King's Landing was different. The climate, the people, the food, everything was different and Robb was doing his best to acclimate to it. After spending the majority of his life having to wear layers of furs to stop from freezing, walking around the around the ramparts of the Red Keep in a simple surcoat was actually a pleasant experience. Getting used to the people in King's Landing was a different matter. Everyone in the Red Keep, from the lowliest of servants to the highest of highborn, exuded a sense of vanity and falseness that was palpable. They dressed in expensive silks and styled their hair in glaring fashions. Robb had decided to let his beard grow out as a reminder to himself that he belonged in the hardy north and not in this place of extravagance encased in a city of squalor.
The feast the previous night to welcome home the King and celebrate the appointment of his new Hand had been a relatively tame affair. The King had made the brief announcement and then dinner was served. The food had been different than what Robb was used to in Winterfell, different but not bad. Given Robb's status as heir to the North, he had been afforded a seat at the King's table. Jon and Jory had been seated at a lower table, but Robb had luckily been seated next to Renly. The King's brother had been more than willing to counsel Robb on the ins and outs of the Capital, primarily because it also meant that he was able to avoid conversing with the Lannisters. Renly had been a wealth of useful information, but given who his brother was, Robb was unsurprised when the youngest Baratheon had also informed him of where the cleanest and most discrete brothels were located in King's Landing.
The rest of the evening had gone by quickly, meeting people whom he was sure he was likely to forget, before he finally retired back to his room. He had been pleasantly surprised with the quarters had been given. They were smaller than his ones in Winterfell, but still comfortable. He had a large feather bed, dining table, and a writing desk. Jon's room was much the same, just smaller in size. Even though the room had been high quality, Robb had slept fitfully in his new surroundings. That was the reason he found himself standing on the eastern wall of the Red Keep in the early morning light, staring out into a seemingly endless stretch of sea.
"If you're having trouble sleeping, you should try wine before bed." Robb turned from his perch to see the stunted form of Tyrion Lannister leaning casually with one shoulder against the ramparts.
"I suppose you would be the expert on wine, Lannister," Robb commented, turning to face the man.
"Among other pleasurable distractions," Tyrion smirked.
"I have to say I'm surprised you're even upright at this early hour, especially the morning after a feast. I don't think I saw you able to walk straight a single day you were in Winterfell."
Tyrion laughed. "Yes, well your northern whores proved to be quite vigorous. As to the early hour, unfortunately, now that my Father has been named Hand of the King, the prospects for fun and debauchery in the Capital have decreased significantly... at least for me."
"Lord Tywin's not a fan of your lifestyle, I take it?" Robb asked.
"Less a fan of my existence, truth be told," Tyrion mused, nonplussed. "It is a shame we don't have the luxury of choosing our fathers and sons. The Seven are cruel in that way."
"I'll have to take your word for it."
"Yes, you pray to the trees, not to the Seven."
"And I've never found the old gods to be cruel, only people."
"Hmmm, it is a little early for conversations on religious philosophy, so we should set aside another time to delve deeper, Stark. Now however, there is a plate of crisp bacon calling to me. Have a good day Stark."
"You as well Lannister," Robb called to man's retreating back. Robb looked back out to the rough seas and laughed that he had just seemingly had a relatively normal conversation with Tyrion Lannister.
The small council chambers were already occupied when Robb entered later that morning, but only by the elderly form of Grand Maester Pycelle. Robb walked in slowly, the steps of his boots echoing off the walls and alerting the old man to his presence.
"Ah, young Lord Stark. The King made us aware that you would be joining us."
"It is a pleasure to meet you Grand Maester," Robb bowed, respectful of the man's position.
"I trust your time here will be very informative. We ourselves are just getting used to the new leadership of Lord Tywin as Hand of the King."
"I understand," Robb stated. "My Father was deeply saddened to the news of Lord Arryn's death. Was it you who tended to him?"
"It was," Pycelle nodded. "Unfortunately there was little I could do for the poor man. His affliction was unforgiving and took him quickly."
"There had not been any previous signs that something was affecting him?" Robb pressed.
"No, not at all. As a matter of fact, Lord Arryn was quite busy at the time of his death. He was researching something out of a book that he borrowed from me just before he died. There was nothing that would point to any existing illness."
"Just unfortunate luck, I suppose," Robb conceded, though he in no way believed that. It sounded much more like Jon Arryn was pursuing something that someone was not eager for him to know. The question was whether Pycelle was involved, and Robb was not eager to ask any more questions that could not be explained away as simple curiosity. Any further conversation with the Grand Maester was halted however, by the arrival of the remainder of the small council.
"Welcome, Lord Stark," Tywin Lannister greeted as he took a seat at the head of the table. "I trust you'll take sufficient notes for his Grace, as he will not be joining us."
