I see Arryn as someone able to think outside of the box, with boundless curiosity and a natural inventivness. He sees that everyone lives in a pattern, repeating the same events on end without progress... I see him as the kind of person who would or could bring great change simply because he doesn't take the world at face value... he asks questions about the world he is in.

I think this is a pivitol quality and one so lacking in so many other charecters, the Starks more then most...

I think this is a fantastic chapter and one that I am so proud of. I found a path to go down that none have repeated but makes so much sense... I love it.

Also, a warning: This episode was really intense and a lot happened so It will be a few chapters long.


The sight of his father, bare chest harassing Lancel to assist with his armor left a sour taste in Arryn's mouth, not unlike that of horehound candies. A wave of emotion hit, something akin to irritation and hate and disgust. Still, despite the sight of his adopted father's disgusting display, the prince walked into the tent. His plans, the conversation he had prepared for his father would have to wait. The idea that the Whoremonger would joust was not one he could allow to continue, not if he wanted his father to perish and leave them all with Joffrey and Cersei at the helm.

" Can't you do anything?" Robert bellowed loudly, his voice all but slamming into the shivering Lancel.

His poor cousin looked ready to faint, his already fair skin was practically translucent, his eyes wide. It was a miserable sight, one all too common to anyone who spent any time around Robert and his squire. Arryn hated it, loathed how cruel his monstrous father was to someone who truly did little to deserve it. Lancel was not always the smartest of men but he was mostly harmless and the little wrong he did had more to do with his constant fear of Robert's abuse then any actual deficiencies. He deserved none of the abuse or cruelty thrown upon him...

"Lancel, there is no way my father will fit into his armor." He enjoyed the sight of his father's genuinely confused face and Lancel's utter relief. "Father, you've gained at least three stone in the last year alone. Your armor is the same you had last year and it barely fit. It won't matter how skilled Lancel is or isn't, you simply will not fit." Stepping in more fully, the stench of wine all but attacked him, wafting from his father's rank breathe. "More over, your rather inebriated which would make you lucky to be able to ride a horse without falling on your arse let alone joust... and no one out there will actually be willing to go full force against you. Your the King, they'd hold back and I know that is not something you want." His father's face reddened, anger and shame in his eyes but before he could unleash anything, Arryn turned to his cousin. "Lancel, be a dear and grab some warm bone broth and bread for my father. Feel free to grab yourself something before you return."

His cousin, desperate to escape Robert's wrath, all but ran from the room. It was honestly a miracle that he hadn't shit himself...

"BOY!" His father's bellow actually shook the tent, his ugly face red and wobbly beneath his fierce beard. "Get your ass-"

"Father enough." He kept his voice low, his eyes firm against his father's wrathful gaze. He needed him to be calm, happy. Tourneys were a rare opportunities, his father was less hateful during them, less consumed by his own misery. Even Joffrey knew to take advantage of these days, their mother did it almost constantly. "He is terrified of you as it is, there is no need to be cruel. Why do you think he is so poor at his job? He is far smarter then you realize, terror stops him from showing it. If you want a competent squire then the least you can do is be decent to the boy. More importantly, the last thing you need is more enemies, the boy is in perfect position to hurt you and with how awful you are to him he has more then enough reason to do it. I would in his place and so would most." He ignored the growl escaping his father, though his heart skipped more then a few beats at the sound. "I know you want to fight father but no one will fight you at full force. Your the king they would be too afraid to actually hurt you, fearing retribution from the court or dishonor on their families if they managed to kill or maim you. Your no fool, look in yourself and tell me I am wrong?"

The arrogant bastard's growl tapered out, something pained and wistful filled his eyes before disgust washed over them. "You sound like your grandfather, you know that?" The man poured himself a drink, sitting down with a long sigh before draining the drink.

"I imagine I sound more like Jon Arryn, I know for certain that he asked you to be kinder to Lancel. Regardless it matters little, I am right and you know it." He sat next to his father, keeping his back straight and trying to not to breath in the disgusting air that wafted so heavily around Robert. However, it was in this attempt to stop breathing that a very simple question came to mind, one that he was ashamed never came to him. " Father... why do you not train?" The man turned to him, a little thrown but drunk enough to not care. "I know you love fighting more then anything, bar hunting perhaps or whoring... but if you train, spar with others on a regular basis, then you would become stronger, look better and honestly I think you would be happier. You may not be fighting a war but you could train those in Kingslanding. It would be some sort of fight, not what you are looking for I know but more then nothing."

