The Three Houses of Westeros: Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Chapter 1:

Dimitri

No matter how many times he came back to King’s Landing, Dimitri was never quite prepared for the stench. It permeated the city, and the gentle ocean breeze from Blackwater Bay carried it inland, which always made this leg of the journey unpleasant.

“At least it gives you time to adjust to the smell before we enter the city proper,” His Uncle Jaime joked from beside him.

That was true, at least. The same could not be said for the sweltering heat. He knew he should be grateful for the long, bountiful summer the kingdom was having, and he certainly didn’t despise it, but…there was just something about it that sat wrong with him.

Or perhaps it was something wrong with him—he who had always felt out of place. He shook his head. Dwelling on the subject would not solve anything, and there would surely be much work to do once he was settled in.

…

Their party reached the main gates well into the afternoon, where they were met by the head of the Goldcloaks.

“My Prince,” he said, bowing. “I have taken the liberty to send a messenger up to the castle alerting them to your arrival, we were unaware that you were coming My prince,”

Dimitri offered a somewhat guilty smile as he imagined the scrambling everyone had to do once they saw his banners coming over the hills. “Very well, Commander. Lead the way,”

As the gates were opened, the Lord Commander and his men moved so that they were in a tight, protective formation around him, and Ser Jaime..

“ANNOUNCING HIS HIGHNESS, PRINCE DIMITRI BARATHEON! MAKE WAY!” The lead guard called out in a voice that could likely be heard all the way to the Dragonmount, shoving and forcing his way through the crowd along with his fellow Gold Cloaks.

Dimitri winced at the force of some of the blows being delivered, feeling bad for the smallfolk caught in the path. He hated this; having an escort guide him through the city, especially when their methods were so brutish. But it was, unfortunately necessary if he wished to avoid announcing the date of his return. The smallfolk had swarmed him once before- when he was much younger and though nothing had happened, he recognized now the danger he’d put himself in if any would be assassin or bold thief would have tried to take advantage of his vulnerability that day.

And it had turned a simple march up the street of steel that would take little more than half an hour into a four hour slog moving through the city’s streets at a snail’s pace.

Still; given his status the goldcloaks were especially jumpy, ready to skewer anything that so much as looked at him wrong.

He leaned over towards the Gold Cloak commander walking beside his horse. “More gently commander, if you please.” He asked the man who looked at him with a neutral face before giving a single sharp nod and hurrying forward to relay the orders to his men.

Progress slowed. But at least the spear and shield shoves weren’t threatening to break bones now

The peasants crowded closer, the roads ahead were filling quickly with people quickly, word traveled faster than they did after all. And the heat was going to soon become unbearably cloying as body heat would mix and meld with the heat of the sun.

And the smell… of course.

Still he waved and smiled at the smallfolk, catching flowers and tossing coppers–and the occasional silver stag–into the crowd. He wished there was more he could do, but the issues were systemic beasts, and until he was King…

He did what he could, in the meantime, even if his efforts felt all too insufficient.

Even so the crowds cheered and cried out in joyous rhapsody for him. The Beloved Heir he was called. The People’s Prince. Moments like this almost convinced him it wasn’t just bards singing fanciful tales.

Slow progress or not; they eventually did reach the red keep, and the sheer commotion if not the time it took them to arrive had alerted the castle.

Meaning that by the time he rode into the Keep’s courtyard there were people waiting for them.

“Mother!” He smiled, and Cersei, his mother, smiled back at the sight of both him and Jamie returning

“Dearest sister.” His uncle crowed behind him as Dimitri dismounted marching towards the Queen.

Cersei held out her hands, and he grasped her fingers tightly in greeting. “You’re dusty and sweaty.” She complained.

“Which is why I’ve not dared to offer you a hug yet mother.” He answered. Oh she would have been furious if he had.

Still, her hand rose up, brushing the blonde locks out of his face. “You should have sent word.” She said.

“I did-” He lied, smiling nervously. “The Raven must’ve been lost.”

“You are still the worst liar I’ve ever known.” Her face showed her displeasure. Then she sighed, stepping aside to coil her arm in his. “Come, lets get you cleaned up. I won’t have my son be seen like some unwashed savage from the mountains.”

“Of course.” He nodded easily.

“No greeting for me sweet sister?” His uncle called behind him.

“No, you’re just as dusty and uncouth as my clearly unwashed and barbaric son.” She snapped back at Jamie who only laughed.

—

In the night, they gathered in the great hall. It was no feast- thank all the gods. Likely because he hadn’t sent much word in advance of his return and his father didn’t have the time to order everyone to join in on another celebration.

But it was still a large dinner. The Baratheon household was there, his entire family, the Arryn’s of course, members of his mothers family and a few minor members of the courtier nobility and gentry that had managed to weasel in an invitation.

To his left, his father, already in his cups; to his right Tommen and Myrcella his youngest siblings. On the other side of his father his mother and Joffrey.

All n all as far as royal gatherings went, it was quaint, small, no more than twenty invited guests to join them. Which he vastly preferred to the pomp and ceremony of a full on court ‘party’ .

“Big brother.”

“Hmm?” He asked, leaning over towards Tommen. He smiled brightly at the boy. He’d never tell anyone, but Tommen was easily the favorite of his siblings. Kind and gentle, missing the fury of his father, and the anger of his mother. He was every bit the best of their family.

