I shifted my position, pulling myself away from strategic thoughts. The sun had already risen, and the city below had awakened. The smell of fresh bread reached me — it seemed that the bakers had begun their work in the kitchens. The noise from the streets grew louder. Not far away, likely in the kennels, a dog barked. Another answered, and then another.
"Bitch! Shut up!" came a rough shout, followed by a dull thud, a squeal — and then silence.
They live happily here, don't they? I went to the table, poured myself another glass of wine, and climbed back into bed.
So, what are your plans, King Joffrey?
First of all, not to die — and to survive this day. Then the next. And perhaps a few more. They'll try to kill me today. And if they fail, they'll keep trying afterward.
Who wants to kill me? There are plenty — soon they'll be lining up.
So, the first priority is survival. Then, I must try to improve relations with my inner circle — Tywin, Tyrion, Jaime, and Margaery. There's no need to build anything new with Cersei. She already loves me. I just need to get her used to the idea that her son has changed — that he's suddenly grown up and become smarter.
I must also protect Grandfather Tywin with all my strength — without him, everything will collapse. And I have to prevent Tyrion's conviction (though, if I stay alive, there will be no reason to judge him), his subsequent flight, and eventual alliance with Daenerys Targaryen. A mind as cynical and cunning as his is needed here. If I remain alive, I'll do everything in my power to mend our relationship.
With the help of such people, it's quite possible to stay on the throne — and, for the first time, truly learn how to rule. Then we'll see. Of course, I already have plans. But for now, they're vague, and there's no point in voicing them yet.
Emotions ran high in my new body. I was nervous, unable to calm my jittery nerves or sit still. On the contrary, I wanted to go somewhere, to do something — anything — rather than waste time.
After thinking it through, I decided to remain in my chambers. Right now, I wouldn't achieve anything meaningful anyway.
Instead, I took up my sword and practiced a little. To be honest, I didn't know much about swords. Participating in historical reenactments hardly counted. But I knew how to hold a sword properly and could deliver a few slashing and thrusting blows. I swung at the air, moved around a bit, and eventually broke into a sweat — my body was clearly not used to sustained exertion.
No matter. If I survive, I'll find a teacher. I'll never become a great warrior — that sort of skill requires training from early childhood, and for a king, it's hardly the most essential virtue. Still, at least I can improve my physical condition.
***
Tywin Lannister
The day began like any other for the Hand of the King. Lord Tywin had likely risen before all other lords and knights, drunk a glass of wine, eaten a piece of peppered cheese, thrown a light robe over his nightshirt, sat at his desk, and begun sorting through his papers.
Many matters required his attention, approval, or prohibition. The war in the Riverlands was proceeding successfully. Ser Gregor Clegane had repeatedly crushed minor lords and their armies, while his cousin Daven the Loud commanded the host besieging Riverrun. The Freys and their men aided him in this, and although the siege threatened to drag on, everything was going according to plan.
A tangible problem in the Riverlands was the Brotherhood Without Banners. Lord Dondarrion and his men had somehow become a small but persistent thorn in the side — irritating and hard to remove.
Another problem was old Lord Frey, who grew more insolent by the day and demanded more than he deserved. In time, he would have to be reminded of his place, but for now, he was still useful, and it wasn't worth offending the old man prematurely.
Lord Tywin finished his letter, sprinkled sand over the ink, sealed it with the Hand's signet, and leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully chewing the end of his quill.
He assessed all external problems — the family's enemies, its allies, and those who might become either — without emotion, viewing them as necessary evils. Tywin Lannister understood well that the world did not revolve around him and his ambitions. Yet he did everything in his power to make others believe that it did.
Over the years, he had grown accustomed to such tasks and such a way of life. They had become part of him and no longer stirred any emotion. What truly troubled him, unsurprisingly, lay within his own household — his children and grandchildren.
Tywin Lannister was not a modest man. He knew well that people like him were rarely born in Westeros. He excelled as a commander, as Hand of the King, and as head of his house. He was also skilled in intrigue, well-read, fluent in several languages, and, most importantly, able to separate thought from feeling, the essential from the trivial. He knew what was achievable — and what was not.
His father, Tytos, had also been well-read — a hospitable and cheerful lord. It had done him little good. His bannermen and vassals had laughed at him openly, mocked him behind his back, and ignored his orders.
Tywin, however, was cut from different cloth. Soon after his father's death, he instilled in his people — and later in all of Westeros — an unconditional respect for House Lannister. Many had felt his wrath firsthand. Then came the time to raise Casterly Rock to its true greatness.
It was no small burden for one man to bear. Every great endeavor required capable aides, and the greater the task, the more competent those aides needed to be.
He had once counted on his children, hoping they would inherit not only his ambition but also his ability.