3-Prince Prince Go Away
Opening the door to the Prince's quarters, Ser Barristan slowly made his way out onto the balcony. He was met with Jon feeding a small dead mouse to Snow before she dove off the ledge and gracefully flew through the sky above the city.
"Your Grace," Barristan greeted with a bow.
"Good morrow, Ser Barristan. Anything of note?" Jon asked.
"Nothing to concern yourself with this morning, Your Grace. Your father sleeps soundly as always," Barristan replied.
"I figured. He won't even acknowledge the world until at least noon. That's when it all falls to Lord Arryn," Jon spoke, and silence fell for a brief moment.
"It appears you're attempting to train Snow. May I ask for what?" Barristan inquired.
"I've decided to give her a calm morning. I'm trying to teach her to catch messenger birds such as pigeons and ravens. With the gyrfalcon's primary prey being other birds, it seemed fitting," Jon spoke. As if on cue, Snow returned with a dead seagull clutched firmly in her talons as she began taking chunks of flesh from her prey.
"It seems she's more eager than anticipated," Barristan said with a smile.
"Well, she does learn from the best," Jon replied as he lifted her large finely crafted cage to her level, allowing her to jump in with her meal firmly grasped in her mouth.
(Picture Of Cage)
"Shall we see to breakfast, Your Grace?" Barristan asked.
"There are four things that get me out of bed in the morning, Ser. That is eggs, bacon, black pudding, and the 'King's Landing spirit'!" Jon replied sarcastically, making his protector chuckle.
Making his way out of the Royal Quarter, down the grand staircase, across the Keep Courtyard, and into the dining hall, Jon was greeted by most of his 'family'. Jaime held little Myrcella, Cersei held the infant Tommen, and Tyrion sat with Joffrey, who did nothing but pick at his food.
"Ah, Prince Jon. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Tyrion asked with a smile, the only one who willingly wore one in Jon's presence.
"Good morrow, Tyrion. I assure you I burden you all with my presence solely for the scent of bacon that filled the Keep on this fine morning. Dear mother," Jon spoke as he made his way around the dining table and over to Cersei's side, where he gave both her a peck on the cheek and a small one on Tommen's head.
Cersei slipped on a half-baked smile, her eyes betraying her as they rolled in their typical snobbish and judgmental manner.
"It appears competition is brewing. I shall have the lances prepared!" Tyrion said with a sarcastic chuckle as he received piercing death stares from both his siblings.
A few minutes of undisturbed silence fell across the table as Jon hastily but steadily got through his meal to remove himself from the toxic environment that was Jaime and Cersei's company.
"So, Jon, how is your beast faring?" Joffrey asked with a mouth half full of food.
"You'll need to be more specific; I have two and soon to be more," Jon replied, also with a mostly full mouth.
"The 'kingly' deer," Joffrey specified.
"Eikthyr. He's growing by the day. The groundskeeper believes he will grow to be as large as the largest steeds you see working the fields. Though he has had an upset stomach as of late, I theorize it to be simply a minor case of colic," Jon spoke, turning his attention to the queen, who failed to hide her contempt in her failure to poison a 'simple animal.'
"I should like to ride it one of these days, should Mother allow it," Joffrey asked, turning his attention to his mother for permission.
"Absolutely not. You are far too young to go near horses, let alone beasts," Cersei replied without delay.
"Oh, but I'm sure he'd make an exception for you, my Queen. I once saw him take notice of a blonde servant girl in the garden," Jon retorted with a smirk as he finished his meal and took his leave.
Barristan bowed to his queen as he took his leave in escort to Jon, only to gain a shit-eating grin beneath his helmet. Tyrion gained a dumbfounded look on his face as he shifted for a moment to glimpse at the heir, then back to Cersei, who shot daggers at him from across the room. Jaime simply sat there with a smug grin that hid his utter contempt, one of the many methods the Lannisters subtly hid their true expressions.
"Little by little, day by day, my theory of that boy not being a boy at all sounds less preposterous," Tyrion said as he, too, finished his meal.
"He won't be a boy for long," Jaime remarked as he shot a look to Cersei, something Tyrion didn't fail to notice.
