Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 96: Stags, Lions, Wolves and Roses! Oh My!

―At King's Landing―

Red Keep ― Main hall...

Word had already arrived to the court; preparations were being made for the inevitable return of the royal family from their voyage to Dorne. Tommen, in particular, was among the first of many to stand at the shores of King's Landing... eagerly awaiting to greet his older brother and sister. He hadn't seen Myrcella since her departure from the capital. In accordance with Daveth's decision, his wedding to Margaery would begin once he came back and Myrcella's to Trystane would begin a fortnight after his.

Whilst overlooking several documents, Hand of the King Tyrion Lannister shuffled about and readied himself for his nephew's return. Accompanying him were the Master of Whisperers, Varys, and his uncle, Ser Kevan—now having assumed full command of the Lannister armies. "Still, the reports we've been getting have been... very odd," Tyrion remarked.

Varys had his hands folded in his sleeves. "Stranger things have happened, my friend. My little birds tell me things are proceeding as discreetly as possible, and word has already been sent to the North ahead of schedule."

"Meaning the Stark boy will likely determine what has happened. I'd expect quite a vicious retaliation from his part, considering current events."

"Oh, no one disputes that, not even the multitudes that often worry they might be next."

Tyrion, Varys and Kevan walked down the steps towards the bay. "It's almost funny," he mused. "My brother was the youngest Kingsguard in history at the age of 16. My sister became Queen at 19. When I reached manhood, my father put me in charge of all the drains and cisterns in Casterly Rock."

"A most highborn plumber," the eunuch remarked.

"The water never flowed better. And all the shit found its way into the sea. I never expected to have any real power. So, when Daveth named me Hand of the King—"

"You're quite good at being Hand, you know? Jon Arryn and Ned Stark were good men. Honorable men. But they disdained the game and those who played. Lord Tywin was a brilliant administrator and a master strategist, but even he had his flaws. You enjoy the game."

"I do. Last thing I expected."

"And you play it well."

As they saw the King Robert's Warhammer coming into view, the party arrived with the rest of the Small Council—waiting for the King, Queen and their entourage disembark. Even moments before the ship even reached the dock, Tyrion and Tommen both felt something was wrong; eventually, they see Sansa wrapping Daveth's right arm over her shoulder to help keep him steady with Myrcella and Jaime assisting them. His face was so pale some color appeared to have been drained; he had developed dark circles under his eyes and was bloodshot as if they were inflamed. Daveth could hardly stand with his knees slightly buckling and had experienced shortness of breath.

Tyrion, looking concerned, approached them. "What's going—?"

"Grand Maester, take the King to his chambers. See what you can do for him," Sansa hurriedly ordered. "Serella, try to convince the Septas to lend us get any medicinal herbs you think can help us."

"What's wrong with my brother?" fidgeted Tommen.

"Daveth is very ill, Tommen," Myrcella answered. "We're trying everything we can to make him feel better, but he's steadily getting worse."

Delirious and somewhat disoriented as he may be, Daveth shook his head—still retaining his awareness as his body continued fighting off whatever illness he had. "That's... putting it nicely," he coughed.