“Is it true you found a Gryphon in the vale?” His littlest brother asked in excitement, clearly having been waiting for his chance.

Dimitri chuckled.

Always the court spread rumors and fanciful tales about his travels across the Kingdoms.

Often times, for some reason they did indeed enjoy pitting him against the mighty magical beasts of the realms.

He blamed his grandfather for it really.

When he’d been just a boy, little older than Tommen now actually; he’d traveled to the Westerlands for an extended stay on his grandfather’s invitation. He remembered that trip fondly; he’d met and first gotten along very well with his aunt (who was actually younger than him) Ingrid Lannister, and Raphael Clegane, who swore he would become a great knight to protect lady Ingrid and Lord Tywin.

His aunt and Raphael trained almost religiously, every morning and evening with either weapons or… well… boulders. (Raphael was fond of strapping them to his back and lugging them around)

Still, returning to the point, towards the end of that trip, when he’d been overseeing the lands around Casterly Rock with his father, they’d had an encounter.

A Nemean Lion, a magnificent white pelted beast, who’s coat, in certain lights of the rising or setting sun shone like sapphires. Which was why the peasants colloquially called it “The Blue Lion”

It was a creature harkening back to the era of dragons. They hadn’t been seen for… at least a century as far as he knew.

But there had been one in that field.

A lion the size of a carriage, who’s hide couldn’t be pierced by blade or bow, marching up to them.

Needless to say his grandfather and his grandfather’s guards hadn’t exactly been… thrilled.

The horses had gotten spooked, except for his of course. Most people chalked that up to some fanciful tales about his prowess as a horsemen, or the Gods giving the animal bravery to allow things to play out as they did-

Fact is- they’d just put blinders on the beast so it would follow his grandfather’s tugging on the reins without much protest- it likely never even knew there was a lion that could devour it whole in front of it.

As the story went, the lion circled him once, chuffing and then roaring before leaving without incident.

His grandfather had spread the story to anyone that would hear it.

Ever since whenever he visited a Kingdom- the bards would sing his praises at invent mythical encounters of the regions known, wondrous beasts.

The Red Wake of Dorne, the Om of the Stormlands; when he’d visited the Reach he supposedly had found a herd of wild Pegasi.

Now it was the Gryphons of the Vale to have their turn it seemed.

He was pretty sure the only reason the bards hadn’t waxed nostalgic about dragons was because his father was likely to punch their teeth in if they did, or worse. He’d never been to Pyke and didn’t plan to go any time soon either. So all he was missing was an ‘Encounter’ with a Norther Bjorn or Direwolf to complete the proverbial set.

Still… at least this time there was some truth. At least a smidge of it.

“Well little brother-” He whispered. “I found no Gryphons-” Little Tommen deflated, and he had to stop himself from laughing at the adorable image of his pudgy little brother losing air like a balloon. “But I did find-” He reached into his sleeve; he’d come prepared after all. Either Tommen or Myrcella had been bound to ask after all “A gryphon feather.”

The feather was almost gold in its coloring, supple and soft individually but powerful enough to deflect slashes or arrows when bunched together.

His little brother’s face lit up, and behind him, Myrcella’s smile was just as bright, happy for him as he marveled over the treasure.

“I’m not tired!”

The sudden shout caused most eyes to swivel to the other side of the room, where Joffrey stood , cheeks flushed, green eyes glinting in anger.

Dimitri had to stifle down a sigh.

Joffrey…

He knew the pain of not having a family. He never wanted to think ill of any family he did have.

But Joffrey made that… difficult.

Very difficult.

His father stood, the towering man blocking out the sight of Joff behind him.

“Tired or not you’ll head to your room boy.” He rumbled. “I’ll not have you making a scene at your brother’s welcoming.”

Though he couldn’t see it, Dimitri could very easily hear the sneering resentment in his younger brother’s voice.

“Why yes. Of course. Must have our priorities eh?” Dimitri didn’t bother watching him leave somewhere to the back of the room, the metal shifting of armor telling him that Sandor was following closely behind as usual.

The rest of the night passed without incident, though the food and drink was perhaps a bit sour in his mouth.

—

“Honestly, you are such a bore.”

The statement was delivered with a yawn, his uncle Jamie was clearly not enjoying the particularly early start to their day.

Dimitri allowed himself a small smile. “Are you allowed to speak to your prince that way?” He asked cheekily.

“I am when my prince is also my rather irritating nephew, dragging me out of bed at the bloody ass end of dawn.” The man grumbled, pacing the length of the room. “Honestly. Who willingly wakes up at this hour?”

“A prince that’s been gone too long apparently.” Dimitri muttered, still reading over the records in front of him.

It was true that he preferred to tour the realm, visiting various houses, and the peasants. It got him away from this place. This city that smelled like a latrine half the time; away from this family that was his and yet- not.

From those around him that seemed so hauntingly familiar it was painful sometimes.

Yes. He did ‘enjoy’ getting away.

But he’d allowed himself to stay away too long. Shirking his responsibilities for his own selfish enjoyment.

Perhaps he was more related to Robert than he’d thought.

