58

Chapter 58: Chapter 42: BeforeNotes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"And so Rhaenyra prayed to the night sky, hoping that the gods would light her way. Her prayers were answered, and three angels descended from the heavens to speak with the young Prince.

'I am Justice.' Said the first. 'I am harsh but fair.'

'I am Mercy.' Said the second. 'I am wise and restrained.'

'I am Grace.' Said the third. 'I am kind and forgiving.'"

-Excerpt from The Dilemma of Judgement, by High Septon Baelor Targaryen, the Blessed

110 AC, Tower of the Hand

Quiet.

That was the first thought that came to my mind.

Cities on Earth never slept, working tirelessly through the night. From a bird's eye view, one could always see lights in windows at any hour, streets that never stopped shining and the sounds of engines running through the night with the odd siren in the background.

In contrast, King's Landing was silent as the grave.

What lights there were few and far in between. Paltry, flickering things, outshone by the stars. The moon wasn't out, as it was still the first week of the Thirteenth Moon, but the balcony I was on was illuminated decently enough by the glass candle I held in hand.

The stresses of the day had finally caught up to me, and although I had enjoyed a hearty meal before luxuriating in a nice long hot bath, I found that rest still eluded me. Oh, I was tired, but sleep just kept evading me. No matter what I did, I couldn't sleep.

After an hour of fruitless tossing and turning, I'd slithered out of Laena's arms and headed to my office atop the Tower of the Hand. If I couldn't sleep, then I might as well do something productive.

Laena had been nagging me to have a spa set up in the Red Keep, and now I had half a mind to agree. A thorough pampering would have been highly enjoyable right about now.

Huh. Maybe that wasn't a half bad idea, though I'd have to find a way to tell my girlfriend nicely that her insistence that the spa's employed maidservants be entirely made up of voluptuous women in scanty outfits wasn't appropriate. I mean… it was feasible, but this wasn't Dorne. It'd be beyond scandalous here in the Crownlands.

I sighed, looking up at the stars, and leaned back on the armchair I'd had dragged onto the crenelled balcony of the Tower, uncorking the bottle of Oldtown elderberry wine. Otto Hightower had an entire cabinet of the wine in the Tower of the Hand, which I'd appropriated for myself after his departure.

The liquor was smooth, and left behind a faint woody aftertaste when it went down my gullet. My alcohol tolerance was basically nil these days, and I tried to avoid drinking in excess until I was legal—18 in Singapore or UK. Still, I felt that the situation on hand right now warranted the indulgence.

I was quite pleasantly buzzed when I drummed my fingers on the armchair's armrest, breaking my solitude with three ghosts.

Holograms of three women materialised beside me, filling the spaces by my side with practised ease. They were pale, paltry remnants. Little more than figments of memory, will and imagination. Not truly here.

But even a pale shadow of my closest friends helped put my mind at ease.

My eyes wandered over the three of them, greedily drinking in every detail. Three women, completely different in both body and personality, and yet all best friends with one another.

God, I missed them. I missed them all.

The first was tall and athletic, with a lithe and toned body and sun-kissed skin, paired with a charming smile on a surpassingly lovely face. Her hair was like a river of black silk, perfectly straight and descending from her scalp in a high ponytail. She rarely makeup, as she held that alluring confidence of women whom knew that didn't need makeup to look beautiful. Her beauty was such that she had been crowned one of the two 'unattainable flowers' of our school. For everyone to admire, never to claim.

Yuuki.

The second was shorter than Yuuki, stouter and slightly more on the chubby side, but more curvaceous. Her skin was a dark mocha, her dark brown hair pulled into a bun. Her face had a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose, with a pair of spectacles perched atop them. Like Yuuki, she rarely wore makeup, though that was because she had better things to do than look good. Not that she wasn't attractive by any measure of the word. I always thought that she had a reliable and mature appearance.

Pamela.

The third was short and petite, more cute than beautiful with a naturally pouty face. Her skin was a light hazel, as was her hair, though it was hard to tell for the latter with how vividly she dyed it. Electric blue with hot pink highlights, worn loose. She always wore makeup. A tasteful amount. Never to cover up imperfections, but to highlight her charms, like her dimpled cheeks or her daring and mischievous smile. She actually got more confessions than Yuuki, as her girl-next-door vibe made her seem far more attainable and down-to-earth than the most beautiful girl in school.

Alice.

I leaned back on the red velvet pillows of my armchair, and sighed at the three of them.

"I have a problem." I confessed to them. "And find myself in need of advice on how to proceed."

They didn't answer. They couldn't, pale figments of light that they were. I could make them speak, I knew, but that was just me puppeteering their images.

Still, even silent and unmoving, they were an excellent listening ear of sorts.

