bit if this plan he'd just thought up was going to work. Originally, he and Euron Greyjoy had both agreed to wait a little bit longer before making any moves… but given just how desperate things were getting for him here in King's Landing, Petyr couldn't afford to wait any longer.

Euron Greyjoy was just going to have to be ready to take advantage of the chaos that Petyr was planning on causing. And if he wasn't… well then, that was the Ironborn's own fault. Petyr would give him ample warning… and it would be up to Euron to capitalize on it or not.

-x-X-x-

A/N: And so Petyr finally decides that Jon Arryn has to die. Hm, but how will he do it? What is he planning…

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Axel has the very best schemes.

-x-X-x-

"You called for us, Your Grace."

Axel turns to regard Nymeria and Obara Sand with a smile as they step out into the courtyard. He sees how they both stiffen upon seeing the other two individuals waiting alongside him though. No doubt neither of them much cares about the presence of Brienne of Tarth, but both Sand Snakes react rather negatively when they see that the member of the Kingsguard currently accompanying him is none other than Ser Sandor Clegane.

Even after months as a knight of his Kingsguard, the Hound still doesn't look very comfortable in his white cloak and shining armor. In fact, the only time the young King would say that Sandor looks happy or content is in the moments when they're sparring and the man is reaching beyond his limits, advancing his skill with the blade against the immovable wall that is Axel Baratheon.

But Axel had warned the man. He'd given Sandor ample time to leave King's Landing, or at least the Red Keep, and avoid being sworn into his service. In the end, Sandor had remained for too long and Axel had made him one of his Kingsguard, filling that last empty slot in the process.

Of course, there were those currently staying in the Red Keep who had a problem with that, given Sandor's House Name. Two of them were now standing in the courtyard across from him now. None of the Dornish Party had tried to do anything untoward to the Hound just yet, but all the same…

"I did! It's good that you're here. Now that you are, we can finally begin."

Obara narrows her eyes, while Nymeria, the more cunning of the two, continues to smile, speaking for both of them.

"I'm afraid I don't understand. Begin what, Your Grace?"

Rather than answer with words, he does so with actions by walking over to the nearby rack. Pulling Stonehart, still sheathed, from his side, Axel sets it down and picks up a blunted steel sword. Then, he turns to regard all four individuals standing in the courtyard facing him.

"A test of sorts. You four are some of the best fights I've had in recent months. And yet… I find myself unchallenged, even against all of you."

There's some bristling and scowling at that, though none of them can gainsay him. Axel just grins brightly, pretending like he didn't intend any insult. It was nice to have something of an affable reputation. People tended to underestimate him because he'd come from a bastard's background.

"So I thought to myself… how to rectify the situation? And then I realized… of course! I'll just have all four of you attack me together! A knight of the Kingsguard, a woman who might as well be a knight, a mid-ranged spear fighter, and a ranged knife thrower. You four compliment each other perfectly and are therefore the best group for such a task!"

Axel is, of course, lying through his teeth here. While Sandor was probably one of the better fights he could count on these days, and Brienne wasn't too bad herself… the truth was, neither Obara nor Nymeria were quite as good as they thought themselves to be.

And really, if he was trying to form up a group of the most capable warriors currently in King's Landing, he probably would have invited Asha as well. He just had to hope she wouldn't find out about all of this and feel snubbed, but given what he was really intending with all of this, her presence would really only complicate matters.

Nymeria Sand wasn't a warrior to begin with, in all fairness. She was an excellent hand with her hidden blades, don't get him wrong. However, with a slender, slim figure and not much in the way of muscle, she had to rely on keeping her distance from her opponents.

They'd only sparred a handful of times compared to him and Obara, but each time Nymeria hadn't been able to touch him with a single knife throw. This was something Axel knew vexed her to no end, even if she made a good show of hiding it.

Obara Sand on the other hand, now she was a warrior. Or at least, she considered herself a warrior. She preferred spear and whip instead of sword, which made sense given that she was a woman and therefore physically weaker than most men. And seeing how she didn't have Brienne's height or reach to make up for that simple truth, she had to improvise.

And yet, for all that she styled herself as a warrior, Axel fully believed that any man on his Kingsguard (except for Trant perhaps) could easily equal or best her in battle, so long as there was no poison involved. She really wasn't as good as she thought she was, though her pride wouldn't allow her to accept that fact.

So then why was Axel doing this? Simple really. It had been several weeks since he'd started bedding both Sansa Stark and Arianne Martell, along with their seconds, Margaery and Tyene. Sansa still insisted on keeping her maidenhead intact, something Axel had no problem with because they'd done pretty much everything else together and Margaery was always there to pick up the slack.

Meanwhile, Arianne insisted on trying to challenge his stamina every chance she could. Usually this resulted in both her and Tyene needing days to recover afterwards because Axel would unquestionably run them ragged and leave them sore as can be.

