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Caspian

His uncle was the one to find him breaking his fast on fish, black bread and sweet wine, "Well, good morrow to you, sweet nephew." Tyrion Lannister greeted. His smile was sincere and filled with warmth, but his deformity always made even his warmest smiles crooked. In his hands, he held a ledger.

Not far behind him was Tyrion's squire and seeming shadow, Podrick Payne. The king had come to notice that his uncle's squire always seemed to be right behind his uncle, shadowing him wherever he went. He wondered if that included the privy as well, "Uncle," Caspian Baratheon returned with a wave of the hand. His wave transitioned into a motion towards a free seat around the table, "Please, sit."

"Don't mind if I do." The king's uncle returned as he went towards the seat. He had to hop a little to get enough elevation so that he could take the seat properly. He clapped his hands together as he looked at the menagerie of food laid about the table, "Quite the breaking of fast we are having here, aren't we?" He asked, noticing the grapes, the grapes a mixture of a ripe and deep red colour as well as the pale green of the other variety. There was also steaming hot scones set on the table, fresh from the oven.

Tyrion Lannister gently placed the ledger onto the table before taking one of the scones for himself. He juggled the scone for a second, from his left hand to his right as he was met with the full breadth of the temperature of the baked food, "Ouch!" He mouthed before blowing on the scone.

The king looked on amused at the entire spectacle of it all, "I took you for a better juggler than that, uncle." Caspian quipped as he took a drink of the sweet wine from the depths of the jewelled goblet that lay in front of him.

"Only when I'm handling things that aren't about to burn my fingers off." He replied as he quickly shook one of his hands in a bid to try and cool his palms and fingers. The scone seemed to have cooled enough for him to take a bite out of, a testing bite that the Imp approved of, "Busy day you have today."

Caspian Baratheon didn't at all find himself surprised. He had nothing but busy days ever since he became king, but at least he could attest to the fact that now his grandfather was in the capital, he had far less work than he had previously, "Anything new, other than that?"

Lord Tywin Lannister might have removed Tyrion as Hand of the King the moment he entered the city, let alone the Red Keep, but Caspian knew the true worth of his uncle and had kept him on as his secretary. It didn't have the same amount of power or say influence as that as the Hand of the King, but it still allowed him to know far more of the happenings of the realm than most others.

In truth, he was basically a member of the small council, just without a designated area of mastery to look over.

"Not really." Said Tyrion in between a bite of the scone he had pilfered from the food laid out for the king. With a movement of the hand, and a flick of the finger, the ledger found itself open and it's owner perusing over the contents, "First order of the day is that you have to hold court today."

"Positively looking forward to that."

His uncle smiled that smile of his with a flicker of light in his mismatched eyes, "I'm sure you will."

The king wasn't blind enough to not notice the flicker in his eyes, "What is it?"

"A ship made port yesterday," His uncle said, "From the Summer Islands."

"So?" The king asked, rather confused. He thought of the ships that he had come to see in his youth making port in the Blackwater. He had seen all kinds of ships, from merchant carracks and cogs, warships that ranged from galleys to galleas and the strange swan like ships of the Summer Islands, bringing upon them exotic foods and gems and dark skinned men and women, "I doubt a ship from the Summer Islands is news. What's so special about this one?"

If his uncle's smile could stretch any further across his face, it could have, "It holds dignitaries from one Jalabhar Xho, Prince of the Red Flower Vale."

It took him a moment for his memory to remember the name and then a little longer to equate the name with a face, "Dignitaries, eh?" The king repeated with an even smile on his face, "I suppose he was able to get back this kingdom of his."

"That and much more." The king raised an eyebrow at the Imp's words, but Tyrion did not divulge on the matter and kept on being deliberately enigmatic, "All I shall say is that Prince Jalabhar has been a very busy man since we last saw him."

"If you say so, uncle. What of the knights and soldiers I sent him off with? How many returned?" He would have been pleasantly surprised if all of the fifty men he had gifted to Jalabhar to regain his kingdom had returned to Westeros.

Tyrion Lannister sighed and shifted slightly in his seat. He placed a half eaten scone down on a nearby plate, "Just over two dozen men... You don't seem all that surprised." He finished, after a moment of pause.

"I hear the Summer Islands are very lovely all year round. The women are dark skinned and lusty wenches, wet all year round as well." He took another drink of his wine, "If I went there, I doubt I'd want to leave as well. I was expecting this to happen." The king figured that he might have lost some skilled and veteran soldiers and warriors, but in the end, he had gained a useful trade partner and ally state that was near close enough to be a client state by the agreement that was written between Jalabhar and the Iron Throne.

Taking all that into consideration, he would make the same decision again over a million times over again, and again, and again.

"You just love taking everything in stride, don't you?" Tyrion Lannister remarked with a rueful shake of the head.

The king was surprised his uncle would actually ask such a question, considering that the man had known him since he was nothing more than a babe and had seen him grow up to be the man that he currently was, "You should know by now that I'm cynical by nature. I always expect the worst to happen-."

