For any young lad, matters of sate were of no interest; however, unless those lads were sons of the unfortunate, those young lads would do well to take interest. The second son of King Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister knew that much; much to his elder brother's disadvantage.

With the King and Queen's absence from the capital, Lionel resided over the Small Council in the seat of the cold and dusty chair for the King. Sitting in the King's seat however didn't guarantee the Prince any power; the Masters had disputed rowdily amongst themselves and ignored the Prince's existence. Why wouldn't they? After all, his only reference was his birth.

The Prince waited, patiently and wisely, as he had been taught for years, and when the moment came, he struck with all his might.

"There are troublesome rumours from the East, my lords," Varys spoke, softly and snake-fully. "The banished Dragons are making pacts with the Dothraki. The Mad King's son intends to marry his child sister to a Dothraki Khal."

The Masters started to talk among themselves.

"Masters of the Small Council!" Lionel Lannister's booming voice silenced the raucous Masters. A true Lion's Roar. "Thank you. What is the danger of this, Lord Varys? Do you believe that the Dothraki will ever cross the Narrow Sea? I know for a fact that if the horselords fear anything, it is water. Surely they'll need to teach their horses how to run on water to attempt to take the Seven Kingdoms."

"Well, with respect Your Highness, Viserys is selling a woman to the Dothraki Khal. You are right, Your Highness, the Dothraki fear water, but if the child plays her cards right, her horselord husband would not only teach his horse how to run on water, he'll also teach it how to fly," Varys said.

"She's just a child!" Pycelle argued.

"She'll grow," Baelish countered.

"Then we need to stop her growing, don't we?" Lionel stated. "Lord Varys, you are from those parts of the world. Surely you have a friend or two down there. You could, if you so wished, arrange a few drops of poison to be smuggled into her goblet."

"We need the King's permission for that," Varys reminded.

"He's wanted them dead for years and that's what we should have done a long time ago. But Jon Arryn always stood in the way with his foolish honour. And… Robert was always a procrastinator," Renly Baratheon declared. "Now the Targareyns have 40,000 horselords at their back."

"Lord Varys, you have my permission. As the Prince and Regent of King's Landing in my father's absence, I give you full permission on this matter. It's time to act." Lionel had taken the reins of power the moment his father gifted them to him. "I await your report, my lord." He looked pointedly at the eunuch, almost questioning his loyalty to the Baratheon crown. "Are there any more matters?"

"No, Your Highness," Varys said.

"Good. Get out. Except you, my Lord Baelish." Just like that, Lionel had asserted his dominance over these lords without reminding them that he was the Prince or a Lannister. Although he was sure that they remembered those facts.

They all shuffled out of the Small Council Chamber, perhaps spitefully, with Baelish standing there, holding files and rubbing his fingers together. "Your Highness?" He asked, cautiously.

"You're a whoremonger, aren't you Petyr?" Lionel asked, looking at the Master of Coin. "Among your other talents?"

Baelish never believed that he would be surprised by anything, but the man was taken aback by Prince's address of him by his first name, not that he was flattered of course, it was just the sound of it sounded… foreign coming from another's mouth.

"Yes. Brothels seem to be a good investment. They flood gold to be purse," Baelish grinned.

"As well as allies, I'd believe," Lionel scratched the slow and subtly growing blond stubble on his chin.

"Indeed. Should I send a few lovely girls your way, my Prince?"

"You can indeed, but I would like you to also send the Khal a few lovely girls. As you would know, my lord, poison doesn't always work. Something goes wrong. Someone blabs. Someone messes up. Therefore we will need to destroy the Targareyns in a different way. Send your most skilled, exotic ladies to the Khal. Seduce him. Make him turn his back on the Targareyns."

"Hm… and what would I get in return?"

"The gratitude of the Seven Kingdoms for ending the wretched Targareyns dynasty," Lionel said in a manner of jest. "Let's see… Harrenhal needs a new Lord. Perhaps I could convince my father to give it to you."

"Harrenhal is cursed."

"Well, surely your brothels have acquired you enough money to knock down the damn thing and build a new keep. The lands would still belong to you even if the castle is knocked over." Lionel smiled remembering another fact about Harrenhal. "They're the largest lands in the Riverlands."

Baelish considered the offer and realised the opportunity in the lordship. Harrenhal and its lands were rich and fertile and plenty. A good bank for his wealth and a step closer to the plots he was hatching.

"Is that an agreement I smell Lord Baelish?"

"Alright. I'll do it."

"Then we are agreed. Oh, and I forgot to mention one small fact. You will need to go with your girls to that continent and staying there until the deed is done and the Targareyns are dead."

"Why?" Baelish grew irritated.

