The thin, dour man sat uncomfortably on the Iron Throne. He shifted his weight onto his other buttock and decided that the chair was either made by a sadist, or someone so fat it didn't matter that his arse was being carved up, or possibly both – his history lessons were never that accurate concerning the past kings. He sighed and wondered why on earth the gods had given him the dumb luck to plant him on the throne of Westeros and all its painful furniture.

I'm probably going to be a pig in my next life, the gloomy king thought; the Father wants to see how well my rump will slice up. Shame the Mother didn't give me much of a rump, the miserable bitch she was… He pricked his palm idly on one of the sharper swords and watched his blood well up before pressing his hand to his thin lips and sucked. Don't taste too good neither, the farmer will skewer me as a piggling like as not, always was the runt of the litter. No one ever did listen to me. Always got the least food, I did. Nuncle gave me plenty of clips to toughen me up, never did much good – me trotter still bleeds all the same.

"All hail His Grace, Eddison, of House Tolett, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm" cried the herald, as the petitioners filed in to tell the King their woes…

Can't be as bad as my life, on feast days they got more than just the tail of the rat, they did, thought Edd sourly, but he straightened up and tried to look regal all the same. The first petitioner shuffled forwards. He wore a long hemp robe, tied with a faded yellow sash and wore a leather thong around his neck with a crystal secured with a crude knot. His head was entirely bald, save for one small patch on the back of his head that Edd could only see once he had bowed so low his large nose nearly scraped the ground. One of those thrice-damned religious ones, no doubt, but they are loyal subjects I suppose…

"Yes man, what is your name and what are you seeking for?" sighed Edd, hoping it would be vaguely amusing and not in the least bit costly.

"I-I-I am Septon Bairnes of Little Rivers, your Grace, may the Father judge you justly, the Mother show you mercy, the Crone grant you…"

"May the Crone grant me fifty Lysenni girls all to kiss me goodnight and seventy Dornish whores to wake me on the morn, not that she ever would, but it can hardly hurt to dream" cut in the King, already wishing he'd been lost on the Fist with his black brothers, "what do you want?"

"Well, your Grace, we-we lost our flock to a pack of…of ferocious wolves." He ended his sentence on a squeak, trembled for a moment, staring at the worn stone floor. "We need money to buy twenty new sheep, see, your Worship, and…and mayhaps the Crown might provide, for we have no money."

"Did the wolves eats your gold too Septon? Horrible way to die, chocking, once knew a man who died choking on a prune. Never can trust prunes you know, or cooks…" Edd trailed off, and stared at the gormless priest below him, who continued to tremble and stare at the floor. The King looked to his master of coin, Pyp, who was sitting to his left and cleaning his nails with a dagger, "Can the Crown afford to buy twenty sheep of the Sept of Little Rivers?" he asked.

"Hmmm? What? Oh, yes your Grace, I think the Crown can manage that" said Pyp, quickly sliding the dagger into its sheath, "I'll have the coin brought forth by the end of the day, Septon."

The Septon thanked the King profusely and shuffled backwards to the end of the hall bowing all the while.

"Calling forth Ser Harwin, knight of the – " Wish I was a knight, then I could be doing the asking and someone else be doing the giving. Not that I ever did get my wishes, don't know what I did in any past lives of mine, but I must have been awful. Probably was a Septa…

The rest of the day droned on for Edd, the petitioners shuffling forwards and backwards like pieces on a cyvasse board, bowing and begging and thanking the king, bowing some more. All the while the throne cut into Edd's arse and he could do nought but sit patiently until the last of them did his final shuffling dance and left the great hall.

King Eddison stood, stretched and plodded dismally out into the courtyard. The sun was setting and the air beginning to cool. It was the perfect weather for Edd, it stayed indoors. Sitting on the honeyed wall, with a glass of Arbor's finest, he waited for his queen. Few approved of his kingship, and even less approved of his marriage. Never did approve of me anyway, from the time I came squalling out of me mother's womb I've been a disappointment, why stop now, say I.

Edd watched a gaggle of ladies waltz by, all laughter and smiles. They were accompanied by the infamous Ser Bronn of Blackwater, who was a favourite around the more feminine side of court. Only after he got his ser and his lands thought Edd always is that way, isn't it? Your member could be as big as Tormund's, but it would ever get you anywhere unless you had coin as well. Everyone at court is a whore it seems…

He felt a light kiss on the back of his neck and turned around to see his wife standing above him,

"Tash" he breathed, as he stood up to kiss her lips, "and where were you, when me and my arse were being bored stiff this morning?"

"I was hunting game, for your royal dinner," the Spearwife said, and then adding coyly, "I hope you and your regal arse aren't the only thing that's stiff" sliding her hand between his legs.

"Get off, woman, this is court, not the Wall, you need some…courtesy" said Edd, quickly stepping back as his ears began to blush.

"Bugger your courtesy" laughed Tash. She threw her hands around his neck and kissed him again, "I love you, Eddison Tollett, you gloomy southerner."

"I love you too," whispered Edd, stroking her wild brown hair, and gazing onto King's Landing – it almost looked welcoming light by the dying sun. Perhaps life isn't as bad as all that…smiled the King.