The king was cut of by a shake of the hand, "I know, I know, 'In case something bad happens, all you can be is mildly surprised.'" His uncle gave him a queer, amused look, "That's not a very healthy mind-set, you realise that right? It's almost as if you expect the world to be nothing more than doom and gloom."

"And it isn't?"

His uncle had no retort for that question. Instead, he moved onto other matters that were in the king's itinerary, "There will be a small council meeting after you've held court."

"After court?" Was Lord Tywin trying to kill him?

"Don't worry, there shall be an hour intermission before you have to attend, or not attend." He said with a shrug at the end, "Your choice to be rather honest."

"I will attend," He might complain about the work-load to anyone who was willing to hear, but he was king and he had a duty to his kingship. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to be ahead of everything happening in his kingdoms, "An hour's rest is better than nothing, I suppose. Who knows how long court will go on for."

Sometimes, when he was young and had nothing better to do with his time, he would go into the galleries whenever Lord Jon was holding court. It's a statement to how long court sessions lasted by the sheer fact that he always seemed to leave long before the session ended. How Lord Jon Arryn was able to last so long in his advanced years was beyond him. It was only when his father was holding court, where the sessions rather short and brusque and straight to the point, no doubt because his lord father, the previous king would have preferred spending his time hunting, drinking or fucking, Maybe some unholy combination of all three.

Still though, an hour was something and it would allow him time to do something he had been meaning to do now since Willas was in the capital. The heir to Highgarden had been rather confused and perplexed as to why his presence was required in the capital doing essentially nothing, despite being part of the king's court.

"Uncle, set a meeting for me with our master of coin straight after court in my royal office, if you please." He commanded of his shorter than him uncle as he finished off the last of the scone that he had been eating, now neither too hot to the touch or too cold to lose it's warmth by the look in his uncle's eyes.

The secretary to the king wiped away some crumbs at the corners of his mouth before speaking, "Our dear friend Lord Baelish? I can make that happen. May I enquire as to why though?"

The king smiled at his uncle, "Even better, you can be in attendance of the meeting. I think I maybe in need of your services. Littlefinger is a slippery one."

His uncle's interest was certainly piqued by the glimmer in his mismatched eyes of his, "I shall make sure I have the time."

Their time soon ended not long after that. Court was to be held at midday and the king still had time, hours in fact before he had to make his appearance. His uncle was more than gracious enough to leave the king alone to prepare himself for another day at court, which the king was gracious for. Slowly but surely, the king was starting to see as to why his father always kept his court sessions short and brusque or hardly attended or held them for that matter.

Some of the things he had been made to over-see had made him wonder whether he had clerks or not, or someone who was capable of handling the minors cases that were brought to him and in need of his judgement. The most garish one that quickly came to mind at the thought was one of two farmers fighting over a pig.

He was positive that was something their own lord should have handled, not the king. The only thing that came to mind to excuse such behaviour was sheer rank laziness. Now the king was lazy, he wouldn't deny that, but at least he had been drilled into him a sense of duty and would do it, despite whatever misgivings his laziness might have about doing anything that would increase his workload.

"What are you thinking about so hard over there?" A soft female voice asked of him from a door that led into his royal bed chambers.

The king's own mismatched eyes drifted over to the door, "Nothing in particular." He said in reply. The voice belonged to Lady Margaery, dressed in nothing more than a sheer shift made of varying shades of Myrish lace that did nothing to hide her womanly body. He waved a hand over the table filled with food, "Care for break fast?"

"If it pleases, Your Grace." She said before making her way to the table. She took a seat across him.

"It doesn't really please me," Her appearance did though, but he controlled himself. He had things to do this morning before court and he couldn't waste time, "I was merely extending a courtesy. I'm sure you must have been hungry."

Lady Margaery Tyrell had been spending more and more time with him as of late, ever since the king's name-day tourney some few days past. In fact, the king was of the mind that Lady Margaery had all but moved into the king's apartments. He had spent the night with her every night over the past few days.

"Famished actually." For someone that was famished, she certainly didn't eat like it. She was poised and elegant in the way she ate, in the way only a highborn lady could, "Busy day, I take it?"

The king smiled, a leading question if he had ever had of one, "I'm sure you must have caught some of the conversation between me and my uncle."

She gave him a coy smile and fluttered her eyebrows innocently. Her brown eyes did nothing more than to increase the innocent image that she was trying to convey, "That was a private conversation between my king and his trusted secretary. It would have been rude of me to eavesdrop." The king wondered if she had worn that particular sheer shift made of Myrish lace to simply try and get his attention elsewhere rather than asking her of whether she had been spying on him.

If she had, her stratagem was working...sort of. The king was not about to be distracted by the teats in front of him and anyway, nothing of importance had been spoken between the two of them, "It doesn't matter either way. In fact, I have a favour to ask of you." The king said to his future wife.

The future queen's eyebrows raised, "A task for me, Your Grace?"

He gave a curt nod, "Yes, I do. A rather simple one to be honest. An hour or so after court, I would like your brother, Willas," The king had been about to say brother, but then realised that all of his betrothed's brothers were in the capital, "To appear at the chambers of the small council. I'm sure he's been confused for long enough as to why I had him summoned."