"I will, Lord Tywin," Robb replied.
"Excellent, now to the first matter for discussion. His Grace has made it known that he wishes to hold a tournament in King's Landing to honor my appointment as his Hand. I informed him that this was not necessary, but he was unmoved by my insistence."
"A tournament will be expensive, my Lord," Baelish commented. "With the cost of preparations and the purses for the champions, we are talking about a considerable amount of gold."
"Thank you for telling me something I am already aware of Baelish," Tywin responded tersely. "You've already informed me of the status of the treasury, or the lack of one as it is. I will see to it that my family contributes a sum towards the cost, though I may seek assistance from elsewhere. The King has given me the authority to name a new Master of Ships, as Stannis has apparently abandoned the post."
"I may have issues with my Brother, but he has not formally resigned the position," Renly interrupted.
"We do not have time to sit around and wait for Stannis to make formal pronouncements of his unhappiness," Twyin snapped. "With this Targaryen business rearing its head, we need a Master of Ships who is accessible and who will see to his duties. Lord Tyrell has made it known repeatedly and annoyingly that he desires a position on the council. I mean to offer him the position of Master of Ships. In appreciation for his appointment, it will be expected that Lord Tyrell contribute towards the upcoming tournament."
"So the tradition of selling council position continues," Renly smirked. The remark was clearly directed at the new Hand of the King, but Lord Tywin ignored the comment completely.
"Lord Baelish, start making arrangements for the tournament. Once we've secured Mace Tyrell's agreement and contribution everything can be finalized."
"Of course, my Lord," Baelish answered, already making notes in the book he had brought with him.
"That brings us to the more serious matter of the surviving Targaryen spawn. His Grace is obviously eager to see the situation rectified. What news from Essos, Varys?" Tywin questioned, turning his attention to the bald man.
"The last word I received from my informant in Essos was that Viserys and Daenarys have begun to travel east, away from Pentos, in the company of the khalasar of Khal Drogo. It seems the Khal is in no hurry to provide Viserys with an army of Dothraki warriors," the Master of Whispers finished.
"How quickly could plans be put into motion to end the Targaryen bloodline for good this time?" Tywin pressed.
"A simple word and it would be done, my Lord," Varys responded with no doubt whatsoever in his tone.
"Then that's settled," Renly exclaimed, leaning back in his chair. "They will be dead, and my Brother can finally hear the name Targaryen without turning purple."
"Not yet," Tywin countered, to the rest of the council's surprise. "They pose no threat to us while they march further and further away from Westeros. It will take a miracle to convince those horse lovers to cross the sea. If the children have any hope of seeing Westeros again, it will be with the aid of those here, those who still secretly clamor for Targaryen rule. It would be in the best interest of the stability and future security of the Seven Kingdoms that we allow these sympathizers to reveal themselves so that they me dealt with."
"A wise course of action, my Lord," Pycelle simpered. "Treachery should be dealt with swiftly and harshly."
"Indeed," Baelish agreed.
"I will make sure that you are immediately informed with regard to any such rumors of treasonous behavior Lord Tywin," Varys promised.
"I trust you will," Tywin remarked. "I believe that is all for this meeting. I will inform you all of the time of our next gathering."
Robb couldn't say what possessed him in the next moment, but the memory of the wildling raid on the journey to King's Landing had still not left his head. He felt like he owed it to his Father, Uncle Benjen, and even Jon to say something. "If I may, my Lords?" Robb questioned, hesitantly.
The rest at the table looked at him in confusion, but Lord Tywin replied, "You may, Lord Stark."
"I understand that it is not really my place to raise matters before this council, but I feel that this matter is of real importance. On the way to King's Landing, we were set upon by a large party of wildlings. Two or three is not out of the ordinary, but such a group getting south of the Wall is extremely concerning. Something must be done before the situation gets worse. The King was almost killed in the attack."
"Is it not your Father, the Warden of the North's responsibility to see that these invaders are dealt swift justice," Baelish questioned, a condescending smirk on his face. "Is he not capable of living up to his title?"
"No man knows the North like my Father," Robb asserted strongly, staring daggers at the Master of Coin. "However, the North is large and much of it is uninhabited. The problem needs to be stopped at the source."
"So what would you have us do?" Varys questioned.
"I only ask that aid be sent to the Wall," Robb answered. "My Uncle Benjen is First Ranger of the Night's Watch and I have heard it directly from him how dire their situation is. Most of the castles along the Wall are either abandoned or in horrible disrepair. The Night's Watch needs men, builders and capable fighters, or else we could see wildlings in the Riverlands soon enough."
"I cannot force free men to abandon their lives and say vows to the Night's Watch," Lord Tywin responded. "However, I will see to it that the dungeons are scoured to see if men are available. They may not be capable, as you requested, but they are bodies nonetheless. Hopefully the Lord Commander can turn them into something useful."