His father smacked his lips, a strange dry sound, looking wearily around his tent. "Not a half bad idea, but I don't have time for it. Too much to do."

"You spend most of your days with women or drink, simply stop doing one or the other or... Your afraid" The words echoed in his head though he was smart enough not to speak them, but as he looked at his father he realized he was right. His eyes were wide, there was a tiny tremor to his voice. The man was not the image of fear but it was clear that fear did in fact grip him. "It doesn't matter, just give it some thought. I didn't come here to chastise you but to ask about my potential marriage opportunities."

His father actually rolled his eyes, groaning with childish impudence. "Not right now boy, I'd rather not have my evening ruined by such nonsense. Bad enough that I can't taste another's blood." Naturally, another swig of wine made it's way down his father's massive gullet.

"I'll be quick then. Shireen or a Frey. I'd suggest Margery Tyrell but I doubt they would risk marriage to someone so ill. Brienne of Tarth is a distant option, I wouldn't mind her appearance or skills in combat. The Martells would also be a good option, their heir is a women and I am a prince. That would solidify our connection at least somewhat."

"He makes a firm point Robert." Both royals turned to the entrance of the tent, where mildly amused Ned Stark was standing. Garbed in a soft grey shirt, outlined with leather, decorated with a wolves etched onto the shoulders. It was heartening for Arryn, to see that the Lord Stark had taken to wearing the garbs he had ordered to be crafted for him. It was clear that he man was considerably cooler now that he wasn't wearing the clothes he came to Kingslanding with. "I'm glad to see someone talked you out of jousting, I was about to attempt that myself."

Robert sneered at his old friend, turning away to take another swig of wine. "I thought being King meant that I could do whatever I want."

'Of course you do, you were a child and never bothered to see your responsibility as King. Moron.' Keeping those lovely thoughts close to his mind, he turned to Lord Stark. "I appreciate that you see my points. If it pleases you, I have a suggestion for one of your children. Arya specifically." The man raised a brow, hesitant but curious. Better then he would have expected. "Send her to Dorne, to live with the Martells. I do believe they have a son that she could one day marry. Women are treated well in Dorne, not expected to act submissive or live solely to be broodmares. Many of their women are trained warriors, I have seen many that could easily defeat my Uncle Jaime. I think if she is expected to marry, that may be the best place for her. It may be the only place for her, bar maybe the Mormants of the North but that would be beneath her and as far as I am aware they have no sons she could marry."

The boy's words were like cascades of mortar for Eddard, the knowledge of Arya marrying anyone, let alone someone so far across the world... it was not a pleasant thought, despite his earlier conversation with her. It shook him, inside and out, to bear the thought but the wisdom was clear. He couldn't deny it. "I will consider it."

"Now, since we don't have too much time before the next joust, of those you heard me speak of, who do you think would be my best match?" Eye bright, the boy looked the pinnacle of innocence.

"I'm not too sure of how you would do in Dorne but I can see you doing well there. After what they endured during the war, I can see them embracing a match with the crown. Walder Frey would jump at the opportunity to marry one of his children to the crown, but he is beneath you, a mere vassal house no matter how powerful they have become. As for Shireen... I am not sure, but with her health and yours I do not see your children surviving the cradle."

"A Tossup between Frey and Martell it is then. Should I send a raven to both, Father?"

Robert actually looked disgusted but there was something that only a friend like Eddard could have noticed beneath the surface. It was clear that something was bothered Robert, something that shook him, still the King managed to grunt out. "Pycelle says your doing well on the Council...I want you to stay in Kingslanding, your brother will need you. Send a letter to Walder, have him send a few of his older Daughters and have your pick of them. Now, be off with you."

"Fantastic. I'll leave you two alone. Myrcella and Sansa are waiting for me to return." With a satisfied smile, he bowed to them both before leaving Eddard with a solemn looking Robert.

He waited for the prince to move far enough away from the tent before approaching his friend. "Your shaken, what's happened?"

"I received a letter from Tywin. He has requested that my son stay in Kingslanding, he is considering naming his as his heir." He shook, his fear not making sense to Ned.

"The boy is smart, kinder the most and seems to have a rare talent for ruling. He'd make a wonderful lord, I can see why his Grandfather would want him to be heir... why would this bother you so much?"