"He certainly has been, but he's taken it all in stride."

He laughed, "That's good to hear."

XxX

Caspian had been meaning to do this for a while now, ever since the moment that his guest had entered the capital and even more so when they had entered the Red Keep. The king didn't know when his guest would suddenly up and disappear like she had done before but unfortunately, he didn't have the chance to talk to her or have the time.

Something had always held him from doing this particular errand for himself.

It was a good thing then that some free time had finally been able to appear for him as of now. That and the fact that he did not need to have to travel far to reach his guest. Like many people of importance, they were housed in Maegor's Holdfast.

As he walked through one of the red halls of the Red Keep, sunlight filtering through the glass windows above, he ran into someone he had last seen some years past, "Maester Colemon," The king greeted with a smile.

The maester stopped before blinking then quickly and nervously giving the king a bow, "Y-Your Grace, pardon my rudeness for not recognising you."

"It's nothing." The maester was just like how the king had remembered him the last time that he had seen the man. Thin as a quill and a nervous wreck with too little hair and too much neck. He sometimes wondered how the man was able to function, "Is little Robin here?" He asked.

The maester shook his head, whatever hair he had left swaying with each shake, "No. Lord Robin is still back at the Eyrie."

"Alone?" That came as a surprise to the king. Lady Lysa had been very protective of young Robin and seemed to have been very paranoid about the young lad. She always seemed reluctant to let the boy leave her sight, so it came as more than a surprise to the king that Lysa Arryn was more than willing to leave her beloved 'Sweetrobin' all alone in the Vale.

"The young lord suffered from a shaking fit whilst we were in Gulltown. He wasn't fit enough for the journey."

"I'm surprised you didn't stay behind to take care of him." The king said. Actually, one could say that he was more surprised at the fact that Lysa Arryn had bothered to attend at all if her son was sick.

"Lady Lysa would have liked for me to stay as well, but your royal command..."

The king had nearly forgotten about that and it had only come back to his mind as of this very moment. He might have invited Lady Lysa Arryn to the capital for his name-day tourney and festival, but his invitation was more of a command that could only be answered with a yes. A 'no' wasn't at all satisfactory.

Which actually made him realise the reason as to why the maester had not stayed behind with young Lord Robert was because he had also made sure that the maester was within Lady Lysa's retinue. In fact, the maester was one of the people he had been meaning to talk to, "Maester, if I could have a moment of your time."

The thin man gave him a nervous inclination of the head, "I am yours to command, Your Grace."

Caspian nodded his head before leading the man to a room at the side. He left his Kingsguard shadow for the day, Ser Guyard outside to guard the door and make sure no-one entered. He directed the maester towards a seat within the room, which he noticed was one of the smaller guest rooms of the Red Keep.

The king was sure that he had never seen anyone anymore nervous than the maester as he sat down trying to look at everything and anyone in the room but him. As if it was possible, the man had gotten more nervous and his skin had got this particular sheen, "May I ask what this is about, Your Grace?" He asked, dabbing the sleeve of his long maester's robe across his forehead.

"It's nothing to be nervous about, maester. I just want to ask some questions about Lord Jon," The king said with a re-assuring and calming smile, "I'm sure you know that Lord Jon helped in my development when I was still nothing more than a young, little princeling."

The maester gave the king an anxious nod of the head, "Of course, Your Grace."

"Good. I was wondering, before his death, what was Lord Jon doing exactly? Anything that stood out or didn't stand out?"

The maester looked confused, "May I ask why, Your Grace?"

"Call it a minor curiosity of mine."

Caspian doubted that the maester believed him, but his reply had done what he had hoped for. The maester went into a reflective silence as he thought back to just over a year ago when Lord Jon was still alive and tried to recall anything that stood out.

"I can't say anything about Lord Jon stood out, Your Grace." The maester said to him with a sorry shake of the head, "He carried out his duties as usual, although he did spent more meetings with Lord Stannis than usual outside the small council."

That was probably after Uncle Stannis had come to Lord Jon with his suspicions. Jon Arryn had been the only person that Stannis Baratheon could have gone too. The relationship between the brothers Baratheon was vitriolic at best and antagonistic at worst, and neither states said anything good.

If Stannis had gone to Robert with his suspicions, Caspian was more than sure that his father would have laughed in his face or have been angered by the notion that his lady wife was being unfaithful to him with her own brother, Most likely the former. The king mused. He doubted his father would have cared about his mother having a lover, but the cuckolding? That was an entirely different story.

"Is that all?" The king pestered for more information, something definitive. There must have been some way that Lord Jon had been able to confirm the illegitimacy of his siblings, something other than the bastards that his uncle had shown Lord Jon, "It could be anything."

If Maester Colemon had been a turtle or a tortoise, he would have withdrawn into his shell by now. He looked so small and pathetic that the king was about to feel sorry for him and bad at himself for making the man like that, "W-Well," He began to say, stuttering a bit, "There was this book."

An eyebrow was raised in curiosity, "Book?" That was something.

