Tyrion III

Much to his dismay, Cersei's boy grew even taller this year. At his seventh nameday feast, the lad might've passed for ten. If this kept up, he'd be of a height with his royal father when Joffrey was a man grown. Well, Tyrion supposed it was inevitable. Everyone grew taller than him eventually, even little boys.

Just now, he noticed a door left carelessly open as he passed. There were any number of rooms the servants used for storage or some other purpose. To tell it true, there was much about the Red Keep he didn't know, even if it had become his home once his sister wed the king.

Since he had nowhere in particular to be, Tyrion decided to have a look. Ah, and much to his surprise, there was Joffrey, alone and unguarded. There was a large table set out, with blocks and other knick-knacks arranged in orderly stacks.

"Acting your age at last, my prince?" he teased. "I had wondered if you had skipped the phase where one plays with blocks. You know, I probably have some toy soldiers sitting somewhere in my trunk. Shall I fetch them for you?"

Joff didn't look up. "This is play, Uncle, but not the way you think."

Upon closer inspection, Tyrion noticed the ground on the table was uneven, with three elevated zones. Upon the highest was a pile of blocks, red blocks, like the Red Keep!

"Three hills, eh? I suppose that Aegon's high hill there, and one each for Rhaenys and Visenya. You're making King's Landing."

"Good eyes, Uncle." Joffrey handed him a loose scrap of parchment upon which was a rough drawing. When Tyrion examined it, he found the sketch quite good, for a seven-year-old.

"They say King Viserys made a model city like this as a pastime, before the Dance," Tyrion said as he examined the prince's drawing. The principal streets were marked as well as the hills. Much attention was paid to the flow of the river and Blackwater Bay beyond. "However did you manage this?"

Joffrey looked up and met his uneven eyes with discomfitting seriousness. "Walked up the steps of the tallest tower and borrowed a Myrish glass. Wind blows fiercely up there like you can't imagine. I am sorry to say my drawing is not to scale, not yet. This is merely a general idea. Even this model is just a learning experience, I'd say. Once I've made it, I'll tear it down and try again for a proper one."

Proper one? That sounded like young Joffrey had a plan. Varys seemed to fear the day the lad would ask for something. Had that day come at last?

There were other papers on the table, Tyrion noticed, including a rather old-looking one. The parchment was delicate, and his stubby fingers struggled to unroll the thing without damaging it. "This is in High Valyrian!" he said in astonishment.

"Yes," Joffrey confirmed. "You know I've run out of ordinary books to read. I can make some sense of it, but I'm not fluent yet. It seems to me that the real knowledge is there. The Valyrians were more advanced than we are, no? You've heard tales of the Free Cities. The smallest one is better contrived and laid out than even Oldtown, with more people, too. That is the legacy of Valyria, I think, their roads and cities. Dragons are just flashy, but they're gone. They left behind much more, don't you think?"

"You sound like you've thought about this quite a lot."

"Since my nameday, I suppose. After the celebration, my father took me out on a grand hunt. We rode out of the city with half the court. It was shocking, frankly. I never imagined the smallfolk were that badly off. Dirty, half-starved, and living in their own filth. Something must be done!"

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Seven hells, the boy sounded half-mad. "Joffrey." He took the boy's hand. "The world has ever been thus, with rich and poor. I doubt not your heart, but use your wits. Setting aright every wrong cannot be done. You are a boy, yet, and even kings cannot simply command the people to stop being poor. The gods do what they will, and we are but their playthings. When winter comes, you'll see the cruel truth of it."

It was not a kindly thing to say, but this unwholesome idealism had to be nipped in the bud straight out. If Joffrey became another Aegon the Unlikely, or, gods forbid, Baelor the Blessed, it would be the end of the Baratheon dynasty.

The prince pulled his hand away. "Uncle, you mistake me. I know perfectly well that feeding everyone is impossible. Winter is coming, as the Starks like to say. I merely wish to clean up the city somewhat, improve it. Mayhaps we could expand the drains and sewers. As far as I could see, the people dumped their filth in the street and emptied their chamberpots out of their own windows. It is for this reason I crave Valyrian knowledge. How did they arrange their cities? What did they build? Could we advance ourselves and build things after their fashion? This matter will be the work of years, I think: years of studying, years of planning, and mayhaps doing something real won't happen until I ascend the throne."

Tyrion sighed in relief. So the boy hadn't entirely taken leave of his senses. Even if such a thing were not entirely practical, Joffrey was entirely right about one matter. He'd exhausted most of the ordinary reading material in the castle, knowing his histories better than most maesters. It was a wonder, to be sure.

"Sewers, you said? I had charge of the drains and cisterns at Casterly Rock, once."

Joffrey smiled eagerly, making him blink. Tyrion thought such mundane duties would discourage him.

"Then you can help me, Uncle! It really all comes down to water and directing it. We need to wash the filth away. Such is the problem, in chief. Of course, digging through a mountain already snaked with mining tunnels and digging under a city where people live are quite different things, and the river is right there. I mean to build the city here, in miniature, until I know King's Landing, really know it. I'll know every house, every rise and dip of the land beneath our feet, how water runs through the streets when it rains." The young prince started pacing about the room. "Anyway, a bad start and a bad plan are worse than no start at all. I need to know how things are done properly, and for that I need coin."

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Coin? Well, now we come to proper Lannister business at last. How much? And to what end?"

The boy turned on his heel and paused dramatically. "Knowledge, of course. We'll be needing books, old books. I want everything the Citadel has on advanced mathematics, geometry, engineering, and the construction of cities. We can pay acolytes to do the copying for us. I understand that is how they earn their pocket money. I've been studying High Valyrian because I reckoned anything of true use to us would be in that language. King's Landing grew too quickly and in a haphazard manner. No more. We will study, and we will plan. Once we have a very good plan, which may take years, we'll bring it to my father."