Hello all! Sorry for posting so late-I'll post earlier tomorrow! Hope you are all well, and still enjoying this! Thank you so much for reading, and especially to those who have reviewed, favourited, and followed. More tomorrow! I won't keep you any longer xxx

Robin toyed with his food rather than eating it, pushing meat and vegetables around the plate and spreading gravy all over the fine crockery. Despite the excitement of the previous day, he found that he had no appetite whatsoever. Moodily, he speared piece after piece of wild swan, shredding it with his knife and fork, before shoving it aside and beginning the operation again. No. He could not eat.

"What's the matter?" Alyssa demanded, already half-finished. "Don't you like swan? I can't get enough of it."

"No, I love swan…" Robin murmured, sighing. He glanced out of the chamber window, thinking about what he now knew to lie beyond it… "I…I'm just not hungry."

Alyssa sniffed dismissively, taking another mouthful. "That's ridiculous. You scarcely touched your breakfast either. Eat."

"I said I'm not hungry." Robin repeated, some terseness in his voice.

"Eat." Alyssa reached over the table and pushed his plate towards him. "You'll waste away."

"No." Robin shoved it away with such force that gravy splashed onto the table cloth. "I can't. I'm much too upset."

"Upset?" Alyssa scoffed, taking a sip of water. "How can you possibly be upset? I thought our little excursion yesterday would have knocked some sense into you."

"That's just it." Robin leaned his head upon his hand, which was propped up on the table by his elbow. "I can't stop thinking about it all. That awful smell, the rats, the filth…and worse, all those little children, sitting so listlessly on the street…" He gave a small shudder. "I didn't know that there were such horrible places in the world."

Alyssa watched him closely, an eyebrow raised. "There's plenty more where that came from, my lord."

"But why?" Robin asked, his eyes very wide. "If there are so many terrible places, in such dreadful poverty, why don't those in power do anything about it? All the lords and ladies of Westeros, even the crown! Why don't they help?"

Alyssa set down her cutlery, still staring rather probingly at him. "There is some charitable giving included in the annual expenditure."

"Well, it's clearly not enough!" Robin insisted, his voice rising a fraction. "People can't be allowed to live like that! Children can't be allowed to live like that! It's…it's barbaric!" He sniffed hard, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't like it. I want it to change."

"Oh dear!" Alyssa covered her mouth to conceal a small smirk. "I haven't seen you so passionate about anything since you last cast a man through the Moon Door!"

"I mean it!" Robin tapped the table with his hand to illustrate his point. "Why isn't anything being done?"

Alyssa took another drink, taking her time. Then-very gently, she spoke. "It's not that simple, Sweetrobin…" She drank again, regarding him closely with her eyes over the rim of her cup. "But…you know, there is no one in Westeros in a better position to make a difference than you…" Tenderly, she patted his hand-but those eyes were fierce. "That is…if you marry the king…"

Robin didn't know what to say. He had never experienced such an internal conflict as he had experienced ever since their visit to Flea Bottom. Oh Gods. Whatever was he to do? He knew, in his mind, that to wed Brandon the Broken was the right thing, for his people in the Vale, and for the realm. But his heart…his heart ached, as if there were a shard of glass trapped in it…

Knock.

"Come in!" Robin called, looking up from his book. He had not exactly been reading it; rather, he was looking at the colourful pictures scattered throughout the story, of roaring dragons, gallant knights, and swooning maidens. Still, he could not settle to a single task…

"Good afternoon, Lord Arryn." came the dulcet tones of the Hand of the King as he entered the chamber. At his back, there stood Grand Maester Tarly, looking most earnest. "Might we speak?"

Robin leapt to his feet, nerves jolting in his stomach. "Oh! Well-Alyssa is bathing, I'm afraid. She'll be back in-"

"Actually," Tyrion closed the door delicately behind him. "We'd like to speak to you alone."

Robin felt a shiver down his spine. Never, in his life, had he conducted a meeting alone. He had always had his mother by his side, or his Uncle Petyr, or Lord Royce-or, indeed, Alyssa. But now, here stood two of the most important people in Westeros, keen to speak to him…Quickly, Robin attempted to gather his head, sweeping his arm in a friendly manner towards the scarlet couch. "Please. Sit."