I laid out the information I had. The difficulties I faced. Borros had to die, for the sanctity and integrity of my laws. But if I killed him, I'd permanently alienate the Stormlands.

I could deal with the mutineers.

I'd have to dole out some punishment, and hard enough that they felt the sting, but that was just a slap on the wrist. A particularly painful slap, but a slap nonetheless. I'd probably concede to most of their demands anyway, albeit phrased in a socially accepted manner that'd save me face, but Borros had to be given the full brunt of the consequences.

"And I can't kick this up to Viserys." I complained. "Alicent would pounce on any weakness, perceived or otherwise, on my part. By getting Daddy Dearest involved, Alicent would convince the entire continent that I was doubting myself and my ability to make judgements. The nobles would decide that I'm not worthy of the pin. Put pressure on Viserys to have me replaced. I'm confident I can retain Handship. But my authority would take a massive blow, and Viserys would be buzzing around, closely supervising me. That cannot be allowed to happen."

Silence was my only reply. I let out a deep breath, and chugged down the rest of my goblet in one go.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks for listening in. You three always were great listeners." I sighed, refilling my cup. Surprisingly enough, this whole exercise had taken quite a bit of weight of my shoulders already.

I started pacing, walking a full circle around the balcony atop the Tower of the Hand. My steps were unsteady from drink, and I had to keep a hand on the crenels to avoid falling, but the night wind on my face helped sharpen my focus, and the fresh air was invigorating. I walked in silence for quite a few minutes before I sat back down in the armchair once more and faced my three BFFs.

"You would tell me to see justice done." I said, looking at Yuuki. "Execute him and damn the consequences. The Stormlands are still spent from the last war. My dragons would crush anything they had underfoot."

Yuuki was many things. Tomboyish and independent. She was daring, tough and never needed no man in her life. Even at the height of our love, I never shook off that feeling that she was indulging me. And despite being forced to surrender her daughter, Yuuki held her life together far better than I ever could.

But she was brash and reckless. There were only so many problems that could be solved by hitting them. And some consequences were more lasting that others.

On Earth that was fine, but on Westeros, the consequences were far larger and deadlier than she'd previously dealt with. I could deal with it, but I'd lose a lot of my support and clout doing so. The Stormlands would be another region that'd buck my authority. Another ally on the Greens. Another host of enemies arrayed against me.

"You would advise mercy." I said, meeting Pamela's eyes. "A dishonourable discharge followed by exiling him to Essos for a few years. Long enough that the whole thing blows over and people forget. A stay of execution."

While I was romantically involved with both Alice and Yuuki, it was Pamela whom I got along the most with. She was restrained and pragmatic. Wise, some would call her. And although she was younger than me by two months, it always felt like she was the older. Pamela had a maternal air around her. Soothing and calming. Mature and measured. It was why she was elevated to prefect, in our old school. She was excellent at keeping the freshmen busy, listening to their troubles and dealing with homesickness.

But she was conservative. For all that she was the bravest girl in school, she'd never fully committed when making a decision. She'd hedge her bets, such that no matter the outcome, she'd never lose. The flip side was that she never really won.

It worked out on Earth, as the stakes were lower, and there, victory could be acquired by not losing. But Westeros was a land that punished such half-heartedness. My reign was fresh and untested. People were still on the fence about my rule. It was bold strokes that would make or break it.

"You would counsel me grace." I said, turning to face Alice. "Ask him to repent. Shave his head and spend a few years as a penitent on the Quiet Isle. Let the septons teach him humility and temperance."

It might actually work. For all that Alice was an idealist and abhorred violence of any kind, she was a rational pacifist. Alice was always bubbly and cheerful, her boundless energy never ceasing to raise spirits and brighten the room. She wanted to dedicate her life to charity, and had an amazing amount of charisma, galvanising many to follow her. When you were with her, you could always look on the bright side of things. She was charming and persuasive, to a degree that made me green with envy. And it was 100% natural.

But she was soft and forgiving. Too naive and optimistic. She put too much faith in there being good in even the hearts of the vilest. In people being selfless for the sake of being selfless.

Earth was kinder and less cruel, so her optimism tended to pay off. But Westeros would see compassion as weakness. Queen Alysanne could order it done and be praised for her wisdom, but I hadn't yet earned her reputation as a wise and fair woman. I didn't have my great-grandmother's decades of experience, her long and pristine service record or the wisdom of age.

Justice. Mercy. Grace.

I stood at a crossroads. Three paths before me, each with their own benefits and gains, their own pitfalls and traps.

I turned to look at the three of them once more.

Yuuki was the brawn, Pamela was the brains and Alice was the heart. But me?

I was the planner. The 'Man with the Plan' as Alice and Pamela liked to jokingly call me, and while I never called myself that, it was a pretty accurate job description of my role in the clique.

