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Never in his life had Robin been anywhere so dirty as Kings Landing.

When he had visited the capitol some years ago, after the Dragon Queen had lay waste to the city, he had spent less than a few hours there, before Royce had bundled him back into this very carriage to go back to the Eyrie. It was the only time in his life he had ever left the Vale before now…in his mind, from deep within his memory, he heard the sound of his mother's voice, as clearly as if she was sitting right next to him. The lord of the Vale must stay in the Vale…

Kings Landing had meant almost nothing to him. He had sat, rather vacantly, half-listening to the intense debate over whom the next ruler of Westeros would be. It was nothing to him who sat on the throne; the capitol was miles away from the Eyrie, and Robin's world. All the time, he wanted only to go home, back to the Vale, where only his voice mattered, where he could do exactly as he pleased, rather than having to listen to so many other lords and ladies' pointless opinions…in truth, Robin felt certain he would have voted for the first person to offer themselves, simply so he could get the blasted affair over with.

But now-he was to live here.

As soon as they had bypassed the city gates, the stench of sweat and piss entered his nostrils, and didn't leave. Although they took a short route through the streets, Robin was glued to the window of the carriage, gazing down at the dusty cobbled road below and the perfect blue sky above. Beyond the curtains that framed the window, he gazed at the shops and taverns they passed by, the colourful awnings and fresh produce a wash of brightness. He listened to the calls of the street sellers, trying to outbid one another on the stalls; the gossiping of passers-by, the sound of children playing…and his nose wrinkled.

"It still stinks!" he declared, mildly disgusted. "I thought it would be much busier than this! It's supposed to be the capitol! And half the buildings are just piles of rubble!"

Tyrion was silent for a moment. There was a strange, dark look in his eyes as they passed by another building which was partially destroyed. The downstairs was almost intact, and the shop front still in business, but the upstairs was little more than a lone window and a mound of broken bricks. These half-standing buildings were a common sight through the streets of Kings Landing, making every road look like a mouth with broken teeth.

"You would be surprised at how well the city has recovered, my lord." the Hand finally said, rubbing a hand over his eyes as if the sunlight burned them. "Despite the best efforts of…certain individuals…Kings Landing endures," There was a sort of fierce pride in his eyes as he looked out at the street below. "But not everyone has the funds to rebuild their homes..."

Robin was unsatisfied. "I'm not sure I want to live here anymore." He looked at Alyssa, who was sitting silently beside him. "I don't want to have to see all these ruins every day."

"You'll not have to look at them," Alyssa assured him, looking extremely tired-but she patted his hand comfortingly. "You will be in the Red Keep, and they will be all the way down here. All you'll be able to see are the city lights at night, and the sea, stretching out over the horizon, all the way to Essos…"

For a moment, Robin considered this. Alyssa was right. He needn't trouble himself with the lives of the common people. Besides, he had much more important things to worry about. Now he was mere hours from meeting with the king, the king who may one day become his husband…he felt as if his stomach was filled with snakes…

Of course, Robin had seen Brandon before. He had voted, after all, for him to become king in the first place. But, now he thought about it, he wasn't sure he could accurately picture the king's face. How long was his hair? What colour were his eyes? Had he been handsome, or ugly? Robin felt another jolt of nerves, from somewhere deep inside…surely, none of the common people, in their crumbling houses, could ever comprehend exactly how he was feeling. What did they ever have to worry about, in their simple, primitive lives? Robin, meanwhile, felt that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

If only Mother were here.

He took a deep breath, and quickly shut the curtains.

"What if I don't like the king?"

Alyssa frowned slightly at the question. "Like him? Whatever do you mean? And hold still." She tugged the comb through his hair once again, smoothing it into place.

Robin fidgeted slightly in his seat. The cushion of the chair was as soft as goose feathers, golden-embroidered scarlet that matched the curtains around the vast bed. Even he had to admit- the royal apartments at the Red Keep were a world away from the Eyrie. They were so fine and luxurious that he felt quite the pauper-which he greatly resented. He could not seem to settle into this strange, castle keep, which seemed to have half the rooms closed off. Although the large fire place kept the room gloriously warm, he couldn't help but shiver.

"Well…" He bit his lip anxiously. "He wants us to become betrothed. Shouldn't we…like one another?"

Alyssa always spoke far more harshly to him when they were alone. "That's not what a betrothal means."

Robin hesitated. "Mother said-"

"I'm certain she did," Alyssa cut him off, casting the comb aside and pulling him to his feet, where she began to straighten his cloak. "It doesn't matter if you like him or not." she murmured, refastening his falcon-shaped broach. "This is about what is best for the Vale. All you need to worry about is making the right decision for our people." She looked at him for a moment-then gave him the briefest of reassuring looks. "You mustn't look so worried. The crown wants House Arryn back in the fold. You wouldn't believe the things high lords and ladies normally have to do to get the monarch interested in their children. All you must do…" Very gently, she pulled at the corners of his lips with her fingers. "…is smile."

Ordinarily, Robin drank in every word Alyssa said. When Royce had fostered him, she had been his companion, his guardian, his rock. He couldn't count the number of times he had cried himself to sleep in her lap, grieving his mother. And even after he moved back to the Eyrie in his majority, enjoying all the pleasures that lordship and certain brothels in Gullstown afforded him, she had been an almost constant presence in his life…however irritating she sometimes was, no one could calm him down like she could.

Still, as Robin walked behind a gold-helmeted member of the Kingsguard down to the throne room, finally to meet with the king, he could scarcely keep his hands from shaking.