The door opened, Dimitri and Jamie’s eyes sliding towards it only to see his uncle Renly pause at the door, clear surprise on his features, finding them there before that easy smile slipped onto his face once more. Dimitri could believe it was sincere. He’d always gotten along well with his uncle.

“Ahh, Dimitri.” Renly greeted, marching forward, hands extended for a handshake.

Dimitri stood from his chair, minding his manners as he smiled at his uncle, reaching forward and grasping the man’s hands before pulling him to an embrace.

“Uncle Renly, how are you?” He asked.

“I can’t complain much, nephew.” The youngest of the ‘Baratheon Brothers’ answered, sitting at Dimitri’s side, the Hand’s seat- but he suspected it was out of convenience rather than entitlement or something else more nefarious. “How was your visit to the Eerie?”

Dimitri smiled. “Eventful.” He chuckled. “Have you heard of Silvain Royce?”

His uncle's features scrunched, one eye closing and the other rolling upwards as he tried to remember. “Vaguely.”

As we passed through their lands we stayed in their castle.” Dimitri nodded. “I’m… fairly certain I’ve never seen a Noble Scion chased out of more homes in the dead of night than he. I’m also fairly certain if he keeps it up, House Royce will be down a potential heir from an angry husband.”

“He kept up such behavior in front of you?’ Renly laughed, a note of incredulity coloring his voice.

“I’m fairly certain the Seven who are one could be standing over his shoulder and he’d still be looking to find the nearest… partner.” He answered diplomatically.

Renly laughed “Well I-”

The door opened.

This time, Jon Arryn shambled inside, followed closely by Varrys.

The hand of the King was old, each year of his age worn on the lines of his face, the hunched back and bowed, stooping gait, leaning heavily on a cane. By contrast, Varys seemed downright robust even with his soft slippers, perfumes and silken robes.

The Hand wasn’t as caught off guard as Renly, old eyes passing over him before he nodded with a muttered “My prince” before moving to walk towards his chair, which Renly hastily vacated.

“I suppose” Arryn wheezed as he reached his seat beside Dimitri. “That I should not be surprised to see you here my prince.”

Before Dimitri himself could answer, Varrys chimed in.

“The Prince is most dutiful, it is true.” The Eunuch smiled. “Ever since you were just a boy of thirteen you’ve made it a point to visit us on this small Council quite often whenever you were in the city.”

“Forgive me for sounding presumptuous. But it is my responsibility, Lord Varys.” He defended.

In truth it was his father’s responsibility, but he doubted any except for his uncle Stannis might dare to voice such.”

“Quite true, my Prince.” Varys simpered.

Pycelle soon shuffled in

“Now that we are here-” Jon Arynn breathed. “We may begin.”

“Are we not missing Lord Stannis and Lord Baelish?”

“Lord Stannis is seeing a delicate matter on the street of steel.” Jon Arryn said carefully. “Lord Baelish informed us two days ago that he would be unavailable for today’s meeting

“The whoremonger must manage his whores.” Uncle Renly snorted.

Dimitri decided to cut in before they could start sniping and prodding eachother with thinly veiled insults. He found they usually got nothing done during those sessions. His uncle Jamie would call those sessions entertaining no doubt but he wasn’t here to be entertained.

“Alright then My lords.” He plowed forward. “I’ve heard some… disturbing statements before I arrived and I’m hoping it was simple exaggeration and hyperbole.”

“What would that be my Prince?” Pycelle asked.

The crown prince held up a ledger. “Am I to understand the crown is over two million dragons in debt?!” He asked and he could not really keep the accusation from his voice.

Most had the decency to avert their eyes, Pycelle, Varys and Arryn,

Uncle Renly, though, stared straight at him. “Your father doesn’t like ‘counting coppers’ nephew.”

Dimitri felt a flush beginning to form at his cheeks, his eyes narrowing in sharp irritation. “I’ve been gone for little more than half a year! When I left we were three hundred thousand Dragons in debt and that was to expand the Royal fleet to properly patrol the coast. How on earth did even my father’s spending habits explode our debt by nearly seven times that amount in little over six months?”

“There was the tourney celebrating Prince Tommen’s name day-” Varys said

“The expansion of the Gold cloaks.” Renly drawled right after him- rather pointedly.

Dimitri winced. He’d been the one to encourage his father to take an interest in overhauling the city guard, wanting the King to at least slow down his physical decline by giving him something to do and Robert always liked hitting things very hard, hitting things very hard while calling it training made it productive.

Apparently it also made it expensive.

“There were also lingering payments that needed to be made to the shipwrights that expanded the fleet and harbors.” Pycelle added.

“And another Tourney for your cousin Lorenz’s nameday party-” Renly’s smirk was infuriating. “I think he did it just to irritate Stannis truth be told.”

“The King also ordered three custom works of battle plate-” Pycelle coughed. “Ones that could fit him and a destrier from the Tyrells-”

“There was also-”

He held up his hand, feeling the irritation gnawing on his insides.

“Is there anything on this list of expenses beyond the shipwrights that is actually productive- or at the very least a half worthwhile investment and not just… frivolities? Investments in roads? The sewers?”

Jamie snorted a laugh and Dimitri glared.

His uncle held up his hands with a placating smile.

Dimitri’s utter loathing of the sewer systems of Kings landing was well known and more than one plan existed to completely rebuild the sewers from the ground up the instant he had the authority to do so.

