Back to King’s Landing

It was a tricky business, moving around the literal lion’s den, but on the next day Jon and Tywin both agreed that it would be time to return to the Capitol and get preparations underway for the wedding. Myrcella was estatic when she was informed during the family breakfast, whilst Cersei merely watched on from her place far away from her daughter. The day went by with a horrible tension in Jon’s stomach that would not let up until they were all on the road together, but even then he could not bring himself to feel truly safe.

Even as they travelled together in a wheelhouse, flanked by guards, Jon felt like something was wrong. Logically one would have thought his proximity to Myrcella would have prevented Cersei from trying anything dangerous, least she accidentally hurt her daughter, but he quickly learned that whatever madness that drove Cersei Lannister was not governed by logic. They collectively stopped for the evening at an Inn on the edge of the Westerlands and enjoyed a cooked meal and some ale to help with their travels. Whilst he permitted his grandchildren to sleep in rooms at the Inn, he did not deign to enter himself and as his heir, **** Ser Jamie to avoid it too.

After their meal of brown bred and stew, Jon bid his betrothed a good night, and sent Ser Gerold up to guard her door whilst he stayed and enjoyed an ale with Tyrion. The Imp had a sharp wit and biting sense of humour, but once one overlooked that he seemed to be a decent enough man. They enjoyed a conversation together as the night rolled on and most people went to bed.

Eventually a woman approached, a smiling girl who looked like a poor wench trying to offer herself to the nobles for hope of a better life. Tyrion leered at her openly as she approached with a tunic that was undone, but Jon only gave her a single look before turning away. The next moment there was a heavy thud and the girl was being held down against the table, her body pinned down by a plain clothes Ser Oswell, one of her hands clenched around a dagger.

“Oh my,” Tyrion chuckled, “Someone seems to like you.”

Jon ignored the jibe and spoke quietly to the girl. “Who told you do this? You’ll speak the truth at once or I’ll have Ser Oswell break your arms, and then break your legs and leave you here as a cripple.”

The girl winded as Oswell pressed down a little harder. “It was a man, one of the lot you traveled with!” She hissed in pain, “told me to do it and said I’d be offered all the gold I could need.”

Jon frowned at her words, but nodded at Ser Oswell who let the girl up. She made to turn away, but the knight had already struck her ****. She slumped over, but Oswell caught her and set her up in a nearby chair, so that it looked as if she had passed out from drink.

“Whose trying to kill you?” The Imp asked curiously, mismatched eyes fixed on the woman, “someone with gold by the looks of it.”

The prince debated with himself about whether to tell him or not, but ultimately decided he could trust Tyrion with the bare facts. “It would seem that my future my good-mother doesn’t like me very much.”

A twisted smile danced across his bizarre face. “Well, in that case...tell me how I can help.”