King's Landing reeked of shit. The stench of the city could be smelled from miles and miles away. It was nothing like his own home of Horn Hill. There, the wind swept down out of the Red Mountains carrying the scents of pine and oak upon them with perhaps a hint of dust carried from the Dornish wastes. When the wind blew from the east, notes of the rivers and the sea could be found. Here though? Well, suffice it to say that Randyll did his best not to breath through his nose.

Randyll despised King's Landing. It was the seat of power in the Seven Kingdoms, true. But the city itself was a weeping boil and the clear manifestation of all that was wrong with the realm wrapped up in one place. It stank, it was full of whores, thieves and murderers. The men who were supposed to police the city and free it from the thieves and killers were beyond corrupt and tended to kill and steal even more than those they were supposed to prosecute. And the city was full of liars. From the scum that crawled up out of the sewers of Flea Bottom and that were dressed in rags to the high lords that dressed in silks and held perfumed cloths up to their noses while they paraded about the Red Keep, they were all liars.

Though he must admit that he had high hopes for the King's new Hand. And not only because Lord Stark had honored him with the proposed match of his son and heir to Talla. Lord Stark had a reputation about him, a reputation that he was a man who prized his honor and was a firm believer in justice. Much as in the Marches, the North demanded swift justice for those who broke the King's Peace. And from what he had heard, Lord Stark did not shy away from delivering that justice himself. Randyll respected that in a man.

But his business in this cesspit of a city today was not in the pursuit of justice. Lord Stark had sent him a raven from Darry in the Riverlands. He would be in King's Landing within a fortnight and desired to meet with him to finalize the terms of Robb and Talla's betrothal. To that end, he had journeyed from the Dornish Marches to King's Landing to negotiate personally with Lord Stark. And perhaps he could drop a few hints that his fat, bloated son was considering joining the Nights Watch as a way to feel out how that would be perceived in the North.

As he passed through the shadow of the River Gate and into Fishmonger's Square, he was met by a man with a lantern jaw, salt and pepper hair and an iron hand strapped to his right wrist in lieu of his real one. "Lord Tarly," the man asked?

"Yes. And you are," Randyll replied?

"My Lord, I am Ser Jacelyn Bywater. I am the Captain of the River Gate. Lord Stark has asked me to watch for your banners and to escort you safely to the Red Keep upon your arrival. I have my men ready to do so and they are waiting just over here."

Randyll looked the man over. He seemed to be a capable sort. Randyll gave him a short, sharp nod and said, "Very well. You may attach your men to my own retainers." Pointing to one of his men, he continued, "Ser Hyle is one of my captains. You may ride beside him."

Ser Jacelyn nodded his understanding and took but a few moments to arrange his Gold Cloaks and then they were off to the Red Keep, with the hooves on their horses pounding on the cobbled streets. As they began the climb up Aegon's Hill, the walls and spires of the Red Keep and Maegor's Holdfast loomed over them. While the more overt signs of the Targaryens who had built the castle and reigned from it were gone, here and there, if you knew where to look, you could still find small marks of the dragons that had come before.

As they passed through the bronze gates set into the walls, Randyll could see Baratheon, Lannister and Stark banners in abundance. From the Tower of the Hand flew the Direwolf of Stark, while on every gatehouse, cornerfort, drum-tower and the Great Keep flew the Crowned Stag of Baratheon. The Lion of Lannister was also much in abundance, with the Queen's personal guards forming a large portion of the castle's garrison. Randyll could practically feel the tension in the air in the Red Keep. He had heard rumors aplenty of the disturbance that had occurred on the King's Road at Darry. Judging by the way the Lannister and Stark men-at-arms were eying each other, it would seem that, for once, there was some truth to the rumors.

While he had none of a Dornishman's disdain for the Lannisters, that house was not what one would call "popular" in the Reach. The Lannisters tended to look down on Reachmen as being lazy ner'do'wells and little better than the smallfolk they ruled. And because of that, he would enjoy tweaking the Old Lion's tail just a bit with this marriage to House Stark. Assuming he and Lord Stark could come to terms. It still puzzled him why the Lord Hand even made the offer. Surely there were suitable brides for his son amongst his own bannermen? He hoped that he would soon have his answers.

As Randyll and his party dismounted in the courtyard they were met by a man wearing plain, but high quality, clothes. The man approached him and said, "Lord Tarly?"