Robert's eyes were cold, solemn and for once free of the sway of wine. "The boy scares me. He isn't even fifteen and he has garnered the respect of Tywin of all people, his mother is actually afraid of him even if she tries to hide it. Hell, he is the only person that can get Joffrey to listen without hitting the little shit. I am not a politician Ned, I have no skill in ruling, I won't even pretend otherwise... but I am not blind. I can see how he has made a grasp for your daughters, both care for him and listen to him, and now your wearing what he had sewn. Even Pycelle is singing his praises.

He has no training, no power beyond his name and yet he has already started to make a grasp and has managed to gain support... " Robert shook his head. " At Winterfell he managed to get Cat out of your boy's room, I saw in her eyes how much she adores him. I overheard her speaking to your Son Robb, she was talking to him about marrying Arya to him or at the least was hoping you'd foster him. He doesn't know any of that, or that I am paying attention but I am." Robert snorted, going quite for a moment.

In that moment, Ned contemplated his words. 'I did not know that Caitlyn was contemplating such... she hates the boy now, thinks he is to blame for Bran's fall or had some part of it...' His wife word's haunted him, his dismissal of her belief that Arryn had pushed Bran.

"He came to me Ned, I thought it was to comfort me... he brought the younger Prince and Princess, but when I mentioned how surefooted Bran was, how impossible his fall seemed to me... the boy changed. I barely saw it but I did, I swear it. He all but fled. After the cutthroat came to kill Bran, I searched through the tower where Bran fell... the dust had been brushed away, any signs of footprints wiped away. I found a long hair... only the Queen, Myrcella and Arryn have hair that long, that shade of gold. Now... now I know the truth. He went to hide a crime, whatever it was that Bran saw... be it his mother's crime or his own... I know it, in my bones I know it..."

Ned did not want to believe it, it sounded impossible, but he could not deny his wife's logic, the truth to her words. With what Robert was now telling him...

Robert sighed loudly and Ned turned back to him, in time to hear his speech continue. "Tywin burned down an entire house because it turned on him, you and I know that he alone ruled during his time as Hand of the King and so often when I look at my son all I can see is Tywin... Joffrey is a shit, spoiled and cruel, but duller then dirt. His stupidity can be managed by others... when I looked at my son... when I look at Arryn I know that would be a far greater threat then the Mad King. That is why I took him from the line of succession. When I look at him, I see Madness, he just hides it a lot better..."

The words shook Ned, he did not want to believe it still but the evidence was pilling up. "I see Jon Arryn when I look at Arryn, I see Joanna Lannister... I see my sister. Willful, kind and able to see paths were others cannot. I do no see madness in him... tell me, Robert, where is that madness you see?" He was desperate now, all but pleading that the one ally he seemed to find in Kingslanding was true and honorable as he seemed.

Robert sighed again and put down his goblet, standing and slowly buttoning his shirt with a pause that seemed nothing like his normal self. It was quiet, subdued and weak. For a long moment, long enough for the sounds of the Tourney starting against to echo in their tent.

"A few years ago, Joffrey skinned a pregnant cat and presented me with the kittens from within it. I was horrified, I hit the boy hard enough to knock teeth out... his mother swore that she would kill me in her bed. I knew it to be true so I never touched him again. His brother was in the room, he was in a rare moment of good health... he looked at me Ned, just looked at me and I swear I saw my death in his eyes. He wasn't shaking, he wasn't even angry... at five years of age he stood there with nothing but coldness and the eyes of a monsters. Not one of rage and violence like the Mad King... but a quiet contemplation... " When he looked up, Ned felt his own fear, fearing for the Second Born Prince in a way he only had ever feared for his sister in the past. "He is kind, the servants adore him... I doubt the boy realizes it but they do love him. His Sworn Shield cares for him, but again I doubt my son can see it. I was crying when he played for us at Winterfell, not because I was moved but because when I looked at my son, I saw Rheagar Targaryen. When I looked at him, illness and all, I saw a quiet evil, the kind that creeps and weaves around you until it can strangle you in your bed. No one the wiser. When I look at my son, I see the same man I looked up to once. The man I genuinely cared for, the one I wanted to be my King one day before he snapped and stole my bride, the love I would have sold my soul for...

When I see my son, I see the man who destroyed my life... the kind of evil that masks itself in love and warmth, winning the hearts of the world... a parasite that makes you love it before it drains you of all you are. I've felt it for years but it was only today, hearing him speak to us both... that I realized it. If Joffrey is the Mad King, then Arryn is Rhaegar. May all of the Gods help us the moment his Madness can no longer masked."

