Game of Thrones Iron Stark

King's Landing was bursting at the seams. Lords, merchants, sellswords, and smallfolk from every corner of the realm had poured into the city to watch the show.

Word had spread fast. King Robert, still strong and in his prime, was choosing his heir.

By every law and custom it should have been simple. Joffrey or Tommen. Stannis or Renly. Two sons, two brothers.

But the whispers coming out of the Red Keep said something else entirely. Robert was thinking of naming Myrcella. The white stag had accepted her. Even Jaime was spending more time correcting her stance than Joffrey's during sword practice.

---

In a quiet garden inside the Red Keep, steel rang against steel.

Myrcella moved like she had been born with a blade in her hand. She was smaller than her brother, younger, and a girl, but she had Jaime's gift. Joffrey had Cersei's temper and not much else.

"You're slow, Joffrey," Myrcella taunted, circling him.

Joffrey's face went red. He came at her harder, swinging wild. The practice swords were still iron. They hurt when they landed.

He ate two clean hits to the ribs and snapped. With a snarl he lunged straight for her face.

"Stop!"

Jaime's voice cracked across the garden like a whip. He was already moving, white cloak snapping behind him.

Myrcella spun. The move was pure Jaime Lannister, the famous "Lion's Tail." She slipped Joffrey's thrust, pivoted, and brought her blade up so the tip kissed the center of his chest.

Joffrey froze. His own sword clattered to the ground.

"Impossible," he whispered. Then louder. "Impossible! You cheated!"

He screamed and kicked the fallen sword away like a child.

Jaime stared at his niece. "That was my move. How the hell did you learn the Lion's Tail?"

Myrcella grinned, breathing hard. "I watched you. It's not that hard."

Joffrey was still screaming. Jaime didn't waste time.

"Hound! Get the prince out of here. Keep him moving until he cools off, then bring him back."

Sandor Clegane grunted and went after the boy without a word.

Myrcella watched her brother run. "He really can't stand losing, can he?"

Jaime looked at her for a long moment. "If you want to get faster, strap weights to your legs during drills. It works."

---

Tony's ship docked and Davos stepped onto the quay, then stopped dead. He sniffed the air hard, eyes wide.

"Seven hells," he muttered. "The whole city smells different. Cleaner. Like someone finally taught King's Landing how to shit properly."

Tony clapped him on the shoulder. "Tyrion's been busy. Come on. Stannis is waiting."

---

The Small Council chamber was tense.

Varys delivered his report in that soft, careful voice. "The Black Panther tribe and Khal Drogo's khalasar bloodied each other badly on the Dothraki sea. Both sides lost thousands. Neither will be crossing the Narrow Sea anytime soon. At least twenty years, if ever."

Robert laughed loud and long. "The gods are smiling on me. Even the horse savages are doing my work for me."

Janos Slynt cleared his throat. "Your Grace, the city is overflowing. Food's holding for now, but the streets are getting dangerous."

Robert looked at Tyrion. "You're Deputy Hand. Fix it."

Tyrion didn't hesitate. "We do what Daeron Targaryen did. One hard night. Clean out the thieves, the rapists, the worst of the gangs. Make an example. Fear works when gold runs out."

Robert grinned. "Do it. You're in charge. Try not to get yourself killed."

---

Stannis returned to his quarters after the meeting and found his daughter waiting.

"Father!"

Shireen ran into his arms. The greyscale was almost gone. Smooth new skin showed where the hard gray patches had been.

Stannis held her at arm's length, staring. "Your face…"

"Tony fixed it," she said proudly. "He said no scars. I'll be pretty again."

Davos stood nearby, smiling. Stannis turned to him.

"Davos. My daughter needs a good match one day. Who's worth considering?"

Davos listed them carefully. "Prince Joffrey. Lord Robb Stark. Ser Loras Tyrell. Prince Trystane Martell. Young Robert Arryn."

Stannis shot every name down.

"Joffrey's a spoiled little shit. Robb's too far north. Loras is a boy and my brother's favorite. The Martells still hate us. And that Arryn whelp is still suckling at his mother's teat."

He rubbed his face with both hands and let out a long, tired sigh.

Shireen looked up at him, eyes bright.

"Father, I don't want to get married yet. I want to be a maester. Like Tony. Myrcella wants to be a knight. Arya wants to be an assassin. I just want to read and learn. Is that so bad?"

Stannis stared at his daughter for a long moment.

Then he sighed again, deeper this time, the sound of a man who had faced battle, storms, and his own brother without flinching, yet felt completely outmatched by one small girl and her dreams.

"Gods help me," he muttered. "I'd rather sit through another Small Council meeting."