Upon Randyll's nod, the man continued, "My Lord, I am Vayon Poole. I am Lord Stark's Steward. If you and your party will acompany me, I have arranged accommodations for you in the Tower of the Hand. The Lord Hand has ordered that a meal be prepared for you in the Small Hall. Additionally, Lord Stark would be honored if you would attend to him directly once you and your party have refreshed yourselves."

Gesturing to a young man dressed in Stark colors he said, "This is Jory Cassel. He is Lord Stark's Captain of the Guards. If your men will follow him, he will see them quartered in the Barracks."

Randyll nodded his head again and gruffly said, "Thank you, Lord Steward. Will you please convey my gratitude to Lord Stark for his hospitality? If you could but direct me to somewhere I could change out of these dust and sweat stained traveling clothes, I will await Lord Stark's convivence."

Nodding at one of his guards, Randyll said, "This is Ser Hyle Hunt. He is one of my captains. Ser Hyle, if you will follow, Ser Jory, was it?"

"No 'Ser' My Lord. Jory will do fine, if it please you."

"Very well. Ser Hyle, follow Jory here to the barracks with your men."

"Yes, My Lord."

While Randyll's party broke apart, with his retainers heading to the Tower of the Hand and his soldiers to the Barracks, Ser Jacelyn was gathering up his men for the return ride to the River Gate. The man almost looked as if he expected some boon for doing what the Lord Hand had ordered of him, but Randyll was not one to give rewards to men for simply doing their duty. Randyll gave the man a polite nod and turned to head into the Tower of the Hand and wash the dust and grime of the road from his body before putting on fresh, clean clothes.

After Randyll addressed his personal needs, he made his way down to the Small Hall where he found that the Lord Hand demonstrated that he knew how to set a good table and ensure that his guests felt welcome. There was roast hare stuffed with herbs and lemons; peppered boar; roast aurochs that was charred almost black on the outside, but still rare and bloody inside; a mutton pie that was heavily spiced and filled with onions and leeks; cod that was fresh caught from the sea and served in a fiery sauce made from dragon peppers; roasted ears of corn and soup made from pumpkins; lemon cakes and pies made from fresh strawberries; and all this washed down with the finest wines from the Arbor. Despite his appreciation of the meal, Randyll could not allow himself to enjoy it to its fullest. He needed to keep his wits about him in this gods-forsaken city and too much rich food and wine would not be conducive to that.

Randyll made sure to sample all the dishes so as not to seem rude and he ate more heartily of several that had been offered. But it wasn't long before he ate and drank his fill. As the meal was being cleared away, Steward Poole reappeared by his side and said, "Lord Tarly? The Lord Hand will see you now."

While they were climbing the stairs up the Tower, another group of men were walking down them. And a few of them were, if not familiar faces, at least known to him. First down the stairs was a dapper man with a pointed beard and a silver mocking bird holding his cloak about him. Randyll was unsure who that might be, but given who made up the rest of the party, he assumed it to be Lord Baelish, King Robert's Master of Coin. Grand Maester Pycelle was of course the easiest to identify. His maester's chain wrapped tightly about his neck and his great white beard made picking him out easy. The bald man with the tittering laugh and perfumed robes was almost certainly the eunuch Varys while the man wearing the White Cloak of the Kingsguard could only be Ser Barristan. Behind them was a man that made that almost made Randyll freeze in his tracks. Strong and well built, with black hair and piercing blue eyes. Randyll was about to bow his head to the man he thought was the King when Steward Poole said in greeting, "Lord Renly."

Robert's younger brother nodded his head in response and continued on his way. It was only after he had gone that Randyll processed the look that Lord Renly had on his face. It was both confused and calculating. He wondered what could have caused that. But while he was still pondering the matter, they arrived at what he assumed to be Lord Stark's solar as Steward Poole stopped before a door that was guarded by two men, each wearing grey wool cloaks that were trimmed in satin and fastened with pins of beaten silver in the shape of a hand.

Upon the Stewards knock on the door, a voice called out from within, "Come!"

When they entered Randyll looked upon the man who would, hopefully, soon be Talla's goodfather. The man had the characteristic long face of the Starks which, when combined with a brown beard already turning grey, made the man look older than his five-and-thirty years. But the sharp grey eyes that looked back at him belied any other outward appearance of age, for they were full of life and spoke of an intelligence that lay deep within.

Offering Lord Stark a slight bow, Randyll said, "Lord Stark. It is a great honor to meet you at last. I thank you for the honor you have bestowed on me and my house by your offer of marriage."