Unfortunately, while they were all having a lot more fun together, this had nevertheless prompted even more of a competitive spirit between the two women that Axel was considering for the position of Queen. And there wasn't much he could do about that competition, nor much he wanted to do either considering he LIKED how competitive they were both being.

But while he might not be able to fix THAT mess, he could definitely do something about the undercurrent of hatred being directed at one of his Kingsguard just because the man shared a name with a monster. Hence Axel had come up with a superb plan that involved getting the more rambunctious of the three Sand Snakes in King's Landing to finally lay off of Sandor.

He can see immediately that all four buy his bullshit about being the best fights he's had, hook, line, and sinker. Obara in particular looks pleased as she puffs out her chest. However, it doesn't stop her from shooting a glare at Sandor all the same, her eyes narrowing with hatred at the Hound.

Nymeria is a bit more… diplomatic.

"You wish for us all to fight together, Your Grace? I'm not entirely sure that's the best idea. Obara and I might be practiced at fighting alongside one another, but we have no experience with these two."

Axel just smirks and lifts up his blunted sword. Sometimes it was good to have a reputation as a bit of a… single-minded King.

"Try. Or feel free to admit defeat if you like. The outcome will honestly be the same either way, but the respect I feel for each of you will certainly change depending on your decisions."

That gets them all, Axel notes. He grins as their animosity for one another swiftly shifts to him just as intended. Obara and Nymeria might hate Clegane for his brother's actions, but that's a distant, secondhand sort of hatred. However, their irritation over getting their asses handed to them in every single spar they've had with Axel… that's much closer to home. Far more recent too.

Soon enough, he's facing off across all four of them with their weapons drawn. They stand apart from one another, with only Nymeria and Obara really close to each other. Nymeria stands behind Obara, while Obara wields shield and spear at the ready.

For a moment, everything is still. And then… the three in the front launch themselves forward. Brienne and Sandor have at least gotten better at fighting side by side against him over the months since he began sparring with them. Obara, meanwhile, simply takes the side of him that they're not on, her spear trying to probe his defenses as they start to harry him.

And finally, Nymeria is on the wings, her hidden blades flashing out into her hands as she narrows her eyes and waits for an opening. Axel gives her a few of course, only to knock her blades out of the air or dodge them effortlessly.

In fact, he deals with all four of them rather effortlessly. Showing off just a bit more speed and a bit more strength than usual, Axel proceeds to dismantle the four fighters piece by piece.. He puts Brienne on her ass, slams Sandor down to a knee, and knocks Obara's spear from what should have been an ironclad grasp, forcing her to scramble for it. All while deflecting or sidestepping Nymeria's blades at the same time.

They're not bad, to be fair. But they aren't him. Nobody is him. And at this point, Axel is beginning to think he might never actually get the challenge he's started to crave.

But at least for today, that's not what he's after anyways. He didn't summon them all together because they were the 'best of the best' like he'd claimed. No, he summoned them here to put the Sand Snakes' issues to bed in the only way he knows how.

The fighting continues for a good fifteen minutes before everyone except for Axel has to take a break, panting and breathing heavily and staring at him with dark eyes as they try to catch their breath while watching him cautiously.

Axel just smirks, pacing back and forth in front of all of them. Even Nymeria has overexerted herself at this point, though to no avail. Every throw has been a failure.

"Pathetic."

His proclamation rings out through the courtyard, prompting all of them to stiffen in response. Axel just smiles at their expressions.

"You'd have a better shot against me if you fought together, but instead you insist on splitting up."

He looks to Sandor and Brienne.

"Even now after all this time, you barely show any teamwork with one another, despite knowing that neither of you has a chance against me alone."

As they stew in that, he then looks to Nymeria and Obara.

"And you two… you fight well enough together, but you ignore the two knights who could easily strengthen your fighting styles and give you far more openings than you currently have against me. You use them, but you don't work with them."

Nymeria grimaces but its Obara who snarls, breaking the silence. There's a reason that of the two Sand Snakes, Nymeria is the one who does most of the talking. Obara… is not nearly as well-mannered.

"You expect us to work with HIM? A Clegane?! After what his brother did to our Aunt and her children?"

With a snarl, Obara spits on the ground.

"I'd rather lose a thousand battles than rely on his sword arm!"

This was why Axel had made sure it was just the five of them, even picking a lesser used courtyard instead of the normal training yard. He'd been expecting an outburst like this one… counting on it, even. Everything so far had been building towards this moment. Even as Sandor stiffens in place, Axel is shaking his head.

"You know nothing, Obara Sand."

Her eyes narrow in anger, only for Nymeria to place a soothing hand on her arm to keep her quiet. The more diplomatic of the two Sand Snakes offers Axel a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Apologies, Your Grace. My sister's temper got the better of her. Please forgive her."

Axel crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head.