His less ambitious plans involved building an entire new chunk of city for the people he’d displace; and then proceeding to demolish around 70% of Kings Landing.

You know… mildly ambitious in scope.

His backup plan was burning the whole blasted city to the ground and starting from the ground up as long as it got rid of the smell.

But that was for his second try. Before he got desperate.

Still; personal fantasies of the smell of shit and piss from the city finally being gone were for another day. At the moment the Small Council members remained damningly silent at his question.

“Fact is nephew, he is the King.” Renly finally said. “Only one he really listens to is the Lord Hand and you these days. I’m certainly not in a position to talk sense to him, brother or not.”

The crown prince closed his eyes, struggling to keep himself from saying something that would result in resentment.

This is why he enjoyed leaving this place so much.

He turned to Jon Arryn. “I assume you’ve come up with ways to at least begin paying this back?

The old falcon nodded, an apologetic, and yet all too pleased smile on his lips. “If we can keep him from… expanding the debt any further I expect we can begin to recoup these losses within a year or two at the most, barring anything unexpected.

“Let's get to work then.” He demanded.

—

As the crown prince was returning to his room later that night, followed by his uncle Jamie, he couldn’t fully stifle the yawn that threatened to break out.

“Are you hungry or tired?” His uncle asked cheekily.

“Both.” He answered, laughing a bit. “Both sound feasible right now.

His uncle laughed under his breath. “Fair. If you hurry, you might bribe those kitchen maids who blush when you look at them to give you some sweets.”

Dimitri opened his mouth; then shut it, glaring at his uncle suspiciously as he caught the double entendre of the statement at the last minute.

Jamie Lannister just waggled his eyebrows.

“You’re terrible; you do know that yes?”

The Kingsguard laughed.

“I’m sorry My lady it was my fault entirely-”

“I’m well aware of your horrid influence you low born upstart. Constantly reaching beyond your station. Hoping to jump into her bed as you’ve all but jumped into my husband’s?”

“No my lady.”

Unfortunately; he recognized the voices emerging from the gardens ahead, and from them he could already guess what had happened before even entering the scene.

He heard his uncle Jamie sigh. “We could toss her out a window. No one would convict us.” He mumbled- and Dimitri knew it was only half a joke, less than half a joke really.

Lysa Arryn was not a woman that was regarded fondly in the red keep.

He marched forward faster, hearing the sharp slap of a hand striking flesh.

Rounding the corner- the scene was… as expected.

Lysa Arryn and two of the Arryn household guards slightly behind her, flanking young Robert.

In front of her,  her chin tucked into her neck, nearly in tears both hands grasping her favorite bow close to her chest, Bernadetta Arryn;

And on his knees, head bowed Ashe- Jon Arryn’s page and scribe of peasant stock.

“I shall have you whipped for-”

“Pardon me-” He called behind them, making all in the yard turn to look at him as he smiled; thin and closed lipped. “I pray I’m not interrupting.” He said, drawing closer.

The two guards bowed. Robert Arryn, sucking on his thumb, was either too distracted or dimwitted to follow their courtesies, rocking side to side like a toddler half his age.

“Prince Dimitri.” Lady Arryn’s sneer (towards Ashe) didn’t relent even as she greeted him. “I was just about to discipline this… this peasant!”

He feigned ignorance, while hearing and feeling Jamie stand behind him, placing himself between Dimitri and the two Arynn men.

Overcaution, perhaps. But it spoke volumes as to how little his father trusted the oft erratic Arryn woman. “Whatever for?”

“He is corrupting my daughter.” She reached, grabbing hold of Bernadetta’s arm roughly and hauling her forward. “Look at this, breeches, riding leathers, a bow!” The woman screeched. She’s already got calluses that no man would want on her hands and this cur is simply ruining her prospects for a good match in the future so he can bed her and jump up in life! We can all see it and I won’t have it!”

The accusations, he was sure, were baseless. But they were not exactly “wild”; he could see the logic even if he trusted Ashe to be a better, more honest man than that.

He wasn’t sure why he was so sure of that. But regardless, he was sure.

“That is a serious charge.” He said gravely. “We should consult Lord Arryn about this at once- Uncle, would you mind going to get him?”

The momentary triumph on Lysa’s face melted away like butter faced with an open fire. “My prince, that won’t be necessary. My lord husband is a busy man as you know- allow me to see to this-”

“This concerns the first daughter of house Arryn.” Dimitri made certain to keep his voice perfectly innocent. The picture of oblivious ignorance and genuine concern. “I’m sure Lord Arryn would wish to be notified of this at the very least. The court knows how he favor’s the young lady Bernadetta and has trusted the… peasant.” He tripped over the word. He never was very good at lying.

He smiled. “Please my lady, this has clearly upset you. As the crown prince I should be aware and look into the wellbeing of my subjects. Let me handle this matter with lord Arryn, I’m sure we’ll reach a suitable ending for all involved here.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, like she was ready to protest before she almost literally swallowed her tongue. Bowing stiffly, her voice was equally stiff. “Thank you… my prince for your grace and wisdom.”

He smiled, Uncle, please escort the lady and lord to their rooms, or wherever they wish to go. Make certain no one disturbs them.”

His uncle gave him a ‘subtle’ -subtle for Jamie Lannister at least- glare.

