Future King's Landing

As the ship docked into the harbour, Lyonel took a deep breath, taking in the smell of salt and piss into his nostrils. Ahh King's Landing.

"Thank the gods we are here," Tyrion grumbled. "After all that time in this wooden hunk, I've even started missing the smell of the city." Unlike, Lyonel, who found his sea legs quite quickly, Tyrion and Ygritte had spent most of the past month at sea in the bowels of the ship, clutching their stomachs, the little lion because of the ship's shaking and the Wildling wench from the cabin bed's quaking. While the trip was quite unpleasant for Tyrion, specially at the beginning, for Lyonel it was just a whole lot of boring, being stuck in a ship in the middle of the wide blue sea, with nothing for entertainment... except for Ygritte that is. Bored out of his mind and cut off from the rest of the world for a month, the prince unleased all his depravity onto the Wildling, who not only eagerly accepted it, but added her own lewd suggestions that sometimes shocked even him.

"At least we made good time uncle," the prince said cheerily, patting the shorter lion on his shoulder. "If we went over land, it would have taken three months to get here! And what a waste that would be!"

"You and your hastiness," Tyrion said grumpily. "I still can't believe we even avoided Winterfell because of that."

That dampened the smile on Lyonel's face, as he remembered those events that happened a month ago. He remembered the deep shock and the panic at hearing he was going to be a father, not to mention the fact that he had knocked up the wife of the second most powerful man in the realm. Every time the prince now looks back at his first few months in Westeros, he felt like kicking himself for all his carelessness at the time, how he acted like this was all a joy ride in a fantasy world, not realizing the immense repercussions of his actions and the dangers they might unleash. Val had brought him back to reality. The news of Catelyn's pregnancy was the final nail in the coffin.

And so, Lyonel ran. He hoped the child would take after its mother, and not get any of his distinct Baratheon features. If the Lady Catelyn birthed a bastard and everyone knew about it, the political ramifications would be massive, specifically more so if the identity of the father was revealed. But more than the political consequences, Lyonel ran from his personal responsibilities. He simply couldn't meet with Catelyn and look into her eyes, knowing that he may have ruined her life, the lives of her family and if things get worse, the peace and stability of the entire realm. And so he ran, from Winter Town to White Harbour and finally, back home. He ran as fast away as possible, hoping for the best. And he did have some hope and joy in the prospect. First of all, there was that vulgar part in him, that reveled in the idea that he had impregnated such an important woman, the mother of the woman whom he's to marry no less. But Lyonel was also quite excited about the prospects of fatherhood, and while he's not ready to meet them head on right now, by the time Catelyn gives birth, Lyonel is confident that his position is strengthened enough to meet whatever crisis that comes his way.

"Is anything the matter, Nephew?" Tyrion asked in a concerned voice, clutching the prince's arm.

"Of course," Lyonel said with a reassuring smile. "I was just..." he waived his hand aimlessly, trying to think up of a mediaeval equivalent for a brain fart.

Tyrion seemingly understood what was left unsaid and nodded sympathetically. Lyonel was suspected his uncle knew more than he let on, and that he probably guessed his recent change in behaviour happened only after the news of Catelyn's pregnancy. Tyrion was a genius after all, albeit one no one but a few recognized.

Before any more could be said by both men, noise of an argument reached their ears, and, after looking at each other, they walked to the prow of the ship, where two groups of men were facing each other, seemingly ready to fight. On one side was four members of the City Watch, holding their clubs while looking smug. On the other side was the Tyroshi crew of the ship with their captain at their head, whose purple dyed beard quivered as he talked angrily to the gold cloaks, while his guardsmen glowered at them with hands on the hilts of their daggers.

"What's going on?" Lyonel demanded, striding into the middle. Immediately the noise died down and both groups looked down guiltily, though the gold cloaks seemed far more scared.

"Well?" the prince demanded again, only to be met by silence. Eventually, Tyrion started laughing.

"What is it that amuses you uncle?" Lyonel asked impatiently.

"I'm only making a guess here my prince," Tyrion said, still chortling. "But I think I know what's going on here. We paid our tolls to the harbour earlier, but I think our friends in gold boarded the ship to leech off some extra money, which I know they do quite a lot, not knowing who's on board. And they are now keeping their mouths shut because they've been caught with their pants down after breaking your father's laws. Our dear captain, meanwhile, is keeping his mouth shut because, well, these are your father's men, and he's afraid to show their corruption in case you take offense. Did I get it right?"

No replies came, but the truth of it was now clear on the sheepish expression on the faces of the men. Lyonel sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Leave now and you'll not be kicked out of the watch," he said flatly.

