“Finally,” he thought internally, his eyes holding a glint of anticipation.

 

“Is that so?” He actually said.

 

“Yes,” Tyrion nodded his head confirming his words.

 

“How did he die exactly?”

 

“The accounts differ, some say that a member of his own kingsguard did it.”

 

At those words Joffrey inwardly grinned.

 

“Brienne.” He thought

 

“Other’s say Stannis himself did it after the negotiations went south.” Tyrion continued.

 

Joffrey grew silent pondering his hand’s words. Then he slowly opened them and stood up from his desk.

 

“Very well then.” He said his voice was cold and serious. “Uncle, have a servant send a raven to every lord from Sunspear to the Wall.”

 

“What should the ravens say exactly?”

 

“The truth.” His voice still cold. “That Stannis Baratheon, false king of the seven kingdoms, is a kinslayer who murdered his own brother with blood magic.”

 

The others looked stunned at Joffrey’s command.

 

“Your grace, are you sure?” Tobho asked warily.

 

“My uncle laid slanderous accusations against my name, I would return the courtesy.”

 

The others still held concerned looks, while Tyrion grew a grin of his own.

 

“A bold move, nephew.”

 

“Tyrion, once you finish find Jacelyn and bring him to the Small Council chamber.”

 

After a moment of hesitation Tyrion complied and left the chamber with Bronn. Joffrey then turned his attention to his director of his Industrial sector. 

 

“Come on old man.” He said with a grin. “We’ll need you too.”

 

“How many times do I have to say I’m not old!” He complained as he obediently followed behind his king.

 

Tyrion found the first reliable and literate servant he could and passed on the king's command. He then made his way to the Royal Guard’s training grounds and found the vice commander informing him of Joffrey’s summonses. The rag tag group then made their way to the Small Council chamber where they found both Joffrey and Tobho waiting for them. As the men gathered around the table, Joffrey unrolled a large map of the city onto the table. 

 

“So Stannis is coming to kill us all. What’s our plan exactly?” Bronn asked sarcastically.

 

“Hold the city and kill them all.” Joffrey responded as he continued to look over the map.

 

“Right,” He looked back and forth between the young king and the imp.

 

Joffrey ignored the sellsword’s attitude and continued to analyze the map keeping his thoughts to himself. After thinking for a moment he turned to Tyrion.

 

“How many men does Stannis have exactly?”

 

“The scouts report at least thirty thousand.” He responded back, the other members in the room began to squirm uncomfortably.

 

“That's more than the story.” Joffrey thought.

 

“How many ships?” 

 

“At least two hundred.”

 

“That's more than we have.” Tobho added nervously.

 

Bronn and the others looked at the old smith like he was a simpleton for stating something so obvious. Tobho flushed with embarrassment under their mutual gazes. 

 

“Perhaps you and your black tinted cunts could smuggle the king out of the city.” Bronn said as he turned his attention to Joffrey’s vice commander.

 

“And leave the city and its people undefended absolutely not.” Jacelyn responded emphatically.

 

“Why?” He looked at the one handed commander confused. “Who cares if some simple folk get killed.”

 

“It is the Royal Guards duty to defend the city and its people to the last man!”

 

Bronn looked at Jacelyn like he was looking at a two headed cow.

 

“Really bought the sales pitch huh?” He asked with a sardonic tone.

 

“I wouldn’t expect a drifting mercenary to understand.” He replied with a mix of pity and scorn.

 

At those words and look Bronn’s hand slowly slid up to grasp the hilt of the kukri he kept behind his back. Jacelyn, seeing Bronn’s movement slowly grasped the large dagger at his belt. The two looked ready to kill the other till Joffrey raised his hand for the two to knock it off.

 

“You guys can kill each other some other time, right now we have work to do.” He said sternly. 

 

Jacelyn slowly released the grip of his dagger while Bronn did the same. Joffrey continued to ponder all of the logistics of the battle to come while ignoring the two men’s banter. Tyrion watched Joffrey stare at the map with his stern gaze as if he was trying to unravel a mystery. 

 

“What are you thinking Joffrey?” He asked curiously.

 

After a brief pause Joffrey responded to both his hand and the rest of the group.