What we wanted, I made happen. I planned the itineraries and puzzled out the practicalities. I balanced the budget and managed costs. If Yuuki wanted to go hiking, I filled the forms and found the place. If Alice wanted a charity bake sale, I'd book the kitchen and bake the cakes. If Pamela wanted to have a group study session, I'd bring the snacks and get permission to use an empty classroom. If I wanted to cosplay, I'd select the theme and distribute the roles.

But there was another role that I had. One that came up to the forefront today: Tiebreaker.

The burden of choosing which plan to follow fell on my shoulders when none of the others agreed. And they wouldn't. Not today, and not on so contentious a subject.

Justice.

Mercy.

Grace.

Which one did I choose?

Which one was the right option?

———

110 AC, Tower of the Hand

Westerosi etiquette had many rules and regulations, with variations for every region it occured in.

The Northmen, for example, preferred a more relaxed and simpler occasion. The cutlery would be mostly made from rough, unvarnished wood, and there would be tankards of ale instead of glasses of wine served. The food would be of simple fare, well cooked and nourishing, but nothing too extravagant. If the guest was of high station, a younger relative of the host would personally pour them drinks, demonstrating more respect than if a stranger did so.

The Westerlands had a far more formal service. The foods would be made from unique or expensive ingredients, elaborately cooked. There would be multiple courses, far too many for any one person to finish. A little morsel would be eaten from each platter, the rest sent down to the lower tables. And servants handled everything. To make the host's own blood serve and pour was seen as a slight.

I broke tradition completely, and instead had the dinner be an intimate affair. There would only be three people at the table, with no servants to pour or serve. I personally did that, as the host.

The food too, was cooked personally by me. Burritos filled with a great variety of ingredients, from carrots to lettuce, to chicken to beef. No two were the same, and every bite was a fresh experience.

I was generous in pouring the wine— hippocras stolen from my father's secret stash— to wash down the food, so conversation stayed light and enjoyable throughout the meal until the burritos were finished and I brought out the chilled fruits for dessert.

"I have partaken of many feasts and meals, and I must say this stands out among them all." Lord Boremund Baratheon praised, helping himself to a Dornish blood orange.

The Lord Paramount of the Stormlands had arrived this afternoon, brought here on dragonback by Rhaenys. I'd allowed them both a few hours to rest and freshen up before inviting them for dinner.

"Thank you, milord." I smiled, sitting back down in my chair, delicately eating my honeydew squares. "I find that instead of serving an elaborate and expensive affair, it leaves a far superior impression to serve a novelty instead. The food I serve cannot be found anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms. And thus, makes it much more memorable."

"I see your point. The ingredients was commoner fare, but the dishes were unique." Lord Boremund agreed. "May I request the recipes for my own chefs?"

"If the talks prove fruitful, I am amenable to parting with them." I replied.

"A most tempting bribe, Lady Hand." Lord Boremund gravelled amusedly.

"Yes, I wanted to mention that." Rhaenys spoke up, idly throwing her apple core across the room and straight into the trash bin in the corner. My eyebrow rose, reluctantly impressed. That three-pointer shot was at least ten feet. "It was beneath someone of your high station to serve us, Lady Hand."

I gestured with my fork, inviting her to elaborate.

"There are servants for a reason." Rhaenys chided. "You are lowering your own standing for your inferiors. No one will respect a Hand of the King whom does menial work like this."

"I believe in hospitality over elaborateness." I replied smoothly. "I honour you by cooking and serving the food personally. By taking the time and trouble to do such a deed, I demonstrate that I respect the importance of my guests."

That, and I wanted to keep this discussion as private as possible. Mysaria may have been one of my closest allies, but it would be foolish to believe that the only spies in the Red Keep were hers. As such, I intended that no servant be around to hear our discussions. If it meant that I had to serve my guests myself than so be it.

"You demonstrate that you are beneath us." Rhaenys denied. "Nothing more or less."

"Agree to disagree." I shrugged. "People will always overanalyse my every action. I care not if this impugns my honour and reputation. My deeds outweigh these trivial actions."

"Indeed." Lord Boremund ponderously said, leaning forwards. "There are bigger issues at hand."

Rhaenys conceded that with a grunt, leaning back in her chair.

"Very well then." I sighed, getting to my feet and fetching the appropriate documents from a nearby cabinet. "Let us the discuss the crimes of Ser Borros Baratheon."

Notes:

I'm considering starting a new fanfic, starring my old boarding school clique, whom I'd introduced today.

What do you guys think of a Hogwarts adventure, with the four of us as main characters? I can promise many hijinks and misadventures. I mean, we already had more than our fair share of tomfoolery and excitement in our mere two years of regular boarding school here on boring old Earth. Seven years in Hogwarts will be utter pandemonium.