"Thank you, Lord Tywin," Robb stated. It was not the best solution, but it was something.
"Until next time," Tywin Lannister dismissed them. The others began to push back from their seats, but before Robb had a chance, Lord Tywin signaled him to stop. "Since you are here as King Robert's representative, I would ask that you take this to his Grace for his signature. It is the letter of appointment that I drafted for Lord Tyrell. It should be on its way to him as soon as possible."
Robb reached out and grabbed the offered parchment from the Hand. "I'll see to it that it is done right away Lord Tywin."
"Excellent," Twyin answered as he rose from his chair. "Do give your Father my regards when you next correspond with him. I do believe I have him to thank for my current position." Robb watched as the imposing man glided out of the room, leaving him alone. Everything he had heard about Tywin Lannister seemed to have been correct. He was shrewd and decisive. He could have had the Targaryen's killed in an instant, but instead he was using them to draw out potential enemies. Robb doubted the man actually cared whether or not every lord and knight in the Seven Kingdoms was loyal to Robert Baratheon. Tywin Lannister's concern was born out of self-interest. His grandson would sit on the Iron Throne, and he wanted to secure his family's dominance.
Robb found the King seated at his desk in his chambers, a large tome open in front of him.
"Ah, Robb," the King acknowledged him as he made his way into the room. "Take a seat. How was your first council meeting? Long and exhausting?"
"It wasn't so bad, Your Grace," Robb stated honestly.
"Anything of note to report?"
"We discussed the preparations for the upcoming tournament, and the situation with the Targaryens. Lord Twyin means to let them live in the hope of obtaining information."
"Yes, so we discussed," the King scowled. "I'll let him play his games for now, but the moment I hear they are making preparations to return to Westeros, I'll have every assassin and sell sword in Essos falling on them."
"Lord Tywin also entrusted me with this letter of appointment for Lord Tyrell. It requires your signature," Robb advised, passing it over to the King.
"Oh yes, our new Master of Ships," Robert laughed. "It's funny how politics make you do things that make absolutely no sense at all. Mace Tyrell is one of the biggest fools in the Seven Kingdoms. The man laid siege to my home for a year during the Rebellion, but as soon a your Father showed up he couldn't bend over fast enough. It's hell making peace with your enemies." The King signed the parchment sloppily and then sealed with his sigil.
"Would you like me to have raven send that to Lord Tyrell?" Robb asked.
"No," the King said, handing out the letter for Robb to take back. "I promised you would not be sitting around here doing nothing. I want you to take that letter and deliver it to Mace Tyrell in person. What do you say? Are you up for it?"
Truthfully, the first thought that came to Robb's head was, no, he was not up for it. He had just spent weeks on the road travelling from Winterfell, and the thought of another journey on horseback was less than appealing. However, that did not mean he was going to say no. "Of course, Your Grace."
"Good. It's an easier journey down the Roseroad than the one we just made. I'll give you a handful of men to escort you. If it's any consolation, the sights in Highgarden are far more pleasing to the eye than here, if you can look passed all of those fucking flowers everywhere. Just don't let Lady Olenna dig her claws into you. That woman is vicious."
When Robb made it back to his chambers, he found Jon seated at his table perusing through the contents of a book. His Brother immediately looked up as he took the seat across from him. "So, how was your first small council meeting?"
"Not as exciting as you would think," Robb answered. "I did ask that something be done to help the situation on the Wall."
"Really?" Jon asked, clearly surprised. "And what did they say?"
"Lord Tywin said he would see if he could find prisoners to ship North. Likely he was just placating me. He probably forgot about it the moment after he said it. You'll never guess the best part of the day though."
"Oh, what's that?"
"I'm leaving for Highgarden in the morning. The King is appointing Lord Tyrell to be his new Master of Ships, and he wants me to deliver the news."
"But we just arrived," Jon stated, needlessly.
"Yes, I'm aware," Robb, sighed. "Fancy a trip to the Reach?"
"Sorry, Robb, but I think I'm going to sit this one out," Jon stated. "I've had enough travel for a while."
"So much for family loyalty," Robb joked. "What have you been keeping yourself occupied with tody?"
"Getting acclimated to the Keep for the most part. I visited the library as well, as you can tell," Jon gestured to his book. "I also ran into the Prince again. I have to say it's a good thing you are building up all of this goodwill with the King."
"Why's that?"
"Because if I'm going to be stuck here for an extended length of time, I'm going to end up throwing that little fuck over the castle's walls."
"I'm pretty sure no amount of goodwill would be able to get you out of that one," Robb advised, reaching over and pouring a cup of wine. "Just make sure you do it when no one's watching. I'll help you dispose of the corpse afterwards."