Brandon the Broken did not sit on a throne. He did not even sit where the Iron Throne had been. In his customary black clothing, he sat at the base of the cracked stairs, which had once led up to the chair of a thousand blades, without so much as a crown on his head. All around him, the newly reconstructed throne room stretched endlessly, high ceilings and tall pillars glinting with newness. Amongst such grandeur, Brandon looked most out of place. If Robin had not known he was the king, he doubted he would have realised. And yet…there was something regal of him. Something almost otherworldly. As if behind the youthful exterior, there hid the soul of the oldest man in the world.

Robin was used to being stared at, but the rather thin crowd of remaining aristocracy in the capitol suddenly seemed incredibly intimidating, watching him openly as he walked across the marble floor, towards the Stark king. In this vast, unfamiliar space, they felt like wild vultures, eyeing up their next meal…Oh, how ridiculous he was being! He was an Arryn, Lord Paramount of all the Vale! He outranked every one of these floral-clad men and women with long, twisted braids in their hair.

Still, as he followed Lord Tyrion to the throne, he was more than glad of his personal guard, a handful of knights of the Vale, marching at his back. One of the men carried in his arms a huge metal birdcage, covered with a navy blue sheet, which was decorated with moons and stars-the contents of which occasionally omitted strange screeching noises.

Robin was especially glad of Alyssa, who was somewhere high in the balconies, watching from above. How he wished she was by his side…how he wished she was beside him.

But now, he couldn't think about Alyssa. For the time had come for him to face the king.

Slowly, expertly (clenching his trembling fingers into fists)…he sank into a deep bow. Behind him, he heard the clanking of armour as his guard followed suit. He did not dare raise his head, until he heard Lord Tyrion's voice.

"Your Grace. May I present Robert Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale."

Finally-Robin dared look up. Sitting in front of him, wearing the most curious expression he had ever seen in his life, was Brandon Stark. Instantly, the exact construction of his face came flooding back to him. He remembered it all-that dark hair, those staring eyes, the thick black eyebrows that his fringe fell onto…yes. This was Brandon.

For some reason, he seemed rather larger than Robin remembered. More confident. And much, much more intimidating. Though, perhaps, this was due to that strange look in those omniscient eyes…Robin felt as though he was staring straight into his heart…

This feeling was not altogether pleasant.

"Lord Arryn." the king greeted him. His voice was neither kind, nor unkind. In fact, it wasn't much of anything at all. Suddenly, Robin was seized by the fantasy that Brandon resembled some kind of puppet-his mouth moved, he spoke the right words-but no warmth ever reached those eyes.

"Your Grace." Robin replied, trying not to seem daunted. Suddenly, he felt a tinging at the corners of his mouth, and remembered Alyssa's fingers. Smile. Quickly, he manufactured one, trying his best to meet the king's penetrating gaze.

Very slightly, the corner of Brandon's eye twitched.

There was a very thick silence.

Instantly-Robin felt a sick, swooping sensation inside. Oh Gods. He had already ruined it. He fixed his eyes on the marble floor, and prayed for the Seven Hells to open and swallow him down, never to be seen again.

From somewhere on the balconies, high above his head, he heard a subtle, female coughing noise.

Hurriedly, Robin attempted to recover his composure-which had already seemingly slipped from his fingers. "A-a gift from the Eyrie." he gabbled, much to quickly, trying to remember all that Alyssa had told him to say. "T-to thank you for your gracious hospitality."

He beckoned with one of his hands. Instantly, the knight carrying the cage stepped forward, and pulled off the moon-spangled covering with a flourish.

There, sitting in the cage, and looking thoroughly grumpy, was a beautiful grey falcon. It screeched its approval as the darkness was lifted, and spread its wings impressively. From the courtiers behind them, there was an outburst of "Ooh!"s and "Aah!"s, and a muttering of excitement and approval. It seemed Alyssa had been right-as much as Robin loathed giving presents-he much preferred to receive them-this had certainly been a wise move. Feeling at last a rush of hope that the situation may be salvaged, Robin looked rather desperately at the king.

Brandon the Broken regarded the magnificent bird with no more interest than if it had been a simple songbird in a tree. Once more, his mouth moved, but his eyes remained cold and staring. "A kind gesture," he said, expressionless and entirely unreadable. "You and your household are most welcome in the capitol."

Robin felt more wretched and helpless than he had ever felt in his life.

"I don't like him!" Lord Arryn cried, slamming his chamber door behind him and throwing himself upon the bed. "I don't like him at all!" He buried his face in the feather pillows and let out a long, loud howl.

Alyssa hoped that the walls in the royal apartments were thick.

"You cannot say such things!" she hissed warningly. "Besides, you have only just been properly introduced! You can't possibly pass judgement already!"

"I don't care!" Robin's voice was muffled by the bedclothes as he whined into them. "I want to go home!"

Alyssa closed her eyes. Quickly, she conjured the face of her father, remembering the last words he had spoken to her before she had left the Eyrie:

Do well. Settle this arrangement, and you shall be Alyssa Royce.

Her heart skipped a beat every time she thought of it.

She opened her eyes, and looked down at the boy she knew so well, whom she had watched grow from a sickly little boy into…a slightly taller sickly little boy. Whom she called cousin. All she could see before her was a sweep of dark hair, and a challenge.

Alyssa would turn this boy into a worthy prince if it was the last thing she did.

Far above the royal apartments, on the battlements of the Keep, Brandon Stark overlooked the city. Sitting on his gloved hand, waiting majestically for his instruction…the grey falcon.

Fly, he thought.

Then-his eyes rolled back into his head.