Haunted, Ned asked the only thing he could. " Have you spoken to anyone, Jon Arryn?"

"No... I doubt he would have seen it, believed it. My son seemed content to hide in his room, reading his books and staying unseen. I almost forgot what he was... something in the North shook him loose. I do no know what... "


Myrcella had quickly decided that she did not like Sansa Stark, the girl was vapid and empty, treating the servants with disrespect and her sister with disdain. She was naïve and would add up to nothing if she did not grow up, a puppet queen of her Mother's. A Toy for Joffrey... it hurt her heart to think of that sort of path. Still, despite this dislike, the Princess put on a kind excited smile and turned to her soon to be Good Sister.

"Exciting, isn't it." She kept a false level of excitement in her tone, knowing the naïve Sansa would never see beyond it.

The Northern girl turned, smiling beautifully in a way that made her blue eyes shine. " So much so! We have no Tourneys or even Knights up North. I wish we did." Her tone was flippant, as if unable to remember the death of poor Hugh less then an hour past, reminding her so much of Renly it was astonishing. "Do you think your brother would join? Prince Joffrey I mean?" She whispered that last part, turning to fluttering eyes sweetly to Joffrey, who was sitting a few seats above them.

Her brother didn't even return the look, turning away rudely... Sansa didn't even seem to notice.

Myrcella cleared her throat slightly, before shaking her head. "No, he has no training in the Martial talents. Well, he has some but he never continued bar the first few years. He can use a crossbow though... father was shamed when he killed a deer with it instead of his bow or spear or some such weapon. Arryn might be able to compete...but he has little taste for Tourney's, more Knights are hurt then promoted." She agreed with her brother, even if she didn't say it. "Tommen wants to fight one day, he trains hard but he isn't very good. It seems our father's power has skipped us."

Loras Tyrell, the pompous brat he was, interrupted their conversation by riding towards them, a rose in hand. He handed it to Sansa, the girl flustered and sweet and never noticing the slight glance to Renly who sat above them.

"Thank you, Ser Loras."

It took everything Myrcella had not to roll her eyes at the other girl, her desperation for her vapid dreams to come true. Everyone in court knew of the love between Renly and Loras, how the girl had yet to hear of it was beyond the Princess.

"A hundred gold dragons on the Mountain." The sound of Peter Baelish's voice sent shiver's down Myrcella's spine.

She knew what was next and turned to her Uncle. His eyes were smug, proud but not in the normal sense. It was more like he knew turned back to the field, eying Loras' beautiful horse for a moment before shifting the Mountain's Horse. The beast was restless, shifting beneath his master's body. "Wait... Loras' horse... is female? This time of year... I know she didn't have a colt recently... ' A wicked smile came to her face as she realized what had happened. Standing she calling out with more strength then she intended, ignoring the feeling of her Mother's eyes on her. "I'll take that wager, Lord Baelish."

Her Uncle looked a bit put out, Baelish conflicted, and her Mother bordered on furious.

Littlefinger's confusion turned to a smirk. "And what would you use that money for, Princess?"

She masked her disgust with a kind smile. "Oh, I have everything I need, but I know my dear brother Arryn wanted to start some public work projects for the common folk. Improving their living conditions and providing comfort for when this Long Summer ends. I think he would appreciate the donation."Her mother's eyes changed, the fury turning to irritation and pride in perfect harmony. It was on this note that Myrcella sat, turning a stunned Sansa. "Loras will win, I promise you that. The Mountain is all strength and power, he isn't skilled or smart. Plus..." She leaned in, whispering softly. "Loras' horse in heat, it's not actually cheating but I am sure that he's aware."

Sansa almost recoiled, looking disgusted. "Would he really do something so dishonest? There is no honor is deception."

"No but there is a lot of gold, my lady." The gruff voice of Dagmir, Arryn's sword shield spoke up. "I've taken part in this Tourney's, it's common place, deception like that. It's an open secret, but one that is understandable. This is how Hedge Knights gain glory and the possibility of a position in a Lord's house. It means a lot to many. I would never have become Prince Arryn's Sworn Shield otherwise."

Myrcella nodded, in perfect timing with the Jousters finding their positions, readying themselves to start the game. "He's right, Sansa. Now watch."

Her orders washed over the uncertain Northerner, and together they watched as the idiots charged each other. Faster and faster until just as she predicted, Loras' stick slammed into the Mountain's shield. His horse, affected by the power of the heat scent, kneeled and the massive man fell.