As Jon exited the room out of earshot, Tyrion replied.
"You tried that; it appears a man he will be. Perhaps it is too early to tell."
Jon and Barristan made their way into the garden, where a handful of servants tended to its varied beauty. One among them was Eikthyr, a 6'10", 400 kg, quadrupedal sore thumb, but an asset all the same as he tended to the ever-sprouting weeds of the master-crafted lanes.
"How has he fared, Lora?" Jon asked one of the servants.
"Very well, Your Grace. I have never seen anything like him. Despite his menacing size, he almost effortlessly seeks out the weeds, leaving nothing to contend with the flowers and plants. Though, he has occasionally snuck off with an apple from Aenys's tree," Lora reported with a bow.
"He likely sees it as a reward for a job well done. I will take him off your hands if he's finished with his morning duties," Jon spoke with a smile as he took to his saddle with Barristan's help.
"Of course, Your Grace. Safe travels," Lora replied with a bow.
Without a word coming from his rider, Eikthyr began to trot out of the garden and into the courtyard, where a stable hand had Barristan's horse ready on cue, the same he did every morning without fail. As they took their leave from the Red Keep, Jon had two destinations in mind: one was Flea Bottom, and the other the Kingswood.
"Are we going to 'make it rain' this morning, Your Grace?" Barristan asked.
"It seems a good morning, wouldn't you agree?" Jon replied as he pulled several heavy pouches from Eikthyr's saddlebags.
"If you see it fit, Your Grace," Barristan said with a smile.
In that moment, as Barristan rode behind the Prince he swore his life on protecting, he was reminded of another prince he failed: Rhaegar Targaryen, the 'Last Dragon,' and the greatest man he ever had the pleasure of serving. But while he was a man, this was simply a boy who exuded all his confidence, wisdom, generosity, and perhaps even greater cunning intellect. The Seven Kingdoms had more than their fair share of bad and despicable rulers, so how the crowds both high and low rejoiced when one such as Jon appeared, mounted on his god's given symbol of future greatness. Whether he truly cared or was simply coercing the crowds with a reason not to one day riot against the Red Keep and crown if the opportunity presented itself, he didn't know, but one thing he knew for certain was that it was working.
"GOOD MORROW, YOUR GRACE!"
"MY DAUGHTER LOVES YOU, YOUR GRACE!"
"THE SILVER!!"
"SILVER!! SILVER!! SILVER!! SILVER!! SILVER!!" The crowd that was quickly assembling in Flea Bottom cheered as a smile spread across Jon's face. Suddenly holding up a hand, the crowd quickly died down to a whisper, allowing their prince to speak.
"Believe me or not, but every day I get to ride amongst you all, I see as a great honor. Long has it been a stigma that the royalty of Westeros simply dwell on Aegon's High Hill, overlooking the ever-hard-working wheel that is King's Landing. But fear not I, for I know in my heart that it is ALL YOU who truly make this city live and breathe!" Jon barely finished before the crowd roared once more, only to quickly die down again to allow him to finish.
"Do not hold sorrow in your hearts for what I'm about to say, for I do not. Every dusk has a dawn. House Baratheon and Stark have long held an agreement since my father, your king, was just a boy. Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, were warded as boys, an agreement that allowed them to grow into the men that both crushed a dynasty and threw the Greyjoys back to their shit-stained rocks. I...will be warded in the North..." Jon spoke as the crowd roared in outrage and discontent that lasted long minutes until Jon could once more speak.
"But not all is lost. I will return once my sixteenth name day has passed, allowing me to return to you a wiser, stronger prince. ALONG WITH MORE MONEY!" Jon roared as he began throwing fists full of Silver Stags to the crowd, who caught and collected them from the ground as though he was throwing them water during a drought, but not disputing over it as much as other crowds would, to Jon's previous request.
Emptying seven pouches of their hundreds of Stags, Jon took the distracted crowd's hoarding as his chance to alleviate Barristan's anxiety and take his leave from the crowd and toqard the city gates.
"Permission to speak freely, Your Grace?" Barristan asked, intriguing Jon.