"The honor is mine, Lord Tarly. Your reputation as a Lord and as a military man far precede you." Lord Stark gestured to a chair by his desk and said, "Please, make yourself comfortable, My Lord."

Once Randyll was settled into the comfortably appointed chair, Lord Stark asked, "How was your journey to King's Landing, Lord Tarly?"

"Fast and uneventful, My Lord Hand. Bandits are few and far between on the Rose Road, and those that are there have long since learned to flee at the sight of my banners."

"Excellent. And your family?"

"They were all well upon my departure. Talla alternates between blushing at the prospect of her betrothal and biting her lip in nervousness at the thought."

Lord Eddard smiled at that and said, "My son Jon was much the same when told of his own betrothal as well. Excited at the prospect of it, terrified of what it actually meant."

"Such is love for the young, My Lord. All fairy tales and songs. They will learn in time."

"Aye, they will."

"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything with my arrival? I can only assume that you were holding a meeting of the Small Council, judging by who was coming down the stairs as I was heading up?"

Lord Stark grimaced, rubbed his temples and said, "Yes, I was. And you may believe me when I tell you, your arrival was timed to perfection. These damnable meetings are enough to make a man lose his wits. I see why Robert avoids them now. No, My Lord, your arrival gave me just the excuse I needed to end that meeting before it got even more contentious."

"If you don't mind my inquiring, Lord Stark, how so?"

The grey eyed man across from him fixed him with a measuring stare before nodding slightly, as if he had just reached a conclusion, and said, "The Small Council needs reform. The Realm is peaceful and prosperous. But only on the surface. There are storms coming for us, Lord Tarly. Robert himself told me that he can feel a war is coming to our shores. And if there is one single thing that Robert is an expert on, it is war.

"Should war come to the Realm, it is my fear that we shall fracture into a multitude of pieces and be forced to watch our children and our children's children fight and die against one another. I wish to strengthen the bonds of the Kingdom to stop that grim future from ever happening."

"That is indeed grim, My Lord. But war has been almost a constant feature of both of our lives, and I believe it has served to harden us, the way a blacksmith's hammer hardens the steel that he forges. Battles and wars toughen us, it gives us the strength to rule and make the decisions that we must. Because we know that often, some men must be sacrificed to saved the rest."

Lord Stark sat back in his chair, and looked at him for a long moment before responding and saying, "Yes, that is true. And I have trained my sons to always be prepared for war. But war also takes us away from those that we love. It pulls our men away from their homes and families, from their fields and harvests. War weakens our lands and our coffers just as much as it hardens our bodies and minds. I want my sons to have long, prosperous lives. To do so, we must do our best to avoid unnecessary wars while always being ready to fight those battles that are needed."

"What you say has merit, Lord Stark. War does cause untold harm to the smallfolk and to our lands. Either from being despoiled by foraging parties or from laying fallow with no one to till or plant it. But we must always remain ready for it to come to our shores. You had mentioned your desire to strengthen the bonds of the Kingdoms to prevent such a war. May I assume that your proposal to wed your son Robb to my Talla is part of that plan?"

"You may. The long summer is nearing its end. With a long winter almost surely to follow. The lands of the North are vast, but we are thinly populated. Much of our soil is poor, particularly in the mountains. It is not unheard of for old men to 'go hunting' in the winter and never return, just so that their portions can go to their families. I would prevent that from happening by being able to secure the purchase of more wheat from the south while we still have time. And a match to a prosperous House from the Reach will do much to ensure that.

"Beyond that, I wish to see another powerful House tied firmly to the Throne and to House Baratheon. Lord Tarly, you were the only man to defeat Robert in the field during the Rebellion. You can muster as many men as any other single House in the Reach. Having a man of your caliber, positioned where you are in the Dornish Marches? Well My Lord, let us suffice to say that the Crown, and myself, would only see that as an advantage. An advantage both in any war that may come, and an advantage for all of us in the peace that will follow."

Lord Randyll sat quietly while Lord Stark spoke, and for many long minutes after. The Hand had left much unsaid in his speech, but his meaning was more than clear. Neither Baratheon nor Stark trusted Mace Tyrell. The man was his Liege Lord, and thinking the thoughts that he was now could be considered breaking his oaths of fealty. But Lord Tyrell flew the Dragon Banners until the very end, only striking his banners upon the approach of Lord Stark and his army. Lord Stark was suggesting, without saying the words, that should the Targaryens return and Mace Tyrell declare for them, House Tarly would be in line to be declared Warden of the South and Overlord of all the Reach once the war was won.