"I told you."

'What else do I not know about my children?' Cersei stared at her daughter, the ease in which she commanded Sansa's attention, the power of her voice when she placed her own bet on Loras. 'Is it Arryn, did he make her change... or am I as blind towards her as I have been towards Arryn and Joffrey?' Profoundly unnerved, Cersei turned her gaze to the field, watching with a rare enjoyment as Sandor Clegane fought his monstrous brother. A dead horse, nearly decapitated, lay behind him. Loras all but cowered to the right of the fight.

As the fight went on, Cersei realized that her Husband was not there to stop it. 'If Gregor kills Loras, a war will break out... and if Gregor kills Sandor, then Joffrey will be venerable… sigh.' Cersei stood, and shouted. "Enough of this, Both you stop." Her words carried out, Sandor kneeling and Gregor looking furious but stilled himself regardless. "You embarrass yourself, Gregor, and the House of my Father. Leave."

The man trembled, looking at her with wrath beyond what should have been human, but it was clear that he knew better then to argue. Without a trace of dignity, he tossed his sword to the ground and marched away.

'He may be more of a child then Robert.' Turning back to her daughter, as Loras raised Sandor's hand in victory and appreciation, she saw a measure of warmth and surprise in her eyes... mostly surprise. 'Does she think so little of me that such an act would warrant that kind of surprise?'

The idea did not sit well with Cersei, her son's earlier behavior towards her both at Winterfell and the Kingsroad was beginning to make too much sense. Something was wrong, and she did not wish it to be her.

Determined to do something about it, she rose from the stands and stepped to her daughter's seat, turning to her son's sword shield "Dagmir, I need to speak with my Son. Please, escort my Daughter and Lady Sansa wherever they wish to go." She turned to Littlefinger, giving a look that made her desires clear. "I expect my daughter will have her Dragons soon, Lord Baelish."

Not bothering to see the man's response, she turned and strode out with the grace of a queen. She knew, having missed the final joust, that her son was either at the castle or close by. Regardless, she had much to speak with him about.

She could only hope he listened.


"Another letter, from Pycelle." His brother's face was worn, tired, and it was clear there was more to what he said. "Another letter... from one of your spies. I haven't read it, but we both know that Tyrion has been in the North for some time."

Tywin nodded, watching his brother approach him and sit, a letter held in each hand. He was curious to know what was happening at Kingslanding, if his Grandson had proven worthy and if his wretched son had embarrassed their house further. Still, he said nothing, waiting for his brother to show him the first letter, the one from Kingslanding.

My Lord Tywin, as you have ordered your grandson Prince Arryn has been granted a seat on the Small Council. There was little resistance to this, all seemed ready to accept his position but it was clear that no one anticipated much from him. This was a mistake, within mere minutes your grandson not only deduced the massive debt the crown has fallen into, but found it's source in Littlefinger.
He managed to manipulate the other Lords into forcing Baelish to pay the entire cost of the Hand's Tournament, quite easily I must add. This gained him the respect of Renly and Lord Eddard it seems as they both have deferred to him more then once during the meetings.

In our most recent meeting, he suggested successfully that we use the Squires to aid the City Watch in maintaining order. How successful this will be has yet to be seen, I will report on it in my next letter.

The letter went on, praising Arryn and mentioning Cersei's cooperation, how the boy took charge and absorbed the information. On and on the praise went, leaving a sour taste in Tywin's mouth.

'This letter would be a fifth it's size if he would stop licking arse.' The man's constant, sycophantism was almost enough to mask the genuine pleasure Tywin felt at the knowledge that his grandson had accomplished so much.

"It seems the boy is doing well. You made a wise choice in naming him on the council." Kevan rolled the letter up, handing the next one over and when he did a feeling of dread overcame Tywin.

He only had one thought.

'What did Tyrion do?'


Chapter end, tell me what you think in the reviews.

I am so proud of this! Robert hates Rhaeger but if you look at Rhaegars past he was beyond loved and when I was reading on him I saw so many parallels between him and Arryn. I think since Robert is irrational and delusional at times, he would see that in his son... I think that the "Mask" that Rhaegar is painted to have had, that he was really mad and evil behind his act of decency... I think that would be more haunting to Robert.

I also like the idea that Cersei isn't as blind as she seems, that on some level she is aware of her evil and stupidity but is frustrated by it. I also like showing more personality for Myrcella, who should have had more screen time!

Love, your Ninja Overlord,

Mika.