It is not often that one stares down a corpse.
For a corpse, I had to say, it was a surprisingly well-dressed one. The dead don't usually look so pretty. Gold and bright red and the finest and most luxurious silks I had ever seen, all packed into perhaps the most impractical and ostentatious set of gilded armour one could imagine. He had a brilliantly shiny sword with the most wonderful patterns in the steel clasped in his hands, and two painted stones covering his eyes.
Had I wondered into some sort of renaissance fair, or maybe a cosplay convention? Oh, maybe even a movie set? That would be a story to tell the grandkids, eh?
Looking around, nobody could be seen. What good is a convention, especially one held in what looked to be such a grand locale, if nobody bothered to turn up? The only person in the vicinity was a freakishly tall and yet stunning blonde, who somehow managed to put all the models I had ever seen to shame.
Cheekbones you could cut glass on, brilliant emerald eyes, pearly white teeth, and long flowing locks. If she was an actress, she was certainly not one I knew. If she was a cosplayer, then it begged the question of who she was cosplaying. No normal person dressed like that, at least not in the modern age. It was a conservative style but gave hints of a well-maintained and eminently desirable figure underneath it all.
This observation, however, was swiftly followed by another, less pleasant, realisation. She wasn't tall, I was short. Now, I had never been the tallest, but I was a solid six feet on most days, and this woman's proportions did not lead me to believe that she was seven feet tall.
I looked down at myself, observing the similarly fine clothing that I seemed to be wearing, and then around at my location, and I struggled to restrain my urge to curse when the truth of the matter struck me.
I was a child.
I hadn't been a child in a long time, and the fact that I suddenly was one did not serve to alleviate my confusion at the situation. I didn't curse, still trying to gain my bearings, but the woman stood next to me did shoot me a look when my breath quickened as my panic grew. Suddenly, I was broken from my reverie when a deep voice could be heard echoing off the walls of the building, "Your brother is dead," the man said as he walked into the room. "Do you know what that means?"
I kept silent, my breath falling still as the reality of my situation finally dawned on me. I was Tommen Baratheon, the woman stood next to me was Cersei, my mother, and the man speaking to me was Tywin mother-fucking Lannister.
Either this was the most vivid dream I had ever had, or something was deeply wrong. I didn't do drugs, I didn't drink, so what else could it be? I wasn't a child either, so there went any notions of having gone anywhere by accident. I hoped and prayed it was a dream, and one that I was due to wake from any moment now, but knowing my luck, I wasn't going to bet on it. The world of Westeros was a notoriously brutal one, so I wasn't going to fuck around on the off chance that this wasn't a dream.
Whilst I was working this out, the older man, who I happened to notice that whilst he didn't look like Charles Dance, he certainly sounded like him, grew concerned at my lack of response to his question, "I'm not trying to trick you."
I kept it short and simple, and resisted a grimace when my voice came out high-pitched and childish, "It means I'll be the next king."
He nodded, moving closer to us, "Yes, you will be King. What kind of King do you think you'll be?"
I contemplated my answer, looking down at Joffrey's corpse, and then back up at Tywin, "A good one, and hopefully an old one as well."
"Mm, I think so as well. You've got the right temperament for it. But what makes a good king, hmm? What is a good king's single most important quality?"
The woman stood next to me, supposedly Cersei, interjected, "This is hardly the place or the time."
Like Tywin, I opted to ignore her, "That's easy: wisdom."
Tywin looked curious, "Yes! But what is wisdom, hm?"
"A King's power is vast, and all-encompassing. His duty is to exercise good judgement, so that the realm may prosper under his guidance. Making good decisions requires a King to be smart, but it also requires him to be humble, to know what he knows and to know what he doesn't. And to be wise enough to know the people who know what he doesn't know, and to seek them out."
Tywin looked a mixture of pleased and contemplative, though his expression had barely shifted from its default position at all, "You're young, but I can tell you'll be a wise king. A wise young king listens to his councillors and heeds their advice till he comes of age. And the wisest of kings continue to listen to them long afterwards." He looked down at the corpse and back at me, "Your brother was not a wise king. He was not a good king. If he had been, perhaps he would still be alive."
I resisted the urge to snort at the shade he was throwing, "What do you think his moniker will be, now that he's dead? Every king has one. Jaehaerys was known as 'the conciliator', Daeron simply as 'the good'."
Tywin looked at me, "What do you think yours will be?"
"King Tommen," I said, "the surprisingly competent."
Tywin quirked the eyebrow at the strangeness of the title, came around the dais where Joffrey's body lay, and placed his arm on my shoulder as he began to lead me out of what I presumed was the sept, "Now, as the King, you will have to marry. Do you understand why?"
"A King needs a Queen, both to further the family line and to forge an alliance with the new Queen's family."
Tywin nodded, "Do you know how that happens?"
"Yes."
"Of course, but has anyone explained the details to you?"
Hearing Tywin offer to give me the talk was simply too good of an offer to pass up, "I've only ever heard tales. The nature of them leads me to believe they aren't true."
Tywin nodded, "It's all relatively straightforward."
Before he could continue, Jaime approached from in front, and looked me in the eyes, "How are you?"
"A little nervous, truth be told. Being king is a massive amount of responsibility for a child who's never had to deal with any before." I looked at Joffrey's body, "I don't want to be like him, and I don't want to wind up like him." I turned my gaze back on Jaime, "Otherwise, I'm fine."
Jaime grasped my shoulder to comfort me, "You are fine, and you will be fine. I'll see to that."
I nodded, and Jaime ventured down the steps to see his son's body, and presumably to fuck his sister as well, the pervert. I ascended the steps with the man who was for the foreseeable future, or at least till I woke up from this nightmare, my grandfather. We emerged from the gloomy sept out into the brightness of day, and before Tywin could lead me to wherever he wanted to lead me, I looked out onto the city and spoke, "Do you smell that, Lord Tywin?"
"Smell what?"
It was the smell of shit, but I couldn't help myself, "Opportunity, grandfather, what else?"