Peter and Meg had arrived in King's Landing. Now Peter was attending his first meeting with the king's council.

"You must be the new Hand, Peter Griffin," said a skinny man whose chin looked like a butt. "I'm Glen Quagmire, the king's master of coin. I used to be friends with your wife Lois when we were kids."

"And I'm Lord Varys, master of whispers," said a fat bald man, shaking Peter's hand. "I'm a eunuch, meaning I have no penis or testicles."

Peter recoiled. "Gross! Why'd ya tell me that?"

"I pride myself on absolute honesty," said Varys.

"Yeah, except about things which actually warrant it," said Quagmire.

"Awriphiogjewipoj!" said an old man with a beard.

"That's Grand Maester Pycelle," said Quagmire.

"And I'm Lord Renly, the king's brother," said the last man in the room. "Do you remember me, Peter?"

"Last time I saw you, you were just a kid, but yeah, I remember you," Peter said. "Where's your other brother Stannis?"

"Lord Stannis went to his house at Dragonstone not long after the king went north," Varys said.

King Robert walked in and set himself down on his Iron Throne, which was made from a bunch of swords glued together. "Your grace," all the counselors said. Peter said it too but he was a beat behind everyone else.

Peter pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. Robert had given it to him that morning. "We serve at your pleasure, King Robert," he read, "ruler of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm."

"Long may he reign," everyone said. Once again, Peter said it after everyone else did. He sighed in frustration. He wasn't good at this.

"Okay, let's get down to business," Robert said. He addressed Varys. "Have your birds brought you any news lately?"

Varys bowed to the king. "Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horse lord. Khal Drogo." Daenerys was the daughter of King Aerys. She had disappeared from Westeros after Aerys was killed.

"WHAT?" Robert yelled loudly.

"Should we send her a wedding gift?" Peter asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"A knife, perhaps," Robert said. "A good sharp one, and a bold man to stab her with it!"

Peter was horrified. "I know how much ya hate the Targaryens, but Daenerys is only a kid!"

Robert's mouth grew hard. "This child will soon enough spread her legs and start breeding more dragon spawn to plague me! I will kill every Targaryen I can get my hands on."

"Well, you can't get your hands on this one," said Varys. "Khal Drogo has a hundred thousand men in his horde. You'd have no chance of getting at her."

"Let's talk about somethin' else," Peter said, trying to change the subject. "How's the money situation?"

Quagmire cleared his throat. "The crown is more than six million gold pieces in debt," he said.

"Holy crap! Six million? How did that happen?"

Quagmire shrugged. "I don't know. It's not my job to spend money, just to find it."

"Well, maybe we could raise the money with a tournament," Peter suggested. "We could charge all the knights ten thousand gold pieces to get in, and pay forty thousand to the winner."

Robert beamed. "Excellent idea! Of course, the winner will be me."

"You, fightin' in a tournament? I dunno if that's a good idea," Peter said uneasily. "Lotsa people still call you a usurper. I'm sure plenty of guys would relish the chance to take a sock at ya. You could get hurt."

"I'm not afraid of being hurt!" said Robert. "I've been sitting on this damn iron seat for too long. Seven hells, Peter, I want to hit someone!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Peter!" said Quagmire. "No one in Westeros would dare strike the king and risk bringing his wrath down on them!"

Robert stared at Quagmire. "You really think that? They'll be afraid to hit me?"

Quagmire nodded. "Oh yeah. They won't even touch you. You go right ahead and fight in the tournament. You'll win for sure."

"I don't want to win like that," Robert mumbled. "Maybe I won't take part after all."

After the meeting was over, Peter was walking back to his room. He noticed Quagmire following him. "You'll never talk the king out of something by arguing with him," Quagmire told Peter. "You've gotta use psychology like I did."

"What do you want, Quagmire?" Peter asked suspiciously.

"I'm supposed to bring you to someone who wants to meet you," said Quagmire.

"An' who's that?"

Quagmire grinned. "Your wife Lois!"