"I care little for her temper. I refuse to let this fester any longer. Tell me, did you know that Clegane here didn't really want to become my Kingsguard? He didn't even want to be knighted either. In the end, knowing full well his discomfort, I made him an offer. He could ask any one thing of me, a single boon in exchange for joining my Kingsguard. Do you know what he chose?"

Nymeria's smile looks strained at this point. Obara just looks angry as ever. It's obvious neither of them really cares. But they can't say that because Axel is the King of the Seven Kingdoms. So instead, Nymeria continues to be diplomatic.

"No, Your Grace."

Glancing over at Sandor, Axel can tell that he's angry too, mostly at Axel for airing his dirty laundry. But that was the privilege of a King, at the end of the day.

"The boon he asked for in exchange for joining my Kingsguard was simple. He asked me to take Gregor Clegane's head for him."

The admission lands like a massive boulder in a small pond. Nymeria and Obara's eyes widen in shock and stupefaction. Axel just smiles all the wider.

"I've heard the terrible things that Gregor Clegane has gotten up to. I know his crimes, I know he is unworthy of being a knight of the Seven Kingdoms. It's a rather easy request to grant in the end. When the opportunity next presents itself, I have sworn to relieve the Mountain That Rides of his head myself."

Silence fills the courtyard. Axel isn't too worried about Brienne being here for this. She has her own sort of honor, after all and she knows what sorts of things the Mountain has done just like anyone else. Meanwhile, it's obvious that neither of the Sand Snakes know what to say. So Axel decides to really drive the point home… even if it has to be at Sandor's expense, unfortunately.

"Ser Clegane. Remove your helmet."

There's a pause and it's obvious that Sandor is considering refusing the order… but finally, the Kingsguard reaches up and pulls off his helmet, revealing his burned face. It's no secret what he looks like to be fair. Long before he took up the White Cloak, he went everywhere with his facial scars on display.

But as Nymeria and Obara gaze upon Sandor's burns, Axel can tell that the Dornish women are truly seeing them for the first time… and realizing where they came from. He doesn't have to say anything more, doesn't have to explain the entire sordid ordeal that was Sandor's rotten childhood. They're at least smart enough to catch a hint and comprehend the lesson here.

Tossing his blunted sword aside, Axel retrieves Stonehart from the rack and places it back on his waist. Then, he looks to the four of them, all still silent and unmoving.

"If you four learned to fight together as well as you fight solo, then you might actually be enough to give me a challenge. Consider this an order from your King… you are to train with one another at least three times a week. We will continue testing your skills each fortnight. I hope you manage not to disappoint."

And then he leaves, walking away just like that. But then to be fair, he's the King. He can do that sort of thing, even if he definitely plans to make this up to Sandor later. Or at least, that's the thought running through Axel's mind right up until he enters the nearest corridor just to find Jon Arryn waiting for him. Immediately, Axel grimaces as his loyal Hand falls into step beside him.

"That was… interestingly done, Axel. I only hope it doesn't blow up in your face."

Snorting in amusement, Axel shakes his head.

"If it does, I'm more than durable enough to survive it. How are things, Jon?"

Letting out a weary sigh, his Hand runs fingers through his grey hair.

"Things are… moving along apace, my King. The audit is almost finished. We weed out more and more of the corruption I let fester during your father's reign by the day. I-!"

Axel stops and turns towards Jon to scowl, cutting the older man off with nothing but a look before he can get too down on himself.

"Do not blame yourself, Jon. Not for my father's excesses. You tried to warn him. You tried to reign him in. But he was still King. His choices were his own. If he'd only listened to you half as much as he should have, maybe we wouldn't be in this damn mess."

Jon smiles wanly, inclining his head.

"I appreciate your kind words Axel, but some of the blame must fall on me anyways. Robert's whoring, feasting, and reveling were one thing. But the corruption… he had little part in that. At worst, he was a distraction that allowed all of the rats to scurry around our feet unnoticed. Still, I should have looked down at least once and recognized what we were dealing with."

Axel frowns, still not pleased with Jon's self-deprecation. But before he can defend the man against his own words further, Jon is the one who now pins Axel with a look.

"Still, if you mean what you say, perhaps you will let this old man give you some advice. And maybe, if the Seven are very kind, you'll even listen to it."

Wincing, Axel already knows what Jon is going to tell him. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach, even as he gestures for the older man to speak. Jon hesitates for just a moment before grunting.

"You must make a choice, Axel. You must marry one of the two women who have been all but courting you for months now. The rumors in both the Red Keep and King's Landing abound. It won't be long before they reach the rest of the Seven Kingdoms as well if they haven't already. You need a Queen. You need children of your loins. You need… to choose."

It's the last thing that Axel wants to hear. But perhaps that's why he needs to hear it. Grimacing, Axel hangs his head for a moment… before finally nodding.

"You're right Jon. I've been indecisive for long enough. The Lady Stark and Princess Martell have both made it clear that they want to be my Queen. All that's left is for me to pick one, but I've refused for fear of hurting the other. And yet… by doing so, I'm hurting them both in a way, aren't I? And I'm hurting the Realm too…"

Jon's hand comes down on Axel's shoulder, giving it a solemn squeeze.

