Chapter 60 - Silver, Blonde, & Red II

The tall, dishonored knight approached Daenerys, hands behind his back. Vulnerability he saw in her, and in it lay his chances of getting closer.

"How did Joffrey know about the fall of Yunkai before me?"

"He has the Master of Whispers, Your Grace. Lord Varys has his little birds everywhere," he answered.

Daenerys turned around and sternly looked at him, taking Jorah by surprise. "My liberation of Slaver's Bay has failed. Even if I wish to sail to Westeros now, it's meaningless. I'm a failed ruler."

"The boy who sits on the Iron Throne—A boy many believe to be a bastard with no right to it, will fall as soon as you fly your dragons on King's Landing. Don't compare yourself with a bastard, Your G—"

"The bastard holds a firmer grip upon the Seven Kingdoms than his father or mine ever did. Greatness is not born of blood but of deeds. And…" She gazed out over the sprawling city from the great window. "I have yet to prove my worth as a ruler. I won't let those I have freed slide back into chains. Before I can claim the Iron Throne, I must first be the Queen of Slaver's Bay. I'll teach these people to fish, even if there are none to feed them."

Jorah's gaze lingered on the missive clutched in her hand, a heavy sense of frustration settling upon him. "It seems, Your Grace, that your sentiments towards King Joffrey Baratheon are shifting. Beware, he is a tyrant, cruel and unrelenting. He may have hidden reasons behind each word he writes to you."

"And you?" Daenerys asked back. "What are your hidden reasons?"

"I serve you with all my heart, Your Grace."

"And I am grateful for that," she replied. "Please send Missandei in when you leave."

With a sullen face, Jorah turned around and left.

Daenerys moved once alone, picking up some paper and ink to write. Just as she sat down, she saw her handmaiden enter.

"You asked for me, Your Grace?"

"Find someone who can paint portraits with skill," Daenerys ordered and glanced back at the blank paper. "As swiftly as possible."

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"...I hereby condemn all men and women of House Tyrell to death!"

Thud!

Thud!

Twenty execution blocks were used. Twenty heads were removed in a single day—Olenna Tyrell, Mace Tyrell, his wife, Loras Tyrell, his cousins, and any other loyal member of the House. That left only those still at Highgarden—Willas Tyrell and Garland Tyrell.

Joffrey left the execution platform as soon as the heads fell. With Sandor, Val, and Tyrion, he headed into one of the larger, luxurious dwellings in the King's Landing. It was being guarded by Dornish soldiers.

"The King requests an audience with Prince Oberyn," Tyrion stated.

Soon enough, the men stepped aside and let them enter. Joffrey failed to find any whores walking around, but it was expected since the man was now likely a cripple for life.

"Your Grace."

Joffrey found Oberyn's paramour appeared to welcome them. I'd have loved to claim her cunt. Too bad, she's another treacherous whore in the end.

"How is Prince Oberyn? Forgive me, I couldn't come sooner. The Tyrells had left me with no choice." He apologized and stepped closer. "Tell me it's not as dire as it seems. That fool! I warned him repeatedly to keep his armor on and take the battle with the seriousness it deserved!"

Ellaria Sand's eyes fell to Joffrey's feet. "P-Prince Oberyn is… He couldn't make it, Your Grace."

That's fucking wonderful!

"What?! B-But how… No! That's impossible! Where is he? I must see him now! He promised to win this… He can't be dead!"

Oh, I'm afraid I've even left Mother behind in this art of deceit.

"He lost too much blood following the battle and… failed to wake up." Ellaria struggled to speak, her eyes horrified. Her body shivered as she stood there.

"Seven Hells! Fuck!" Joffrey cursed and grabbed his head. "That damn Mountain! Fuck!"

He stepped forward and pulled the tall, sensual Ellaria into an embrace. One hand gripped her slim waist tight, while the other caressed her sumptuous naked back in that revealing gown. He felt an itch in his groin, but he had no desire to stick it in her.