The next few minutes was filled with thanks, as the guardsmen thanked their prince profusely for saving their jobs, and, once they left, the captain too thanking Lyonel for saving him a hefty sum of gold. Once he left as well, Tyrion spoke to him. "That's quite the leniency you showed to those criminals, nephew. Those men should be in a cell right now."

"And what difference would that make? Those who turn a blind eye for the extortions would probably release them in a few days. Before we can properly implement the law here, I'll have to clean the damn city, starting from the top."

"Clean the crime off fucking King's Landing?" Tyrion said grinning. "Kings have been trying to do that ever since the city was built and they all failed. You'd probably have to burn the entire damned thing to the ground first."

"If that's what it takes," Lyonel replied grimly.

Before Tyrion could reply, Ygritte slowly walked up to the deck of the ship, hair fizzy and face pale.

"Ahh my lady," Tyrion said, nodding politely, using an honourific that Lyonel knew flattered Ygritte. "Are you feeling well?"

"The ship stopping helped," the red head agreed weakly. "But the smell of the makes me almost wish we were at sea again."

Lyonel laughed and put a hand around his lover's waist. "Don't worry love. It will be a little bit better in the Keep."

Lyonel chose an unmarked, closed off carriage to take them to the Red Keep, while sending his soldiers ahead to notify the court of his arrival. He was wildly popular among the inhabitants of King's Landing, and while their support and adoration is something he very much appreciates, currently he's simply too exhausted to entertain the masses. As such, the closed off carriage, with the inly light available being from a sliver of a widow that he had permitted Ygritte to open, out of which the Wildling girl peeked eagerly, seeing things she had never even imagined, while Tyrion provided her a brief history of whatever building that caught her interest. The two had built an unlikely friendship during their month of traveling. Both had witty, improper senses of humour, and astonishingly, Lyonel learned that Ygritte has a nerdy side to her, and Tyrion had eagerly stepped in to fill her craving for knowledge. "She's taking well to her letters," Tyrion once told proudly to Lyonel. "Soon she'd be able to read books. Imagine that, eh? The first Wildling scholar in history, and a woman at that, and I'd have been the one to teach her!" Tyrion seemed very amused by the idea. Lyonel for his part was just relieved that Ygritte has found new hobbies (other than fucking him) to fill her time since leaving the North.

Eventually, the carriage entered the Red Keep and stopped. Ygritte eagerly scrambled to get out, but Lyonel pushed her back, putting a hand over her mouth, anticipating an angry rebuttal. She glared at him questioningly, to which he only smiled.

Outside, a herald spoke out. "His Grace, the Prince Lyonel Baratheon, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Seven Kingdoms, and his uncle, Lord Tyrion Lannister."

Lyonel let go of Ygritte. "And now we can go."

"Fucking Southerners," the Wildling scoffed. "And that man didn't even say my name!"

Despite her objections she still eagerly scrambled out like a little girl at a school trip, breaking another custom and making the group gathered outside gasp. The amused prince and his uncle followed, and once their eyes adjusted to the light, they saw the large group gathered outside the Red Keep to welcome them. Lyonel's eyes focused immediately on the man leading them.

His uncle, Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and the King's Master of Laws, was there hands spread and with a wide grin. In his early thirties now, the man was very handsome, having black hair and blue eyes much like his nephew, and covering himself with the most expensive Myrish cloth. He was the subject of fancy for many ladies, though all their affections went unreciprocated of course. Lyonel was rather neutral about Renly as a character, but now the previous Lyonel, the one who was there before he got into this body, had a deep affection for him. While that previous Lyonel had disliked some of Renly's qualities, like his vanity and his pride, they had been generally very close, being more akin to siblings than uncle and nephew. With those old, fond memories imposing upon his new personality Lyonel went ahead and embraced his uncle.

"Nephew!" Renly said fondly. "I thought we had lost you forever to the charms of the North."

"The smell does make me wish that I was back there," Lyonel admitted, causing the entire entourage to chuckle. The poor hygiene of the city had been a safe topic for the Westerosi elite to mock for the past three centuries.

"Lord Tyrion," Renly said, smiling politely and offering a hand, which he shook politely. While calling the two men 'friends' would be a stretch, they got along rather well. Lyonel remembered Renly once saying that Tyrion was "the only Lannister that doesn't have a stick up his ass."

Lyonel's train of thoughts was broken by the sound of a beautiful and delicate voice coming from Renly's side. "I bid you welcome to the city, my prince."

Lyonel turned his eyes and set his eyes on the glorious figure of the Lady Margaery Tyrell. The additional decade set in this world meant that she is twenty-six years old now, but that has in no way diminished her beauty. Brown locks cascaded past her shoulders, and unbelievably large, green doe eyes seemed to stare into the depth of his soul. Her dress, cut in Myrish style as well, bordered on scandalous, demonstrating a handful of cleavage for all the world to see. But perhaps most striking to Lyonel was the permanent aroma of roses surrounding the lady, who's presence dispelled even the ever-present stench of the city.