 

“Stannis knows the city and its defenses after all he served on the Small Council with Renly and the others. He knows where the walls are strongest and he knows which gates are weakest.”

 

He brought his finger and traced the map stopping at the Mud Gate.

 

“Mud Gate.” He said. “A good ram would batter it down in a few minutes and it's only fifty yards from the water. That's where he’ll attack.”

 

Tyrion, who had also been looking at the map, had to agree with his nephew’s assessment. 

 

“Though with only two hundred ships he won’t be able to sail his entire host to the bay.” He continued as he looked over the map. He then traced the Kingswood forest. 

 

“He’ll have to march most of them through the Kingswood road.” He said as he leaned back into his chair.

 

“And if Stannis does attack the mud gate, what’s the plan exactly?” Tobho asked.

 

“We could always throw books at his men.” Bronn added.

 

Everyone ignored Bronn’s quip as they continued to ponder how best to defend the city. After a few moments Joffrey turned to look at Tyrion.

 

“Do you still have your Mountain Clansmen from the Vale?”

 

“Yes, why?”

 

“We’ll send them out to Kingswood with a special unit of my Royal Guards to set up some surprises for Stannis and his men.” 

 

Tyrion looked a little confused but nodded his head. He then turned his attention to Tobho.

 

“How many Hwachas do we have?”

 

“Twenty seven, your grace.” He confirmed.

 

Joffrey nodded his head.

 

“I want all the Hwachas from around the city wall moved to Mud Gate and the Kings Gate. We’ll also set up ballistas and trebuchets inside the city.”

 

“Yes, your grace.”

 

Joffrey then turned his attention to his Vice commander.

 

“Have the men dig a trench around the walls. Then line the trench with a pike wall.”

 

“Not to question your orders, your grace but why?” 

 

“We need to force them to the mud gate where they will find the gates open.” He responded calmly.

 

“What!?” Everyone shouted in confusion.

 

“You want to invite the foxes into the hen house?!” Tyrion yelled. “Should we prepare some meat and wine for them as well!”

 

“You can’t, your grace!” Jacelyn had a worried expression. “If the soldiers get inside it's all over!”

 

Tobho was about to add to the dismay before Joffrey slammed his fist onto the table.

 

“Enough!” He shouted silencing the group.

 

Everyone quieted down under the king’s angry glare.

 

“This isn’t suicide its strategy.” He said sternly trying to regain his composure. “Listen closely.”

 

Joffrey began to explain his plan to his men whose faces went through a variety of expressions. From doubtful, to surprised, to bewildered, and finally awe.

 

“That could work.” Tyrion said, bringing his hand to his chin.

 

“Brilliant, your grace.” said Jacelyn excitedly. “You never cease to amaze.”

 

“Thank you Jacelyn, now you men have your orders, get to work.” He said as he stood up.

 

“Um, your grace, what if Stannis chooses not to attack the Mud Gate?” Tobho asked

 

“Then we’re fucked.” He responded nonchalantly.

 

The group of men were a little stunned at his response and watched his back as he exited the chamber. That night over a thousand ravens flew from the capital, each carrying the king’s message. They made their way all throughout the realm as fast as their wings could carry them. 

 

In the Water Gardens of Dorne, a servant quickly delivers the parchment to her master. The servant carefully approached the elderly man as he relaxed in his wheeled chair and basked in the sun’s light. After taking the paper he read the contents of the message, the old man’s face grew a small smirk.

 

“Cute,” was all he said before tossing the paper out the window. Watching the wind blow it away into the ocean of the deserts.

 

In The Reach at Bitterbridge the Tyrell forces were holding a war council. In the middle of the meeting Varys made his way inside delivering the urgent message to Mace Tyrell’s hands as his war council stood by. After the curly haired plump man finished reading the document his face wore a scowl.

 

“I knew that Baratheon bastard dabbled with black arts!” He almost spat his voice filled with disgust.

 

The council took turns reading the piece of paper each one’s face growing equally disgusted.

 

“So my Lord have you thought of my proposal?”

 

Lord Tyrell looked at Varys with skepticism. He had never liked the spider after all everyone knew you could never trust a eunuch. He then looked at his youngest son Loras. Only rage and grief gripped the young lad's handsome face. After taking a minute to consider his options he turned and looked at the spider.