"Well said, Axel. Well said. It seems you already know what you must do."

Axel nods, having to swallow the lump in his throat briefly before letting out a shuddering breath.

"… Yes. Call for a Small Council Meeting, first thing tomorrow morning. I will announce my decision there first and then go speak with both women afterwards."

His Hand inclines his head.

"Understood. We will not have full attendance, I imagine. Stannis is currently away at Storm's End continuing to get his house in order and Davos left for an inspection on Dragonstone just yesterday. But everyone else shall be there, I'll make sure of it."

Grunting, Axel just nods again.

"Very well. I shall see you then."

As Jon walks away, Axel watches him go for a moment before turning and striding in the opposite direction. He doesn't go to either of his prospective brides. He doesn't go to anyone, really. Instead, he seeks solitude.

Why? Because even though he just told Jon that he would pick a Queen on the morrow… he honestly still has no idea just who he's going to marry.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Poor Axel. Forced to make a choice. But who? Who will he choose? Maybe he'll finally realize he shouldn't have to make a choice!

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: Varys POV as Axel finally announces just who his Queen will be!

-x-X-x-

“Where in the Seven Hells are Petyr and Pycelle? They’re both late!”

Lord Arryn’s irritation receives no response from the other three men in the Small Council Chambers. The King sits quietly at the head of the table, looking uncharacteristically dour and morose. Varys, meanwhile, simply smiles placidly with his hands folded in the arms of his robes. And of course, Ser Arys Oakheart, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stands silently and at the ready near the door just like always.

Admittedly, it is a rather sorry showing for the Small Council today. Lord Stannis is off at Storm’s End still getting his new lands in order, as he’d been on and off again for months now. Meanwhile, Lord Davos is off on a voyage to Dragonstone.

That just leaves Lord Baelish, Grandmaester Pycelle, Lord Arryn, Lord Commander Oakheart, and Varys himself. And the King too of course, who Varys has it on good authority will be announcing his choice for Queen this fine morning.

It’s obvious from the dark look on Axel Baratheon’s face that he didn’t sleep very well. And honestly, Varys isn’t sure that the young King has made a choice, even now. Especially not with what the eunuch knows of Axel’s… extracurricular activities.

Varys often finds himself grateful that he doesn’t have those sorts of urges. To be controlled by one’s cock… well, he’s seen it be the ruin of many a man over the course of his life. And Axel Baratheon, for all that he’s trying to be the best King he can be and has already proven to be a better King than both of his predecessors… is only a man at the end of the day.

He might not have taken to whoring like Robert did, but if the things he got up to with the likes of Lady Stark and Lady Tyrell or Princess Arianne and Tyene Sand ever reached the wrong ears, there might very well be trouble.

That was why Varys had been running interference for Axel for some time now, making sure that not a single whisper of his bedroom antics made their way to the likes of Baelish or anyone else who would want to take advantage of the King’s… indiscretions.

Fortunately, it would seem that Lord Arryn had put his foot down for once. The Hand was notorious for going with the flow, trying his best not to disrupt the status quo, and letting Robert do whatever he wanted.

But no longer, apparently. Jon had grown weary of letting Kings do what they liked. And that meant Axel was going to have to choose. Even Varys couldn’t guess just who he was going to pick at this point… but then the Spymaster has been quite distracted recently by the consequences of his own foolish mistakes.

Varys didn’t necessarily regret sending the order to Ser Jorah to assassinate Daenerys, her newborn dragons, and her Red Priestess, in that order. Even though the King had said no assassination attempts, Varys knew it had to be done anyways for the good of the Realm and for the good of Axel’s reign. Really, the Master of Whispers’ only regret was entrusting such an important task to a man who had turned out to ultimately be a fool.

Ser Jorah had failed in his task. He had failed to kill Daenerys Targaryen, he had failed to kill even a single dragon whelp, and he’d of course failed to kill her Red Priestess for good measure. Failure all around.

Admittedly, even weeks after he’d received the first reports of Ser Jorah’s failure and subsequent execution, details of how it actually happened were sparse. And Varys had been reaching out to all of his contacts, trying his best to find out what was going on over there in Essos.

Indeed, these last several weeks had resulted in quite a few sleepless nights for the Spymaster. Between hiding the King’s indiscretions from the court at large and trying to investigate what was happening with the Targaryen and her Red Priestess, he’d barely had the time for anything or anyone else, including Baelish.

For instance, he knew that the Master of Coin had been up to something of late, but he’d had to put off investigating more deeply for the time being with his attention split in other directions. Besides, Baelish was running scared at this point and Varys knew it.

With a couple nudges here and there from Varys, Axel and Jon were closing in on Baelish, weeding out the corruption in the city and tearing down the sordid empire that the conniving Master of Coin had built. It wouldn’t be long before he slipped up and they caught him in a lie he could no longer get out of.