"My lady," he said, trying to find words. "It's a pleasure."

Margaery smiled and curtsied deeply, showing off her cleavage even more, catching the eye of every man present except Renly's. With that done, she took Renly's arm. "I apologize for my lateness, my prince. But I hope my husband welcomed you warmly."

Memories crashed into Lyonel's consciousness as he remembered that Margaery is already married to Renly in this world, being ten years ahead as it is. Quickly, he explored the previous Lyonel's memories, to find out why it took him a face-to-face encounter to remember her. He remembered how Margaery Tyrell married Lord Renly Baratheon six years ago. Even the previous Lyonel, who had been such a stick-in-the-mud, couldn't deny how attractive of a woman she was, and disapproved of her flirtatious behaviour and fashion choices, keeping his distance from her in case he made a breach of etiquette with her. All in all, Margaery's first years of marriage had been unpleasant, not only because of her inattentive husband, but also due to Cersei, and later Myrcella. As much as he loved them, Lyonel could not deny that his mother and sister are very jealous and toxic women, who'd been against Margaery due her appeal to men, and specially more so once they discovered that she has even charmed their strait-laced son/brother. That along with the gossip that grew as year after year passed with Margaery not bearing any children, adding on top of the already massive pile of gossip about her, eventually compelled the Tyrell Rose to leave, with her now spending most of her time in her family home at Highgarden, where her husband spent a lot of his time as well (for different reasons of course). All in all, Lyonel's memories showed him that in a place like this, gossip can be as dangerous and damaging as knives, if not more.

"No need to apologize, my lady, your presence here is a delightful surprise. If I may be so bold, may I ask why we are blessed with your presence, so I can do everything in my power to make it permanent?"

Margaery's smile was utterly charming. "The whole realm is abuzz with this talk of the Hand's tourney. They say it will be the grandest tourney in the Realm in nearly twenty years! I cannot miss such an opportunity when I have to cheer for my husband and my brother. And for my nephew", Margaery added the last part with a wink that would have melted most men.

"My wife is truly dutiful to her family. And since we are already talking about beautiful ladies, who is this companion of yours?" Renly asked. The red head, who had been gawking at the tall towers of the Red Keep, looked down at the group.

"This is no lady, uncle. This is Ygritte, a spearwife from beyond the Wall," Lyonel said, while Ygritte smiled in her cocksure way. There was a gentle hubbub from the back; for the courtiers of King's Landing, the True North was so distant that the Wildlings may as well be fairy tales, and the fact that this beautiful woman was also a warrior no doubt added to the exoticism of her people.

Lyonel continued. "I met her in my adventures in the North and I brought her as a guard for my sister."

Ygritte glared at Lyonel, a flame of rebellion glowing in her eyes at the thought of serving a "weak, southern lady." Fortunately, by now, he had fucked her Wildling cunt into submission so many times that one look was sufficient to make her shut up, at least for now.

Renly, however, seemed skeptical about the idea, nonetheless. "You think a woman can protect your sister better than the Kingsguard?"

"I have the utmost respect for the brothers of the Kingsguard. But being men, they have certain limitations. Didn't the Good Queen Alysanne have her own female guard after assassins attacked her in a bath and none of the Kingsguard could help her? It has always been my idea to form a female guard to protect the women of the royal family, and Ygritte is the first step towards this."

Lyonel gave time for Renly and the courtiers to absorb what he said. It was the truth, that he wanted to form such an institution, but right now he mostly used it as a cover to protect who Ygritte really was to him. Unfortunately, King's Landing is not a place where secrets stay secret for long, and he fully expected at least some of the more astute players of the game to figure out who Ygritte was quickly enough, and that would change everything. Up until now, for most people, Lyonel was known for chaste, honourable behaviour. The fact that he now has a lover, even a secret one that not many are privy to, specially now that he's betrothed to another woman, not only shows a significant change in the prince's character, but also presenting a new dimension to the way the game of thrones was now played. Lyonel was sure by the end of the week that every major player in Westeros would know who Ygritte was and what she symbolized, and that they would adjust their plans to fit this new information.

One such player was Margaery, and the prince took notice of the subtle changes in her face. He knew that it would be very beneficial for Margaery to seduce him, if not to indulge her childhood fantasies of being the queen, then to at least produce a Baratheon looking child which she can pass off as Renly's, securing her position massively. And for the first time, Lyonel wasn't completely thrilled about a hot woman being interested in fucking him, due to the said hot woman being the wife of someone he's very close to. Then again... it's not like Renly would do anything with Margaery either way, and her producing children would be a massive political boon for him as well. Either way, it was something he had to think deeply about when the time is right.