The maester nodded, seemingly glad that the pressure from the king he had been feeling had relented, "The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. Lord Jon had been looking through it before his illness took him. In fact, he spent most of his time reading through that tome. I know not the reason though." He finished with a shrug of his shoulders, the movement barely noticeable underneath his maester's robes.

"The Lineages..." The king took the title of the book to note. Perhaps it was in the royal library or maybe he would have to ask the Grand Maester...he didn't like that thought for some reason, "Thank you for your time, maester. I apologise if it seemed as if I was a little too full on."

"You need not apologise, Your Grace."

"Before you go though, may I ask, was there anything strange about Lord Arryn's fever?"

"Strange?" The maester repeated, halfway up from his seat before speaking once more, "There was nothing strange about it, I don't think. But I may have been doing something wrong in my treatments because the Grand Maester sent me away back to the Vale and took over Lord Arryn's treatment."

He was perplexed and for some reason, he really didn't like this, "The Grand Maester? Something wrong in the treatment?"

Maester Colemon nodded his thin head with the too much neck, "I wouldn't know if there was something wrong with the treatment. I did everything I could think of and Lord Jon seemed to be ailing better, but the Grand Maester soon took over his treatment. The Grand Maester had seen a fever similar to the one Lord Jon had and apparently, Lord Jon getting better was nothing more than a sign of things worse to come. I decided to defer to his greater knowledge for Lord Jon's treatment." The man sighed as he ran a bony hand through his thin hair, "It seemed even for the Grand Maester, it was impossible to save Lord Jon. He was a good man."

The king nodded, "Yes, a good man. Thank you for your time, maester. You have given me a lot to think about."

Jon Arryn had been murdered, that was all but definite now, and thanks to this little conversation, a culprit had been brought to his attention. He had learned quite a few things from the maester, but the resulting conversation had also given him quite the few things to be thinking about.

Yes, a lot to think about and a lot of people to be suspicious of as well.

XxX

"A king shouldn't never sit easy." Aegon the Conqueror had once said in regards to the Iron Throne. If he could, Caspian wanted to go back to the time of Aegon and throw a glass of wine into his face and question his sanity when it came to the absurdity of making a throne as nearly as uncomfortable as that of the Iron Throne.

It was as if he took some sort of sadistic pleasure in sitting uncomfortably and the danger of one cutting themselves uncomfortably on the throne just a few bad movements away.

The king had also come to think that Aegon must have been rather a rather arrogant man. He had never met the man, nor did he write any books or journals that could give an insight to his mental state of affairs, but from the few facts about the reclusive man, Caspian had come to the conclusion, he was arrogant.

The Iron Throne for example.

It is said the Iron Throne is constructed from the thousand blades of the enemies that had surrendered to Aegon when they could no longer fight against him or his sister-wives. The fact that instead of being humble about his defeat, he then went on to forge the asymmetric monstrosity of sharp spikes and jagged edges is telling in more ways than one. He might as well have been advertising his superiority over his newly made vassals.

Caspian doubted that was a rather sure way of making your vassals love you, the king was of the mind that if it wasn't for the dragons, more than a fair share number of people would have loved to throw Aegon the Conqueror at his throne.

Another thing, probably milder than the first, depending on perspective was the fact that the monstrosity stood tall in the throne room, towering near everybody except for those that stood within the upper gallery. Whether he liked it or not, he would have to actively look down on people and the fact that he couldn't lean back into the throne made it quite the tedious thing to actually sit upon it.

It was infuriating and he always walked away from the thing with a sore back and neck, Wish that I could just burn it down, jagged edges and sharp spikes, and all.

The throne room was still being filled with the courtiers that resided in the Red Keep. From his seated vantage point, the king could recognise near all of the courtiers that made their way into the throne room. Although there were some new faces that he wasn't able to recognise, and these mostly came from the Reach. He had never been to that part of the Seven Kingdoms and the other lords he couldn't recognise came from the north. He might have spent a few moons in the north, but that had not given him time to recognise all of the lords and lordlings of the vast region.

The courtiers arranged themselves without instructions in order of favour or rank. At the forefront, in plain direct sight of the throne were the Tyrells on one side, dressed in varying shades of green and their most important vassals within their immediate surroundings. The king's mismatched eyes caught sight of the Lady Margaery's own eyes and she flashed him a quick, small smile at the minute interaction before his eyes carried on to the next figure. He made sure to return the smile, small as it was, I wonder what people will make of that. If anything, Caspian was sure that everyone in the throne room was a certain kind of sharp when it came to the matter of politics. A small gesture, such as a smile, the minutest of difference in facial expression could mean the changing of the winds when it came to royal favour.

Robb Stark stood at the front as well, on the other side of the Tyrells with his lady wife and the northern lords that had come south with him. The expression on the young lord's expression was cool and icy. Robb had been carrying an even and cool, near stoic expression ever since he came to the capital, but the expression had never been icy. The king wondered why, it was then he noticed that he also stood with his aunt, Lysa Arryn, ...I suppose he hasn't entirely forgotten the fact that his aunt ignored his call for aid. The king wondered if there was going to be a problem there in the future.