Varys would be glad to see the other man go, truth be told. Back when the eunuch hadn’t been sure that a lengthy Baratheon Dynasty was what he wanted, the machinations and corruption of Petyr Baelish had been useful in keeping the Realm unstable in the event that a Targaryen Restoration proved necessary.

But now with everything flipped on its head and Daenerys Targaryen representing the very real threat of a sorcerous lineage taking the Iron Throne, Baelish was simply in the way. Especially given what Varys HAD been able to hear from Essos.

While he couldn’t exactly find out how Jorah Mormont had failed to so much as kill one of his targets when said targets were nothing but a girl, a woman, and three dragon hatchlings, he had at least found out two very important pieces of information in the aftermath.

First, Khal Drogo, Daenerys Targaryen’s Dothraki Husband, had been truly enraged by the attempt on his wife’s life. Apparently, the two were far closer to one another than Varys had ever imagined them becoming. The Khal had taken the assassination as a personal insult and sworn to take his khalasar to Westeros, across the Narrow Sea, no matter the cost.

… That also may have had less to do with Drogo’s love for Daenerys and more to do with the second piece of information though. Namely, the fact that Daenerys Targaryen was apparently pregnant with the Dothraki Khal’s child at this point.

Would Varys have still given the order for her to die if he’d known she was with child? Yes, undoubtedly. But it did change things significantly all the same. If the Last Targaryen was pregnant, than that presented the very real possibility of a Dynasty of Sorcery and Magic. And that was the last thing Varys wanted to happen.

He'd been wrestling with it since he received the news a couple days ago. Specifically, he hadn’t been entirely sure how to break it to the King and his Hand. Did he tell them everything, including that he’d tried to have Daenerys assassinated against Axel’s direct instructions? Or did he simply tell them of her pregnancy and Drogo’s intentions of turning his khalasar towards Westeros at long last?

… In the end, he’d come to realize that they were only in this mess because of his subterfuge. And if he truly wanted Axel to be the best King that he could be, Varys was going to have to tell him the truth, even if it potentially resulted in his execution.

He had already decided that he would tell them everything though, just in case his head truly did wind up leaving his shoulders afterwards. Not just about what was happening in Essos, but also the source of the corruption in King’s Landing. He would give them everything he knew about Baelish and all of the other moves being made by the Lords and Ladies of Westeros.

If Axel decided he needed to die afterwards, then so be it. At least Varys would know he’d prepared the young King as best as possible for what lay ahead.

… But first, he would wait for the arrival of Lord Baelish and Grandmaester Pycelle. He would wait for the King to announce his Queen, and then he would speak to Lord Arryn and the King alone about all that he knew. Though truth be told, if they all had to wait much longer, he might as well tell them both now and get it over with. It was just the three of them here after all, and still neither Pycelle nor Petyr were anywhere to be seen.

It was a little strange if he was being hone-

Just as the thought is passing through Varys’ head, Pycelle finally arrives. The infirm and decrepit Grandmaester shuffles into the room with the usual stuttering, stammered apologies on his lips.

“My s-sincerest a-apologies… I was held up for a little while l-longer than expected.”

More than a little disgruntled, Lord Arryn waves a hand through the air dismissively.

“It is of little matter, Grandmaester, seeing as you aren’t even the last one to the Small Council Chambers this time. Where IS Petyr at? It’s not at all usual for him to be this tardy. I might have to send a runner after him.”

“… It’s fine. We’ll wait a little longer first.”

The King breaks his silence just to say those words. From the conflicted look on Axel’s face, it’s obvious to Varys that he’s happy to let anything put off the purpose of this meeting for a little while longer. Given the way Lord Arryn stares at him for a long moment, he no doubt suspects the same.

“I know this isn’t easy, my King. But the decisions you have to make will often be hard. You can do this. I know you can. And prolonging this meeting won’t make things any simpler either.”

Axel looks petulant for a moment before letting out a sigh and waving his hand in the direction of his Lord Commander.

“Fine. Ser Arys, go find Petyr Baelish and bring him here immediately.”

The Kingsguard’s Lord Commander salutes and departs from the Small Council Chambers on his mission. At the same time, Pycelle grunts and groans and shuffles across the floor towards his usual chair like always. Meanwhile, Lord Arryn leans towards Axel, placing a hand on his arm and whispering quietly to him.

It's as the Lord of the Vale is giving the King a bit of an inspirational talk, however, that Varys’ eyes are drawn off to the side, something flickering in the sunlight coming in from the nearby windows. The Master of Whispers furrows his brow in confusion, staring somewhat baffled for a long moment before understanding begins to crystallize.

It’s a… thin string of sorts, a thread that’s almost invisible to the naked eye hovering at ankle height. And the reason that it’s becoming visible is because Grandmaster Pycelle seems to be disrupting the string with his movements, pulling on it as he makes his way towards his seat.

