Got this in just before midnight! Haha! Sorry it's so late. As always, endless thanks to all for coming with me on this journey. Especially to those who leave such kind words in their reviews. I appreciate every single one so much. I won't keep you a moment longer. More tomorrow, hope you enjoy! xxx

"I wanted you to hear it from me." Brandon began, setting down his fork. He looked across the breakfast table with very serious eyes. Instantly, Robin's bacon turned to cardboard in his mouth. He swallowed as quickly as he could, and listened carefully.

"Ser Stefan has pleaded guilty to the charges of treason, attempted murder, and breaking his exile from the capitol." Brandon never minced his words; and, in this case, Roibn was grateful that he was incapable of sugar-coating anything. It was much better to hear it straight. "He will be executed at dawn tomorrow."

Despite everything, Robin's heart sank. He had known, of course, that this day was coming. And yet, hearing that the knight he had once adored was soon to die…that he would never smile that charming smile again…he could not help but feel terrible. Of course, it was important to remember that Stefan had tried to kill him. That was a fact he would not soon forget. Still…there was an acute sadness in him, and he gulped. "That quickly?"

Brandon nodded curtly. "No one wants to draw out his suffering."

Robin sighed hard. His fork clattered to the table, and he buried his face in his hands. "How horrible this all is. I know I may be foolish, but I have found it in my heart to pity him. He is not in his right mind. To take his life in this state seems…inhumane."

At this-Brandon's jaw clenched. "Please. Do not ask me to show him mercy."

Robin looked up, feeling as though he could cry. "Bran…"

"Please." Brandon repeated, a sharp edge to his tone. His eyes bore into Robin's as the ghost of what had once been the sensation of desperation crossed his face. "It is excruciatingly difficult to refuse you anything…But I cannot in good faith spare his life. He is far too dangerous."

"I know!" Robin held up his hands, trying to prevent an argument. "I know that…" Then, he wrapped his arms around his own shoulders, shrinking back into the chair. "I just can't bear to think of him locked up in the darkness again…" He gave a small shiver, blinking back his tears at the memory…

Brandon studied his husband closely for a moment. Then, more gently than Robin had believed he was capable of, he spoke. "He is not. He is locked away, I grant you. But his cell has a window. During his final night in this world, he will be able to see the sky." He paused, tilting his head slightly to one side. "In light of the fate of Ser Stefan, Grand Maester Tarly is conducting a study into the Black Cell's continued use. It is possible that they may be phased out."

Robin looked up, hardly daring to believe it. "Really?"

"Yes," Brandon stated, without the slightest intonation. But his eyes were not unkind. "Perhaps we have evolved past the stage of such…inhumanity."

Robin was more than grateful. He reached across the table, and took Brandon's hand in both of his own. "Thank you. Thank you for…listening." He squeezed it, blowing air from between his lips. "I think you may be the first person in my life who has ever truly listened to me."

The morning came, and with it, the end of Stefan's life. As was their custom, both the king and prince woke early, in the ordinary tangle of furs and arms. But this time, it was more than a little bitter sweet. As such, Robin found himself clinging tighter to his husband than ever, burying his face in his chest and feeling rather ill. "Oh, for the sake of the gods…" he croaked, his voice muffled by Brandon's nightshirt. Out of the window, he heard the sound of a bird singing on the battlements. "It cannot be the lark yet."

"It is the lark." said Brandon flatly. He appeared to be in the mood for business, rather than tenderness. Well, as close to tenderness as he could ever get. In this sense, he took Robin's face in his hands and gently lifted it to face him. "I shan't make you, but I must ask. Would you come to the Sept of Baelor for the execution?"

Robin felt physically sick. "No." He shook his head vehemently. "I'm sorry. I can't."

"Alright." said Brandon, unaffected. "But I must attend. I will see you later."

"Yes…" Rather deflated, Robin slid out of bed. The chilly floor stung his bare feet as he groped for his robe. When he found it, he turned back, searching desperately for a scrap of affection. "Might we have dinner tonight? I…I could really do with something to look forward to…"

Fortunately, Brandon was not entirely cold. He watched as Robin tied his robe, a certain softness creeping into his expression. "Of course. I understand how difficult this is for you." Then, he reached out his hand. "I wish I could make it easier."

Thankfully, Robin took the hand, pressing it to his heart. "I appreciate your saying so. Truly." He could not believe that this Brandon was the same Brandon he had first met, who had been so entirely callous and seemingly heartless. It was truly touching how much effort he was making, and Robin was entirely overwhelmed with it. An inch from the king felt like a mile. "We are learning to look after one another, aren't we?"

"Yes." Brandon agreed at once. "I think we are."

Despite himself, Robin managed a tiny smile. "See you."

"Until later."

Feeling utterly empty inside at the idea of the impending execution, and yet somehow satisfied, Robin made for the door. Then, with a hand upon the door, he turned back, his expression rather soft.

"Oh, Bran?" he called back. His recent brush with death had given him a whole new appreciation for the moment. There was no time like the present to speak his mind. After all, he may never get another chance.

"I love you."

Brandon was silent for a long moment as he took in Robin's words. He took a deep breath, in, and then out. There was a definite air of awkwardness about him-and yet, it was not unpleasant. In fact, for less than a split second-Robin could have sworn that he looked happy. Then, in the most typical way possible, he acknowledged the declaration with a slight nod. "Thank you."

Robin's heart glowed. With a little snort of mirth, he slipped out of the chamber, and began the journey down the hallway to his own room in relatively high spirits. Brandon would not have been Brandon if he had replied any other way. And Robin knew what he meant. He knew it in his heart.