Seated at the foot of the iron and steel monstrosity was his family and his council. His grandfather, Lord Tywin Lannister, as his Hand of the King was seated on the right side of the throne, in the place of honour, golden chain of clasped hands around his neck gleaming in the sunlight coming through the high windows. The queen mother was seated on the left of the throne, on a gilded oak seat with Lannister red pillows underneath, crested with gold. As she sat upon her sit, she was a beautiful sight to behold, beautiful and regal. She wore a flowing gown of Myrish lace and silk and cloth-of-silver, her sleeves loose and flowing, even if one could not see it as her hands rested on her lap. Around her neck lay a necklace of gold with a centre piece of an emerald the size of a pigeon's egg, that made no work of accenting her emerald eyes. Her golden hair was done up in an elegant bun with braids that was held up by a black hair net.

Around the two Lannister members of the royal family sat the rest of the council, Petyr Baelish sat beside the Hand of the King, the same smile on his face as ever. The smile that all but told that he knew something that someone else didn't, beside him sat the Grand Maester and judging by his expression when he had found out where he was to be seating, he had not been pleased with the arrangement. His displeasure was soon dismissed when the first of the courtiers trickled into the court. On the other side of the Iron Throne, seated beside his mother was the master of whisperers, the pampered eunuch Varys, smelling of sweet scents and oils, dressed in flush velvet and satin. And lastly, the newest member of the small council, the master of laws, Ser Brynden Tully sat beside him, his face guarding the nature of his thoughts.

At the foot of the throne, where the stairs led up to the Iron Throne itself, stood two Kingsguard at attention, their eyes scanning the room for danger, Ser Guyard Morrigen, and the king's own uncle, Ser Jaime Lannister.

The king motioned at the herald to begin with the days proceeding. The heraled gave the slightest inclination of his head before silently clearing his throat, "By the grace of the gods, the court of King Caspian, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the First Men and the Rhoynar, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, shall now commence." The herald announced. His voice carried around the cavernous area that was the throne room, the heralds voice being carried to all four corners of the room, and perhaps even beyond charging by the open doors that led directly into the throne room, "Introducing Xhara Roqaq, envoy of the Red Flower Vale Kingdom of the Summer Islands."

The king sat up at the announcement. This was the envoy that was sent by Jalabhar Xho, the recently instated prince of the kingdom he had been forced to flee from, Although I hear he now styles himself as king. Apparently, Jalabhar Xho had gone far and above the agreement he had set up with that of the Iron Throne. The Iron Throne had only agreed to help him regain his princedom, which he had, but then he had gone on to conquer two more kingdoms with the men that had been provided for him. He had not only won back his kingdom, but he had also gone on to conquer the kingdom of the prince who had exiled him and another.

It was said he now ruled one of the largest kingdoms in the Summer Islands.

It didn't matter in the end. Xhara Roqaq would serve as the dignitary for the larger Red Flower Vale kingdom and as soon as time permitted, he would have strong words with the dignitary about the changes in the agreement and what exactly this meant for the original piece.

The Summer Islander entered the throne room, making his way down the red carpet that led to the foot of Iron Throne. Xhara Roqaq was undeniably a Summer Island. His skin was dark and the man was tall and lean. His hair was styled into numerous thick braids with bright and eye-catching bird feathers attached into them. Like Jalabhar Xho, he himself wore an outfit that was mostly composed of multi-coloured bird feathers.

Behind him came an entourage that carried several large, golden coloured chests and exotic beasts as well. Most of them were different coloured birds, but others were more of the fearsome creatures that one would find in a travelling mummer's menagerie. That gave a fright to some of the lordlings and ladies in attendance. He also noticed several Summer Islanders in the back as well, dressed as flamboyantly as Xhara Roqaq himself, but their clothes were less conservative and showed more skin, Oh boy... He already had an inkling.

The group stopped in front of him and Xhara Roqaq led them in bowing to the king, "Your Grace," He said with a noticeable hint of an accent. The king surmised it was the accent of a Summer Islander, "I am Xhara Roqaq, dignitary and envoy of His Grace, Jalabhar Xho of the Red Flower Vale Kingdom. We bring gifts from King Jalabhar Xho as a token of his appreciation for His Grace's willingness to help King Jalabhar in reclaiming his rightful kingdom." Xhara Roqaq made a minute movement of the hand and the servants that had brought in the chests opened them all simultaneously. On a side note, the king was impressed at the level of mastery the dignitary had when it came to the command of the Common Tongue. The king wondered if he had learned the language back in his native homeland or had been a sailor or merchant before being tasked with this job.

The lids crashed into the back of the chests with a dull thud, revealing the contents the chests held within.

The chests were filled to the point that he was surprised that the chests were not overflowing with the contents within. Several chests were filled with nothing more than finely cut gemstones of one kind or another. He could recognise sapphires, rubies, emeralds and pearls, along with other gemstones such as diamonds. The king was surprised. He wasn't aware that the Summer Islands were abundant in diamonds. But what had really caught his eye was the chests filled with gold and silver. The other chests were filled with things such as spices, more than enough to be used for a feast for the entire castle and then some along with the pelts of exotic animals. He wondered what kind of animal had a pelt that was orange in colour with black stripes.

