Book 2: The Secrets We Covet

Chapter 6 - We, the Riot

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Lyon let her face bathe in the warm sunlight, listening as the water crashed over the rocks. She preferred the coastline where the water met earth. Enjoyed the smells the sea breeze brought to the mainland.

"I'm sure she'll be alright, little Tommen. Myrcella is very smart and kind, she'll make plenty of friends in Dorne." Lyon tried to console the little boy as he watched his sister leave. She was a ways away now; aboard a ship that wasn't to return for a while yet.

"You sound like a little cat mewling for his mother. Princes don't cry." Was all Joffrey had to offer for consolation.

"I saw you cry." Sansa's words came barely above a whisper but Lyon heard them well enough. Her head practically whipped around to stare at her.

Joffrey turned. "Did you say something, my Lady?" 

"My little brother cried when I left Winterfell," she quickly remedied her words, and Lyon turned her attention back to comforting Tommen, listening all the while. 

"So?"

"It seems a normal thing," Sansa replied.

"Is your little brother a prince?"

"No."

"Not really relevant then, is it? Come, dog."  

The Hound, the great hulking beast of a man, came to Joffrey's beckoning like an obediant mutt. It left Lyon to rise, ushering Tommen to follow. Sansa went along as well, walking past Cersei as she stared, dull-eyed, after the ship that bore Myrcella. Tyrion left Cersei's side, and fell in step along with them.

As they walked, Lyon kept as close to Sansa as she dared. Joffrey didn't like that they spent so much time together, even if Sansa had once been her sister. He told Lyon that she had to act like a Baratheon. She wanted to laugh aloud and say "You are no Baratheon", but she figured he'd put her head on a pike if she said anything to that extent. Regardless, as they stepped onto the streets Lyon kept a close watch on Sansa and Tommen. There were townsfolk watching, hungry townsfolk. 

"Hail Joffrey! Hail to the King. Seven blessings on you, Your Grace!"

"All hail the King!"

"He's no king."

"He's a bastard!"

Lyon's thoughts went to the dagger hidden in the folds of her pretty blue dress. She imagined, by the days end, it would be saturated with blood. She held Tommen closer to her, found herself trying to get closer to Tyrion with the boy.

"Tyrion," she whispered. Tommen had become frightened and had started clinging to Lyon's skirts. "Something is going to happen." 

When Tyrion turned to look at her, he found the young prince at her skirts, fearful and still teary eyed from his sister's departure. He took one look at Tommen, then another at Lyon. Her eyes constantly darted from him to whoever began to yell at the King, or her.

"Traitorous bitch!" One of them called. A plethora of other obscenities flew threw the air at her, but at this point they bounced right off of her.

Finally, Tyrion turned to one of the guards. "Get the Prince back to the Keep. Now."

"Yes, my Lord." One of the guards responded, and Tommen was taken, whisked away by one of guards.

Lyon finally turned her full attention back to the angry crowd that was growing as they walked. Their hunger fueled their anger, their anger fueled their hunger. Raucous cries and pleas for food - even just a little - filled the convoy's ears.