Game Of Thrones : Starting as Tommen Baratheon

"My mother may have stuffing in place of her brains, but I do not." I leaned in, my voice quietening till it was little more than a whisper, "Did you think I wouldn't notice that headdress that Lady Sansa was wearing? That Baelish is mysteriously missing, and straight after Joffrey's death?"

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Olenna switched from shock to anger, "Has the crown suddenly stopped needing the troops, gold and wheat that my house supplies? Do you expect our alliance to continue after you have threatened our future with these lies? For our armies to continue to fight your war?"

I continued, unfazed by her threats, "I may not have the stomach for bloodshed, Lady Olenna, but my mother certainly does, and she loved Joffrey with all her heart. All I'd need to do is tell her, and she would demand that heads roll as justice for Joffrey, and three of your four grandchildren are currently in her grasp. Your armies may be vast and mighty but they can't protect you, nor your grandchildren, from the truth.

Assuming your house survives the ensuing conflict, I imagine you will find it significantly harder to make any alliance afterwards, with the taboo of kingslaying staining the Tyrell name." I lightened my tone and dismissed my earlier threats with a careless wave of my arm, "Of course, none of that need happen at all. I am not a cruel boy like Joffrey was, and I happen to actually like your granddaughter, but I am also a person who understands the necessity of setting an example to keep people in line."

Olenna's expression turned sour, "Two-million dragons."

I attempted to be reassuring, "Come now, the Reach is fat and bloated like your Lordly son, you can afford the expense. Not to mention, with the Riverlands in ruins, I expect you should make most of that coin back quickly enough over the course of the coming winter. Once your virtual monopoly on food for the coming winter is considered, it's a tiny price to pay for all that I'm offering you."

She eyed me coldly for a moment, and then threw her head back and cackled, "Oh yes, you'll do just fine for our rose, I can tell."

I shared her smile, and stood from my chair, "I'll be waiting on that coin, Lady Olenna. I expect the first shipment to arrive before Tyrion's trial commences."

She waved me away, "Yes, yes. I'll let the Lord Oaf of Highgarden know."

I walked away from the terrace, allowing myself to relax slightly when it disappeared out of sight behind stone walls. My stomach threatened to rumble, on account of the fact that I neglected to eat or drink anything with Lady Olenna, in spite of having ostensibly sat with her for tea.

Even still, I did not stop for food, making my way directly to the chambers that I had selected for my solar. Once inside, I sent for the Grandmaester, who appeared only after a long delay, "My apologies, Your Grace, for the delay."

As Pycelle sat, I observed him. His whole body seemed to tremble with age, making it seem as if he was about to keel over at any moment.

The chains wrapped around his neck seemed to weigh him down immeasurably, and he walked as a hunchback would. When he sat down, he did so with a small whimper, as though he was relieving himself of a great burden. It was a masterful performance, in truth, and if I didn't know any better, I suspected that even I would have fell for it. The snowy white and thinning hair, the mildly dishevelled look of his robes, the wrinkles about his facial features, all seemed to sell the image he sought to present.

He looked nothing like he did in the show, and save for the occasional similarity, he didn't much sound like him either. It was hard to gauge which Pycelle this man truly was, and there was only really one way to find out. He may not have been the greatest player in either the books or the show, but he was competent enough and certainly worthy of caution. In any case, I suspected I would get what I wanted out our meeting today.

I sent Ser Balon, the knight who had been guarding me for today, to wait outside, covertly instructing him to send for Bronn as I did so, and gestured for Pycelle to sit, "Do you know why I have called you here today?"

"I gather you want to discuss a few matters with me privately, in advance of tomorrow's council meeting?" I nodded, and he continued to speak, "I often find that the council environment is less than hospitable to the principles of good governance."

"You are right, in a sense. In truth, I have called you here to discuss your treason."

Pycelle broke out in a fit of feigned stammering, "Your Grace, you cannot... I mean... I have... I would never..."

"Perhaps my uncle was right, perhaps in the Black Cells you truly found your level." Pycelle's words became unintelligible, "Stop it." Silence descended on the chamber, "Am I the only one who can see through this performance? Is it possible that so many could be so stupid for so long?"

Pycelle straightened, any pretence of frailty abandoned, the fear draining from his face, "There are times I have trouble believing it myself."

"Then why do you bother?"

"So many flowers, Your Grace. Each wanting to grow the tallest, bloom the brightest, and one by one, sooner or later, they all get plucked. I don't want to be the tallest or the brightest, Your Grace, I only want to remain in the garden, until my time comes to return to the dirt."

"I thank you for your poetic candor, Grandmaester, but I still don't see why I shouldn't have you returned to the dirt today."

Pycelle remained calm in spite of my threat, "Since the time I convinced the Mad King to open his gates to your grandfather, I have served the interests of the House of Lannister, unfailingly."

"Which is also treason, I might remind you."

Pycelle nodded sagely, "In that case, Your Grace, your uncle the Lord Jaime Lannister is also a traitor, and a far greater one than me, given that he killed the Mad King rather than merely deceiving him as I did."

"Even still, you betrayed my uncle's trust, who I might remind you is a Lannister."

"Because I felt he was acting against the interests of his house, yes. A wise decision, don't you think, Your Grace, given that he also turned out to be a kingslayer?"

"And what have the Lannisters done to earn such touching loyalty?"

"They have built the strongest house."

"And what happens when they are no longer the strongest house?"

Pycelle smiled, "By that time I will be rotting beneath the floor of the Sept of Baelor. Assuming you deem my years of service worthy of that honour, Your Grace."

I nodded, "In the future, starting from today, it is not House Lannister you will serve, but me. You will keep my secrets, and you will divulge them to nobody, not even my grandfather. And should you to fail to do that, I will have you returned to the dirt, post-haste."

"Yes, Your Grace."

I nodded and smiled, "I have a request for you, Grandmaester. I am in need of a certain kind of poison, and I have been told that you are something of an expert on the subject."

Pycelle frowned as he nodded, "Of course, Your Grace. May I ask why you are in need of poison? If you want to be rid of someone, surely you can just order them executed in your capacity as King? Poison is a woman's weapon, after all."

"I care not that it is a woman's weapon. And no, Pycelle, you may not ask why. In any case, I need something to weaken a man when ingested, to kill him slowly. Something... subtle, almost unnoticeable in everyday life, yet effective."

Pycelle took a moment to think, "Widow's Blood or the Tears of Lys come to mind, Your Grace, alongside some species of mushroom."

"Do you have any of those in your stores?"

"A little Widow's Blood, and perhaps a little Greycap. I'm afraid that after Lord Tyrion raided my stores, I find myself to be a tad short on anything else."

"Fetch what you have." Pycelle made to leave, "And Pycelle?"

He stopped in place and looked at me questioningly, "Yes, Your Grace?"

I let my tone carry the promise of violence, "Not a word. To anyone."

Pycelle bowed and left for his chambers. In the interim before he returned, Bronn arrived, "You called for me?"

I nodded and gestured for him to sit, "I did. I have a task for you."

"What is it?"

"Tell me, Bronn, have you heard of the Mountain that Rides?"

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