He was not happy.

Even so, he saw the rescue effort for what it was and he bowed in acceptance without protest. Gesturing for the woman to march ahead of him.

Lysa grabbed hold of her son, and her skirts, and marched off with one last, dirty look towards Ashe, or possibly Bernadetta herself before she was gone.

Dimitri waited until they were well and truly out of earshot, not even hearing the shifting of the men walking away in full armor before he spoke.

“Are you alright Ashe?” He questioned, reaching down to offer the pale boy a hand.

“I am. Thank you, my prince.” He answered with a grateful smile.

“I’m sorry-” Bernadetta sobbed. “I-I knew she wasn’t gonna be staying in her room today but I just-” Her hiccups and tears stopped her. “I just thought I-”

“It’s alright Bernadetta.” Ashe consoled. “You should be allowed to have some fun, not just sit in your room knitting all day. Exercise is good for you.” He tried.

Bernadetta just cried harder.

Dimitri, truly, felt for the young woman.

Bernadetta was a kind girl. Brow beaten and… hurt by her mother until she was convinced danger and hurt were lurking around every shadow.

She had two things she loved, singing, though these days she only did so privately he knew, another thing taken from her by Lysa’s constant beratement of her skill; and archery. Something she never shared where she picked up from but that she refused to give up. No matter how many punishments she received when she was caught.

She’d been caught today… and today it seemed, Ashe was here too. Either caught in the Collateral or volunteering to take the blame for her in his own right.

He sighed.

He was not King. And even Kings could not fix everything.

He reached up, placing his hands on their shoulders. His uncle Jamie’s earlier suggestion sounded… very good right now. “Come-” He implored. “I’m sure the Kitchen staff will grace us with something if I ask nicely enough.”

—

The next morning cast a brightly shining sun over the city and the Red Keep. Dimitri stepped out of the castle as it rose, making his way to the training yard as was his norm.

His Uncle Jamie would be following after him shortly, after waking up so early yesterday for the Council meeting, he’d taken some pity on his maternal uncle and told him they could sleep in.

He’d lied of course, and his uncle would no doubt be cross with him but he was perfectly safe here and his uncle could use the sleep.

Still when he made it he was surprised, just a bit to find the training grounds already occupied.

As soon as the two sparring partners caught sight of him, they stopped their match and bowed respectfully

“~My prince~” They chorused hastily.

“Ser Greenfield, Ser Swann.” He nodded. “Please, continue, pay me no mind.”

“Would the prince like to join us?” Ser Greenfield offered.

Dimitri smiled, just a bit. “Aye, I’ll fight the winner if it please you ser Greenfield.”

The Knight nodded, bowing again. “As my Prince says.”

As the two men returned to their duel, Dimitri made his way over to the weapon rack, one that held a unique weapon that was unmistakable to any other.

He was the only one that he knew of in all of Westeros that favored the Glaive over anything else.

The Blacksmith had needed a full on diagram to know what Dimitri was talking about when he first requested it; they didn’t even have a name for it in most of the seven Kingdoms. Dorne was the only place it was known and it was considered a peasants weapon. Yi-Ti had their own versions called the Kwan Tao- much heavier than even his own.

Still even if the practice tool hadn’t belonged to him; and thus most wouldn’t touch it out of fear or respect- most simply didn’t know how to use it.

Too heavy for a spear wielder's comfort and too ‘cowardly’ for most closed minded nobility. His own father always grumbled that Dimitri fought with an oversized toothpick rather than a proper weapon like a Hammer, a sword or an axe.

But even though they all found the weapon strange, they could all admit, Dimitri was a terror with it in his hands.

He supposed, privately, it was unfair.

He’d lived a lifetime already with a similar weapon in hand in half remembered dreams and visions of a past that was his and yet was not.

As he pulled the glaive free and stepped to a side range to begin his stretching motions and warm ups, ser Greenfield and Ser Swann kept up their own practice, the clinks and rings of blunted steel striking blunted steel was the only sound accompanying the hissing of the waves from the nearby ocean and the chirping of songbird.

Ser Greenfield took the first exchange, Ser Swann the second before the third round could decide the winner the sun was now well and true in the sky and yet more guests joined them.

“Ahhhh.” His father practically roared at the sight of Dimitri as he descended the hill from the keep, Ser Barristan at his back. “There he is. There’s my first born. Teachin these white cloaks how its done are ya? Hehehehe.” He laughed, marching closer.

“~Your grace~” Again Swann and Greenfield bowed, their match interrupted for a second time.

“Green, Swann.” His father said simply. It was early, and Robert Baratheon looked ready for training, which meant he wasn’t in his cups much at all yet.

As he made his way past the two Kingsguard the King’s meaty hands slapped into Dimitri’s upper biceps and shoulders. “Aye there he is.” He laughed. “A damn fine son I have don’t you think Ser Barristan!”

“Indeed your Grace.” The old Legend answered with an easy smile. “My prince, might I ask where is ser Jamie?”

If Dimitri let it be known he’d allowed his uncle to sleep in, his uncle would be in actual trouble when Barristan got his hands on him. Or at least, he’d be in for a stern lecture..

So he did what he was never very good at.

He lied.

“I sent him to fetch something for me Ser Barristan-” He answered quickly. “He shouldn’t be much longer.”