In fact… as Varys stares for a while longer, he realizes that the string is set up in such a way that ONLY Pycelle would intercept and disturb it while going towards his seat. The thread seems to wind around Pycelle’s chair in particular for a moment before disappearing under the table.

Lips curling down into a frown of consternation, Varys slowly leans over in his chair. The sounds of Lord Arryn struggling to cheer the King up and Grandmaester Pycelle sighing as he settles into his chair fade into nothing but background noise for him as they wait for the Lord Commander to return with their missing Master of Coin.

Instead, Varys’ focus is entirely on following the trembling, shaking string with his eyes until he’s half-turned over and looking under the length of the rather large Small Council Table.

There, he finds the strangest sight… a line of swaying small pots, hanging from a thicker rope that’s connected just barely to the thinner, more invisible string. As they sway back and forth, Varys has to squint and strain his eyes to try and make out any sort of identification. But once he sees it… well, it’s unmistakable.

After all, how many of these pots had he dealt with mere months ago after the death of King Robert and his sons? Not personally maybe, but the Master of Whispers had certainly laid eyes on enough pots of wildfire to be able to recognize the symbol of the Alchemist’s Guild on sight.

His eyes widen and his mouth opens, but it’s much too late. As Grandmaester Pycelle takes his seat, the invisible string snaps and that sets off a cascading effect that sends the swaying pots all falling down off of the rope to smash into the floor.

Varys has always been quick mentally if not physically. He therefore has just enough time to belatedly realize this must have been Baelish. He’d let himself get distracted, focusing on Axel’s dalliances and his own self-inflicted crisis brewing over in Essos. He hadn’t kept a close enough eye on the scheming Master of Coins.

Baelish must have decided they were too close to the truth. He must have decided to cut his losses and throw the Realm into chaos by killing off the King and the rest of the Small Council at the same time. How he expected to get away with it, Varys did not know. Nor would he ever get the chance to find out either.

For such an imbecilic blowhard of a fool to be his death, and for such base and selfish reasons as well… Varys straightens up in his chair, looking out into nothing as he lets out a rattling breath and three final words.

“How utterly vexing.”

And then the wildfire pots ignite and Varys’ vision fills green flames as the entirety of the Small Council Chambers violently explodes.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Boom.

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!

Chapter Text

A/N: I'm sure you all want to see how Axel is doing after how last chapter ended. So anyways, here's a Baelish POV!

-x-X-x-

King's Landing is far enough in the distance by now that Petyr can barely see it on the horizon. Standing on the deck of the ship taking him, Lysa, and the future Lord of the Eyrie to Gulltown, he stares out anyways, keeping it in view for as long as possible. Still, if all has gone to plan (and he's quite sure that it did) it should be done by this point. It's just too bad he won't have confirmation for some time yet.

"Petyr? Do you think it's happened by now?"

Lysa comes up beside him and Petyr looks around for a moment to make sure there's nobody nearby before giving her a sharp look and speaking in a quiet tone.

"Hush. Keep your voice down, my lady."

To her credit, Lysa looks appropriately chagrined, also sneaking furtive glances around for a brief second. Of course, that only makes her look even more guilty so Petyr sighs and surreptitiously takes one of her hands in his own. This has the 'benefit' of making her immediately focus back on him to the exception of everything else.

"… Yes. It will have happened by now. It's done. But do remember that we can't know anything until the time is right. It's possible we'll hear the news in Gulltown, but it's also possible we won't be told until we reach the Eyrie. Until then, we must seem oblivious to any tragedy that might have taken place back in King's Landing."

Lysa nods, wide eyed and hanging off of Petyr's every word just like always. Still…

"You should go back below deck. Be with your son, make sure he's not being too fussy, alright?"

That draws a certain... look from the woman. Sometimes Petyr wonders if Lysa Arryn even loves her only child. She'd had such a hard time finally producing an heir for her husband, only for Robert Arryn, otherwise known as Robin or Sweet Robin, to turn out to be a sickly, small boy, barely worth anything.

Now to be fair, maybe he would grow out of it… but not with how much Lysa insisted on coddling and mothering the boy. She smothered young Robert, plain and simple. But then… Petyr gained nothing from telling her she should stop, so he hadn't ever bothered pointing out the issue.

Even still, despite her obvious love for the brat, there were times when her son was mentioned that Lysa almost looked like she hated him. Like she despised the child that had come from her old, decrepit lord husband. This was one of those times, but Petyr doesn't let that stop him from nodding towards the doors that lead below deck.

"Go. We shouldn't be seen together too much."

Finally, Lysa goes. Finally, he's free of her. Admittedly, Petyr could have worst company to be fair. For instance, if he'd stayed in King's Landing much longer, he would have almost certainly wound up in the Black Cells under the Red Keep. There was simply no doubt in his mind that they were onto him and would have been coming for him shortly.

