Chapter 7: The Game Begins

The Kingsroad

The road to King's Landing stretched before them, winding through forests and hills, gradually becoming warmer as they moved south. Lyonel rode alongside his father, King Robert Baratheon, who was clearly relieved to be leaving the cold of the North behind. Robert, always in search of comfort, had found Winterfell too somber, too austere for his tastes. The warmth of the South called to him, and with it, the familiar temptations of wine, women, and indulgence.

As they rode, Lyonel's mind was not on the scenery but on the weight of everything that awaited him in the capital. He could feel the tension in the air, even among the royal party. His mother, Cersei, rode in a separate carriage, her gaze distant as she watched the landscape pass by. She had barely spoken to him since their conversation in Winterfell, but that was no surprise. Cersei was a master at keeping her emotions in check, especially when she was plotting.

Lyonel looked over at Joffrey, who rode a little ahead, with his usual arrogance, oblivious to the tension around him. His younger brother, or half-brother, would never truly understand what it meant to play the game. Joffrey saw power as his birthright, something that could be taken with cruelty and force. But Lyonel knew better. Power was about control, manipulation, and understanding people's weaknesses.

His thoughts drifted to Sansa Stark. She rode further back with Septa Mordane, her expression calm but betraying her unease. Sansa was still a child, full of fantasies about courtly life. Lyonel knew she was in for a rude awakening once they reached King's Landing. He had tried to warn her, in his way, but she hadn't truly grasped his meaning. She would learn soon enough.

King's Landing, The Arrival

When the royal party finally reached the gates of King's Landing, the sun was setting over the city, casting a golden glow over the Red Keep. The city was as bustling as ever, with merchants, nobles, and commoners crowding the streets, all trying to catch a glimpse of their returning king. Lyonel could smell the familiar scent of the capital—perfumed air mixed with the stench of sewage and sweat. It was both intoxicating and revolting, a reminder of the city's dual nature.

The gates of the Red Keep opened to welcome them, and as they passed through, Lyonel felt the weight of the walls around him. The political games of King's Landing were about to begin again, and Lyonel knew he would have to play them carefully if he wanted to survive.

As they dismounted, Lyonel noticed Varys, the Spider, standing at the entrance to the castle. His smooth, bald head gleamed in the fading sunlight as he bowed deeply to the king. His eyes flickered briefly toward Lyonel, and a faint smile played on his lips. Varys was one of the most dangerous men in the capital, not because of his fighting skills but because of his ability to know everything that was happening behind the scenes.

"Your Grace," Varys said in his soft, oily voice. "Welcome home."

Robert grunted in response, clearly more interested in getting to the nearest wine than in pleasantries. Lyonel, however, kept his eyes on Varys. The Spider had a way of appearing friendly and harmless, but Lyonel knew better. Varys was always watching, always calculating.

"Lyonel," Varys said, his gaze shifting toward him. "I trust your time in the North was... enlightening?"

Lyonel gave a tight smile. "It was cold."

Varys chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "The North has a way of chilling even the warmest hearts. But I'm sure you found something of value in Winterfell. After all, there's always something to be learned from those who live so close to the edge of the world."

Lyonel nodded, though he said nothing. Varys's words, as always, were layered with meaning. The Spider was fishing for information, as usual, but Lyonel had no intention of giving him anything. Not yet, at least.

The Small Council

The first meeting of the Small Council after their return was a tense one. Lyonel stood in the shadows, listening as his father and the council discussed the matters at hand. Lord Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle, Littlefinger, and Ser Barristan Selmy were all present, each playing their roles in the intricate dance of politics.

The discussion quickly turned to the issue of the royal finances. The crown was deeply in debt, largely due to Robert's lavish spending on tournaments, feasts, and other frivolities. Littlefinger, the Master of Coin, was as slippery as ever, offering vague assurances that the situation could be managed, though Lyonel knew better than to trust him.

Lyonel's gaze shifted to his mother, Cersei, who sat beside Robert, her face impassive. She was a master of controlling her emotions, but Lyonel could see the subtle signs of tension in the way she held herself. She knew that their position was precarious, and she was already thinking of ways to solidify their power.