"A simple stimulate for you to rid of the Targareyns faster." As well as keep you out of the kingdom to buy me some time so you don't hatch anything that could jeopardise my place on that damn Iron chair. "I assume after a long time, your only desire will be to come back home." Lionel picked up a parchment from the table and handed it to Baelish. "Here is a copy of the warrant for your departure. You'll notice my father's royal seal. But the moment we're rid of the Targareyns you'll be welcomed back with all your lands and gold and positions intact. Are we at an agreement?"

Baelish saw that the Prince had planned his moves, even preparing a warrant in advance before entering the meeting. A worthy opponent. His weasel-like brain considered his options. There weren't that many. "It would seem that I have no other choice, Your Highness."

"Well then, we await your speedy return, Lord Baelish."

Both saw that Baelish was now a bankrupt man. His links to his profitable brothels would be severed in his absence. Bravos and its Iron Bank could allow him to withdraw gold from its cells but travelling to the other side of that hemisphere in a ship full of gold was foolish and there was only so much gold Baelish could carry. There was also the matter of not being present in Westeros to execute his plans of chaos.

Lionel had made his first enemy. As well as his first move in the Game of Thrones. Beginners luck apparently did exist.

-000-

Lionel returned to his chambers after the Small Council meeting. The desire for sleep was overwhelming.

"Long day, Your Highness?" The soft voice of the Master of Whispers made the Prince jump. "Forgive me, Your Highness for the intrusion and the startle."

"You surely know how to make an entrance, Lord Varys? Pray, what are you doing in my chambers? How did you get in?"

"I'm the Master of Whispers. Knowledge my trade."

"I suspect you have some knowledge for me, then?" Lionel approached his wine-table and poured himself a goblet of Dornish wine. "Would you like some wine, my lord?"

"No, thank you."

"How can I help you, my lord?"

"Actually, my business is to help you, Your Highness. It occurs to me that you have begun to play the Game, and your first move has been both wise and dangerous. Banishing Baelish… ingenious, although don't you fear that Baelish will use his whores to bring the Dothraki to his side." Varys, although had behaved very flatteringly, treated Lionel patronisingly.

"I do. But I hope that might take some time. By the time that Baelish will attack, if he does choose to do so, the throne will belong to a strong man who can defend his kingdom."

"And… do you believe that to be you?"

"My father would rather drink and whore than rule; he was once perhaps a great warrior but no longer. My older brother will run with his tail between his legs when faced with a bloody battle. Both are fools and true cowards. The throne rightfully belongs to me. Would you agree?"

"I think you could make a good king, Your Highness, however, I don't think it is rightfully yours." Varys produced a book and put it on a table. "I'll advise to look at your lineages, Your Highness."

Lionel looked at the title of the book. "Ah… that book. I know what you are pointing to. Marriage is such an official custom. If you ask me, a woman made that rule so that only her child could claim her partner's wealth and love. I doubt its significance."

"The rest of the world would disagree with you."

"The rest of the world thinks my siblings and I are Robert's children. And think of it this way, my lord, my ancestors were Kings in the Age of Heroes, not some common shepherds. Lannister, Baratheon, Stark, Martell, Arryn, you name them. They were all the kings of their lands. Now let's look at the houses that were never kings: Tully, Tyrell, Greyjoy and… Targareyns. Our 'kings' were a weak and unimportant family in Old Valeria who got lucky. They were never kings, most likely they were shepherds. My ancestors were kings. They were conquerors with dragons. My ancestors had been royalty since the beginning of history. Now tell me, who is the rightful King of The Seven Kingdoms?"

"With that logic, there should be Seven Kingdoms with Seven Kings. A Targareyn forged one kingdom. You are no Targareyn. Not even a Baratheon, who have some drops of Targareyn blood."

"Oh, my lord, do you truly believe that Baratheons have Targareyn blood? If they do, shouldn't they have blonde hair and purple eyes… the same factor that declares my siblings and I, bastards?" Lionel smiled in pleasure when he saw that Varys was deep in thought. "Power resides were men believe it resides, doesn't it, my lord, you said that yourself I believe."

Varys was impressed. "Indeed. To your father."

"I can be king. I can be a great, powerful king, if you believe I can be king. If not, then I'm afraid I'd have to do without you, my lord, and still be king." Lionel sipped some wine. "So choose. A Lannister King. A Baratheon dynasty. Or Targareyn chaos."

Varys smiled. "I can't give Your Highness an answer, yet. But I will give you this young man." Varys signalled with his finger and a single Maester older than Lionel by only a few years, came out of the shadows. "This is Maester Howland. He is the pride of the Citadel. Youngest Maester to have completed his training—"

"And your spy."

"He is a gift. To guide you. A show of my support to your cause, Your Highness."

"Basically, you are not putting all your eggs in the same basket."

"Do you ever do that, Your Highness?"

"No."