In fact, when word had reached him about today's meeting and the only thing on the docket being the King choosing his Queen, Petyr hadn't bought it for one second. He fully believed if he'd shown up to the Small Council Chambers today, he would have been arrested and thrown into a cell for his crimes.

That's why he didn't show up, instead having some of the wildfire that he'd stolen during the cleanup process planted in the room and arranged for it to only go off once Grandmaester Pycelle finally arrived at the meeting. After all, if there was one thing that Pycelle could be counted on for, it was showing up late. Everyone else would be in attendance by the time he finally arrived, making sure that Petyr would get all of them in one fell swoop.

Well, all of them except for Stannis and Davos. If he thought he had more time, if he believed that he could afford to wait, then Petyr might have held off until the other two men were back in the city as well. But he was so sure that they were coming after him today… he'd had to act.

So act he did. He was officially a Kingslayer with this act. Axel Baratheon, Jon Arryn, Varys the Spider, Pycelle, and even Arys Oakheart… all of them were dead by his hand at this point. It left him feeling a little powerful, if he was being honest.

Thanks to his antics in the training yard and his successful battles during the Trial by the Seven, people had taken to calling Axel Baratheon the Demon of the Trident come again. They said he was just like his father at his age, but you know what Petyr saw when he looked at the young King?

He saw Brandon Stark standing over him, sword dripping red with blood. And the only thing keeping the young lord from finishing him off were Catelyn Tully's hands on his arm, holding him back as she pleaded for Petyr's life.

Axel Baratheon and Brandon Stark had the same exact mentality in the end. The mentality that physical might makes right. So long as you were born with the right bloodline and were a deft hand with a sword, you could do anything you wanted and live however you liked. That was how men like those two thought.

Well, the Mad King had proved Brandon quite wrong when he'd killed him and his father at the onset of the Rebellion. And wouldn't you know, Petyr had just used a type of fire to prove Axel wrong in a similar fashion.

Petyr allows a small smile to worm its way across his face, even as King's Landing continues to vanish into a smaller and smaller speck off in the distance. In a few more minutes, it would be completely gone and they would be well on their way to Gulltown already.

From Gulltown, Petyr and Lysa would travel with the young Robert Arryn and their complement of House Arryn Guards up to the Eyrie. There, once news of the deaths in King's Landing reached them, Lysa would take charge of the Vale as Lady Regent. After a bit more time for everything else to truly kick off, she would then name Petyr as her son's Regent until he came of age… if he ever came of age, that is.

Meanwhile, back in King's Landing, those who would no doubt investigate the incident would find exactly what Petyr intended them to find. They would find documentation detailing Jon Arryn releasing his wife and heir into Petyr's custody and giving Petyr leave to escort them back to the Eyrie.

A couple of half-written rough drafts in Jon's office and the final letter in Petyr's. Said document bore Jon's seal and forged signature and without the older man around to refute it, they were ironclad. Especially since Lysa would, of course, back Petyr to the hilt.

Furthermore, those left in King's Landing would be caught off guard in the coming days as the Ironborn declared war on the Seven Kingdoms and began reaving all up and down the west coast of Westeros without reservation under their new Lord Reaper… Euron Greyjoy.

If all had gone according to plan on his end, than Euron would have killed Balon by now and declared himself ruler of the Ironborn. In this case, it would have been natural for a Kingsmoot would then take place in order to decide the Ironborn's next leader.

After all, Balon's natural 'heir' was a prisoner in Winterfell and his only daughter was on the other side of Westeros, stuck in King's Landing. But Euron had reluctantly agreed via letter that there simply wasn't enough time and claimed he could take control without bothering with the ancient Ironborn tradition.

There was a world where the hounds might not have nipped at Petyr's heels quite so fast. If Axel were just a bit less fiscally minded, then maybe Petyr and Euron would have had all the time in the world to enact their original plans, even. They'd involved Petyr poisoning Jon and sticking around King's Landing for a little while longer, even while Euron was winning a proper Kingsmoot before taking leadership of his people and declaring independence.

But alas, it was not to be. They'd forced his hand and with Petyr moving things up and escalating his plans, Euron had been forced to do the same. Petyr didn't quite know how Euron intended to completely bypass the need for a Kingsmoot. But the other man was absolutely certain that even without one, he would have control of the Ironborn almost immediately somehow.

Not knowing the details vexed Petyr quite a bit, but at least the Vale was about as far away from the Ironborn's many targets as possible, so in the end he wasn't too worried.

No, in fact… he was feeling rather comfortable at this point. Sure, he regretted that he couldn't get the entire Small Council, but in a way, it was better that Stannis and Davos of all people had survived. In fact, their survival allowed Petyr to have his last remaining operatives in King's Landing plant rumors saying that Stannis had arranged the explosion.

Admittedly, the Lords of Westeros weren't likely to buy it… but if they did, well, that would be quite hilarious. It might throw the entire Realm into war again right as Euron was starting his attacks.