He had assumed that was Lord Stark's motive on the road here. It was the age old game of thrones. Mace Tyrell had made no secret that he desired to see Tyrell blood on the Iron Thone. That ambition was now impossible for the foreseeable future with the announcement of Prince Joffery's betrothal to Lady Sansa. Like much of the realm, he knew that Aery's last two surviving children had escaped to Essos and that Viserys and his sister Daenerys were desperate to return to the Seven Kingdoms and reclaim what they believed to be theirs. Should the Throne appear weak, Lord Mace would almost certainly throw his lot in with them and raise the dragon banners once again.

And where would that leave him? By both blood and honor he would be tied to Houses Baratheon and Stark. Given the location of Horn Hill and his lands, some would say that put him in an unenviable position, surrounded on all sides by enemies. Others would say that he was being given a golden opportunity to increase the stature of his House, so long as they won. It was the game of thrones writ small. Win, and all the rewards would be his. Lose, and he would die. Yet when would an opportunity like this appear again? Either he took the chance now, or it may never come again.

Responding to Lord Stark at last, he said, "I understand, My Lord. Strengthening the bonds of alliance and affection between two regions that have previously had little interaction is something to be desired. I believe that both you and His Grace will find House Tarly a most leal ally, Lord Stark, both now and in the future."

"It pleases me to hear that, Lord Randyll. While we still have much to negotiate with regards to the match between our Houses, I feel that we will surely have that task accomplished in short order. However, if I may, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you. One that requires your utmost discretion."

"Of course, My Lord Hand. How may I be of service?"

Sighing, Lord Eddard said, "Relations between the King and his brother, Lord Stannis, have not been good for some time. Lord Baratheon left King's Landing shortly before His Grace rode for Winterfell and has not returned since. A letter has been dispatched to Dragonstone asking for Lord Stannis to return to the city and his post on the Small Council. That letter was sent from Darry, My Lord. There has been no response.

"Given the distances involved, Lord Stannis should have returned to the City long before your arrival here, Lord Tarly. It is a calculated insult to His Grace that his brother has refused a royal summons. One that cannot, and will not, be ignored."

Pulling a letter out from his desk, Lord Stark showed him that the letter was secured with the Royal Seal before breaking it with his dagger. After glancing over it, Lord Stark handed the letter to him and he began to read.

"Be it known by all,

By order of His Grace, King Robert Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Lord Stannis Baratheon is hereby removed from the Small Council and his position as Master of Ships. Forthwith, Lord Stannis shall surrender all rights, honors and privileges of said position to the Crown. Henceforth, Lord Baratheon shall have no word, role, nor power in the governance of the Seven Kingdoms. Signed this day by Robert I Baratheon in front of the below named witnesses.

Robert I Baratheon

Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Hand of the King

Lord Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storms End, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Master of Laws

Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard"

Lord Randyll felt his eyebrows move up his face as he read. He looked up at Lord Stark and felt those cold grey eyes bore into him. It was no wonder that discretion was being demanded of him.

"Lord Tarly, a copy of that letter was read to the Small Council shortly after your arrival in Kings Landing. The other Councilors had mixed reactions to its contents, as I'm sure you can imagine. While certain details will still need to be sorted, what that letter means in real terms, is that there is now an open position on the Small Council. I would see men that are known to me and that are loyal to the King and to myself seated on the Small Council. Men such as yourself."

A seat on the Small Council? While Randyll had hoped that his daughter's marriage to House Stark would eventually see him sitting on the Council, he had not dreamed it would happen this quickly.

"Lord Tarly, in the Name of Robert Baratheon, I would ask you to join the King's Small Council."

Perhaps a small question before accepting. "In what capacity, My Lord? Please, do not mistake me, I am extraordinarily honored that you would ask this of me. However, I know aught of ships and the sea and would make a poor excuse for Master of Ships."

A brief smile graced the long face of Lord Stark before he said, "No, My Lord. I would not ask you to serve in a position for which you have not prepared. Lord Renly will become Master of Ships. Though I question his readiness for that particular role, I would not presume to ask Robert to remove his youngest brother from his Council. I would ask you to serve as the Realm's Master of Laws. It is a post for which I believe you to be supremely suited, My Lord."

Master of Laws. Lord Stark had the right of it. In his opinion, Lord Stark could not make a better choice for the post. It had been a productive day. His daughter's betrothal agreed to in principle and a new post as Master of Laws. He would be a fool to decline the post. It was time for him to place his pieces into the game of thrones.

"It would be my honor to accept, Lord Stark."