The lie must’ve been obvious because Barristan’s eyes narrowed just a smidge, but the old Knight was too polite to call Dimitri out on it, especially infront of his father.

“Ahh who cares.” His father bellowed “Swann, Greenfield; its a rare day when I’ve got my son here to match blades with me, rather than you lot; sit down, enjoy the show.” He smiled, the two aforementioned Knights bowing before they immediately ‘quit the field’ so to speak, marching over to a set of wooden benches on the side of the practice range.

Dimitri almost chastised his father; ready to tell him he should be a bit more patient, but he managed to hold himself back. His father was in a good mood and he’d need every bit of that good mood for their later conversation.

His father, looked to the glaive still in Dimitri’s hand, his features scrunching up in an almost petulant, childish pout through the thick black beard. “You really gonna make me fight with a blasted shield boy?” He rumbled.

Dimitri smiled. “I can switch if you truly wish father.” He said with an air of congeniality.

As he’d said, he’d need his father’s good mood.

His father stared at him, frowning, but then he relented. “Bah. No No. I wanna fight my son at his best win or lose.” He marched towards the rack grabbing a training hammer and a shield, pointing at Dimitri with one big meaty finger. “And don’t you go holdin’ back like the rest of these white cloaked shits. No offense men.”

The three ‘white cloaked shits’ made sounds of affirmation, even a chuckle from one of them as King and Prince took their places on the arena.

Dimitri held his glaive facing forward, his right hand, almost grasping the counterweight at the end of it. The key to beating his father who, despite all his increased girth since his youth, was still an immensely powerful man, physically speaking, he knew, was distance and footwork.

He didn’t have to wait very long, his father was always impatient.

Like a black haired bear, Robert roared as he charged forward, Dimitri thrust, the blunted blade of his glaive skittering across the hastily raised shield, sliding past it as his father bull rushed forward, knowing he had to close that distance.

Dimitri swiveled the weapon around, swinging with the blunted counterweight, driving it forward with all his strength to push his father back, but Robert Baratheon dug in his heels, the driving charge forward leaving him slightly off balance and Dimitri’s strike, pushing him down to one knee as he held that shield with supreme effort.

Then, Robert’s armored fist came down on Dimitri’s foot.

It wasn’t a blow meant to cripple, Dimitri  knew that fist could have easily been replaced by the head of that hammer, which would have shattered everything below the ankle, ending the fight and possibly Dimitri’s future as a fully mobile member of society, right then and  there.

But even though it didn’t cripple him it did hurt.

The crown prince yelped, losing his own balance before his father drove forward, shield and shoulder smashing into Dimitri’s chest, driving the haft of his own spear into his chest and shoulder as his father knocked him flat on his ass.

Groaning as he got some air back in his lungs, he opened his eyes to see his father staring down at him.

“Careful there boy.” Robert said. “You weren’t wearin’ armor, but even if ya had been-” He wiggled the hammer head in the air between them for emphasis. “Wouldn’t of mattered much.”

The crown prince nodded. “You got faster.”

His father laughed. “Or maybe you’re  the one gettin’ fat eh?” He chuckled reaching down to offer Dimitri a hand in getting back up.

He accepted it, pulling himself to his feet and retrieving his weapon for the second bout.

When his father charged this time, the crown prince had his own plan.

Robert roared and rushed forward, shield in front.

Dimitri, with pinpoint accuracy, thrust the spear forward, down, under the shield, and between his father’s legs.

The head of the glaive dug deep into the dirt, the haft making his father stumble and lose his footing, not realizing what was happening before Dimitri drove forward with all his considerable strength, kicking the King straight in his lightly armored chest.

Robert was a large and strong man but even the strongest of men needs his feet under him.

The King stumbled back, falling over with a shocked yelp, his very large body smacking solidly into the dirt.

He would not laugh.

His father sat up, glaring at him and Dimitri offered a sheepish smile in response.

His father’s eyes narrowed. Seemingly looking at him, really looking at him for the first time in a while.

Huffing out a breath, Robert got to his feet, grabbing hold of his hammer and shield again.

Third bout.

This time, uncharacteristically, his father was patient enough, so that Dimitri could make the first move.

He thrust, a probing attack, his father answered with the shield, patiently sliding forward, his great size all but hemming the crown prince in.

There were only a few feet between him and the edge of the practice ring, and though his father wouldn’t care, nor was he necessarily seeking that kind of victory, it was the principle of the thing.

And so, Dimitri moved in earnest.

His second rush was a flurry of attacks, slashes, sweeps and thrusts, a frenzy of activity searching for either an opening, or for his father to make a mistake as he wore down the man’s limited patience.

Robert, gave neither.

His father showed him an unusual level of restraint and patience, every swing was smashed aside by that hammer, every thrust deflected with an unnerving skill with that shield, sending the blade skittering past the King’s shoulder, his arm, even his head, but finding no target.

Then, as his feet brushed the edge of the arena, Dimitri swung the glaive down towards his father’s feet.

That’s when Robert moved.

His father stepped forward, into the swing, the shin of his leg catching the haft just before the blade before he quite literally got down, falling onto one knee, bending the haft of the glaive with his sheer weight before the first and shield came down with a crack on the now weakened wood, snapping it like dry tinder.