"Forgive me, my lady. I shouldn't have agreed to the duel… I've sinned." He hugged her tighter, shamelessly feeling the softness of her ample breasts against himself. "I will… I'll have men prepare to carry him to Dorne with complete respect."

Ellaria loosened herself out of Joffrey's grasp and nodded. "Dorne will be grateful for that, Your Grace."

"No, it's not for Dorne," Joffrey muttered. "I felt like I had found a friend in Oberyn. He was taken from me too soon."

Rot in hell, Oberyn. Take Dorne with you while at it. Who will rule that desert shithole now? A cripple? A whore Princess?

"Please, if there is anything you may need, just send a word," he assured her and stepped away. "Let the Silent Sisters prepare for his departure until then."

"Thank you… T-Thank you…"

Ignoring her weeping voice, Joffrey turned around and left the mansion. As soon as he came close to the Red Keep, he brought back the smile on his lips. Tyrion, Sandor, and Val knew that Joffrey was the mastermind behind it all. All that flowery bullshit was just… bullshit.

"Your Grace, may I have a word?" Tyrion requested all of a sudden.

Joffrey looked up at the sky, the sun sinking slowly beyond the horizon. "Naturally. We'll dine in the gardens, Uncle—just the two of us. There are matters of great import to be addressed before I depart to lay waste to Highgarden."

So, as soon as they entered the confines of the Red Keep, Joffrey dismissed his two Kingsguards and went to the gardens with only Tyrion by his side. The uncle and nephew soon arrived at a sea-viewing pavilion and sat down. Soon enough, the servants brought them wine, cheese, and some snacks while dinner was being prepared.

"So, what is it you wish to say?" Joffrey asked. But he already knew what it was going to be, so he relaxed in his comfortable chair, sipping wine.

Tyrion didn't touch the wine one bit. A look of nervousness constantly sprawled over his face, eyes taking breaks from looking at the king's face. "I… I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace. It seems you were right all along: a whore, it appears, holds nothing dearer than a purse of gold. Shae was… no exception. Drunk on pleasure, love, and my own indulgence, I've brought dishonor upon myself and sullied your name."

"And Tysha?" Joffrey asked further.

"Jaime confessed. Father… That bastard…" Tyrion failed to utter what had happened. The memory was still fresh—Lannister men entering the barracks one by one and coming out laughing, tying their breeches. Himself being the last to enter. The realization that the only woman who ever truly loved him had such a cruel fate broke the little man.

"I wish I was the monster he always saw me as."

"Then be one. No one is stopping you?" Joffrey somewhat sympathized with him and passed him a goblet of wine. Although he didn't really love Sansa or Val, he cared enough that if Tywin had done the same to them as he did with Tysha, he'd have burned House Lannister to the last blade of grass.

Tyrion took the glass this time and downed it whole. "But… he's your grandfather."

"Just another wishful puppet master." Joffrey snorted. "I'm not blind, Uncle. Mother, Grandfather—they all see me as nothing more than a convenient tool to wield their power in my name. They revel in their little schemes and delusions of grandeur while the true danger lur… Regardless, I have no affection for him."

Tyrion exhaled a resigned sigh and sternly looked up at Joffrey's face. "Your Grace, there's a truth about Cersei that I must divulge. Do with it what you will, behead me if you must. I just… don't want to lie to you anymore, Your Grace. You have bestowed upon me titles, honor, and acclaim beyond what any man might dream. I d—"

"I'm a bastard born of incest? Is that it?" Joffrey took the breath out of Tyrion's lungs.

The little man would have jumped to his feet if the table height wasn't as high as his own. "You knew?! For how long?"

"The day Lord Stark burst into the Throne Room and made his grand declaration, it was hardly a challenge to piece together the puzzle and come to a conclusion," Joffrey sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "She's more depraved than my Grandfather ever was, and if she were to gain power, she'd make him look like a mere child in comparison. Her only concern is getting what she wants, and she'd sell her body to have her way."

"Ah, that's true enough," Tyrion muttered, taking a moment to sip his wine and collect his thoughts.

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