"Please do, Ser. Like I've always said, your council is one I respect higher than bare few in this world," Jon replied.
"Do you not fear the wrath of your father when someone inevitably gets word of his 'generous' prince?" Barristan asked.
"I understand full well that my father's very words and footsteps are law, but let me ask you something, Barristan. If I hadn't taken that silver from the coffers, where do you believe it would have ended up? And please do speak your mind," Jon said, giving Barristan his full attention besides steering Eikthyr.
"Some tourney winner's purse, I presume," Barristan replied as Jon shook his head in acknowledgment of a good answer.
"That is the third place. But first and foremost is my father's whoring and drinking. Despite my age, I listen to the squabbles of the small council and know that somehow, in only shy of nine years, my father has racked up a debt equal to almost three and a half million dragons. If Lord Arryn can't curb his spending and free the council of the parasites that clutch to it, there is no hope for the kingdoms," Jon spoke, leaving Barristan dumbfounded once again, giving the seasoned warrior much to think about.
"I would rather the money go to the people my father forgets truly run his kingdom. Power resides where men believe it resides, and all it would take is an angry enough mob to tear the crown from my father's head," Jon muttered the last part under his breath, giving Barristan a furrowed brow of concern for his prince to notice.
"Do not take my words to heart, Ser. I wish only for my father's well-being and the prosperity of my people," Jon finished his rant with a deep breath.
The ride through the Kingswood was long and peaceful until a disturbance in the nearby bush caused Eikthyr to enter a defensive stance, a form that would be otherwise unseen in a prey animal like a deer. Several large wolves slowly emerged from the brush, timber wolves, the only wolves found in the south and larger than all besides dire wolves.
"Your Grace, we need to run!" Barristan spoke with an unwavering voice of concern as he drew his blade.
"Wait..." Jon replied as he held his hand to Barristan.
Dismounting much to the shock and horror of his guard and friend, Jon slowly approached the snarling wolves. They hadn't yet attacked as they assessed if the king of the woods would be a worthwhile fight. Raising his hand to the beasts, they snapped and snarled something fierce, but as his eyes slowly rolled into the back of his head, some whimpered while others tempered their savagery. Cutting their losses, they retreated into the brush from whence they came as Jon was left drained from using his gift on as large a scale as an entire pack.
"Come, Your Grace, we must return!" Barristan beckoned as he quickly made his way over to assist his prince to Eikthyr, who bowed to make mounting easier.
Two Hours Later, King's Landing
After some much-needed lunch and reprieve, Jon was escorted to the small council chamber where the small council, Robert, and surprisingly, Ned had assembled. They appeared to have just been in a heated debate, with Ned simply forced to stand witness.
"YOU!" Robert bellowed at Jon, but not as harshly as he otherwise would to any other.
"Good morr..." Jon attempted to speak but was swiftly cut off.
"Oh, to hell with your typical pleasantries, BOY! You will explain why scores of peasants make off with the CROWN'S GOLD!" Robert demanded.
"Permission to speak freely, Your Grace?" Jon requested.
"Oh, we know you have much to say, out with it!" Robert ordered.
"What happens to a wound unattended?" Jon asked, testing Robert's hungover mind.
"Get to the point!" he retorted.
"It festers, spreads, and if left unattended, will eventually kill the rest of the body. That body is your city. Many like to believe the masses don't care who sits the throne, but that's only when a mutual respect is held between the two...and clearly in your case, that's a wound you will allow to spread while you bury yourself beneath mountains of wine kegs and whores," Jon spoke as Robert shot to his feet, fists clenched, wearing a scowl unlike any other while Jon remained expressionless with his hands behind his back.
"So, I take it I shall prepare for the journey north with Lord Stark?" Jon asked, unfazed before the Demon of the Trident.
"At first, I thought it would be a punishment, my son, my heir, being reclused to a frozen hellhole for the next eight years. But now, we will see how quickly your beloved city forgets their OH SO GENEROUS PRINCE!...away with you," Robert dismissed his son as he slumped back into his seat, causing it to creak and bend something fierce.
"Your Grace," Jon bowed before excusing himself from the chamber to prepare for the journey ahead.