"Huh, shiny." Said the king at the sight in front of him. He took his eyes away from the chests and settled them on the creatures that the dignitary had brought with him, as well as the women, "I take it the animals are also gifts?" He did not bother to include the women until the subject was brought up. He certainly wasn't going to be the one to bring them up, someone else had that job.

"Aye, Your Grace." Came the simple reply from Xhara Roqaq.

I wonder if Tommen and Myrcella like parrots. And monkeys. His eyes drifted to the large beasts with the claws and teeth that looked like they could rip into a man as easily as a hot knife could cut through butter, "I suppose the larger animals don't bite do they?" He asked, eyeing the animals with neither worry or concern. Surely the Islanders wouldn't have brought such animals into a densely packed place such as this if they were dangerous now would they? Gods, I hope not.

The dignitary assuaged any fears that the king might have had, "Do not worry, Your Grace. The panthers, tigers and jaguars have been made docile. They are as harmless as a baby tapir."

Setting aside the fact that the king had no idea what a tapir was, all he could do was smile and nod, "That is good to know."

"King Jalabhar also brings another gift for the king's personal enjoyment," The dignitary said, carrying on. He waved at the women and they stepped forward in unison, "His Grace also grants you with the finest fruits of the Summer Islands." Small chatter erupted in the ranks of the courtiers at the sight of the women. A hundred pairs of eyes and more leveled their collective weight on the king.

Little as this was, this was to be a defining moment for the young king. Accept said 'fruits' he won't be that much different from his father and the notion would be given among the court that to earn the king's favour, one would have to simply direct their daughters or nieces into the king's bed. And that wasn't even including the insult that could be made towards Highgarden if he did such a thing.

Despite not even looking at him, he could feel the cold weight of green eyes flecked with gold studying him, waiting for his answer. His mother wasn't so subtle with her look. She was glancing up at him from down below.

Unbidden, he leaned forward in his horribly uncomfortable chair. He could feel cold steel on the armrest where a hand laid and in between his fingers were jagged edges and spikes sharp enough to draw blood with a careless movement, "Thank you," The king said as graciously as he could, a smile on his face, "I can accept all the other gifts my fellow king will give me, but I cannot accept your fruits," He allowed himself to laugh easily, "I am to be wed. I should be true to my betrothed." A lie, but a necessary one considering the audience.

The dignitary merely inclined his head in a bow once more, "If His Grace says so."

Tywin Lannister then spoke up for the first time. He motioned at a servant that stood at the side. The man stepped forward, dressed impeccably for someone of his station, his hands behind his back, "Assign some rooms befitting the rank of our friend here and see to it that his gifts are properly accounted for." The man nodded before bowing his head in the direction of the king and his council before leaving, guiding Xhara Roqaq and his entourage to their respective rooms.

After that, it was merely business as usual. Most of the time, the king allowed his grandfather to give decrees and sit in judgement to the various petitioners. Sometimes, the king himself would interject, lest he be seen as nothing more than a puppet king, which included going against his own lord grandfather on some decisions.

The most noticeable of petitioners were minor crownlander lordlings, lords and landed knights who had lost their lands and most of their riches along with their liege lords who had sided with his uncle in sieging King's Landing and unlike many of their liege lords, did not find themselves sent to the Wall. They had been coming en masse to the capital to plead their cases of how they were honour bound to answer to the call of their liege and that they couldn't refuse lest they find their keeps and holdfasts destroyed and their families and smallfolk killed.

"You are also honour bound to answer the call of your king." The queen had snapped at them, still looking and sounding as regal and elegant whilst doing so. No doubt she laid the blame of the death of Joffrey on the crownlanders that had refused the call, although that paled in comparison with the loathing that was directed towards the Tyrells and Reachmen.

There could be trouble brewed between his mother and future queen. There already was trouble, but it was sure to escalate sooner or later.

The lordlings had flinched at the words of the queen but some of the braver ones had persisted to still try and make their case. The king had done what he had come to be regularly doing with such people, he directed them towards his uncle, Tyrion Lannister, former acting Hand of the King, turned the king's secretary, "If you are so eager to reclaim your lost lands, keep and to wipe the disgrace on your family's name, speak with Lord Tyrion. He will know of what you need to do."

The hours came and went like that, occasionally, the king calling for intermissions so that people would be able to get themselves something to eat and drink. Eventually, his court session came to an end and the king was more than glad for it.

There was a certain way the Iron Throne made you paranoid. A paranoia born from having to be extra attentive lest you find yourself cutting yourself amongst the man jagged edges and sharp spikes of the metal monstrosity, Damn Aegon and his arrogance. The entire ordeal frayed at the his nerves and he wanted nothing more than to relax, but there was still duties to be done for the day, Then I can rest. Perhaps he would enquire after Lady Margaery? He could hardly call her a boring companion. She was lovely in fact, with a certain wit about her that made her company rather different from that of other noble ladies he had come to know.

She had a mind and personality of her own. Most courtly ladies were terribly dull.

He sent a servant to sent for Willas Tyrell to ask for his presence at the small council chambers at the end of the hour.