As the meeting continued, Lyonel found himself growing restless. The discussions of coin and debts were important, but there were larger threats looming. The whispers from the East spoke of Daenerys Targaryen, the last surviving heir of the Targaryen dynasty, gathering forces across the Narrow Sea. And in the North, there were the growing rumors of White Walkers beyond the Wall.

The meeting dragged on, with Robert eventually growing bored and dismissing the council. As the members dispersed, Lyonel approached his father.

"Father," he said quietly, drawing Robert's attention.

Robert turned, his face flushed from wine but still sharp. "What is it, boy?"

"There are dangers in the North," Lyonel said. "The Stark men speak of White Walkers and creatures beyond the Wall."

Robert snorted, waving a hand dismissively. "Ghost stories, nothing more. The Wall has stood for thousands of years, and it will stand for a thousand more."

Lyonel frowned, but he didn't press the issue. His father was not a man who listened to caution. Robert preferred to deal with threats he could face with a hammer, not the unseen dangers that lurked in the shadows.

Later: The Red Keep

As the evening wore on, Lyonel found himself wandering the halls of the Red Keep. The castle was filled with the murmurs of courtiers and servants, all going about their business. But Lyonel's mind was elsewhere.

He made his way to the royal gardens, seeking a moment of quiet. The gardens were bathed in moonlight, casting eerie shadows over the neatly trimmed hedges and fountains. As Lyonel walked, he heard soft footsteps behind him.

He turned to find Cersei approaching, her expression unreadable. She moved with the grace of a queen, but there was an edge to her tonight, something darker lurking beneath the surface.

"Mother," Lyonel greeted her, his voice low.

"Lyonel," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "You've been quiet since we returned."

"I have much on my mind," he replied, not wanting to give too much away.

Cersei stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "You're not a boy anymore, Lyonel. You understand the weight of the crown, don't you?"

Lyonel met her gaze. "I understand more than you think."

Cersei smiled, but it was a cold, calculating smile. "Good. Because there are forces at play in this city that would tear us apart if we let them. We must be vigilant, always."

Lyonel nodded, knowing that his mother was speaking from experience. She had spent her entire life playing the game of thrones, manipulating and scheming to secure her family's power. And now, Lyonel was being drawn into that same game.

"What do you want, Mother?" Lyonel asked, his tone careful.

Cersei's smile faded slightly, and for a moment, she looked almost... vulnerable. "I want you to be strong, Lyonel. Stronger than your father. Stronger than anyone else. You are the true heir to the throne, and one day, that crown will be yours."

Lyonel felt a chill run down his spine. His mother's words were laced with ambition, but there was something else there too—a desperation, a fear of losing everything she had fought for.

"I won't disappoint you," Lyonel said, his voice steady.

Cersei placed a hand on his cheek, her touch cold. "I know you won't, my son."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Lyonel alone in the moonlit garden. He watched her go, his mind racing. His mother's ambition was clear, but Lyonel knew that the game of thrones was not so easily won. There were too many players, too many variables.

And Lyonel was determined to be the last one standing.

The Next Morning: The Training Yard

The morning sun rose over King's Landing, casting a golden glow over the city. Lyonel found himself in the training yard, watching as the knights and soldiers practiced their skills. He had always been a natural-born fighter, and the sight of steel clashing against steel was something that calmed his mind.

He picked up a sword, feeling the familiar weight of it in his hand. The blade was perfectly balanced, a weapon fit for a king. As he moved through a series of practice strikes, his thoughts drifted to the battles that lay ahead.

He was the true heir to the Iron Throne, but that title would mean nothing if he couldn't secure it. His enemies were everywhere—in the court, in the shadows, and even within his own family. But Lyonel was prepared to fight for his place, to claim the destiny that was rightfully his.

As he swung the sword, the weight of the crown pressed on his shoulders. The game had begun, and Lyonel was ready to play.

But in King's Landing, nothing was ever as it seemed.

And the game of thrones had only just begun.