Renly, it seemed, was the first to recover from the shocking news. "Well Lady... uh, Ygritte, it is a pleasure to meet you," he said, holding out a hand, expecting her to keep her hand over his so that he can kiss it, as protocol demands. Instead, Ygritte grabbed his arm and shook it firmly. The flabbergasted expression on Renly's face made Lyonel and Tyrion burst into laughter.

"I hope the trip was pleasant, Lady Ygritte," Margaery said, continuing where her husband left off and smiling kindly at the stranger.

"The boat ride was fucking hell. But Lyonel and Tyrion were very kind to me on the way and I thank the fucking gods that it's all over now."

This time, there was a general outraged (but subdued) murmur from the courtiers at the back as the Wildling broke another series of etiquette. However, Renly was quick to recover this time and laughed out loud. "Your company is truly a breath of fresh air here in our stuffy city, my lady. I am very eager to hear all about your adventures, but unfortunately now is not the right time," Renly looked at Lyonel. "My prince, his grace is waiting for you."

"Let's go then," he answered simply, knowing that almost every important political actor in the capital would also be there, conscious that he has to be careful with every movement.

The group thus set off, walking down the corridors of the Red Keep. They passed many servants on the way, all of whom bowed politely and smiled friendlily with the prince and his uncle, both of them being very popular with the smallfolk. On the way, Lyonel also learned through his uncle Renly that despite all his adventures beyond the Wall, he was only a week late from the King's own party; sea travel is always faster than the road, and Lannisters are known for traveling in slow luxury.

Eventually, the group came to the highly decorated doors of the throne room. Taking a deep breath, Lyonel stepped in following Renly and Margaery, with Tyrion and Ygritte behind him and the rest of the courtiers after them. Inside was a thong of people on each side of the room, covered in expensive clothes and jewelry; the creme of Westerosi society. At the far end of the hall was the monstrosity that was the Iron Throne, and even at a distant Lyonel could recognize his father sitting on it. On each side of the foot the throne was two people; to its left was Cersei Lannister, whose distinct, shining golden hair was easy to recognize from the other side of the hall. On the other side was a plain man, whose only thing of note in appearance was a golden badge on his chest; the Hand of the King, Ned Stark. Several stairs down to them were seven figures in brilliant white armour and capes, arranged in a semi-circle around the King, his wife and his hand; the Kingsguard of course.

As Lyonel walked through the hall, the many courtiers bowed to him, and he noticed quite a few. There was Varys, smiling slimily as his bold head gleamed in the light. Old Grand Maester Pycelle was there, bowing and simpering as always. Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger, who was always smiling charmingly at anyone, tried to do the same now, but it came off as a grimace. Lyonel wondered if this is because he has already heard the news of him fucking Catelyn. If that was the case, Littlefinger would be all the more dangerous. All of them are dangerous, Lyonel reminded himself. No matter how polite or servile they may appear. Better to get rid of them as soon as possible.

Closer to the throne was a group that Lyonel was far happier to see, the Stark children and his very own siblings. Tommen waved cheerfully at him, which was another breach of protocol, but the second in line to the throne can get away from them more easily. While Lyonel smiled at him in an equally cheerful manner, his eyes were locked on his sister the entire time. Myrcella was wearing Lannister red, as their mother often does, but the cut of the dress was something that their mother would never even dream of wearing. It was rather something that Margaery might wear, clung tightly to her skin with a large amount of cleavage exposed. Knowing Myrcella, Lyonel thought she might be a bit uncomfortable to show off that much of her body, but she's also very stubborn, and probably determined not to take second place to Margaery in charming her brother. Once he was finally able lift his eyes off his sister's generous tits, he looked at her face and that chilled him to the bone. Myrcella's eyes were murderous as they rested on Ygritte, already guessing who this woman was to her brother. In fact, now that he was closer to the throne, Lyonel could see that was the same expression his mother also has. He swallowed audibly, but also couldn't also help from a rogue smile appearing in his face. He does love a challenge, and making the women in his life get together would be a challenge indeed.

Past his siblings he saw the three Stark children that came to King's Landing; Bran waved at him, Arya pretended like she didn't care, while Sansa smiled demurely, as a good little lady should. The ladies also stood out due to the conservative cut of their dresses and their dun colours; he should make a point to introduce them to Margaery and her sense of fashion as soon as possible. They, or at least Sansa, also seemed too naive to really guess who Ygritte was, which Lyonel found to be adorable.

However, all these thoughts stopped as Lyonel finally came in front of the throne. The prince went to one knee. "I have returned, Your Grace."