Dimitri reeled, staring with open surprise at the broken head of his weapon before Robert was coming at him again.

With few options left, Dimitri used the remains of his spear to catch his father’s swing, feeling the impact thrum up his arms before he moved fast, grabbing the neck of the hammer with one hand, the other grabbing the shield and physically trying to wrest one or the other out of the King’s grip.

Robert’s eyes went wide, then his features became wrathful, competitive. Cheeks and nose flushing, black beard bristling. The muscles of his arms bulged as Dimitri strained against him.

The prince wasn’t sure how long they struggled that way. It felt like hours, strength against strength. And he found, much to everyone’s surprise, he was equal in strength to Robert here.

And it turns out, he had more endurance too.

As the struggle dragged on Robert’s powerful arms weakened, gradually losing their monstrous strength.

With a heave and a cry, the crown prince finally ripped the hammer out of his father’s hand, tossing it aside to leave them both disarmed as he placed both hands on Robert’s shield to keep the man from beating him with it either.

Robert redoubled his efforts, now truly angry he tried once more to overpower the younger prince that was his son.

He might have succeeded too.

But then, Dimitri dropped. Like his father before him, he allowed his weight to fall, all his strength leaving the shield and carrying instead to the momentum he delivered to his sliding kick.

Again, he caught his father in the ankle, quite literally shoving Robert’s foot out from under him as the King toppled over with a surprised yelp, hitting the ground hard again.

As Dimitri panted, trying to catch his breath Robert shot back to his feet, breathing heavily and staring at his son with all the wrath the Baratheons were known for. He even heard Ser Swann, Greenland and Barristan tense up to the side, ready to intervene if the King’s fury got the better of him.

Which it very well might…

Then, like a storm breaking immediately, Robert’s entire demeanor shifted, his smile going megawatt bright. “HAHA~” He roared, pointing at Dimitri with his big ol’ finger as he looked at Barristan. “My boy’s as strong as I am!” Can you believe that Barristan”

The lord commander couldn’t have hidden his relief if he tried. “The crown prince is most talented.” He breathed out, no doubt regaining about half a decade of his lifespan with it.

“HAHAHAHAHA.” Robert laughed, reaching down and hauling Dimitri back onto his feet. “My son.” He crowed in triumph. “Gods be damned did you turn out good.” He said, a rare joy in his features.

Dimitri smiled. “Thank you father.”

“Piss on that- we need to celebrate. You beat the Demon of the Trident boy!” Robert laughed again. “Feel like holdin’ a bloody tourney! Hahaha.”

And he couldn’t have asked for a more convenient opening.

“I was actually hoping to speak to you about that father-”

“What a tourney? Gods damned right we’ll get that done. Get ya some nice and hearty girls just for you eh-” His father demonstrated his age by waggling his eyebrows like a ten year old, laughing all the while.

Dimitri had to stop himself from groaning

—

In the end, it took far longer than it perhaps should have- to the point that he began to suspect that his father was actively sidestepping the subject rather than misinterpreting things -in order to properly breach the subject with him.

When he finally did, as expected his father’s mood soured.

“Oh, piss boy.” Robert grumbled, chugging down a goblet of (thankfully) water. “You gonna start counting coppers too!”

“Father, we’re two million in debt.”

“You told me to work on the fuckin gold cloaks to make the city safe and its done!” Robert growled. “You can hardly get the gold cloaks new armor, weapons, trainers and officers on hopes and fuckin dreams boy.”

Dimitri nodded carefully. “True, father- but plans need to be made to actually pay the money back. It's alright to spend it. We just need to figure out how to recover it.

“Your mother’s family might as well do some good and shit out some gold.” His father answered. “Who damn well cares if we owe the Lannisters money? It's my money anyway it's my Kingdom.”

That’s not how economics works he wanted to say- but refrained.

“Even if I inherit the throne and it's my money as you say, what of Joffrey’s Inheritance? Or Tommen or Myrcella? They deserve an inheritance too from the Lannisters when the time comes.” He smiled. “I can’t simply spend all their money?”

Robert gave him a flat, baleful glare… that was undercut by a very severe seriousness.

“You and I both know Joff isn’t fit to inherit shit.” He said, gulping down another heavy swig of his water. “A good son like you’s shown me what a shit one is.” He growled. “I won’t be givin’ him Storm's End. And knowin’ Tywin, he won’t be gettin the Rock neither, no matter what your bi-” He stopped himself, no doubt for Dimitri’s sake. “What your mother says about it.”

The prince carefully held his tongue.

The enmity between his parents was as regrettable as it was legendary and unchangeable. Every year it just seemed to get worse and he’d long since given up trying to make it better.

“You were the only damn good thing to come out of this marriage ya know.” His father continued, a strange haunting emotion in his voice before he finished off the last of his drink. “Fine. No more spending on tourneys or the Gold Cloaks. For how long?” He grumbled.

“Pardon?”

“I know you boy-” Robert’s meaty finger poked Dimitri in the chest. “You and Jon both. If ya aint already got half the money ready to repay the debt you’ve at least got a plan to do it or I’ll eat the codpiece of an armor set.”

Dimitri chortled. “That-that won’t be necessary. We do indeed have some plans in place, yes.”