 

“Very well, Lord Varys, I accept your terms.” He then turned to his bannermen. “Lord Tarly, have two riders sent to the Vale and inform Lord Tywin of the threat that his grandson faces.”

 

“Yes, my Lord.” He beat his breast plate and exited the tent.

 

“The rest of you prepare to march!” He bellowed.

 

“Yes sir!” They yelled and the war camp began bustling with activity.

 

Varys stood back and watched as the men bustled around the camp, saddling their horses and loading their wagons. His face changed into an anxious expression as he looked out into the cool night sky.

 

“Hold on Joffrey, the Calvary is on its way.” He thought worriedly.

 

To the North in the castle of Riverrun a worried mother clenched the paper between her shaking hands, tears streaming down her face. Her son Robb had marched on the Capital with a host of fourteen thousand men, but she had yet to hear back from him. She began to fear the worst, that coupled with her father’s ever declining health, and now this. She felt as if she was ready to break into a thousand pieces. 

 

“Family, Duty, Honor.” She muttered to herself as she clung to the parchment.

 

At the wall in Castle Black one of the stewards brought the message to Lord Commander Jeor Mormont chambers. The gruff Night's Watch commander was in the middle of eating his dinner when the Steward brought him the message. After setting down his wooden bowl and spoon, he took the parchment and began to read its content. After a few moments of reading the old commander let out a loud laugh.

 

“Bunch of southern cunts!” He laughed aloud. “It’s times like this I’m glad we don’t take part in the wars of men.”

 

He then burned the paper before he resumed eating his supper.

 

In the Westerlands, inside the fortress of Casterly Rock a serving girl delivered the raven’s message to the lady of House Lannister. Her long delicate fingers held the paper gently as she read the report. After she finished reading the contents, the lady stood up abruptly and tore the paper to shreds.

 

“Get out!” She shouted at the serving girl who quickly fled from the chamber.

 

Cersei wore a dark red evening dress that was lined with gold. Her long golden hair was disheveled and her green eyes were bloodshot red. Ever since her darling boy had expelled her from the Capital she had grown madder and madder by the day. Taking her anger out on servants for the slightest provocation. At times she would even have guards throw the castle servants from the cliffs and watch them be consumed by the sea. People of the city began to call her queen Rhaenyra come again behind her back. Others would even whisper “Maegor with teats” as well. 

 

“All my precious cubs are so far from my side where they belong!” She bellowed as she threw a glass at a wall. “One is shipped to Dorne in a box like cargo, and the others are too far from their mother’s embrace.”

 

Her informant had told her of the engagement that Joffrey and Tyrion had brokered with Dorne and promised princess Myrcella’s hand to Prince Tristan. She could never believed that her darling boy would ever sell his sister like some broodmare. That's why she became convinced that it must have been the lecherous little stumps doing. 

 

“Can’t that old ferret do anything right!” She yelled in her empty room. “My darling boy is being deceived by the red haired whore and the murdering imp!”

 

Unseen by Cersei a vague white fog crept into her chamber through her closed windows. The glass of the window became frosted as it seeped through the frame.  As it moved through the room it made the flames of the candle lights shimmer as it passed. It slowly drew upon the former queen enveloping her in its embrace. Then Maggy the Frog's words began to echo in her head.

 

“Aye. Queen you shall be… until comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.”

 

“No no no!” She yelled, shaking her head. Her breath became visible as the temperature dropped in the room. “She was just a wandering hermit, nothing she said was true!”

 

“When your tears have drowned you.” The voice continued to whisper. “Then the valonqar shall wrap his hands around your pale neck and choke the life from you.”

 

Cersei could swear she could feel the old woman’s breath on her neck as she remembered the prophecy that has haunted her since she was a girl. Cersei had thought drowning that stupid girl would have prevented it from coming to pass. But no matter what she did she could help but feel she was playing in the palm of the old hermit’s hand. She dug her nails into her hand so forcefully that they began to bleed. After a few moments to consider her next course of action she made up her mind. 

 

“The imp and the whore both need to die.” She thought as her green eyes glowed blue for a moment. 

 

As Cersei strode out of the room to send a message to her few remaining servants in the capital. The vague white fog moved to the still closed window and departed from the room and out into the cool night.

 

Warmth once again filled the room.