This they did, and Robin upon the chair opposite them. Uncomfortably, he crossed one leg over the other, and then back again. He felt distinctly as if he were being interviewed. Nonetheless, both the Hand and the Grand Maester wore rather solemn expressions, which were by no means unkind. And both looked as uneasy as he felt.

"My Lord," began Tyrion, his hands clasped in his lap. "It came to our attention that your time with His Grace yesterday may have proved…unsuccessful."

Despite himself, Robin almost smiled. What an understatement…

"Now, I am sure we all want what is best for the realm, and we wouldn't want to jeopardise a good and sturdy alliance after one bad experience." he continued, his eyes betraying his desperation. "You see…His Grace is…" Lips pressed together, he searched for the correct word. "Is…"

"He finds it difficult to express himself." Sam interrupted, narrowing his eyes and nodding. "What he outwardly portrays…and, sometimes, what comes out of his mouth…don't necessarily reflect his true intention."

"Which can make interacting with him, when one does not know him well, occasionally rather overwhelming." Tyrion finished, folding his arms.

Robin's lower lip trembled as he remembered all that the king had said to him the previous day. "He sounded fairly certain to me."

"I am sure he did," Tyrion nodded understandingly. "But believe me, Lord Arryn-the last thing the crown wishes to do is offend you. His Grace remains very eager to join your houses, and to make you his consort. So now, it is over to you. What can the crown do to repair any wounds inflicted, and continue on the course to a positive union?"

Both men waited anxiously for Robin's answer.

For the second time that day, Robin simply couldn't speak. He shook his head a few times, as if his ears were full of water. Then…he sighed. "I don't know…"

Tyrion's jaw clenched slightly. "You don't know?"

Suddenly, like a river flowing forth into the sea-the truth came pouring out of Robin's lips. "Everything is all so confusing!" he burst out, burying his face in his hands. "I know I ought to marry the king, but he is so cold, and so unfeeling, that I don't think I can bear it!" He let out a long, shuddering gasp, and desperately tried to bite back his tears.

"I told you this was a bad idea…" he heard Tyrion hiss to Sam.

There was a short silence.

Then, suddenly-someone stood up from the couch. That someone moved slowly over to Robin's chair, treading lightly, as if hoping to calm a spooked horse. Then-that someone laid a hand upon Robin's shaking shoulder.

"It's alright to be confused," came the voice of Samwell Tarly, more gentle than Robin had ever heard it. "It's completely understandable. You're not bad or wrong for feeling like this. I expect you're under terrible pressure-"

"I am!" Robin cried, snivelling.

"But you don't have to be." Sam crouched down at his feet, looking up at him with bright eyes. "Marrying into royalty…I'm sure I'd be afraid too."

"I'm not afraid!" Robin asserted, harshly mopping his eyes. "Not of the crown…I'm afraid of the king!"

Sam was quiet for a moment, allowing Robin to collect his thoughts. From the couch, Tyrion watched, looking more anxious by the moment. "What do you like to do, Robin?" Sam finally asked him, smiling encouragingly.

"What?" Robin was confused, his voice sodden with emotion.

"What do you like to do? What are your interests?"

Tyrion said nothing-but, out of the corner of his blurred vision, Robin could see him sarcastically raising his eyebrows.

"I'm asking because, as consort, we would welcome you into the small council," Sam explained, as cheerfully as he could. "We'd like to give you a position that best serves your talents. If you did decide to marry the king, whatever position you had would become your responsibility. I'm sure you have a great many good qualities-"

At this, Tyrion couldn't suppress a snort.

"-and you'd be an asset to the royal household." Sam paused. "What I'm trying to say is that being consort isn't all about merely being the spouse of the monarch. There's so much more to it than that-and, as Prince of the Six Kingdoms, you'd have a great many opportunities…"

At this-Robin's head jerked up. "Would that be my new title?" he asked, unable to keep a certain excitement out of his tone. Prince Robin…a little of his childish lust for power crept into his mind…

"Yes," Tyrion answered, with an expression that clearly read: Gods help us all. "Robert Arryn, Prince Consort of the Six Kingdoms. It has a…certain ring to it."

At Robin's enthusiasm, Sam was spurred on. "That's right. So, as prince, what would you do?"