But even if it didn't, even if Stannis managed to avoid being accused of the crime of Kingslaying, Petyr's own alibi remained airtight and honestly, Stannis Baratheon becoming King of the Seven Kingdoms was also quite good for Petyr's purposes.

Sure, the man would probably dismiss Petyr as Master of Coin once Lysa named him Regent, but that would be just fine by him since he'd more than made sure to clean up after himself on his way out of King's Landing. Meanwhile, Stannis' moral inflexibility, general disposition, and complete lack of a Small Council would leave him thinking that he had to bring the hammer down on even the smallest indiscretions in his new court.

… Yes, Stannis was very much a hammer. And all he knew how to be was a hammer. And something that a hammer like him didn't know was this; the harder a hammer tries to hammer, the more everyone else will go to ground. Even the most honorable men have vices. Even the purest of women have needs.

Not everyone could be as emotionless and dutiful as Stannis Baratheon. And not everyone was Davos Seaworth, willing to lose fingers for the plain and simple act of saving a starving garrison.

No, even if Stannis managed to avoid accusations of Kingslaying, he would still find himself dealing with Euron Greyjoy's rebellion, and without nearly the support that Robert had during the last Ironborn Rebellion. More than that, his inflexibility would force more and more people to turn to illicit services and that… that was where Petyr Baelish thrived.

It was a shame, really. It wasn't even that personal for Petyr. Jon Arryn had been good to him throughout his life, but Petyr Baelish had learned long ago that he didn't owe anything to anyone but himself. If Axel had been more like his father and Jon had continued to be blind to Petyr's activities, then perhaps neither man would have had to die quite this early.

Varys though… by the Seven, Petyr wishes he could have seen the look on the Spider's face when the wildfire went off. Keeping the whole scheme a secret from the Master of Whispers had taken up quite a lot of Petyr's resources and energy over the past few weeks.

Even as he and Euron had both moved their pieces into place and prepared to enact their plans, separate from one another but also simultaneously, he'd been making sure Varys didn't find out. Fortunately, the Spider had been distracted by something else.

What that something was, Petyr didn't rightly know… nor did he care either. After all, it wasn't like it mattered anymore. The man was dead and the games they'd played with one another were officially over. They were all dead… while Petyr still lived.

Where they all had fallen, he remained standing. Because unlike everyone else, Petyr understood that life could be boiled down to just opportunities and costs. More than that, life was chaos. Unstructured, disorganized, endless chaos.

And chaos… chaos was a ladder. Petyr understood that better than most because he'd started at the bottom of that ladder. Those who started at the top, they could never understand the climb. Someone like Axel Baratheon couldn't begin to comprehend what Petyr had gone through.

It didn't matter anymore though. Axel Baratheon was dead, burnt to a crisp by the wildfire. Petyr would just have to take advantage of the chaos his death left in its wake.

-x-X-x-

Fire.

Green flames, followed by darkness, followed by green flames, followed by darkness. Axel Baratheon burns… but he does not die. He burns, but he still draws breath. Every last inhale and exhale is agony, yet still he lives.

The flames become his entire existence. They cover him from head to toe, clinging to him and drinking of his flesh, his blood, his body quite… greedily. All Axel knows is the sensation of burning, of fire biting at his form again and again as any healing is undone by more flames.

The last thing he remembers from before the fire is Jon Arryn's face. The man who had kept him safe in the Vale throughout his childhood. The man who had brought him to King's Landing, seen him coronated as King, and mentored him in all the things he needed to know.

Jon had been saying something… something about how he knew Axel would make the right call, how he trusted him. He'd been smiling at Axel, reaching out and grasping his shoulder.

And then the flames had come, both too slow and too fast. There wasn't anything Axel could do. Caught off guard as he was, he hadn't been able to react in time. Maybe if he'd been facing the source of the explosion rather than Jon… but he hadn't been.

And yet, he'd still had to watch. He'd had to watch as Jon's face had burned away inch by inch. Axel watched as the closest thing he'd ever had to a father turned into an unrecognizable, charred husk right before his eyes in what must have been a mere instant but wound up feeling like an eternity.

That was the last thing Axel saw before the green flames filled his vision and then took that vision away from him. Darkness and burning became his only two constants.

… He's not sure how long it lasts. Only that when he finally comes back to himself, the green flames finally dying out, Axel is no longer in the Small Council Chambers. Instead, he finds himself in the Great Sept of all places, kneeling in front of the statue of the Father, naked and trembling. Not from the cold draft moving through the space… but from deep emotion.

Staring up at the Father's statue, Axel Baratheon shakes… with pure and utter rage.

-x-X-x-

A/N: Yeah so I did originally consider ending this chapter on just Baelish's POV, but then I figured you might all try to kill me if I did that so here you go. One more chapter left in Arc 3 and then we get to Arc 4… and shit really starts to go wild~

Feedback is GREATLY appreciated, every comment helps me shape the story with a Daily Free Write like this one!