When the king arrived in his royal offices to relax, he found his uncle and Littlefinger already awaiting for him inside, Ah yes, this. The king had forgotten about this particular meeting in his itinerary and he couldn't help but wonder if he was going to have to change his outfit after the little meeting.

"Your Grace," Littlefinger bowed to him, dressed stylish in a long tunic of satin a deep plum colour marked with winding pattern of a dull silver. His beard and hair were freshly trimmed and his grey-green eyes sparkled with mischief. As ever, he wore a look on his face that seemed to imply he knew far more than the person in front of him, "Interesting court session today. I was sure you would accept," He allowed himself a moment to chuckle, "The...'fruits' that Prince Jalabhar had sent you."

His uncle had a wry smile on his face when he spoke, "It's King Jalabhar Xho now, Littlefinger. Keep up."

The master of coin glanced down at the dwarf beside him, his eyes shining with mischief, "My apologies. Until only some time ago, my image of the prince was merely a glorified beggar asking for whatever qualms and scraps the throne was willing to give him." The barbs were more open than what Littlefinger usually dealt in. He glanced at the king, "If you won't have them, may I?"

The king raised an eyebrow as he walked around them and took his seat behind his desk, "And here I thought you took your pleasure from nothing but numbers and coin." The king relaxed into the padded leather backrest of his chair. Now this was more like it, Would if I could hold court right here in this chair. It would be magnificent.

Littlefinger smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. The smile didn't even reached the corner of those grey-green orbs of his, "Behind everything, I'm just but a man. Even I need to relieve myself every now and then."

"Must be fantastic being the owner of several brothels then." The secretary to the king said, "You must get one hell of a discount of your girls."

The master of coin laughed, "My girls are working girls. I never take advantage of them like that. But those Summer Islanders? I would know many a lords that would pay a pretty penny for just an hour with them." He allowed himself to chuckle once more, "That man, Xhara Roqaq was right. They are fine fruits, full legged and breasted with skin the colour of ebony. I'm surprised you didn't try to partake in them."

"I have a betrothed." The king answered simply, "And she was standing right in front of me with her family and her family's vassals. What would the people have said?"

"You are the king, it is within your right."

"If you say so." The king took a moment to regain his breath. The room was painted a vivid orange colour and it was then that Caspian only realised that the sun was now setting in the east, setting the sky aflame with burning colours. He directed his guests towards the seats in front of him. They graciously took them and the king decided to begin the meeting, "Lord Baelish, are you left or right handed?"

The question caught the master of coin completely of guard. His usual countenance replaced by blatant confusion. The king's uncle was equally confused. He blinked to regain his wits, "I'm dextrous with both hands, Your Grace." He said, emphasizing his point by wiggling his fingers some more.

The king smiled, "That's good to hear." It really was good news to hear. He indicated towards the side were a book lay, "Do you know what this is?" The book was large, more of a tome than anything. It had a black cover with a roaring three headed dragon at the front.

Littlefinger blinked for a moment before raising an eyebrow, "Aegon's Book of Survey. Boring read I have to say, what of it?" His uncle had to lift himself up his chair to get a clear look on the book.

"If my history is correct, it is said that Aegon the Conqueror recorded the value of every land within the Seven Kingdoms to see how much they were valued and from that, the taxes owned by each great house to the Iron Throne."

The king gave a nod of his head, "Exactly uncle. Most taxing systems are based on what is recorded in here, although Jaehaerys the Conciliator had another Great Survey done during his reign to make it more efficient. Took me sometime to find this."

Baelish had a slight glimmer of confusion on his face, "And the last survey was during the time King Aerys the Mad. Done by the lord Hand himself, the great Lord Tywin Lannister."

Once again, the king gave a nod of the head, "It could be said that the Seven Kingdoms saw so much prosperity during my grandfather's tenure as Hand of the King because of that. Although there hasn't been one since Mad King Aerys over twenty years ago, it is recent enough that I can get a good handle on things. For starters, we've had a near ten year summer and everyone else is increasing in wealth...yet the crown had been in six million gold dragons in debt and when Aerys was removed from power, the treasury was overflowing with gold and yet here we are. How is that possible?"

Did Littlefinger's smile just falter a bit and alarm creep into the man's eyes? The king didn't know. The expression had been too minute that he may have caught just a bare inkling or it was all a trick of his eyes, "Your father, King Robert did love his tourneys, his feasts and his whores. They had to be paid for in some way. Coin is usually the method." Answered the master of coin smoothly.

Tyrion Lannister found himself having difficult hiding the smile that threatened to form on his ugly face or the sheer joy he was feeling from seeing Littlefinger being questioned ruthlessly over the state of the crown finances, "I can understand the whores being a recurring expenditure. But the feasts and tourneys? My father didn't hold one every week for the entirety of his reign and you have also been claiming a tenfold increase in crown accounts. Where has that gold come from and where is our gold going? Please do answer."