“And what are they?” Robert smirked. “Are we demolishing flea bottom to get to the sewers finally-”

His father poked fun. But every god in heaven or hell as his bloody witness- he would fix those sewers before he passed from this world

At the sight of his face, Robert laughed.

Dimitri sighed. “We’re going to begin by paving the King’s road.”

“So you’re spending money!?” The King snapped. “The hell is it a good idea for you and not me!?”

The prince smiled as gently as he could. “Cause when we spend it- we have a plan to make much more of it back when the project’s done.”

“With a road?” His father didn’t look very convinced. “The hell’s wrong with the King’s Road as is!?”

That it's little more than a clump of dirt and mud in most places he didn’t say.

Instead he gestured to the map on the long table in the King’s solar. “Pave the roads, traders can carry more goods and carry them more frequently to start with. But also-” He took a handful of small figurines, Infantry markers, for easy identification. “Toll houses. With a small garrison force of twenty men. Every one hundred kilometers. If you wish to use the roads. You must pay. Five coppers per person, per trip.”

Robert frowned. “Five coppers for two million gold dragons.”

“Get even a hundred people traveling per day, that’s five silver stags per day. A thousand people, Fifty stags.” He nodded. “A lot more than a mere thousand people use the King’s road as is. We’ll make enough money to recoup the investment, pay back the debt and by the time that’s paid, repair and maintain the road for a fraction of the original build cost.”

Robert looked intrigued. “And who’s gonna be mannin’ these toll houses?

“The newly expanded Gold Cloaks of course.” He said.

His father looked surprised, then the surprise turned into a grin, and the grin into a barking laugh.

“Bloody hell.” He said, and this time when he filled its goblet it was with wine not water. “You were always going to be better at this than me.” He said softly, nursing the cup.

He offered a snorting laugh, more a huff of air really. “As strong as I was, smarter than Jon and as dutiful as Ned… heh. One good thing, like I said.

Dimitri shifted, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. “Fathe-”

“Go, go. You’ve got my seal of approval. You and Jon both know I trust you so do what you need to.” He interrupted, gulping down the first swig of wine for the day.

Knowing now that his father wanted to enjoy himself, and his window of opportunity was near closed, if not entirely closed, Dimitri nodded and marched out, ready to get to work.

—

The tower of the hand was a familiar place really.

He didn’t spend all of his time there, not by any real stretch- but it was a place he frequented when there was work to be done with Lord Arryn; it was simply more productive there than anywhere else, largely because most people knew to come to or stay by lord Arryn if they wanted to get anything through to the king. His father would usually send them there anyway.

Today the discussion centered around the proposed road renovations.

It was a large project, by far one of the largest infrastructure projects the seven Kingdoms would have seen in centuries at least. And the first of its kind since the Baratheons took the throne.

Would that he had been old enough to help devise this when they had an overflowing treasury.

But even as they spoke he sensed something was wrong; that something was distracting the old falcon. Jon Arryn was usually sharp and quick witted, but today his responses were mere grunts and monosyllabic words; hunched over his own desk several feet away from Dimitri, staring over a large book regarding genealogies of all things.

Finally, even Dimitri’s patience wore thin. His uncle Jamie noticed.

“Perhaps if the lord hand needs a nap he might do our prince the courtesy of telling him rather than wasting his time-” His maternal uncle said with a downright acidic tone..

“It’s alright Uncle Jamie,” Dimitri sighed, not wanting to mediate an argument. “I’m sure the Lord Hand is paying attention even if he is slightly distracted.”

Jon Arryn cast a look towards his uncle, something indiscernible. It was almost chilling.

Then his gaze softened, looking towards Dimitri himself.

“Forgive me.” The old man breathed, before gesturing him forward. “Come here, if you would, my prince.”

Curious and perhaps a bit concerned Dimitri did as he was asked, marching forward to stand before the Lord of the Eerie

Jon Arryn stared at him just stared.

For long unnerving seconds.

He was about to open his mouth to ask when the old man sighed, reaching upwards and placing his hands on Dimitri’s shoulders, head bowing as he let out a breath of… relief?

“You’re a good lad.” He said, one hand rising to smack down on his shoulder. “You have his eyes. Robert could not ask for a better heir.”

“Are you alright Lord Hand?” He asked.

Arryn shook his head. “Just… an old man, my prince.” He said. “It’ll get done soon and… We’ll proceed one step at a time.”

That was… foreboding?

“Uncle-” He called behind him, finding uncle Jamie equally flummoxed. “Get the Maester.”

“No. No.” Jon Arryn protested, stopping Jamie mid march. “I’m alright lad… I’ll feel better in the morning.” He promised with a tremulous smile.

“You’re certain?” The prince asked, his hand now grasping the old man’s shoulder as if to steady him.

Jon nodded that same sharpness that had been lacking for the entire meeting returning now. “Very.” He said. “It is getting late, you need not stay with this old man. Go. And do not worry Tomorrow we can finalize our plans and get them into motion.

“If you’re certain.” The prince hesitated.

“I am.” He smiled. “A finer heir we could not have for this kingdom.”

—

The next morning, Dimitri woke to black news; this time not carried by the wings of ravens. But by the roaring fury of his father; the scream of Bernadetta and crying of Arryn servants.

Jon Arryn, the Lord Hand was dead.