Even in his younger, wilder days, Tyrion had never truly enjoyed executions. Since he had narrowly avoided his own on several occasions, he had a certain sympathy with the condemned that other men lacked. He found the ceremony of the whole thing, the crowd before the Sept baying for blood, rather distasteful. Especially as today's victim of Monkoen's incredible machine had numbered scarcely one-and-twenty years. But still, he was the Hand of the King, and his place was beside the king. He would not desert that post for anything.

Brandon sat beside him, entirely quiet as he looked up at the morning sky. Tyrion could not say that he blamed him. It was not often that a king had such a personal stake in an execution. Ser Stefan Vance had not only kissed his husband, but declared his undying love for him. Then, of course, he had tried to murder him. Tyrion was unsure he quite understood Stefan's motives in that respect. Then again, could any man ever truly understand another?

Before he knew it, the time was come. The newly dark-headed Stefan Vance was escorted onto the scaffold by armed guards. At once, the crowd rose up with one voice, spitting and crying out their hatred for the disgraced knight before him. Their ferocity was truly testament to just how popular Robin was. Robin was their prince. And anyone who tried to hurt him was less than scum.

Brandon did not react. He simply looked on, his eyes filled with righteous fire.

After the crowd finally settled, the moment arrived for the condemned to give his final speech. His status afforded him such a privilege. Tyrion watched as he stood upon the platform, his hands steady, his face set. Not even the shadow of Monkoen's blade behind him appeared to phase him. This was a man with one foot on the other side already. Tyrion shivered to see one so young so fearless in the face of his own death.

"Your Grace." Stefan began, managing without effort to convey the contempt in his tone. "My lords, my ladies…Good people of Kings Landing…" He cleared his throat, and declared for all to hear. "I stand before you today as a sentenced knight, come here to die for my crimes. I am a breaker of banishment, a would-be slayer of a royal prince, and a traitor to the realm."

The crowd yelled and spat its disgust. Meanwhile, Tyrion watched in silence beside his king as the young knight spoke his last.

"However…" Stefan paused. Then-he raised his voice almost to a shout "I consider it an honour to die in the name of love! It is all I have ever wanted! And so…" He turned to Brandon a final time, defiance in his eyes. "Farewell, cold, unfeeling king, and farewell cold, unfeeling world! I die with Robin's name upon my lips!"

That's done it. The crowd practically screamed as Stefan was dragged away to Monkoen's machine, and his head secured in the stocks. Tyrion felt distinctly uncomfortable, and had to fight not to avert his gaze.

"He needs to sort out his priorities…" Bronn mumbled from his right.

"Really? He'd need years for that…" Tyrion whispered back. He ensured that Brandon was too absorbed in the execution to pay attention, before he spoke again. "And, if I'm not mistaken-he's only got about-"

Before he could even finish his sentence-the blade had fallen with a sickening thunk. And, in that same instant-Stefan's head fell unceremoniously into the waiting basket. The crowd roared it's approval with such enthusiasm that Tyrion was half-deafened.

As soon as it was done-Brandon signalled to Brienne of Tarth, who waited behind him. At once, she began to push him back towards the Red Keep, and away from the corpse of his enemy. Thoughtfully, Tyrion watched him go, a strange look upon his face…

"I'm not sure if Monkoen's machine has made life more humane…or has taken all the fun out of executions." Bronn was drawling, leaning back on one hip to watch as Stefan's body was dragged off of the scaffold, and his head collected from the basket. It was to be sewn back on, Tyrion believed, and his body was to be returned to his family in the Riverlands. That mercy, at least, was Brandon's courtesy to him. It may not have been much of a comfort to the boy's poor parents, but it was a far cry from what Joffrey would have done…

"Executions aren't supposed to be fun!" Samwell Tarly was insisting earnestly.

Bronn rolled his eyes, looking incredibly bored. "Get a life, Tarly." With that, he strolled off into the crowd. It was left for Tyrion and Sam to accompany one another on the long walk back to the Keep. Despite this "exciting" morning, there was still much work to be done. The realm did not stop for Ser Stefan, after all…

"His Grace and the prince seem to be getting along well!" Sam remarked, by way of conversation as they trudged up the hill, closely followed by several guards.

"Ah, yes…" Tyrion cast his mind back to the scene after Robin's attack, thankful at least to think of something other than Ser Stefan's headless corpse. "I understand gratitude as much as the next man, but the way Robin has started to look at our king is frankly nauseating."

"Well, I think it's nice!" Sam said, ever optimistic. "And it is good for our image. Robin is so popular with the common people, and the king would do well to share in his success. Frankly, His Grace would benefit from showing his human side occasionally."

Tyrion pursed his lips, looking up at the sky once more. It was beginning to turn grey, with enormous dark clouds masking every inch of sunlight. A storm was coming, black and heavy, and it was coming soon…

"If he still has one."

Robin covered his eyes, and buried his head in his pillows. His own bed felt empty and cold without Brandon, and he could not find comfort. If someone had told him a year ago that he would weep for a man who had tried to kill him, he would never have believed them. And yet, as his eyes stung, and tears rolled down his cheeks, here he was.

Miserably, Robin curled up on his side and closed his eyes. Perhaps he would fall asleep, and some of this black day would be lost to oblivion…

Suddenly-he heard a creak.

Someone had opened his door.

"I don't want anything." he called to whichever squire had appeared, not bothering to look up, or even to open his eyes. "Please leave me alone."

"Sweetrobin?"

All at once-Robin's heart leapt into his mouth.

For the voice that had filled the room was that of a woman. And a woman Robin had known for most of his life. The footsteps that were crossing the room towards him were completely familiar-as was the sweep of a charcoal cloak on the ground.

"Oh, my poor Sweetrobin. I am here. It is I…it is Alyssa…"