Littlefinger looked sheepishly as he answered, "These things do happen, Your Grace. You put enough money in a tax collector's hands and they'll eventually start taking some gold for themselves. It happens and much to my dismay, it happens a lot when one works in the treasury, after all, that is where all the kingdoms gold comes to rest." He made to stand, "I shall have a thorough internal investigation if that pleases your heart, Your Grace."

"Sit down." The king said, his voice frosty, "I haven't given you permission to leave." Littlefinger hesitated but did as he was commanded. The king rose from his seat and began to walk around his desk, "See Littlefinger- no, Lord Baelish, such an excuse would have worked for anyone else other than you. The Keepers of the Keys? All four of them are your men. Same could be said for the King's Counter and the King's Scales. The officers in charge of the royal mints, all yours. No doubt they are capable, but once again, they are your men." The king walked round to Littlefinger's side, looking down at the man in all of his tall standing. Without warning, he seized the master of coin's hand and placed it palm down on the desk. A dagger soon appeared in his hands and found itself sequestered through the hand of the master of coin and into the desk. Blood began to pool underneath the hand as Littlefinger let out an pain filled scream, "I'm going to need a new desk."

Tyrion Lannister near jumped to his fit, "Not that I wouldn't mind seeing Littlefinger scream, but what are you doing?" He asked, his tone sounding reproachful.

The king casually waved at the squirming Lord Baelish who was trying and futilely failing to remove the dagger that pierced his hand, thanks to the king himself swatting away the other hand, "Getting answers. I'll admit, Baelish is a financial genius, but it's also obvious the man is corrupt. You and me both know he's been stealing from the crown. Ever since father started borrowing from Casterly Rock, grandfather had always assumed that someone in the small council had crumbs around their fingers." He made a motion of the hand in the direction of Littlefinger, "But he's smart in his own way. He's hid his corruption so well that one might only think that he's incompetent, which we both know is not true."

"I'm one for revenge and all, but how exactly are you going to explain this without any evidence?"

"I'm the king, or have you forgotten?"

Littlefinger had stopped screaming and now sobbed in anguish pain. His hand and fingers twitched occasionally, "I wouldn't have taken your for one to abuse his power."

"I'm not." The king assured his uncle, "He also has a lot to answer for. That whole dagger thing to be precise."

Whatever reservations his uncle had previously, they immediately disappeared, "Oh yes, I want to have words with our dear master of coin about that. Because of him, I spent a rather few restless nights in the sky cells of the Eyrie."

The king looked at his uncle, ignoring Littlefinger for the moment, "So what's the problem with what I'm doing now?"

The imp took a moment to think about it, "Nothing." He finally said, "Nothing at all. Please do continue." He waddled towards the side and filled himself a goblet of wine before coming back to his seat and planted himself down on it and began to watch the show. A pleased expression on his face.

The king kneeled down so that his face was level to that of Littlefinger's, "Is it painful?" He asked.

Littlefinger's voice quivered as he spoke, "Your Grace, whatever you think I-Aargh!" He stopped speaking when the king twisted the dagger lodged into his hand slightly.

"Always so clever aren't you Lord Baelish? With your plots and schemes and silver tongue. But that's all you are, a clever little man. When danger comes this close to your person, you loose your arrogance and mocking swagger. What exactly did you hope to gain from starting a war that would ravage the entirety of Westeros? Thousands of good men and women and children died because of your actions." Littlefinger remained quiet, but still quivering in pain, "Do you know what's going to happen to you, now Lord Baelish? Do you?"

"Y-Your Grace..." The man's voice was weak and his eyes stared at the dagger lodged into his hand.

The king gave him the back of his hand, strong enough to make him bleed at the lip, "Don't Your Grace me. Lord Baelish, you will die. That's for certain. But before you do, you are going to write a comprehensive list of where you stole all of your gold and every person who works for you. If you don't..." His shoulders shrugged dismissively, "You will still die...but it won't be at the hands of the King's Justice." He called for the door and two Baratheon guardsmen entered the king's chambers, "Take Lord Baelish to the black cells. The under gaoler has his instructions. And I want him watched at all times. If he so much as disappears for a minute, you will not have a very happy king."

The guardsmen nodded their heads and dragged the master of coin to the black cells with nary a token of resistance.

"That was far better than I thought it would be." Tyrion Lannister said, finally speaking after watching the entire ordeal. He finished of the last of the goblet of wine in his hands, "I would have preferred to make him suffer some more, but I suppose I shall entrust it to the under gaoler and his interrogators."

"A Lannister always pays his debts." The king said.

Tyrion peered at the king from above the rim of his goblet, "You are a Baratheon," He pointed out, "And what debt did Littlefinger owe you?"

"I have quite the comprehensive list if you want to hear it." He looked outside and noticed the position of the sun, "But I doubt we have the time for it. The small council beckons."

"So it seems." Tyrion said as he jumped off his seat, "So Willas Tyrell, eh?"

"Willas Tyrell."

"He is soon to learn the fate of Littlefinger by the day's end, I'm sure." The Imp said as he waddled beside his kingly nephew, "Talk about motivation to do your job right with competence and honesty."

The king smiled, "I didn't think of it that way."

"Of cource you didn't. That's why you have me, sweet nephew."