Robin looked at the two men before him. He paused for a long moment…before, finally, he spoke. "The poor. I want to help the poor."

Instantly-he was met with two pairs of absolutely astonished eyes. Indeed, Lord Tyrion's seemed almost to pop out of his head. "Excuse me?" he asked, as if certain he must have misheard, or misunderstood.

"The poor." Robin repeated, strength returning to his voice. He sat up straight, clutching the arms of his chair with his hands. Just by speaking those words, it was as if there was a terrific rush of warmth throughout his entire body. "I'm thinking of others. And I want to help."

There was a rather loaded silence. On the couch, Tyrion looked as if he had just been hit over the head with a mallet. Meanwhile-Sam looked thrilled.

"Oh yes, my lord. If you became Prince Consort…you could certainly do that…"

"Well." Tyrion rubbed his hands roughly over his face, as if certain he was dreaming. "Who'd have thought? Robin Arryn, the slimiest little snot rag I ever met, who last week refused even to look at ordinary men, suddenly thinks he is Baelor the Blessed."

"Shh!" Sam shushed him as they walked through the stone corridors of the Red Keep. "He'll hear you, and then it will all be for naught."

"You were very good with him, you know."

Sam shrugged modestly. "I just pretended he was Little Sam having a tantrum. Identify and validate his feelings, then distract him. Works every time."

At this, Tyrion could not help but laugh hugely. "And so our potential prince can be influenced in the same way as a little child. That might be very useful in future." He shook his head, still trying to process what had just come to pass. "I wonder how long this charitable streak will last. Something tells me, once he sits beside Brandon as ruler, it will all be forgotten…"

"Perhaps not," Sam said hopefully, as they drew closer to the small council chamber. "Perhaps Robin will be an asset after all. If ever there was a time when the crown needed to improve its image…well, I'm sure it will take more than a few acts of giving to wipe the Dragon Queen's conquest from the minds of the smallfolk…"

"But," Tyrion said, pushing on the wood of the door so that it creaked open. "It might just be a start."

Robin's hands were shaking. Without Alyssa, without anyone else at all, he made his way through the Red Keep, through all the royal apartments, until, finally, he came to the dwelling place of the king.

He could taste his heart in his throat.

"Lord Arryn," Brienne of Tarth stood guard at the door, one hand on her greatsword. She was dressed entirely in magnificent armour, and cut quite the impressive image. "What business have you here at this hour?"

"I…" Robin swallowed his heart. "I would speak with the king."

Brienne's professional demeanour was betrayed only slightly by the surprise in her enormous blue eyes. Indeed, the turbulent relationship between Robin and the king had spread like wildfire through the royal household. "His Grace does not ordinarily accept visitors after dark-"

"Let him in, Ser Brienne." came a low, monotone voice from inside the chamber. An uncomfortable shiver passed through Robin's body-it was as if Brandon had known he was coming. Which, Robin admitted, he probably had.

After a visual inspection to ensure he was unarmed, with some reservations, Brienne unlocked the door to the king's private chamber. Nevertheless, she stood back to allow Robin to pass with the upmost respect.

Slowly, Robin stepped into the room, picking his way across the stone floor like a cat. Brandon's chamber was far less lavish than even Robin's own-it had a simple wooden bed, covered with a blanket of harsh fur Robin recognised as belonging to a wolf. The walls were bare, apart from countless shelves containing a great many books of history, presumably for the king's reference. The only attractive feature was the large open window, leading out onto a balcony. It was here that Brandon, in his habitual black, sat, looking up at the navy blue sky above the city.

"Good evening." he greeted him, without turning around.

Trembling slightly, Robin bowed to his back. "Your Grace."

"What do you want?" Brandon asked, bluntly. Desperately trying not to take sure harshness personally, Robin stood his ground. Without pausing, without hesitation, the words cascaded from his mouth like a waterfall.

"I've made up my mind. I…I will marry you."

The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

Brandon was silent, and quite still.

Robin stood, his heart racing so violently that he felt as if he might vomit.

Then-

Without looking around, without intonation, without much of anything at all…Brandon spoke.

"Thank you."

At this-Robin could bear it no longer. He turned, and fled the chamber, running full pelt until he reached his chamber. Then, he threw himself onto his bed, and sobbed.