"But I do give you a great resource. One day, you may thank me." Varys made his way out of the chambers, but then stopped. "Oh I almost forgot, I letter for you, Your Highness, from Highgarden." He took the letter from out of his person and put it on the table.

"Lord Varys… with Baelish in the East, possibly forging alliances with the Targareyns and Dothraki you have more initiative than ever to poison the girl, the whoremonger and the whore. The whoremonger because you'll never have another opportunity, the whore to tie up any loose ends and the girl because she can invade the Seven Kingdoms and wreak havoc."

Varys left, without saying a word, but defeated nonetheless, for both knew how much Varys feared Baelish's power and so both knew that he would poison someone.

Lionel sat on his bed. "Bring me the letter."

"Your Highness has found an admirer in Margery Tyrell?" The Maester went to the table and took the letter. Putting pieces together was not very hard for him.

Lionel took the letter from the Maester and began to open it. "I was her father's ward when I was a child. We grew up together. It's only natural that children growing up in the same household for years should develop feelings."

"Your Highness, if I may advice you?" The Maester's voice was cold and hard and uncompromising, as was his appearance. He was a young man, but that didn't stop him from knowing about life and death and power. He was not a man that was destined to be a servant; it was unlikely that he would allow anyone, even a King or Prince, to walk over him or disrespect him.

"Go on."

"Play the Tyrells like cards, on your sleeve. Don't give Margery your heart. She will use it to wage a war that was never necessary in the first place. As we speak, your father may be arranging a marriage with a Stark, your mother with a distant Lannister and your grandfather with a Martell. Each pursuing their own goals. Margery will make you raise men against your wife's house, whoever she may be. She has been raised by the Queen of Thorns in the art of politics."

"As have I. What should I do then, wise Maester?"

"Find a mistress. She'll take your mind off Margery. And you'll need that if you plan on keeping the Tyrells close to you, but remaining neutral."

Lionel laughed. "What kind of advice is that? I believe it is women that find men."

"Take your horse out for a ride tomorrow morning into the Crownland countryside. Maybe something might catch your eye." Howland seemed to lack the ability to smile or feel any joy.

"Are serious?"

"Yes. True, strong men need sex like they need food. Sex is nutrition to strength and masculinity. Fortunately for you, few men at court have regular, healthy sex."

"So your wise advice is to find a whore?"

"A mistress. Whores are easily bought and in fact, are poor at sex. A country girl you pick off the street and treat like a queen will never sell you and she'll worship you."

-000-

The next morning, Lionel woke up and contemplated his new friend's advice. He soon realised that it was true. He called his groom to prepare the horses and by lunchtime he rode out with a squad of Lannister guardsmen at his side.

At the first village they stopped at to water their horses, Lionel scanned his eyes at the girls of the village. They had come out of their houses to giggle and blush at the handsome, brave soldiers in their glinting, gold and crimson armour. He didn't see anything that he liked. The second and third village was the same.

Lionel was beginning to feel sceptical about continuing on until they had met a farmer transporting a cart with his young wife and cabbages to Flea Bottom. He sent his men ahead to stop the farmer.

"Halt! In the name of the Prince!" They rode ahead. Lionel catching up.

The farmer fell to his knees in front of Lionel's horse. The Prince barely noticed him though; he dismounted and stepped closer to the farmer's wife.

She was a young girl, about 14 or 15. Luxurious, black hair fell on her shoulders; smoky grey eyes never left his emerald orbs; rouge, puffy lips were parted from each other and the Lannister heir felt the undefeatable urge to kiss them; a pale white complexion complemented her. She dressed in a very modest fashion, not revealing anything. She was simply a goddess sent to earth.

"Your Highness should know that I have the Lord Rykker's written permission to leave my village to go and trade my cabbages in King's Landing... and I can easily prove it… If you would be so kind as to let us pass…" The farmer knew the way that the boy, that was so much younger than himself, look at his wife, but there was nothing he could do about that. Right before his eyes, Lionel lifted the girl's chin and kissed her succulent lips. She seemed to enjoy it too, being kissed by a Prince.

"What's your name?" Lionel asked her, after parting their burning lips.

"Maria, Your Highness."

"Maria…" He repeated the name, tasting the word on his lips, detecting a delicious flavour. "Would you like to see the Red Keep, Maria?"

Her eyes widened and she was too speechless to say anything. Her husband starred at the Prince as he led his wife to his horse. The girl, gracefully, climbed onto the magnificent stallion; a stallion that her husband could never even dream of seeing, let along buying. The Prince climbed right behind her, wrapping his arms around her slim waist and placed his chin on her shoulder, inhaling her sweet, fresh strawberry scent.

They galloped off and the Lannister guardsmen quickly mounted in pursuit.

The farmer was left, shocked, in the dust.